My friend who smiles as Mal slopes back into the kitchen and kisses the top of his head. “Sorry.”
Skylar waves the apology away.
Mal nuzzles him again. Then turns his attention to me. “I don’t know why Cam came looking for Sol this morning, but if I was going to guess, I’d say it was because he thought it was Dav who nicked the copper.”
The clicking in my brain turns into a shunt, but not the kind that knocks me sideways. The kind that blows the cobwebs out, clearing the woods from the trees. “Fuck. You think he did?”
I say that to the whole room and Skylar’s snort is answer enough.
At least, it should be. But as Mal drums his fingers on the table, ruminating and saying nothing, it pisses me off.
I shove my chair back and stomp downstairs, returning to the bar to work the rest of the night, thankful the stormy weather dies down, leaving eerie calm in its wake.
The Joker is closed when bike noise in the distance lets me know the Rebel Kings are changing the guard. I walk Fiadh along the beach until I find one I don’t mind talking to.
Folk, naturally. He’s still here.
I climb the driftwood steps to where he stands, a phone pressed to his ear, a soft smile on his face.
Fiadh knows him. She ignores the respectful distance I keep and trots right up to him.
Folk crouches, scratching her ears. He murmurs something into the phone and ends the call. “You all right, Jack?”
As ever, Whitlock’s mellow voice reminds me of something, but I don’t know what. I should answer him, but I find myself thinking harder than I ever have about what I know about him.
He’s a soldier.
Least he was, and he’s around my age.
He’s not Regiment, though. He’s a Swimmer. SBS. Like other men Idoremember.
“Did we serve together?”
Folk looks up, no surprise in his gaze…or is there? I’m not as good at reading people as I used to be. “Where’s Sol?”
“At sea.”
“Mal?”
“Asleep.”
Folk rises and glances over his shoulder, making eye contact with a biker almost too pretty to look at. I know his name, I think. But I don’t care enough to sift through my brain to find it. I zone out as he tips Folk a nod, and Folk brings Fiadh back to me at the top of the driftwood steps. “I’ll walk with you.”
Back to the Joker, apparently, but I don’t mind that. It’s late, and though my body has been humming with excess energy since last night, I know it won’t last.
We descend the steps to the damp and rippled sand. Fiadh has a red light on her collar so I let her flit ahead.
Whitlock ambles beside me, zipping his coat to the chill in the air. I feel like he might light a smoke, but he doesn’t, and that feels right too.
So right, and yet I’m compelled to ask. “Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“And you don’t drink.”
Not a question, but he shakes his head anyway. “Not anymore.”
Right. We’ve talked about that, and I don’t know why I’m giving this bloke so much headspace when I’m so fucked up over my best friend. All I can think about is how good Sol’s hand felt on my dick and it’s wrong. If his dad did rob the Rebel Kings, Sol will blame himself. Sell a kidney to make it right. Heneedsme—to be his friend, not the lurker who can’t stop wondering howhisdick would feel inmyhand. Hot in my palm. Heavy?—