“You already opened. Go home.” I claim the parcels. “I’ll text Mal to come and get these.”
“You do not have your phone.”
“How’d you know that?” I pat my pockets, and sure enough, they’re empty. Didn’t even bring keys, though none of that negates the fact that whatever mood Mal’s in, he’s unlikely to read any texts that aren’t from Skylar.
I fire a rare glare at Oscar. “What else have I forgotten?”
“Clothes.”
“I’m dressed.” It’s a sad fact that I have to glance down to be sure. But even if the threadbare tee I dragged on over my oldest jeans technically constitute clothes, can’t deny I’m cold to the bone now the barbecue has simmered down. No coat. No hat. Gods, where was my head this morning?
As if I don’t know.
As ifOscardoesn’t somehow know.
He shakes his head and peels off the thick sweatshirt he’s wearing. Like him, it’s massive. But it’s warm with his body heat and it smells good, musky and masculine. So I take it and pull it on, instantly comforted by the next best thing to a patented Kuznatov cuddle. “Thanks. I’ll drop it off later.”
“Sol, I am not going anywhere.”
Neither am I today, metaphorically or otherwise, and irrational annoyance flares in my veins, merging with the dread I woke up with. A scratchy, flayed feeling that won’t quit until I look Jack in the eye andknownothing between us has changed.
Except it has.
Of course it has.
And that’s the reality that keeps those cold flashes searing my lungs. We’ve lost whole eras of our lives already. Relearned each other like the rocks after an obliterating storm. I don’t know if I have it in me for another seismic shift. Another turn of the tide. I don’t know if I’ll survive losing him all over again.
But I can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. Can’t pretend guiding him through something so vulnerable and intimate won’t ricochet even if it’s so subtle we can’t define it. Whatever this is, it’s not going to fit the shape of us, old or new, and I don’t know where that leaves us. Where that leavesme, beyond dismantling the pop-up while I send Oscar inside with Jack and Mal’s breakfast, still un-caffeinated and cold, despite Oscar’s best efforts to warm me up.
It’s how I know the chill in my bones has nothing to do with the mean gale blowing in from the water. How I know it’s fear-fuelled and coming from inside, and by every sea god my nan ever warned me about, it’s been a while since I felt this unhinged and frantic over fate.
What did you think was going to happen?
That beauty swamps me as Oscar comes back and hits me with more intuitive concern. “You paid me too much last week.”
“Did I?”
“Taip, Sol. You did.”
Taip.Yes.About all the Lithuanian I know. But I can’t have this conversation with Oscar. Not again. I overpay him because I live in fear of the day I can’t pay him at all, and I’m already afraid of too many things today.
Lucky for me, though Oscar’s immovable when he wants to be, he’s not one for pointless arguments. At my silence, he shakes his head, and we stow our pop-up pitch for another day. Then he leaves me with his jumper before he goes home to get some sleep before we sail out tonight on another crab run.
I should do the same.
But I don’t love daylight naps. Not lonely ones, anyway. I’ve seen Mal wake up wrong from enough of them to put me off for life. And so I don’t go inside. I go to theSironainstead and check we have enough fuel for the run. Enough snacks onboard for Oscar. Enough beer to make being away from home less painful forme.
I don’t check the engine block. Not at first, anyway. I skim the belts, the coolant lines and pretend I don’t feel the pull towards the ever-expanding hairline crack with my stomach eating itself alive. But with Oscar onboard tonight, I can’t avoid it forever, and…
There it is.
Spidering wide enough that I won’t be able to hide it much longer. I run my thumb over the sealant I slapped on a few days ago. It’s holding—it’ll hold tonight, but it’s still borrowed time on a broken clock, and stress upon stress stacks on top of me. I have so much to worry about that I wind up feeling not much at all, and I hate that. My soul is singing the wrong song and it makes my heart ache, and makes me long for Jack enough to consider going inside and facing the music.
But I feel him before I make the decision to seek him out, everywhere from the tips of my cold toes to my tingling scalp. Feel him in the skip in my pulse and the zip in my blood, and in the frigid knot of doom unspooling in my gut.
Yet still I turn to face him.
Still let my gaze search every inch of land around me until I see him on the garden stepslooking for me, like he always does if I’m gone too long. I wonder if he knows how many times I’ve looked for him in dark swells and stormy skies. How many times I’ve prayed to Mother Nature for any sign that my best friend is still alive. I wonder if he knows how much his trust last night meant to me.