He’d stood in the kitchen and looked out the window at the moonlit waves. He’d paced. Taken a shower and fought back whimpers as he tried to stretch out his screaming shoulder under the hot and steaming spray. And then he’d come back into the room, their room, and just sat on the edge of the bed—feeling like the biggest creep in the world for sitting there in the dark just watching Sydney sleep. He’d reached up and gently held Sydney’s hand, draped up over his head on the pillow like some wild kid who’d finally fallen asleep where he collapsed.
James had sat in the dark, and counted the steady thrumming pulse under the thin skin of Sydney’s wrist.
And now James stands over the bed, counting down the seconds until he has to wake Sydney up to get ready, hating the part of himself that wants to climb back into bed and force himself to fall back asleep so they’ll both sleep in too late to make it to Waimea on time, since he knows neither of them set the alarm clock the night before.
Sydney looks so young and open, strong and alive even in a dead sleep. The sculpted lines of his back rise and fall with his breath, glinting with the faint moonlight spilling into the room from the reflection off the sand outside.
James wants to ask him why they left his mom back in Arizona, and when he realized he was gay, and how many Sundays he’s spent sitting in church—if he believes in God, and if he hates his stepmom as much as his dad. He wants to ask him where he’s travelled, all the beaches he’s surfed, all his different schools. He wants to ask him why he’s never heard him say anything about going to college.
James feels as though he could trace every inch and corner of Sydney’s body and somehow feel the answers in the lines of his skin. As if there had been an invisible barrier between them all this time, the thinnest film, which was only removed the moment Sydney Moore bent his beautiful head and kissed James’ scar.
But James doesn’t ask him any of these things, and he doesn’t trace the lines of Sydney’s soft skin. Sydney dreams on, lightly snoring as he breathes.
With a resigned sigh and a forced nod, James sits back down on the edge of the bed and kisses the center of Sydney’s back, then rubs his hand along the warm skin in slow, firm circles.
Sydney starts to stir, and James leans down to kiss him again.
“Hey you,” he whispers. “Should get up. Have something to eat.”
Sydney groans and shoves his face farther into the pillow. James chuckles under his breath at the sight, filled with a rushing, nameless emotion, and Sydney immediately bolts upright at the noise, staring blearily in James’ direction with fast blinking eyes. Then he collapses back into the pillows with a squinting frown.
“James?”
James can’t help it. Sydney looks so confused and rumpled and Sydney in the soft grey light that he wants to take a photo and paint it onto his own skin, right next to his heart. He wonders just when over the last twenty-four hours he became a useless, emotional sap.
He leans down and places a soft kiss on Sydney’s lips, and that’s when Sydney completely freezes below him.
James frowns and pulls back. Sydney stares up at him, eyes blinking, mouth frozen open in the position it had been in under James’ lips.
Then all of a sudden the light flicks on behind his eyes, and James’ chest clenches as he watches a wave of pure, disbelieving relief wash over Sydney’s face. Sydney surges onto his elbows, reaches up with both hands to cup James’ face, then pulls him down into a deep kiss with a moan.
The kiss is perfect. Warm. Overflowing with honeyed joy and soft velvet comfort and home. James finally relaxes as the last remaining tendrils of fear from his nightmare gently wisp away from his body. The lines of his shoulders soften, and a bit of the churning anxiety deep in his gut slows to a temporary calm.
Sydney pulls back after one final press of his lips to James’ mouth and heaves a great sigh, thumping back onto the pillow with his curls fanned out around his head and staring up at James with a bleary-eyed smile.
James laughs. “What, did you think it was all a dream?”
Sydney looks caught out for a moment, eyes wide and young, and then he snorts and shoots James a look that says he’s an idiot. “Of course not. Obviously you’re here. Your clothes from yesterday are right there on the floor, my mattress has a dip towards the side you were sleeping on, and the air smells like you. Plus I have a rash from your fucking stubble on the inside of my thigh.”
Their rough, low voices sound crisp in the intimate darkness—etched permanently into the air of the house, and set apart from the rest of the world churning just beyond the windows.
James smirks, running his thumb across Sydney’s chin. “Good. That way you’ll remember me when the saltwater gets in it and stings so you don’t do anything too stupid today.”
They share a quiet look, and something tingles up the back of James’ neck—something heavy and permanent. He clears his throat before the moment can turn too serious, needing to lose himself in a boring morning routine so he can pretend that Sydney’s not about to go fling himself off the tops of the tallest waves on earth.
James leans down to kiss Sydney’s cheek and gives his other cheek a soft pat. “I’ll start coffee. You get ready and then we’ll go. I know you’ll wanna watch the waves for a while before it starts.”
Sydney turns his face to press a kiss into James’ palm and whispers, “okay,” and with an internal sigh, James drags himself away and starts to pull on boardshorts and a t-shirt from the drawer Sydney had cleared out for him in his dresser the night before.
He makes his way out into the dark kitchen, listening to Sydney start to get up and rummage around for things back in the room. It sounds so right—hearing another person walking about, creaking on the floorboards, opening doors and moving clothes. James can’t quite believe he survived for so many years in a silent apartment, only ever hearing the sounds of his neighbors through the thin walls.
He can’t figure out Sydney’s goddamn coffee contraption to save his life. After ten minutes of cursing under his breath, he gives up and puts on some boiling water. He finds a loose teabag deep in the back of the silverware drawer and bobs it up and down haphazardly in the steaming water, pretending that his stupid hands aren’t shaking.
By the time he has a mug full of over-steeped and stale tea, the gripping fear is already back in full force, pulsing through his body in black, heated bursts. He looks out the kitchen window and holds the un-drunk tea in his hands, watching the calm tide lap gently at Sydney’s shore and picturing towering walls of water in his mind, ripping across the surface of the ocean and roaring as they break over into a fury of whitewater and foam, crushing Sydney’s limp body beneath them, burying him deep under thick, wet sand.
He startles when Sydney’s arms wrap around him from behind.
“Why the hell are you drinking tea?” he mumbles.
James leans back into his body, heart still pounding, and tries to huff out a laugh. “Couldn’t figure out your damn coffee machine.”
Sydney reaches around and takes the mug carefully from his hands, places it on the counter, then wraps James fully in his embrace, pulling him back into his body until James finally lets his neck rest back against Sydney’s chest. He can feel that Sydney is dressed and ready behind him, smelling like soap and toothpaste with just the tiniest hint of sunscreen.
James can’t even remember hearing him get ready after those first few minutes. He’d only heard the screaming crashes of the waves, and the slap of choking clumps of seaweed, and the booming roar of the thick water bashing against the rocks.
Sydney hugs him tighter and presses his face into the side of James’ neck.
“You know you can ask me not to do this,” he whispers low. “One word from you and I’ll listen. I won’t go out there.” Sydney presses his lips into a soft kiss on James’ skin. “I really mean that.”
James wants to moan. He reaches up to grip Sydney’s forearm hard, fighting with himself to keep from shaking even more than he
already is. They stand there for a long time. Sydney waits patiently, face pressed close into James’ neck and breathing slow and steady at his back, holding them both upright on the cool wood floor.
James wants to turn around in Sydney’s arms and press their lips together and whisper into his mouth, “Yes, please, I’m begging you not to go out there and do this. I’m fucking begging you.”
He wants to take Sydney’s hand and lead him to literally any other beach along the North Shore, or any other beach in Hawaii, or in the entire world. Say, “Here, come surf with me. We can surf together each morning and go home each night to our bed. Just not Waimea. Anywhere but Waimea. Please.”
Then he sees a tattoo-less Sydney in his mind, standing ankle deep in the shallows on an empty beach and screaming out “fuck you!” across the still water, a trash bag of belongings waiting behind him in the sand. He sees Danny Moore standing alone and aloof on the shore with an empty circle cast around him like a curse, all alone in the middle of a crowd.
James closes his eyes and grits his teeth against the sinking pain in his chest. He’s ashamed that it took him this long to figure it out—to see the truth deep inside the man whom he’s been unable to take his eyes off for weeks.
That this isn’t just a game for Sydney Moore, either.
Finally, James shakes his head no and sighs, sinking back into Sydney’s arms. He clears his throat and tries to speak, but his voice is barely a whisper. “You let me get on that plane,” he says. “I couldn’t . . . I can’t ask you not to do this. I want to, more than anything, fucking believe me. But, I can’t. I won’t.”
Sydney nods, brushing his face against James’ neck, and he moves his palm up to cover the scar under James’ thin shirt. The warmth from Sydney’s hand is hot like an iron—a kiss and a burn and a warm fire on the blackest winter night all at once. The tingling of his mom’s coral fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp.
“Thank you,” Sydney whispers. He moves his hand up to grip harder at James’ shoulder, tightening their embrace, when suddenly pain radiates out in a burst of fire from his socket.
James winces with a hiss before he can hide his reaction, and Sydney freezes, then whips his hands off James’ body. He stumbles back.
“You’re hurt! You didn’t tell me you were hurt.”
James rolls his arm, fighting an angry blush, and turns to face Sydney, looking worried and something like afraid.
James shakes his head softly. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about—”
“God, I fell asleep on you. My head was on your shoulder. I pinned it down in the same position all night and then you woke up this morning in pain.”
“Really, Sydney, it’s fine. It’s not your fault, just—”
“But I should have known. I should have realized before I fell asleep that I was hurting you.”
Sydney’s eyes are wide and anxious, chest wildly heaving, and James reaches out to grip his arm hard, trying to bring him back down to earth.
“Listen to me,” he says in his steadiest voice. “Listen to me.”
Sydney rapidly blinks and slowly focuses on James, his whole body trembling like he’s coming out of a panicked daze. James tries not to wince again as he raises his left arm to grip at Sydney’s other shoulder, holding him hard and firm.
“Neither one of us is talking about my goddamn shoulder right now,” he says. “Yeah. I got shot. Sometimes it fucking hurts. But I also had nightmares half the fucking night of you drowning from a thousand foot tall wave, and you’re scared right now that if you go out and do this I won’t still be on the beach waiting for you by the time you come back. So listen to me.”
He takes a deep breath, and relaxes his grip on Sydney’s arm, stroking his skin. “I’m not leaving,” he whispers. “You’re going to do this. And we’re going to have fucking mind blowing sex tonight because you’ll still be alive, and I’ll still be here, and I don’t give a shit if my shoulder hurts for one day, okay?”
James shakes Sydney once gently, trying with every ounce of energy he can muster to mask the fear still churning behind his eyes—to look calm and assured and easy. Trying not to show how shocked he is at himself for talking so freely about the fact that they’re going to have even more sex.
Sydney studies his face, pale eyes roaming over his features until they finally blink hard and settle. He gives a tiny nod, then smiles at the corner of his mouth. “Aye aye, Captain,” he says.
James immediately huffs and shoves Sydney away from him, drawing in a deep breath of oxygen now that the air isn’t thick and charged.
“You’re fucking disgusting,” James groans. “Now make us some coffee with your fucking spaceship here so I don’t fall asleep today, and then you’re gonna drive us like a normal person to Waimea because I swear to God I’ll have a heart attack on you if you try and swerve us into a fucking goat again, alright?”
James turns to head back into the bedroom and gather his stuff when suddenly Sydney’s hand is gripping his face, pulling him back quickly towards him and planting a deep, warm kiss on James’ mouth. James reaches out and grabs a handful of Sydney’s shirt in his shaking palms, sighing into the kiss. He can taste the relief on the tips of Sydney’s lips—the warm, soft pulse of understanding, of gratefulness, that James didn’t ask him not to surf.
James pulls back reluctantly, still clinging to Sydney’s shirt. “Come on. You’ll be late,” he says roughly. He rubs his hands over Sydney’s chest one last time before stepping aside to let him walk by, not missing the chance to slap his ass.
James lets himself stare at Sydney’s back for just a moment as he starts to make the coffee. His eyes trace the firm lines of his back and shoulders, the strength in his arms, the dip of his hips and muscles in his thighs. Bony ankles perfectly balanced on hardwood.
He lets himself stare, and he tells himself that he’ll be able to see this sight every morning until somebody walks in and physically drags him away.
And he tells himself that Sydney Moore will surf Waimea’s tallest waves today. And that he will live.
24
“Oh, so you can drive like a normal person on the way to a competition. I wasn’t sure if it was physically possible.”
“Seriously? I drove just fine that first day I took you around the island. And on our way to the—on your last day here.”
“Yeah, I realize that, genius. I said on the way to a competition. It’s physically possible. For you. To drive without killing us before we get there.”
“Well I’m not fucking nervous this time, that’s why, Captain Smartass.”
“No, no, no, this whole ‘captain’ thing has gotta go. Right now. Gone.”
“Yes, Cap’n,” Sydney smirks.
“Jesus Christ. Nevermind. You just—wait, hold on a second. How the hell are you not nervous this time? You didn’t even surf before!”
“Exactly! You were the one surfing, and it was goddamn nerve wracking to watch.”
“Oh, coming from the man who told me every five seconds I was going to win.”
“Well that wasn’t a for sure thing! I can’t fucking predict the future!”
James laughs under his breath and shakes his head, covering his smile with his palm while he stares out the Jeep window at the fragrant rolling green.
“Seriously, you’re about to surf down the most fucking dangerous waves on earth and you were more nervous sitting on your ass and watching me flail about? You’re something else.”
Sydney leans over and places his palm on James’ knee, gripping tight. “James,” he says. The sudden change in tone of his voice causes James to pause and turn his head. Sydney glances at him once, looking like he’s about to tell him it’s their last day on earth.
“James,” he says again, when James’ eyes are locked on to the side of his face. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than I wanted you to win that title. It was the most invested I have ever been in a competition. Do you get me?”
James
swallows hard. He finds he can’t bare to blink. Sydney’s eyes when they look at him again are the clear open sky, pouring out emotion like they’ve never spoken a more raw truth in his life. James clears his throat and nods, covering Sydney’s hand with his.
They gaze at each other, the moment quickly turning heavy, tumbling towards unspeakable words which James shockingly realizes he has already prepped on the tip of his tongue. Just as James starts opening his mouth to speak, half overcome and half terrified at what might pour out, he glimpses the barest hint of color out of the corner of his eye.
“Fucking God, Sydney, the cliff! Watch the fucking road, you fucking lunatic!”
Sydney cranks the wheel hard back onto the road, away from the precarious edge of screaming blue sky.
James’ heart explodes in his chest, shooting right up into his throat. “Do you have any idea—we could have died! Goddammit, you can’t fucking drive for shit!”
And then James realizes that the odd sound filling the car isn’t him yelling, or even the sound of the engine.
It’s Sydney laughing. Laughing. Leaning forward over his knees and thumping his palm on the wheel as he gasps for breath.
James sucks in a slow, furious whistle and tries to calm his voice. “You fucker, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he says.
Sydney wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “James, I could drive this road with my eyes closed, there’s no way I could ever—”
“—fucking don’t!”
“—possibly drive us off a cliff.” Sydney pauses again to calm himself, trying to talk over the laugh warping his lips. “God, you . . . you’re adorable,” he says.
James stills. The word settles over his body like a warm shiver, starting at the base of his spine and ending in a tight burst across his scalp.
He’s never been called that before in his life. Never imagined that he would ever want to hear that word directed at him from the lips of someone whom he had just fucked in the last twelve hours. And now the desire to get out and walk over to the driver’s side door and kiss Sydney Moore is so strong that he nearly chokes trying to get the words out.
The Sea Ain't Mine Alone Page 44
