Stupid thoughts.
Dangerous.
Fantasies that’ll eat me alive if I let them.
But Jack’s so solid and warm beside me, his hand on my throat so sure, that I let myself have these stolen moments before reality kicks me in the gut. Before I remember that tomorrow he might hate me. I let myself believe he’s touching me because he chose to. That maybe, somewhere in the fragments of his broken memory and all that he’s lost…he remembers this.
He remembersus.
I think I won’t sleep, but eventually, I do. And I sleep as hard as Jack does, blinking awake sometime later with dismantling dread in my lungs.
Jack’s still asleep. Still holding my throat. Andgods, I like it. I love it. And it scares me enough I go back to sleep to evade it.
I’m alone in Jack’s bed when I wake up again and I can’t recall a time that’s ever happened before—not in this life.Because you’re only supposed to stay with him when he’s not well.I’m not supposed to put my hands on his dick then sleep through him waking up to what we did last night?—
No.
Panic tears me apart, loud and urgent, rolling me from the bed and out of the room before I’ve found my footing.
I stumble into the hallway, Jack’s name on my lips. But I hear him before I can let it fly, and my feet carry me to the living room on instinct more than a conscious decision. To where Jack and Mal are bent over the chessboard, Jack’s broad shoulders obscuring his face, a shaft of hazy winter light limning Mal’s.
Eyes red.
Jaw too tight.
Hands trembling as he reaches for a pawn.
Damn. I catch myself in the doorway, shoving the anxiety clawing at me back where it came from. And, familiar with Mal’s brand of combat-induced PTSD, I retreat as if I was never there at all. I love Mally like he’s my own brother, but he’s not, andwhen he’s like this, he needs the real deal. He needs Jack, more than he even needs Skylar, more thanIneed Jack, and maybe even more than I need a decent cup of coffee.
It’s a lot ofneedto consider.
I retrace my steps and retrieve my phone, wincing at the time. I used to be a sod for oversleeping. Then Jack got hurt and I stopped sleeping much at all. But whatever I did in Jack’s bed last night, it’s made me late and I barely have time for a shower before I have to leave Mal and Jack to their ghosts to run a breakfast pop-up with Oscar to clear our excess mackerel stock and put some cash back in the business.
And flipping heck, it’s cold this morning. At sea, I don’t notice it so much. On land, the wind has me pulling my t-shirt over my face as I exit the Joker and jog to where Oscar—who’s never late to anything ever—is already set up and grilling fish on a barbecue made from oil drums we pulled from the ocean.
A queue builds in front of him, threading along the sea wall. I’m not convinced it’s entirely for the fish sandwiches we make with mackerel fillets, pickled onions, and Oscar’s homemade horseradish sauce. Or even the bacon-lacedSironaspecial Jack prefers. Oscar’s so handsome it hurts to look at him, and I’d be in all kinds of trouble if I didn’t yearn for Jack with every breath I take.
“Sorry.” I weave around a couple of locals and take my place at the grill, leaving the peopling to him. “Overslept.”
Oscar side-eyes me with his cinnamon gaze. “Something happened with Jack?”
“Jack’s fine.”
I think. I hope. I pray to any god listening.
“Is not what I asked, my friend.” Oscar releases me from his snare to handle a transaction. Five quid a pop on these breakfast rolls. Tell me again why I spend so much time getting clobberedfor peanuts when I could be doing this with some other mug’s catch?
Because you’re a sea-rotted fool.
Or something. I don’t mind cooking, though. Even with the wind playing havoc with the flames. It keeps me occupied for an hour or so before the rush dies down and I make breakfast for my people. Oscar. Mal. Jack. Not Skylar, he was gone before I woke up. And not myself. I forget until Oscar slaps another fillet on the grill.
“You are okay, Sol?”
“Yeah, just need my coffee, eh?”
I need more than coffee. Regardless, I don’t get the chance for anything before the rush picks up again, leaving the foil wrapped parcels for Jack and Mal to haunt me until we sell out and it’s time to shut up shop.
“Take these inside.” Oscar thrusts the parcels at me. “I will close down.”