Mal squeezes my fingers. “Not about you. Not aboutthis. No one talks about it.”
I should be relieved, but the truth is it’d be easier if Jack or Sol had this conversation for me. Or if they’d never met me and Mal never knew my name.
The protein bar wrappers lie on the grass by Mal’s shoulder.
I can’t look at them.
Or him.
I sit up and drag my bag towards me, fishing out the iPad and my phone. “We need to pay that tax bill.”
Mal skates his palm down my spine, just once. Then he sits up too and takes the iPad from me. “Ineed to pay it. Said I would.”
“You have eleven grand lying around?”
“How do you know it’s eleven grand?”
“I heard Sev shouting about it from the car park.”
Mal frowns. “I was closer. I didn’t hear that.”
“You were upside-down.”
“Aye, but—fuck it. Never mind.” He pokes at the iPad, frown deepening. “How do you work this thing?”
I reclaim it, and navigate the apps, trusting Sev has left everything we need. I’m still not sure Mal has the money we need to pay the outstanding bill, but whatever he’s pushed aside to glare at the iPad screen feels more important. “Are you getting much sleep these days?”
Mal cocks a brow, fingers tapping the grass. “More than you, I’d reckon.”
In the last twenty-four hours, maybe. But it’s not really what I’m asking. “What about the rest of it?”
“You wanna be a little clearer?”
“If you like.” I shrug and open the HMRC app, clicking through to the screen that shows the outstanding amount owed by Joker Brothers Ltd.“I’m asking how your head is doing. Your life just went through some big changes, and brains get bruised as much as the rest of us.”
“You can save your concern for Jack’s brain.”
“Jack’s brain is healed as much as it’s ever going to.”
“Aye, well. We all have our broken parts, Sky.”
Sky.I’ve punched people for calling me that, but it’s the second time the nickname has fallen so casually from Mal’s lips, and I like the feeling it leaves in its wake. I don’t like the absent haze in Mal’s eyes, though. I’ve put it there, and maybe it’s the other side of the push and pull that defines us, but I want him back.
I miss him.
The iPad needs a data toggle before I can go any further. I connect it to my phone, deleting the calls from Cam O’Brian. For the first time in a while, I don’t sense Mal’s gaze on me. I glance up to find he’s lying down again, eyes closed behind the arm he’s thrown over them.
It’s how he sleeps when he passes out on the couch, but he’s not asleep now.
I set the iPad aside and block the sun as I ease his arm away.
His eyes are tight, reddened from whatever emotion he’s battling, but he’s still so fucking gorgeous I can hardly stand to look at him.
I can’tstoplooking at him. “I’m sorry too.”
Mal smiles without humour. “It’s okay, I probably deserve it.”
“Which part? The PTSD symptoms or me being nosy about it?”