by Roan Parrish
I must’ve made a noise of appreciation, because Rhys jerked his head suddenly toward me.
When he saw me, his smile was so bright I nearly staggered backward from the force of it. I still didn’t know how it was possible that I could make anyone this happy. But he told me I did, and I usually believed him.
His happy grin turned to something sharper when he saw I was naked, and he gave me a raking once-over before opening the shower door and reaching for me.
I let my eyes drift closed as I was pulled against Rhys’s firm heat. He was taller and broader than me, and the sensation of having him all around me had taken a little time to get used to. At first it had felt risky, vulnerable. But as I began to trust Rhys, it transformed. Now it was the thing I looked forward to all day. The moment when I could shrug off the cloak of distance I wore against the world and replace it with Rhys’s overwhelming closeness.
“Hi,” I said into the hollow of his throat and tightened my arms around him. I traced his spine and the thick muscles of his back. I let myself focus completely on him.
“Hi,” he said, fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my chin up. He kissed me, slowly. A hello kiss. An I missed you today kiss.
Before I met Rhys I didn’t know there were kisses like that. Now I got to have them all the time.
We washed our hair and soaped up without talking, skin sliding against skin, trading kisses every few minutes with the kind of lazy sensuality borne of knowing we had plenty of time for sex later. Another thing I hadn’t felt before Rhys.
We dried off and before I could dig out clothes to change into, Rhys slid his palm up my arm to the side of my neck and kissed me.
“How was your day,” he said against my mouth. I huffed out a breath, smirking when he jerked his head away like a shying horse.
I got a swat on the ass and a lazy grin for that.
“Fine.”
“Tell me,” he said, and sat down on the bed. He’d sit there, naked, staring at me until I answered, so I flopped down next to him. Rhys’s bed was great. King-sized and perfectly firm, with pillows I liked to bury my face in against the morning sun. I buried my face in one now and sighed happily as Rhys started stroking up and down my back.
Rhys asked me how my day was every single day. I turned my face to the side so he could hear me.
“I found a new place I want to add to the list,” I said. With my eyes half closed and my face half in the pillow, all I could see was Rhys’s tan, muscled belly. I reached my hand out and rested my palm there. His skin was warm, and I could feel his heartbeat in his stomach.
“Yeah? Where?”
“The Faroe Islands. They’re between Iceland and Norway, but they’re owned by the Kingdom of Denmark. And they’re beautiful.”
“Sounds great,” he said. He rolled onto his back and tugged me toward him. “What made you want to add them to the list?”
“I was walking around during lunch, and it was so hot. I was disgusting and sweaty and I bought one of those frozen lemonade things.”
“Mmm,” Rhys mumbled. He was constantly hungry and got hungrier at any mention of food.
“I sat in the shade and searched for pictures of cold places on my phone.” Rhys laughed and I shoved at him. “Shut up, it totally works. Anyway, I was looking at pictures of glaciers and snowcapped mountains and these pictures tagged with the Faroe Islands kept coming up.” I turned my face into his neck. “I’d never heard of them.” Rhys’s hand was soft in my hair. “But they look beautiful.”
“Then we should go,” Rhys said, rubbing my scalp with his fingertips.
“You’re gonna put me to sleep if you keep doing that,” I murmured.
“That’s okay.”
But I made myself sit up. I hated falling asleep and waking up at strange times. It always left me feeling disoriented and confused. I picked at a loose thread in the pillow case. Rhys twined his fingers through mine and brought my hand up. He kissed my knuckles, and I squeezed his hand.
“Hey, look,” he said. He hauled himself out of bed and grabbed his phone from the top of the dresser. “I talked to Morgan this morning.”
Morgan was Rhys’s sister, who lived in Raleigh with her husband and two kids. Their parents moved down there five years ago when the first grandchild was born.
“Tommy’s obsessed with that little cartoon that you drew of yourself on his birthday card and Morgan took a picture of it and printed out a bunch and he colors them in like a coloring book. So now their house is littered with all these yous.”
Rhys held up the phone and there, on Morgan and Doug’s refrigerator, were four variously colored versions of the cartoon of me.
“Kids are so weird,” I said, zooming in on one of them where my face was purple but my hands were green.
“Yeah, I guess Tommy likes you more than me now,” Rhys said with a pout.
That would never happen. According to Morgan, Tommy worshipped Rhys, who flew him around over his head like a rocket and flipped him upside down until he puked. Instant hero. Two-year-old Sarah wasn’t quite sturdy enough yet to appreciate the rocket, and she’d only met Rhys when she was a baby so she could take him or leave him.
“They just like scribbling out my face better than yours.”
“I told you, babe, the cartoon version of me that you did looks like Thor.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked him up and down deliberately. “If the hammer fits…”
Rhys caught me by the hand and pulled me off the bed and into his arms. He squeezed me so hard it lifted me off my feet, and I didn’t even think he was doing a Thor bit. Sometimes Rhys didn’t know his own strength. He put me down with a kiss and a nip at my neck.
“I’m starving,” he said. “Want to grill?” Grilling was pretty much the only culinary skill that either of us bothered with. Fortunately, nearly anything could go on the grill, as we’d proven this summer. I nodded and put on cutoff sweats and an undershirt.
“They want to meet you,” Rhys said from the doorway.
I froze.
“Who?” I’d shot for casual and only achieved squeaky.
“You know who, baby. My family.” Rhys’s voice was soft, calm. He was the most confident person I’d ever met. Not egotistical, just confident, like a tree that had stood for a hundred years and was happy being exactly what and where it was. But this was a point of insecurity for him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet his family because I wasn’t committed to him—I’d told him that a dozen times. It was just…something always seemed to get in the way.
“I—yeah, okay. I know…Sure.”
“Okay,” he said simply. “Good.”
I fired up the grill while Rhys took care of the food, appearing after a few minutes with a disturbingly large piece of meat and some foil-wrapped packages. He put the meat onto the grill with a sizzle.
“What is it?”
“It’s lamb.”
“Lots of lambs on the Faroe Islands.” The pictures had shown them grazing in the mountains, woolly white bodies nestled in the grass. I squinted at the meat. “That’s what lamb looks like?”
“You’d eat roadkill if it came in a Chef Boyardee can,” Rhys scoffed, dropping a kiss on my head.
I shrugged. “I probably have. That beef ravioli.”
“Try not to starve to death while I’m on tour, okay?”
I’d been hungry before, but at the reminder he was leaving, my stomach just felt hollow.
“I did fine before I met you.”
The scent of smoke and cooking meat filled the backyard, and my stomach growled. Rhys gazed at me steadily. His light-blue eyes could look as cold as glacial ice or as hot as neon.
“Did you?” he asked.
I sighed. “No.”
* * *
—
All I’d known of Sleep
y Hollow when Rhys first told me he lived there was the story of the headless horseman, and honestly even my knowledge of that was vague.
When I moved here after we got married, I realized that, even though Rhys had lived here for a couple years, he hadn’t spent much time in town. When he was recording in the city, he usually crashed at a studio-owned apartment or with different musicians he knew. When he was touring, he could be away for weeks or months at a time. And since I worked during the week, and Rhys gigged or was in the studio on the weekends, there still hadn’t been much time to explore.
So, after we slept late on Saturday, we decided to go for a walk. Rhys tugged my hand, steering us into the cemetery. It was almost comical, the bright August sun filtering through lush leaves, chittering squirrels and fat chipmunks chasing each other, birds cleaning their feathers, a man throwing a ball for his collie, all against the backdrop of graves and tombs.
“The Ramones shot the video for ‘Pet Sematary’ here,” Rhys said, pointing. “In a grave over there.”
I didn’t know the song. It was one of Rhys’s greatest amusements that I didn’t really care about contemporary music. When we’d first met, I think he got the sense I was overstating my ignorance, but now he just liked to tease me about it.
Rhys’s phone buzzed with a text, and he sighed when he read it.
“Tour problems?”
“Nah, it’s just Mal.” Mal Omin was opening for Rhys on tour. “I told her to add anything she wanted on the bus and backstage to Benny’s list and she just wrote ‘I don’t need anything.’ ”
“Is that…bad?”
“Not bad. I want her to have the stuff she likes, that’s all. Benny’s gotta stock the van. It’s so much easier if she just makes a list.”
I kicked at a rock and it landed in a bush, scaring a squirrel out into the sun.
“She probably just doesn’t want to make it seem like she’s a burden. It’s her first tour.”
Rhys squinted at me.
“A burden? We all add to the list. I asked her straight-out. Why would she be a burden? Kid’s gotta eat. I don’t give a shit if it’s cheese puffs or granola bars.”
I bumped him with my shoulder.
“She’s nervous, Rhys. You’re a big deal. She’s a nobody. It’s her big chance. She probably doesn’t want to demand anything because she’s trying to fly under the radar.”
A different brand of cereal at every house, different shampoo. Don’t get attached to anything, don’t ask for anything. Keep the door closed, your bag packed, and don’t expect anything from anyone.
Rhys chuckled and slid an arm through mine.
“Well, she’s gonna have to get over it if she’s gonna be on tour. I specifically invited her to open; that should tell her everything she needs to know.”
His voice was warm and offhand. To him, it really was that simple.
We walked through the rambling paths, wending our way up to the apex of the cemetery, commenting on the more outrageously nineteenth-century names and teasing each other about what we’d get on our tombstones instead of angels or anchors. Rhys made up stories about the inhabitants’ lives based on their epitaphs and absently said excuse me to one, when he accidentally kicked the edge of the gravestone.
“When my grandmother died, Morgan and I were kids, and my mom brought paper and crayons and had us do rubbings of graves to keep us busy during the funeral.”
I smiled at the image of Rhys as a little blond boy, biting his lip like he often did when he was concentrating and accidentally scribbling red crayon on some old lady’s grave.
I caught him by the hand and pulled him close, kissing him. When I kissed Rhys, I could feel every molecule of his attention shift to me. It was the headiest feeling in the world. One hand tangled in my hair, the other rested just above the curve of my ass, and he held me to him like he might never let go.
In the circle of his arms, his warm mouth opening to mine, I would have stayed among the dead forever, because I’d never felt more alive.
Finally, he broke the kiss with a groan and a drag of his hardening cock against mine that spoke of fun if we headed for home. But there was no urgency to it. Just promise. I reminded myself that we had time. Not just time before he left, but time together. A whole life together. That was what marriage was supposed to mean, right? That we were starting to build our lives together. My heart pounded like it always did when I let myself think about it. Part relief and part terror, wrapped up so close together they were inexorable.
On our way out of the cemetery we passed an older man struggling with a collapsible easel, a canvas, and a bag of painting supplies.
“Can I give you a hand?” Rhys called, and jogged over. He picked up the easel and took the man’s bag with the easy grin that made most people smile back. They chatted as they walked to the man’s car, and I trailed behind them. The man thanked him and waved at us as he drove away.
“You’re such a Boy Scout,” I said, elbowing him.
He held up three fingers in a salute and said solemnly, “Live long and prosper.” Then he grabbed my hand and held it all the way home.
Chapter 2
Some days I woke up and thought I was back in St. Jerome’s. Usually it was just a flicker—a momentary reorientation. This morning, though, it stayed with me as I struggled to surface from a dream.
Bunk beds and cold concrete floors and hundreds of boys as angry and confused as I was. Grin and me playing cards with a deck so shabby we knew what hand the other was holding based on the pattern of creases and worn-off corners. The smell of sweat and industrial bleach and, beneath it, something cold and mineral, as if the entire building was a basement. Taunts and challenges. Rigid muscles and clenched jaws. Acne and hormones and fear.
Rhys was still asleep, so I dragged myself into the shower to try and get back to the present.
I took my phone in with me and fired off a quick text to Grin: Just checking in. All right?
Grin was my best friend, though we hadn’t seen each other in five years, since he’d moved to Florida. I’d met him on my first day at St. Jerome’s. We were twelve, and we’d been inseparable.
They’d called us Grin and Grim because Grin always had this goofy smile and I…didn’t. It wasn’t until months later that Grin and I realized we also had the same birthday. We liked to joke that this was convenient because it meant each other’s birthdays would be easier to remember. But the truth was that we wouldn’t have had any trouble remembering each other’s birthdays no matter when they were. It was easy to remember when you only had one person in your life to keep track of.
Now I knew Rhys’s birthday too.
When I got out of the shower, Grin hadn’t responded yet, and I clicked over to the text of his that I’d screenshot. I’d looked at it more times than I could count over the last year and a half, much the same way I would reach out and touch Rhys sometimes: as a reality check.
Grin’s text had said: Holy fuck, you are ridiculous. Only you would get married and not invite me and text me at four in the morning about it like happy our birthday, p.s. I got married yesterday. U r deeply damaged and I hope this dude is rich as fuck. Or has a big dick or w/e yr into. P.S., congratufuckinglations, bro. I hope you can be happy or whateverthefuck normal people are.
I smiled at the text like I always did and went downstairs to make coffee. Coffee, unfortunately, is one thing you can’t make on a grill. Rhys didn’t drink it because his default personality was energy, so I had to make it myself.
Grin’s text came through as I was burning my mouth on the first muddy sip.
All good here. Hot as balls and my turd neighbor started airbnbing his house so now theres like hipster children carving driftwood in my backyard and probably taking shells to sell on their etsys or some shit.
You love etsy, I wrote back.
He sent me a
picture of himself glaring at me. Even while glaring, I could see the grin lurking. With his laughing eyes, dimples, smooth dark skin, and boyish smile, Grin was one of those guys that people found adorable. Until he opened his mouth and spewed a constant stream of curse words, filth, and rants. We got along great.
No joke its a wild fucking world of weirdos w a lot of enthusiasm for shit, he replied. I mighta bought a spoon thats screaming.
I didn’t ask what the hell that meant, but he immediately sent me another pic, this one of a wooden spoon painted with a face on it that said eeeeeeee up the handle, like it was screaming as you stuck it in hot food. This was followed by another picture of Grin, grinning evilly. And, sure enough, I grinned as soon as I saw it.
Come on Matty send us a pic, he wheedled. I sent a middle finger emoji. Come ooooonnnnn. Send me one of u and yr boy!
Speaking of, a sleepy-eyed Rhys walked into the kitchen and gave me a grin of his own. “Hi,” he said and wrapped me up in his arms. The hug seemed to be a ruse, though, since he just buried his face in my neck and slumped like he was snoozing while standing up. My phone chimed again, and Rhys made a sound of protest as I shifted to reach for it. I showed him Grin’s text: Maaatttyyy show me ur butt face, and Rhys snorted. He scrolled up and saw the message before it too.
“C’mere.” He clicked the camera to selfie mode, and I turned my face into his shoulder with a grunt. The resulting picture was of Rhys, his blue eyes sleepy and beautiful, his smile glowing with happiness, and me, just a halo of messy dark curls, a chin, and the downturned corner of my mouth.
Rhys shook his head at me, but I thought the picture was perfect. I sent it to Grin and stuck my phone on silent.
I drank coffee leaning against the counter while Rhys ate a bowl of cereal. But though the coffee buzzed at the top of my head, I didn’t feel any more alert than I had when I woke up. The confusion of my dreams lingered in the heaviness of my limbs.
“What do you want to do today?” Rhys asked. Rhys loved activities, and I knew he’d be up for anything I suggested. This was rare time to just enjoy ourselves with no work intruding—the first time like it we’d ever had. But the downside of Rhys being game for anything was that he often ended up exhausted.
