“Yeah, Jack, I did. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you we knew each other. I didn’t know if forcing that memory on you was a good idea.”
“So, if I hadn’t asked, you wouldn’t have told me?”
“Probably not.”
Folk has an honest face. A moral one, too. I accept his answer and leave him at the sea wall.
I take Fiadh back inside and I don’t look back to see what he does, even if I feel like I should. Can’t, because whatever I’ve learned tonight, about myself and about Folk Whitlock, none of it matters to me more than Sol. He fills my every thought as I poke at the alarm system and climb the stairs to the flat. As I slip through the front door to find Skylar waiting up while Mal remains asleep on the couch where I left him, wrung out by a day I did nothing to make shorter and easier for him.
That’s not true, Jackie.
Regardless, Skylar’s waiting on me, I realise. So Mal doesn’t have to. Because Sol isn’t here. Because Sol does anything and everything for everyone else before he ever gets to himself.
Which is why what I’m about to do is so fucking selfish. “Can I use your phone?”
Tired, Skylar hands it over without asking me why. He knows why, and the thread he keeps for me on some app I’ve forgotten the name of is already open from the last time I sent Sol a message in the middle of the night.
I have to be quick. Before my brain reacts to the phone screen. Or before I think it might and angst myself into making it real. Squinting, I type, and hit send without second guessing my words. Without second-guessing the truth. “Thanks,” I tell Skylar. “Now go to bed, and take that fecking reprobate with you.”
Skylar grins and lets me hug him. Then I give him space to wake my brother—he’ll call me back if Mal needs me. I go to my room with Fiadh and shut the door.
It’s late.
I need to sleep. And I will. But I allow myself a few minutes to brood. To push Mal and Folk Whitlock to the edges and let my brain settle on Sol the way it wants to. The way itneedsto. I clearthe map and wrestle the facts of the day into some kind of order. Strip it down to the mental bullet points Ican’tfucking forget, and a couple things stand out, carved into my questionable grey matter with indelible ink.
One: My best friend is bleeding himself dry to fix shit he didn’t break, a cycle he’s drowned in before. Two: I’m not the same man I was yesterday. Because he put his hand on me—because Iaskedhim to, and those two truths…they burn a hole in me.
Sol’s sinking.
I’m waking up.
And yet eventually, I fall asleep, but I wake early, shower and brush my teeth. Then I go back to bed and lie in the quiet, knowing he’s not home yet, straining my senses for any sound or sign of that changing.
It’s still dark, sometime later, when I hear his heavy tread on the stairs, his key in the lock, and his gut-wrenching sigh as he trudges over the threshold.
Sol’s exhaustion brings me to life.
I don’t hesitate. I roll out of bed and blow out of my room without checking my balance, and for once, I get lucky. My equilibrium holds and I reach Sol without staggering or tripping over my own feet.
He’s wet through, of course. Damp clothes, messy hair, shadows under his beautiful eyes as he blinks in surprise as I steam up on him at the front door.
He smells of the ocean and the incense smoke that clings to his clothes no matter how much salt water gets into them.
He smells of home and I’m so glad he finally is that I narrow the distance between us without a second thought. Press my chest to his and take his face in my hands.
There are so many things I need to say to him. So many words. So many thoughts and feelings that need unravelling.
But I don’t say any of them. I don’t say anything. Instead I take a breath, let my heart run free.
And I kiss my best friend.
12SOL
I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.
The stark text message landed a few hours ago. FromSkylar’sphone. And I thought it was a dream then. A fatigue-induced hallucination typed with Jack’s careful thumbs.
Now, as I reel from the impact of Jack’s broader frame hitting me, and the head-spinning sensation of his lips claiming mine, I’m more convinced it’s the Devil’s cruellest trick. That any minute now I’m going to wake up on the rain-soaked deck with an empty can in my hand and seaweed stuck to my face, drifting on the ocean with a hangover and broken heart. Because this?