Nash was up again, feet planted on the floor.
I reached over Orla and rubbed his back. “I’m right here, brother.”
“No. Fuck. Locke.”
Nash surged to his feet, an urgency in his clumsy movements that hadn’t been there before, raw fear lacing his gruff voice.
He lurched to the door.
I sprang out of bed and intercepted him a heartbeat before he fuckin’ hurt himself.
“Locke.”
“I’m here.”
“Locke.”
“Shh.” I hugged him close. “It’s okay.”
Clearly, it wasn’t, and as I drew him into an embrace as tight as the one we’d abandoned to join Orla in bed, the only clear thought in my weary head was perhaps I should’ve let him play his damn guitar instead of blowing him into a coma.
* * *
“Fucking idiot.” Orla jammed the sales desk phone back into the cradle. “Who left the gate open?”
I shot her a wary glance from my position at the door. “What gate?”
“The one to dickhead farm.”
She pushed her chair back and stomped to the shelves behind her.
I let her go, darting my attention between her and the busy car park, giving her space. I’d survived the mood swings she suffered at this point in her cycle before, but now I knew about the endo, I had brand-new respect for her resilience.
And for Decoy who was hiding out the back, keeping his head down while cutting and packing a mammoth timber order.
Nash was on the roof. I saw him from where I stood, leaning against the air stack, smoking while Alexei talked, and Saint fed the birds. Couldn’t see Folk, but I presumed he was up there with Lida. He’d collected her at arse o’clock this morning to walk her on the beach and spend some time Folking her personality.
Her reward was apparently church for the dark side.How the fuck did she get on the roof?
Orla came back to the desk. “Sorry about me.”
“Not necessary, queenie.”
“It is.”
Her tone left no room for argument, so I didn’t try. Instead, I leaned against the wall and let my gaze linger on her. Despite sleeping through Nash’s shenanigans, she looked as tired as I felt. “Need anything, Orls?”
Orla’s red lips curved in a smile. “You don’t call me that.”
“Maybe I should.”
“Because you love me?”
“What do you think?”
Decoy braved the desk before she could answer, a stack of paperwork in his capable hands. Business that needed the boss lady’s attention. I left them to it and went back to scanning the car park. Vans came and went. Tradesmen. Harassed husbands who’d left that DIY job so long they were getting a coating down the phone with every step.
They had to pass me to get in, and I scrutinised every soul that crossed the threshold with a tougher gaze than usual. Maybe I was grumpy too.
