Fuck. I almost stumble.
Folk steadies me as we near the Joker, but he seems deep in thought and clarity hits me, as it sometimes does, so absolutely that for a few sacred moments, I know this is how I used to be.
“I knew you, didn’t I?”
Folk slows, coming to a stop at the end of the sea wall before we reach the land that belongs to the Joker—tous. Me. Sol. Skylar and Mal. He turns to lean against it and his assessing stare sweeps over me. A soldier’sstare, and he reminds me of Mal and every man I ever went to war with. Men who are and were nothing like Sol.
Don’t know how you do it, Jackie. I’d die before I touched a gun.
“We met about a year before you took that mortar hit,” Folk says suddenly. At least, it feels sudden to me. “Spent six months embedded around the same place near Al Tanf. You didn’t like your 2 i/c, so you’d roll past me most days.”
2 i/c.Second in command. I don’t remember who Whitlock’s talking about, but I feel the truth in it. And I know I was close to Al Tanf when I got hurt.
Folk, though. I gaze at him under the night sky and there’s nothing but empty space in my head. I don’t fucking remember him. “What did we talk about?”
“Your brother. Your best friend.” Easy mirth warms Folk’s face. “You were worried about Mal and you missed Sol—you talked about him so much you didn’t notice I was chatting you up.”
“Probably wouldn’t’ve noticed anyway. I don’t…”I don’t swing that way. But my voice dies in my throat as my brain catches up with my mouth, because it’s clearly not true. Folk Whitlock does nothing for me. Neither does Cam O’Brian, Oscar, or any other objectively good-looking bloke I’ve ever been around.
But Sol’s a man. He’s always been a man. And I’ve always thought of him before anything and anyone else.
My eyes drift to the water. Black and endless, no boat lights on the horizon, because only Sol has the stones to go out all night in the winter, because he’s had to fight harder than everyone else to scratch a living from his heritage.
I turn back to Folk. “Did Sol’s dad rob the copper from your sites?”
The subject shift doesn’t feel abrupt to me. It makes sense that I knew Folk before. Something settles in me at the knowledge, something small but significant, as if it’s the first rung of a ladder. But as important as it felt to ask him tonight, I can’t spare it any more thought.
Folk doesn’t seem to mind. His humour fades and he heaves a quiet sigh. “Yes. And it was probably my fault.”
“How’s that?”
“You said it was vulnerable. That someone who needed it more would take it. I was okay with that and I shouldn’t have been—I should’ve seen the bigger picture.”
Fiadh comes to me and raises up on her delicate hind legs to paw at my stomach. She’s had enough, she wants to go in.
Folk is still leaning against the sea wall. I wonder if he’s had enough too, but there’s a steadiness to him that can’t be faked. It’s easy to reimagine him as a leader in the field. As a mentor to my kid brother when I can’t manage it myself.
“Mal had a bad day.” Another subject change that probably comes from nowhere.
Folk nods. “I know. Sol told me.”
“When did you speak to Sol?”
“A few hours ago.”
I frown. “How?”
“Message.” Folk digs a phone out of his pocket and activates the screen.
I back away from the device, more because I don’t want to see my brother’s PTSD illuminated in nasty blue light than anything else. But Folk reacts quicker than I’m aware of my own feet and shuts it down.
“I’ll check in with Mal tomorrow. But he knows he can reach me anytime.”
“Thank you.”
Folk pockets the phone and glances at the Joker behind me. “It’s nothing. I’d have been there for Mal even if he wasn’t your brother.”
“Did you know it was me when I reached out to you?”