I almost smile, though there’s fuck all humour in it. The only gems in this shithole I remember are the ones robbed from tourists by the rabble who live down the beach, constantly on the run from the biker gangs who own the town, and whatever’s changed about this place, I doubt that has.
The road feels the same too, like it’s taking me to the end of the fucking world as I follow it down the narrow streets framed by crooked buildings with tiny windows built for the same witches my nan warned me about when my dad upped sticks and dumped us here.
“A place for ghouls and ghosts. Mark my words, lad.”
Aye, Nan. It’s been nineteen long fucking years, but here I am doing just that as the air turns briny, and the houses more salt-worn the closer I get to the endless ocean beyond the harbour. In the near distance, it crashes against the shore like the land owes it money, and it’s always been that way here. Anger and discontent flow in the veins of this town and I’m too pissed off and weary to realise the problem might be me.
It’s always been you.
For the first time in a while, the voice in my head is my own, and it’s bitter. Consuming. The twinkling beauty of Porth Luck carved into the cliffs is lost on me, and I don’t see the charm of helter-skelter streets I once ran barefoot, chasing Jack and Sol. I don’t recall the laughter, the freedom of being faster than Sev, too young and too small to keep up with me, or the fraternal love we all shared. I reach the harbour and the only affinity I feel is with the boats tethered to the sea wall. I’m trapped—caged—and my hand moves to my chest to rub the false pain there, the pain that cost me my best friend.
Wasn’t false, mate. I saw it.
Vinnie’s voice echoes in my head. I force it away, gritting my teeth as I pass benches heavy with rough sleepers, new flats where a motorcycle garage used to be, and the Luckstable Ciderbrewery older than the cobblestone pavements. I let my mind default to my new favourite avoidance technique, which isn’t as far from my last conversation with Vinnie as I need it to be. Let it wander to a moody bar in a shithole pub, sticky wood and stale beer, and the face of a beautiful stranger so fucking haunted I was scared to blink in his presence.
My brother’s housemate.
Skylar.
It’s not lost on me that I know his name because we didn’t hook-up. That if we had, I’d have likely never seen him again. It’s how I prefer it—I told Vin it made me happy. But it’s been three days, and despite knowing I’ll have to face the music for however long I need to convince my brother I survived death and mayhem in the desert, the thought of what might’ve been doesn’t sit right.
I should be mourning the loss of a banging fuck. Instead I’m twisted up over the thought of that face,Skylar’sface, being nothing but a faded memory. Fuck, I can still feel his fingers curled into my t-shirt. Hear that sharp breath as the hardness in his jeans collided with mine. I haven’t slept much, but when I have I’ve seen his lips part as I leaned in to kiss him, and I’ve found an odd fucking comfort in knowing he wanted it as much I did.
Should’ve kissed him quicker.
Should’ve saidfuck itand banged him anyway.
Even though my conscience says different. I don’t know Skylar Buchanan beyond his lost stare and sinful lips, but I fuckingknowhe means something to my brother.
Don’t shag about where you sleep.
Cheers, Vin.
Too bad he’s right enough that I almost smirk until a different kind of salt hits my senses. I snap out of my latest daze, a new habit Vinnie would kill himself laughing at, to find myselfface-to-face with the closed chip shop. It brings me a heartbeat away from my destination, and my footsteps slow of their own accord. Theydrag, a sensation I’m not used to. I plough through life, hitting it full throttle, no stopping, no regrets. But this place, man. It’s going to take more than a hot housemate I can’t fuck to make this okay.
Skylar.Skylar. Skylar.
Just like that, he’s on my mind again. Like he has been ever since I noticed him in that bar, brooding in the corner, his hood hiding most of his face until it wasn’t and I got my first look at him.
Pewter grey eyes. Hair dark at the roots and blond at the ends. More ink than bare skin and a brittle northern accent that nearly sent me to my fucking knees.
I blow out a breath, closing my eyes to a vicious whip of wind, pretending it’s clouds screaming past me, the only rush capable of blocking out even Skylar’s ethereal face and the enormity of where I am right now. My pulse thunders, but for this fleeting moment, it doesn’t scare me. I’m not here, my best friend didn’t die, and the lump of flesh in my chest isn’t broken.
Definitely broken.My heart gives a scraped thump for emphasis, and the pill bottle in my pocket weighs me down. I pull it out and swallow a dose, muscles bunched to hurl the rest in the fucking sea. But I don’t. I’ve already promised Moth I won’t and he’s annoying—and diligent—enough to leave wherever he’s spending this fucked-up period of our lives to check.
You’re stalling.
I am. And I hate it. I think of Skylar again when I should be thinking of my brother, ofVinnieand the wife he’s left behind, tugging my hands through my hair as I force my feet into motion, the town square to my right, the ocean to my left, one building ahead before the sea wall ends.
Thinking of Skylar, it’s a bad idea, nuanced with enigma and a raw feeling I don’t want to contemplate, but I can’t seem to stop. We barely touched, but I can smell him on my skin. Taste the kiss we never shared. And what the fuck is up with that? I never think about anyone like I’ve thought about Skylar since that night andnothing even happened.
My soul seems to laugh at me as that beaut of a thought finds purchase, but I’m out of time to wonder why. I’m literally out of road. Concrete turns sandy and I’m in the yard of a pub I thought I’ve never see again. A pub, for better or worse, I fuckingown.
A quarter of it, anyway.
Fuck. I’d forgotten about that, another trait that’s new to me, details that matter falling out of my head, and somehow the fact that Skylar is as much my business partner as my new housemate has eluded me until now. When I’m about to walk into his home like it’s normal for me to be there. Like I want to be there when I really fucking don’t.
Resentment burns through me. In my head, I punch a hole in my chest and tear out the malfunctioning organ. Toss it in the sea and find a new one…
