Sol smiles like they’re the only souls in the room. “Check under your bed.”
Jack rises to obey. I move to let him past and find a shirt in the basket abandoned near the table.
It’s not mine.
I don’t care.
Until I realise it’s Mal’s, but it’s too late. I drag it over my head and ignore the potent jolt of that fucking smirk.
I seek sanctuary opposite Sev at the table. He’s hungover as hell, bloodshot eyes and pale skin, his dark hair messier than mine. “Good night?”
He rubs his lips. “Apparently.”
“How do you find such a banging time in this fucking place?”
“Depends who you bang, doesn’t it?”
I don’t want to know who Sev’s banging. He and Sol have the same troubles in life, but where Sol has imposed lovesick celibacy on himself, Sev has swung the other way, bed-hopping to ease the pain. I’ve lost track of who or what or where, and I don’t want it back.
Mal’s shirt smells of him, obviously. When it should smell of the detergent Jack buys in bulk from the cash-and-carry. When it shouldfeelheavy on my skin, but honestly I’m just fucking warm.
And hungry.
My gaze strays to the stove. Oscar’s the healthiest human who ever lived. Whatever he’s cooking should make me nervous. But wrapped in Mal’s shirt, the low murmur of him talking to Aras filling the quiet, I’m chill enough to fall asleep at this table.
Jack comes back with a leather-bound album I’ve never seen before. He sits at the table and gestures for Mal to bring Aras closer. “I don’t remember when I last looked at these.”
There are enough free seats at the table that Mal could sit anywhere.
He chooses the one next to me and secures Aras on his knee. “I’ve never seen them.”
“How’d you know I had them then?”
“You’ve been threatening to show them to everyone we’ve ever met my whole fucking life.” Mal winces as the curse escapes him, but Aras doesn’t notice. He’s too busy darting his wide-eyed stare between the Gallagher brothers, as fascinated by them as I am.
I watch Jack carefully, leaning back in my seat to conceal my attention. Forgetting family history is a trigger for him. But maybe having Mal living and breathing beside him is as healing as Sol and I hoped it would be. The glitch in his brain doesn’t hitand he just laughs, a sound that makes Sol emotional enough he ducks behind Oscar and stays there.
Jack opens the album.
Drawn in, Mal edges closer, face alive with mirthful curiosity as he tickles Aras and makes him giggle, and it looks good on him. I like Mal’s edge. If I’m honest, I get off on it. But this softer side of him, it hurts in the best way and I don’t know what to do with that.
So I do nothing with it. I just watch as Oscar and Sol bring food to the table. Fish—always fucking fish. Potatoes. Vegetables. The Lithuanian dumplings and fritters I’d probably like if I could ever put them in my mouth.
If I could stand the collective quiet that descends on the table as men fall on their food. But it doesn’t matter what kind of day, week, month I’m having, this moment…it never misses. Tension binds my muscles and bile burns my throat, the sound of knives on plates a rusty screw to my brain. Horror grips me, cold and familiar. I need out of this room. I need?—
A rough hand grips my thigh.
Mal’s hand.
Under the table.
Hiswarmhand, strong fingers digging into the tight muscle.
Unblinking, I turn my head. He meets my gaze for a split second, but it’s all I need to reanimate. And it shouldn’t be. Idon’t wantit to be. He’s on my mind enough.
But I can’t fight it. I don’t even try. I leave his hand on my leg and load my plate with fish and potatoes. I eat with the soothing burn of his touch seared into my soul right next to his kiss, and I can’t bring myself to regret any of it.
Just this once.