Page 118

Skylar shows me the kit he’s made ready. Oscar’s hands are steady on my bare skin, but despite every atom in my body crying out for him, it isn’t Oscar I need. In the ghostly morning light, I look for my brother.

He’s closer than I thought he was, sitting on a crate while Locke’s still busy with his arm.

I find his gaze and he signs with his free hand: It’s okay. I’m here.

Because he wasn’t on the same damn continent the last time disaster ripped through my life and whether I meant to or not, I’ve punished him for it ever since.

I’m sorry.

I don’t sign that. I don’t say it either, but Folk hears me anyway and it’s him who nods for Skylar to continue. My brother who allows a needle to pierce my skin and flood my bloodstream with something that doesn’t belong. Because he knows I won’t. Because he knows I can’t, and it has nothing to do with pain, though I can’t lie. The anaesthetic injection takes my breath away, and I zone out after that. If I have any thoughts beyond Folk watching Skylar’s every move and Oscar watching me, I don’t remember them. I don’t even try. I let a medic I’ve never met sew me back together and wonder if I’ve shrunk in the past twelve hours or Oscar has grown.

He’s so tall.

So strong, in every way that matters. His cinnamon gaze feels like soaking in a sun-warmed rock pool and I follow the shape of his mouth even though I have no idea what he’s saying. After a while, I forget anyone else is with us, that the distant pulling and tugging below my ribs means anything. It’s just Oscar and me and I realise the only thing I’m missing is Aras.

Oscar loves me.

“All done.” Skylar points to the dressing he’s wrapped around my torso. “It’s showerproof, but don’t stay under too long. And stay hydrated…especially if you’re not going to rest.”

He’ll rest, Folk signs, making sure I can see him.

I flip him the bird.

Oscar makes a sound I feel and I realise I’m leaning on him harder than I mean to.

Oh well.

Skylar and Mal back off and I lose track of them. I think they leave. I know some of the bikers do; I feel the fading roar of their engines beneath my feet. Folk doesn’t go anywhere, though. And not just because he doesn’t want to leave me just yet.

He can’t ride. He’s too tired and hurt, and⁠—

Another vehicle sweeps into the lane.

A hybrid SUV with a faded mermaid sticker in the back window. It eases to an orderly stop, as if whoever’s driving has never hurried anywhere in their life. But the door opens before the car has settled on its suspension and a man blurs across the yard, broad shoulders, dark beard, quiet eyes fixed on one person alone.

My brother-in-law reaches Folk and sets his hands gently on his face, like Oscar’s have been on mine so many times in the past however long.

Hours. Days.

Weeks, maybe.

Relief shimmers in the air around my brother and his husband, obliterating the immovable lines Folk has worn on his face all night while following me into hell. They don’t speak, but they don’t have to. I’ve watched Folk and Seth together for years now. Pure and whole. Like the love I saw between Jack Gallagher and Sol on the beach. Soul-deep affection. Bonds older than time. It’s nice to be around, but it’s never occurred to me to want it for myself.

Until now.

Until Oscar.

I turn my head without thinking.

Oscar is already looking at me, still holding me, still soothing wounds I haven’t noticed yet with unobtrusive comfort and warmth.

Dizziness washes over me.

Oscar takes my weight. “Aš čia. Myliu tave.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You will. Soon. I am going to make sure of it.”