Chapter 3: The Morning After
Sunlight came through the window in a way that made the grime look deliberate, a yellow smear on the wall above his head. Tommy lay still and took stock. Right shoulder ached from sleeping on it, low back ached in a way that had nothing to do with sleeping, and the sheet sat twisted at his hips, nowhere near his chest. He was naked under it. The room smelled of Mark: sweat, cedar soap, a ghost of tobacco.
Past the door, coffee. Bacon too, hot and sharp. His stomach turned over at the smell, half hunger and half something closer to nerves.
He sat up. The room was small enough that sitting up felt like standing, walls close on three sides, gym bag jammed in the corner, dumbbells stacked by the wardrobe. A poster of a boxer he didn't recognize, edges curling.
His jeans were on the floor, inside out. Flannel crumpled beside them. He pulled it all on sitting down, one leg at a time, and listened. A woman's voice, then a pan knocking the stove. Laughter.
He stood, sighed, and started barefoot down the hall, past the bedroom with a still-closed door, and into the kitchen and the morning light.
The window over the sink caught the morning full on. It made everything look warmer than it was.The kitchen was a wreck in a lived-in way. Dishes drying on a towel, a phone charger snaking across the counter, a stack of mail unopened.
Kayla stood at the stove in a long T-shirt and nothing else he could see. Hair was tied up loose and she was flipping bacon with a fork. She didn't turn around.
"Morning," Tommy said.
"Morning," she said brightly. "You want coffee?"
"Coffee. Yes."
She pointed the fork at a cupboard without looking. He opened the cabinet door, found a mug, poured himself a cup. He burned his mouth on the first sip and almost dropped the cup.
"You're the beach guy," Kayla said, sliding bacon onto a plate beside the stove.
"I am."
"Mark never brings anybody home." She said it easily, like she was reading a weather report. Then she did turn, and there it was, the grin, one eyebrow up, and Tommy felt his ears go hot. He looked into his coffee.
"It's okay," she said, and turned back to the pan. "You're cute."
After a few minutes, Mark came in, his hair wet, his chest bare, jeans hanging low and a towel around his neck. He'd showered.
Tommy needed to, he realized.
Mark crossed to the stove, dropped a kiss on the top of his sister's head. As he did, he took the fork out of her hand and stole a piece of bacon.
She smacked his arm.
"Hey!"
He grinned and popped the bacon in his mouth anyway.
He turned to Tommy, and his smile changed.
"Sleep alright?" he said to Tommy.
"Fine."
"You snore."
"I don't snore."
"Yeah, you snore, a little bit. Like a diesel engine idling." Mark got a mug down, filled it, and slid it across the counter into Tommy's free hand. His fingers stayed on the ceramic a second longer than they needed to. He looked at Tommy over the rim of his own cup, and the look said plainly that the night before hadn't been a mistake he intended to correct.
Kayla watched the two of them. She wasn't even pretending to cook anymore. She was smiling.