“I need to piss.”
Jack mumbles that against my skin. Then he raises his head, staring down at me for a split second before he levers himself from the couch. Slowly. Checking his balance, and he’s good. I see it before he does, but I keep quiet, letting him come to terms with his own equilibrium.
“Where’s Fiadh?”
“Right there.”
I point to the other couch, where the silver lurcher remains curled in her nest of cushions, watching him with wise eyes, asking for nothing in return. She’s such a good dog. A little knocker if ever I saw one, though she’s more heart than mischief.
Jack scratches her ears.
Then he sets off for the bathroom, and I follow at a distance, giving him space, keeping him safe, fatigue dragging my limbs as I contemplate the state of the pub downstairs.
I figure it’ll be the first thing on Jack’s mind too, but he exits the bathroom and takes my hand, leading me back to the couch.
“Sit down.”
I duly obey.
Ieasilyobey.
And I wait while Jack goes to the kitchen and brews coffee. Cooks bacon and tomatoes and brings it back to me with slicesof the wheaten bread Mal brings home every time we send him shopping. Which isn’t all that often. No one deserves that, least of all him.
The bread, though. I like it. It’s sweet and wholesome, and it settles Jack in ways that tell me it must be something his mam used to feed them in Killinchy.
Makes me think ofmymum. I need to see her. Need to look into her foolish eyes and know for sure she has no idea what my dad has been up to. That she hasn’t kept this from meagain. But all that—it jumbles in my head and falls out as Jack finishes his breakfast and sinks back on the couch, his big arm stretching along the back of it as if he means to cocoon me in his warmth. To shield me from the sharp, wintery air that has me worried Mal and Skylar will wake up cold.
Heh.
They can generate their own heat. And I’m jealous. I don’t want to be, but gods, I am.
“Sol?”
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
I pry my gaze from my lap and ditch my half-finished plate on the coffee table, next to the chessboard and the game we’ve been playing for the past month. Jack’s winning. Truth is, I’m not much good at chess, but I love playing with Jack. Love watching him spin the cogs in his brain and believe them.
“When did you last fuck someone?”
I choke on the decaf abomination Jack’s brought me in his favourite chipped mug. “Why are you asking me that?”
Jack picks up my plate and towers over me, by coincidence, perhaps, but his gaze feels severe. “Because I want to know.”
He leaves me with that and goes to the kitchen. Clears the breakfast dishes and comes back drying his hands so casually Ihave no idea what era of our lives I’ve woken up to. “You used to hook up all the time.”
“When I was young and dumb.”
“You’re still young.”
“We’re the same age, Jackie. Last time I checked, you were on a permanent dry spell too. So is Oscar. Maybe you should ask Skylar why he bed-hopped every night until he met your brother.”
“Skylar fell in love with my brother. And Oscar lost his shit when he knocked up the girl from the ice cream stand. None of those things have happened to you.”
I’m not in love with Mal, it’s true. And to the best of my knowledge, I’ve never got anyone pregnant. Jack speaks pure facts. And they’re inconvenient. “What makes you think I’m wanting for sex?”
Jack folds the tea towel he’s holding into a neat square and lays it on the arm on the sofa. “You’re not having any.”