“You never crossed paths on operations?”
“Only once or twice. He was in a different squadron.”
“Because you’re brothers?”
“Aye. And he’s a dickhead, so D Squadron suited him just fine.” A faint smile tugs Jack’s lips. “That lot are fucking hooligans. Ramsey can tell you that.”
I haven’t seen Marc in a while. Not to talk to anyway. But that’s not really the point of the conversation, so I leave it unsaid and wait for Jack to figure out what he wants to say next, while he waits for me to finish my dinner.
His damaged brain proves faster than my resilience. “I think he’s bored.”
“Mal?”
Jack nods. “We were both paras, but he was way more into it than me. I just wanted to be the best at something and I didn’t fancy the marines. Mal got hooked on the jump. Even on leave he’d be chucking himself out of planes for the fun of it.”
“Adrenaline junkie?”
“It’s more than that.” Jack’s frown turns wistful. “There’s so much freedom in the air, even the noise is liberating. Then it turns quiet and that’s a different magic. I’ve never asked him which part he likes best.”
“What part do you like?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“The quiet,” Jack confirms. “Like heaven, even on your way to fucking hell.”
I love that he’s shared that without worrying he can’t remember. I hate that the little snippets I’ve learned about Mal are nowhere near enough.
Enough rice remains on my plate to haunt me.
Jack gets up and fills me a glass of water. Sets it down without saying a word and drifts to the window, scanning thenight sky for the lights of Sol’s boat. “I wish the old lighthouse was still live.”
“Sol can navigate this coast with his eyes shut.”
“I know.”
“Are you worried about the weather? It’s not a storm. Just wind.”
Worry tightens Jack’s gaze. “Those waves are big.”
“He’s sailed through bigger with a smile on his face.”
“It only takes one—it’s my worst fucking nightmare.”
“Jack, he’s okay. I’ll try his phone in a bit. When he’s back in range. Find out where he’s at.”
Jack doesn’t have a phone of his own. It’s times like these I wish he did. That his brain didn’t short-circuit at the mere thought of too much time squinting at a screen. I don’t want to track Sol all the way home. I want to finish this fucking rice, take a shower, andsleepbefore the gym goblin gets the best of me.
But I love Jack and I owe it to him to put this right. I force the rice down, drink the water, and cement myself to my seat while I poke at my phone to see if Sol has been online in the past few hours.
He hasn’t.
I call him and it doesn’t connect.
Jack gnaws his bottom lip. “Try Mal.”
“I don’t have your brother’s number.”
“I’ll get it.”
He’s out of the room before I can speak, and returns with the palm-sized notebook he keeps all his important shit in.