“Not joking.” Mal swipes my untouched beer and takes a careful swig. A small one. Like Jack, he can’t really drink anymore, and I know he misses it. Hell, I would. Enough that I wrestle my ale right back and tip half of it down the hatch as he sets up his second shot. “What’s going on with you and my brother?”
Golden ale curdles in my stomach.
I set the glass down and try not to squirm under Mal’s merciless scrutiny. “Nothing’s going on.”
“So why’s he stomping around and slamming every door that gets in his way?”
“Maybe so you hear him coming and stop fucking on the couch.”
It’s a low blow, and it gets me nowhere. Mal just stares, waiting me out while I down the rest of my beer and stifle the choking sensation in my throat. In myheart. “I think Jack needs some space from me,” I say eventually.
Mal arches a brow. “Why would you think something so fucking stupid?”
“It’s not stupid. He never gets a break from me. Maybe he needs one.”
“Aye, dead-on. That’s exactly what he needs.”
Mal’s tone is drier than the Sahara Desert. I slide my gaze away from him. Tip it to a ceiling covered in a thousand beer mats and resist the urge to drop my head to the sticky table.
“When did you last sleep?”
With a sigh, I face my interrogator again. “You’reasking me that?”
“It’s a fair question.”
“Based on what?”
“The state of your face.” Mal palms my empty glass and stands. He goes to the bar and thunks it down. Comes back with a pint of water and an expression I know means trouble. “What’s going on?”
“I told you. Nothing.”
“I’m not talking about whatever mess you and Jack have made between yourselves.”
“What are you talking about then?”
“I don’t know yet. But you know you can tell me anything, don’t you? If you’re getting shit from other boats like you were over the summer?—”
“It’s not that, I swear.” Gods, no. Petrol bombs and flare guns fill my mind. Fire, smoke, and pain. “Stand down, soldier, it’s nothing like that.”
“So there is something?”
“You know there is. But it’s nothing you can help me with, Mally. All you can do is keep it to yourself, eh? I don’t need Jack and Skylar worrying about me.”
“Should they be worried?”
“No.”
Mal’s unconvinced. But he’s too antsy to stay much longer. Eventually, he reminds me of the bald tyres on the car I can’t bring myself to scrap and leaves me in the Sea Bell.
I drink two more stale pints before I trudge back home. By then, it’s afternoon and the sky is losing light. My dad is gone and Skylar’s at work. No idea where Mal’s wound up, and I don’t spare it much thought. Can’t as I spot Jack standing alone in the beer garden, facing the murky setting sun, and every thought I’ve ever had withers at the sight of him.
Tall.
Strong.
Dark beard covering the jaw I’ve been obsessed with since he grew into it when we were fifteen.
Jack’s green eyes search the horizon for something.