You’re at home.
Right.
Porth Luck.
The Joker.
I own a pub, my brain doesn’t work anymore, and I have a boner hard enough to excavate granite.
Fuck.
Why does this shit always surface when the earth is so angry it batters the windows with enough rain to scuttle the ark? To sink a fishing boat?—
Sol.
Panic grips me. I lurch upright, my best friend’s name on my lips, calling for him before I get a hold of myself and remember he’s not at sea tonight. That he’s home, safe and warm—safe anddry—and asleep next door, in a room that smells of incense and adventure.
A room that smells ofhim.
Thunder rolls again and I slam a hand over my mouth, the dream that woke me slipping away. I drag in a thick breath and try to catch the pieces, but they fade too fast, leaving my scarred grey matter to conjure ghosts from fantasies old and new. Leavingmeto pant in the dark as footsteps sound on the landing.
Sol opens my bedroom door and slips inside, padding across the room and sinking to a crouch where I’m hunched over, skin slick with cooling sweat, breathing as if I’ve run a fucking marathon.
He doesn’t say anything. Just finds me in the dark, takes my hand, and rubs my shoulder, and his touch…
I can’t remember if I’ve ever had the words to describe what it does to me. I don’t have them now. All I am is yearning for something I’m not sure is real, and regret I woke him up. “Sorry.”
“Shh.” Sol moves a little closer, rich-brown curls falling into his face. “It’s rowdy out there, Jackie. Made me jump too.”
Bet it didn’t. Sol loves storms. He’d dance in them all night if the rest of us weren’t scared the lightning might strike him. Sometimes I wonder if he was a god in another life. If the power he has over me was something far greater before I ever knew him. Most times, though, I can only cling to him as if he’s a life raft. Stare at him with blank space between my ears. And as louder thunder batters the sky, that’s what happens now.
I stare.
He smiles, eyes gleaming in the dark. Work-hardened hands so warm on my skin.So fucking hot?—
Whoa.
Misfired desire throbs through me again. I shift onto my stomach, hiding my face in my pillow, praying Sol thinks I’ve passed out without explaining why I’m shouting his name in the middle of the night. Praying he stays anyway.
Please stay.
The bed dips with his weight, graceful—careful—as he stretches out beside me. His hand eases down my bare arm, slow and steady over my tense muscles, smoothing the chaos from my pulse with each pass.
Outside, the storm rages on.
In my cracked heart, it peters out enough that the live-wire trembling in my body meanders, rolling out to sea, leaving me with a shiver in my bones that latches onto Sol’s even breaths. We sync, but I need more, and I roll onto my side, knowing he’ll curve his slimmer frame around me while I’m still shaking. That he’ll stay long after I stop.
Sol hears me.
His chest moulds to my spine.
In the dark, he hums something wordless and old, finding the tune with absent ease as he reaches round my broader frame to find my wrist, thumb stroking my pulse point. The touch settles me like an anchor sinking deep into the sea bed. Reminds me I’m alive, my body knowing I’m safe before my shadowed brain catches up.
A shuddering exhale leaves my lungs. I tip my head back, lolling it onto his shoulder.
He kisses my temple, platonic and soothing. “Sleep, love. I have you. You’re home.”
Home.