by Jude Sierra
“But—”
“River.” Erik’s hands squeezed his already bruised hips. “No. I don’t… I don’t want you to see that.”
But that is a part of who you are.
River knew the set of Erik’s lips, of his eyes. Anger and traces of fear. River held his breath and waited it out. It curdled in his stomach, his constant acquiescence, always allowing Erik to hold back.
“Please,” Erik whispered.
River closed his eyes. Erik’s pleading was his sharpest weapon, and he didn’t even know it. Their kiss spoke of a closed book. It tasted of promises exchanged.
But he knew that, soon, one of them was bound to break it.
Chapter Seventeen
The townhouse where Desiree lived was far nicer than Erik expected it to be. Colorful fruit filled a bowl on the kitchen counter next to stacked cookbooks. Pumpkin and vanilla scented candles adorned the shelf above the fireplace. Cozy blankets were draped over the back of a mauve couch, accenting the beige tile floor, warmed by throw rugs and runners placed throughout the living room.
Bare feet bounced down the stairs. “Okay, so, a gallery?” Desiree said. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“It’s an art gallery,” Erik said. “River told me to wear my Sunday best, whatever the fuck that means.” River had probably been joking, but there wasn’t much room to parse his intent through Instagram messages. “I have one pair of black jeans that aren’t destroyed. One. And I own one button down, which he’s seen me in already.”
“That’s a start,” Desiree said. She stood before Erik with four dress shirts, two in each hand. “These”—she lifted the shirts in her left hand—“might fit you. Maybe. Like, if you have to tie your shoes, you might bust the seams, but maybe.”
“What about those?” He nodded at the shirts in her right hand.
“Now that I’m looking at you?” Desiree wrinkled her nose and tossed them onto the couch. “Absolutely not. You’re giant. So—” She handed over a black button-up with pink cuffs. “Try that one first.”
Erik rolled his eyes. He shrugged his jacket off and threw it on the counter, followed by his slouchy gray undershirt. Desiree’s brows lifted, mouth pinched. Erik wasn’t sure the shirts she’d found in the back of her girlfriend’s closet would fit him. “These are Serena’s, right?” He put his arm through one sleeve, then the other. “She won’t mind if I borrow one?”
“As long as one fits you, yeah, she said it’s fine. She hasn’t worn either of these in a while, anyway. Usually only pulls them out for drag king nights.”
“Serena does drag?” Erik laughed, surprised. The shirt was snug. Really snug. But it fit, and the sleeves were only a smidge too short.
Desiree cocked her head. “Yeah, but she’s been busy with school, I just moved in, drag nights are always on Fridays, and Fridays are fight nights—I could go on and on.” She smoothed the front of the shirt, grabbed the cuffs, and folded them up on his forearms to disguise the length. “How’s it feel?”
“Fine, I guess.” Erik rolled his shoulders and looked down at himself. “Does it look like I’m trying too hard?”
“Looks great.” She flicked her palms across his shoulders. “You’re just broad up here. Does it feel restrictive? Can you move around?”
He swung his arms back and forth, up and down. “It’s got some give, should be fine. Where’s your bathroom?”
“On the right.” She nodded toward the door in the hallway.
Bright, fluorescent lights illuminated the sink and his reflection. Erik straightened his back. Polished black buttons climbed toward the collar. The bottom of the shirt was long enough to tuck. He was a study in contradictions, pressed and polished in some places, scarred and inked in others. His hands looked especially out of place, the way his knobby thumbs jutted from his palms. Erik inhaled a steady breath. He remembered that first night—kissing River in the middle of a storm and wondering if he’d be lucky enough to do it again. Now he was here, doing this. Dating. Falling.
Desiree appeared in the doorway and shoved a long black pea coat at him.
“I have jackets, Desiree. I don’t need you to dress me.”
“Wow, and here I thought that’s what we’ve been doin’,” she said. “Seriously, do you own a jacket that isn’t leather or denim?” Her smile thinned, and she shook the coat at him. He rolled his eyes but snatched it from her anyway and draped it over the sink. “That’s what I thought. Now, c’mon, take that off before you wrinkle it. Want a juice? I could use a juice.”
“You buying?” Erik teased. He unbuttoned the shirt carefully, watching inch after inch of a charade disappear—a projection of what he could have been in another life. Sometimes he wondered if River was immune to his poison, or if River was poisonous, too. If they were infecting each other with something awful and beautiful, and something that wouldn’t, couldn’t last.
Sometimes Erik wondered if would ever stop being afraid of the things he wanted. Futures and forgiveness and beginnings.
“Yeah, yeah, fine, I’ll buy,” Desiree hollered from the entryway.
Erik took another glance around the townhouse, the framed photographs on the wall and the well-loved book on the coffee table, envious of all the permanence a home could truly hold.
…
They arrived at Green Glow, a juice bar in Pioneer Square, right after the mid-day lunch rush. Sunlight peeked through gray clouds, and blotches of blue splattered the sky between tall buildings. Erik walked beside Desiree with his hands in his pockets. A man strummed an acoustic guitar in front of a boutique. Seattle held on to him, whispered pleasantly that it wasn’t going anywhere and that it didn’t understand why he would, either. At this point, Erik didn’t have an answer. The city and the people felt like a home he’d left and found again.
“Did Pete talk to you about Austin?” Erik asked.
Desiree propped the front door to Green Glow open with her wedge heel. “The Texas gig? Yeah, he mentioned it. I told him I’d rather stay here, though. Why?”
“He asked me, too. I told him I’d consider it.” Erik had said more than that. He’d said I don’t see a problem, just give me enough time to pack when you’re ready. That had been months ago, before Seattle started to feel like more than just another city. Before bruises on his throat in the shape of River’s mouth had appeared more frequently than the ones he brought back from fights. “Putting down some roots, huh?”
“I did just move in with my girlfriend, so, yeah, I’d say so,” Desiree said. They stood a few feet from a glass case boasting an array of vegan pastries, and studied the bright menu on the wall above the polished white counter. “And I’ve been seeing Crystal more, trying to figure out if we’re in the introduce-partners-to-other-partners stage yet. Just seems right to stay. Are you even sure you wanna leave? Seems like you’ve got a good thing goin’ with that cute tattoo artist. Especially since you asked me for fashion advice six hours before another date with him.”
Erik narrowed his eyes at her.
“A Sunday best,” she teased, grin pushing dimples into her cheeks, “at a fancy art gallery.”
Instead of answering, he stepped toward the counter and ordered a chia seed infused green juice with extra pineapple. Desiree followed his lead and politely ordered two coffee cakes.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cake she held out. They sat down at a small table near the window.
“You looked happy, Erik,” Desiree said. She tilted her head, seeking his attention until he finally met her eyes. “At the club last week. You looked really happy.”
“I am happy.” He shrugged, as if insinuating that he would be anything but happy was ludicrous.
“You looked happy with River,” she corrected. The knitted scarf around her neck slouched over one shoulder, pooling in her lap. Light caught the glitter on her cheeks, dusted over foundation that covered a bruise from her last fight. Erik picked at his coffee cake, his gaze steered to the table between them, fingers r
estless around a fork, before he took a bite and shook his head.
“I can be happy with him while I’m here,” he said. “But Pete made me a good offer, and it’s not like me and River are…” Serious? Of course they were. Committed? Erik thought so. Real? What he’d found with River was the realest thing he’d had in years. “Compatible,” he supplied. “He’s an artist, and he’s sweet, and he’s smart enough not to waste his time. Not for long, at least.”
A server set their juices in front of them. Erik grabbed his eagerly, thankful for something to focus on other than Desiree’s lifted brow and stern, set mouth.
“Waste his time on what? On a relationship he looks damn well happy in?” Desiree flicked a crumb at him. “You’re an idiot, Erik.”
“No, I’m a realist.”
“Pessimist.”
Erik chewed on his straw and looked out the window, cheeks hot, chest tight and sore. “I’m still thinking about it, okay? Nothing’s set in stone.”
“All right, all right.” Desiree held her hands against her chest. Erik hadn’t noticed the bite in his voice until he glanced at her, met with her wide eyes and worried frown.
“I’m sorry, it’s just… This whole thing is happening really fast, and I’m…” Scared. “Nervous. That’s all.”
Desiree nodded. “I get it, honey. I do. But I’d hate to see you let a good thing go. That’s all.”
He thumbed at the plastic lid of his cup. “I get it.”
“Speaking of which, you’ve got two hours. Want me to drop you off at home?”
Erik swallowed the last of his coffee cake. “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.”
They took their juices to go. Desiree nudged him with her elbow as they walked to her car. She took a breath, hesitated, and let it out as a sigh. Erik wondered what she’d had to say, what she’d wanted to say, but he doubted it would be anything he wanted to hear.
Not yet, not now, not like this. Not when he’d stumbled into something intimate with River, something he did not want to run from.
“Have fun tonight,” Desiree said. He accepted a one-armed hug over the center console.
“Thanks, Des. Tell Serena I appreciate the clothes.”
Erik shut the door. He watched the white Subaru disappear down the street. Friendship was a rare thing for him. Not as rare as love, but close. He replayed Desiree’s words as he stood still on the wet sidewalk—You looked happy—and was cruelly reminded that River wouldn’t be the only one left behind if he took Pete’s offer.
His phone buzzed. A text lit the screen.
Watermarked: Pick you up at 4? We can grab a bite after?
Wolfbite013: Sounds good
Chapter Eighteen
“Wow,” Erik said when they got out of the car. “I thought you looked good when you picked me up, but standing and all.” Erik gestured at River’s outfit. “Yeah. Wow.”
River’s cheeks heated. He’d taken way too much time figuring out what he would wear, eventually settling on a deep-green button-down that was cut to fit his body perfectly and his darkest skinny jeans. River wasn’t generally a skinny jean kind of guy. He’d bought them impulsively one day when Val dragged him shopping and rarely found the opportunity to wear them. But the way Erik’s eyes lingered on his lower half made the indignity of squeezing into them worth it.
“Thanks,” River said. He reached for Erik’s hand with an upward glance to check in. Erik squeezed his fingers and allowed River to tug him toward the museum. “Thank you,” he blurted. “For coming with me. I know it’s maybe not your thing—”
“No, I wanted to. I might not get it, but I’m still excited.”
River loved the Henry. It was all glass and brick, a juxtaposition that captured the spirit of the museum. He loved the exterior architecture, the pyramids of glass and steel within the grounds, the night colors of Light Reign, the shape and space it created during the day. Even though he’d been there before, it never failed to thrill him.
“I won’t lie, I have a favorite exhibit here. But do you wanna look at other stuff first?”
He watched Erik take in the clean, bright lines of the gallery, the way the room suffused with light. He was impossible to read, but in this space that was okay. Erik was his own art, sharp-featured and perfectly sculpted.
“Lead the way,” Erik said.
“There are two exhibits I’ve been wanting to see. There’s one that features letters between two artists. Poems, drawings, that kind of thing. It’s called Her Story.”
“So, this is art, huh?” Erik followed River.
“C’mon, I’ll show you,” River said. He swallowed a laugh, worried it would be taken the wrong way. He wasn’t laughing at Erik—more, it was excitement. He loved modern art, puzzling out the rhetorical choices, the stories, the movement of pieces.
Erik was reserved. He appeared attentive, absorbing River’s quiet chatter with smiles and fleeting glances. By the time they moved on to a collection of mixed-media sculptures—gray interspersed with blown glass pieces in the shape of fingers—River was darting quick looks at him to make sure he wasn’t bored.
“Not to be rude,” Erik said. He lifted a brow, smile going soft on the edges. “But these are gray blobs.”
“I know, right?” River bounced on his toes, threaded his arm through Erik’s, and led him slowly around the pieces. They read the informative placard together. “I love how these exhibits capture embodied narratives in such disparate ways. Like, how they both capture ideas about idealized narratives of femininity and masculinity. I don’t think I would’ve gotten this just by looking at them, but now I can kind of see it.”
“You don’t feel—” Erik looked away.
“What?” River took in the movement of Erik’s lips, the tightness of his jaw. “I’m sorry, this is probably boring.”
“No,” Erik said lowly. “I just don’t really get it.”
“Erik,” River said, the hush of their conversation intimate, a little world of their own making in the cavernous space. “That’s fine. Half the time I don’t get it, either. That’s kind of the fun of it. You can look at something like this and make your own story.”
“Well, I’m definitely known for my imagination,” Erik teased. His palm settled on the small of River’s back. Despite his masked confidence, River caught the nervousness burrowed deep under Erik’s skin, hidden by attentive smiles, and a discomfort he offset with tight shoulders.
River swallowed, tried not to give in to a visceral need to touch him. To ghost his lips over the memory of bruises and cuts River carried in his mind, all the changes to Erik’s face.
“Want to see what I love most here?” he said instead.
“You’ll probably have to explain it to me in great detail.” Erik’s brows lifted, lips parting into a grin. “But yeah, of course I do.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” River said. “It’s whatever you make of it.”
“Yeah, but I want to hear you talk about it.” Erik’s palm swept from River’s lower back to his hip, arm curled around him as they walked.
He tried to temper the blush crawling from his cheeks to his throat, but knowing that Erik’s attention was pinned to him instead of the artwork made heat pool beneath his skin.
Light Reign was a permanent exhibit, its own architectural piece outside the main building, raised on pillars from the courtyard. A glass walkway led into it. At night, the large glass panels were lit by LED lights that changed from one brilliant color to another. Inside was a large, circular space with wooden walls and a wooden bench circling the room.
“It’s a skyspace,” River said. “Come, sit.”
“What do we do?”
“Look up,” River said quietly, guiding Erik to sit next to him. The room was empty, a rarity. River kissed Erik’s cheek, and then his lips, a barely-there whisper of intention and thanks and affection.
Erik smiled against his mouth and leaned back, tilting his head to take in the ceiling. The curved white roof framed an ape
rture where they could see the sky.
“See how there’s nothing to interrupt the view? This is all about perception, in a way. An uninterrupted view of something that is constantly changing and yet constant in our lives.”
Erik glanced at him but settled more comfortably. They relented to the silence. The sky was a gorgeous translucent blue, with only wisps of clouds skirting the edges. Erik reached for River’s hand, threading their fingers together in his lap.
“This feels a bit like meditation,” Erik said after minutes had passed.
“Yeah, I guess. Is that a good or bad thing?”
Erik turned toward him. The warmth of the wood walls and the white from above brought out the olive tones of his eyes. “With you, right now? It’s amazing.”
The nakedness, the vulnerable honesty, fragile and heady and frightening, trembled between them. River let down the last of his guard, answering Erik’s admission with his own trust. He laid his head on Erik’s shoulder, content to close his eyes and let Erik have a moment of his own, watching the sky, experiencing the light.
…
River led Erik through the courtyard below Light Reign so he could have the full architectural experience, to see how many ways it worked as an art installation.
“Hungry?” River said after Erik had taken in his fill. He answered with a gentle smile and a gesture, beckoning River closer. River didn’t shy from affection—he reveled in it, really. But sometimes he felt too seen, too vulnerable, yet even here, even now, despite the people around them, River let himself be kissed.
“Starving,” Erik said. And it was a moment, an opening to take Erik home, and let them both speak with their bodies. River wanted more, though. He decided to leave it up to Erik.
“Takeout or a restaurant?”
“Restaurant,” Erik said, surprising them both.
River did a quick search of places nearby. “Henry’s Tavern? It’s happy hour.”
“Whatever you like,” Erik said.
They settled into the easy atmosphere. River ordered a cider on tap, and together they opted to split a large Bavarian pretzel as an appetizer. Erik moved with deliberate care in a small pocket of silence, a quiet that was startling in the comfortable buzz of a mostly full pub.
