Firebloods

by Casey Hays

  “When are you coming home?” I choke the tears out of my voice.

  “Soon. I have to go now, but I’ll call you later when I know more. I love you, honey.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  I stand there for a few minutes letting it all sink in before I smile. Mom is getting help. This is good.

  I pocket my cell phone, lug my backpack out to the porch, and climb into our swing to wait for Kane. He called Frankie just before he left my house this morning. She argued against his coming, of course, but she said his points were so convincing that he talked her into not only allowing him to join us, but Jonas too. I don’t know how he did it, but I’m impressed.

  The sun burns blindingly bright in the hot, afternoon sky, and the long shadows of the trees play across my front lawn. I settle into the cushions and push off the ground with my toes. The chains give a rusty creak, but the swing slides into motion. If only my brain would obey my commands as easily. I’ve tried all day to stop it from thinking. No such luck.

  My thoughts have tumbled back and forth between Mom and Kane, but they tend to linger on Kane the most. I ate three chocolate chip cookies after lunch, and Kane was relentlessly baking cookies inside the kitchen in my head. He calls my name from the other side of my bedroom door in one thought, and his cut-my-heart-out dimples won’t leave me alone in the next.

  He says we make sense, and the more I think about it, the less room I find for argument against it. Maybe he’s right.

  I sigh and dig my project notebook out of my backpack. I need a distraction.

  I don’t get very far down the list of badly scribbled notes before the sound of an engine gliding down our quiet street catches my ears. I stash the notebook and check that my insect repellent, which I’ve already sprayed over my entire naked body twice, is inside the pack. It’s there, right next to my Glock and two full magazines. I’m as ready as I can be.

  I expect Kane’s motorcycle, but that’s not what I get. A shiny, black Corvette pulls to a stop on the curb a few feet from my mailbox. I’ve never seen it before, and I pause on the top step and watch Rylin McDowell emerge with a friendly wave. He slams the door closed and makes his way across the lawn toward me.

  He wears a pair of those white cargo shorts—the kind with pockets on the knees—and a tan tee-shirt hanging loose at his waist. Comfortable and confident, he halts at the end of the walk and peers up at me.

  “Hello, Jude.”

  “Hi.” I drop my pack at my feet, surprise laced through my voice. “What are you doing here?”

  He smiles, dips his eyes to the ground, and refocuses on me with a tilted head. His eyes light against the backdrop of the blue sky—a blue-green tint complimenting his auburn hair. Like fire and sea.

  “I felt like seein’ the old neighborhood.” He nods toward Mr. Tomlinson’s house. “Looks about the same—”

  He stops abruptly, and I follow his line of sight. I smile.

  “Except for a few hundred gnomes,” I finish. I brush a wisp of hair from my face.

  “That… is quite… disturbing, really.” His brows nestle together as he studies his old stomping ground.

  “Yeah. Imagine living next to it.”

  “I—no, I don’t want to.”

  I laugh, concentrating on the inflection of his voice. His accent is beautiful, just enough of an intonation to know he’s a foreigner. It reminds me of my dad’s. This sends an odd sensation fluttering through me. Rylin swings his gaze up to meet mine; I look away, concentrating on a gnome that stands guard between the two properties.

  “So. Are ye planning to run away from home, then?” He nods toward the backpack, and I glance at it and back at him. A twinkle lights his eye. “I don’t blame you. Gnomes… they’re nearly as frightnin’ as leprechauns.”

  “Wow,” I laugh. “You’re a lot funnier than I remember.”

  “But ye do remember me now.”

  “Oh, I remember you.”

  I suddenly remember quite a bit. And a curious thought flashes through me: Where’s the music?

  That question didn’t cross my mind at the club. Then again, I had a lot on my mind. Plus, enough music was bursting through those speakers that I wouldn’t have heard his song even if I’d wanted to.

  His song. The words skim over me.

  Obviously, my porch is absent of speakers, unless you count the earbuds attached to the ipod tucked in my pocket, which is off. Other than the bothersome blue jay chirping away in the oak, we’re surrounded by nothing but silence. Definitely no music.

  I wonder for a split second if all those years ago, perhaps I imagined it. But I shake that conclusion away pretty quickly. That music antagonized me… for four long years. That’s not something you can make up. Or easily forget. I chew on my lip a minute, pondering this.

  “How’s your finger?” Rylin asks. I glance at the scabbed-over scrapes along my knuckles.

  “It’s good.” I nod, bending my fingers. I feel an urge to hide my hand behind my back. Instead, I cover it with my other. That whole episode is still embarrassingly fresh. “Thanks again for your help the other night.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he smiles.

  His accent rolls over me like a cool breeze. We’re quiet for a few seconds, and then he nods.

  “That’s a beautiful ring.”

  When he says it, my fingers instantly switch places, scraped ones covering the stone—almost involuntarily. My blood rumbles with some kind of warning; it’s the strangest impression, but I can’t deny it. That pretty, little accent echoes with his words. “That’s a beautiful ring.”

  Something presses on my mind—a shove that makes me a little dizzy. I refocus, checking my balance. Rylin hasn’t moved.

  “Uh… thanks.” I swallow, twist the ring once, twice, three times. “My father gave it to me the year he died. It’s—it’s special.”

  It’s all I intend to say. Rylin settles on his heels, relaxed. He flexes the fingers of his left hand, just a small flick, and I’m suddenly very uneasy at having him on my property. I ease back a step closer to the front door. Rylin shifts to match my new position.

  “So the place hasn’t really changed much,” he offers. He points at a chunk of peeling and splintered trim hanging loose above my head. I peer up at it with a smile.

  “We’ve never been good about maintenance around here.”

  It strikes me that in the last couple of days, I’ve said more words to Rylin McDowell than I said in the whole four years he lived here, and this makes the entire ordeal extremely awkward. He studies me, and I shuffle my feet, grasping for something else to say. I’ve got nothing, and to my relief, the rumble of a motorcycle in the distance breaks through the uncomfortable silence that swells like a giant fog between us. Rylin turns his head as Kane swerves into my drive and cuts the engine. Still sitting, he slides the helmet from his head and looks at me.

  I’m not sure I can accurately put into words the relief that skims over me when we connect on that straight line. It’s like my insides kind of give way, crashing all the way to my toes, but I have no fear of falling, because if I do, Kane will catch me.

  Kane hooks his helmet on one handlebar and dismounts, casting his gaze at Rylin.

  “Kane,” Rylin nods. “We meet again.”

  “Yeah,” Kane cocks his head to the side. “Imagine that.”

  “I had a hankerin’ to see the old place.” Rylin nods toward his former home. “Brings back a lot of memories.”

  Kane clenches his jaw. “Well, now you’ve seen it, so I guess you can be on your way.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  Rylin sort of snickers, bites his lip, and his gaze sweeps over me, a tiny gleam flashing. It makes me blush warm. In the midst of that sensation, the music—his music—faint but definitely perceptible, buzzes to life in my brain. I perk up.

  Now, I’m a fairly logical person. In fact, I pride myself in it. But right now in this moment, my logic is severely put to the test. A few mi
nutes of my life. That’s about as much time as I’ve allotted to conversing with Rylin McDowell, and he has the power to do this?

  The song softly works its way through me, calling to me like an old friend I haven’t seen in a while. One by one, the black-windowed cells in my head flicker with light and life. The little girl inside me, awakened by the forgotten beauty in the notes, grabs hold. It’s magnificent!

  I suddenly feel brave, so I slide forward and lean into one of the large pillars that holds up the roof. Kane’s expression is a blank sheet of resolve. Not a shred of emotion bends a single muscle in his face. Protective, he takes a step toward Rylin, but Rylin focuses on me with a knowing look.

  “Jude. Next time I’m in the neighborhood, I’ll let you show me ‘round.”

  “Sure. That would be great.”

  I answer without meaning to, but I can’t help it. For the first time, I know he’s aware of the music in my head. I see it plainly, as if the notes dance across his hazel eyes. In a way, it’s a relief, but it also unnerves me. It feels like an intrusion. I swallow; the music hums.

  I don’t miss how Kane’s shoulders tense. He shifts his position, deliberately placing himself at the base of the steps as Rylin makes his way across the yard. He doesn’t move a muscle until the Corvette pulls away.

  As for the music, it dulls into nothing more than residue lining my brain like a leftover headache. You want to know the weird thing? I feel sad. Disappointed. Just like I did the day Rylin climbed into that moving van and drove away, taking his music with him. The feeling lingers for a few seconds until Kane faces me.

  I know this sounds stupid, but I feel like I’ve betrayed him somehow just by talking with Rylin. This makes me cringe inside. But the logical part of my brain assures me that I can speak to whomever I please. Because, well, this is my porch. I didn’t seek out either one of them. They came to me.

  “I never liked him,” Kane growls.

  “Yeah. It’s kind of obvious.” I lean my head against the pillar, arms crossed, and give him a teasing glare. “Why exactly?”

  “I don’t like his accent.” A smile finally plays at the edge of his lips. “And I don’t like how he looks at you. Then or now.”

  “Oh, really? How does he look at me?”

  He climbs a couple of steps until his height is level with mine. “The same way I do.”

  “What are you implying?” I whisper. “That he’s sweeping in to steal away your chances?”

  “It’s not an implication,” he concludes without dropping even a hint at a smile. “It’s fact. I can smell it on him.”

  If Kane knew what was inside my head a few moments ago, he’d see that this is a pretty good assessment. Rylin does something to me; I can’t deny it, and I don’t like it. But I say nothing to Kane. He catches my hand, folding his fingers over my ring, toying with it.

  “Do me a favor and keep this on.”

  His expression is super serious; it scares me a little. I tug my hand free.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it, okay?”

  “Kane, it’s a ring. Just a ring.”

  I check myself even as I say this, because that feeling I had when Rylin complimented it gushes through my bones and makes me slightly nauseous. I swivel my head up to meet Kane’s eyes. He rubs his hand up my arm and back down again.

  “I remember what your dad told you.” He smiles. “I like that idea.”

  My father’s words scuttle in. “Keep this ring on, Jude, and it will always protect you, even when I’m not around.”

  I hold it up. My ruby is as bright as ever, glancing off the afternoon sun.

  “You sure have shown a lot of interest in my ring lately,” I say.

  He only flashes a mischievous smile that causes me to laugh even though I don’t want to. The oak tree’s shadow lurches out across the lawn and falls over us. I twist the ring until the ruby faces inside, and I clench my fist around it.

  “We’d better get going.” Kane skips down the steps to his bike. He opens a rear compartment. “Frankie and Jonas are waiting for us at the gas station on South Carson.”

  I slide into the straps of my backpack and join him on the drive. He holds out the spare helmet, but when I try to take it from him, his grip on it tightens.

  “You’re not really gonna, you know, take Rylin McDowell on a tour?”

  The gold flecks flicker briefly. I’m surprised at how clearly I see this in the glaring sunlight. They seem to flare up and simmer back into deep green. But that aside, I sense an overwhelming flood of jealousy surge from him. I’m not kidding. I feel it like a heat wave in my face.

  I don’t understand my reaction to Rylin; I’ve never been able to. All I know is that it always manifests in music—the same song every time. And something about our encounter today triggered that forgotten layer.

  I yank the helmet free from Kane’s clutches and slide it onto my head. No need to dwell on an ancient mystery. I mean, I can’t explain Rylin to myself; I’m definitely not going to try explaining him to Kane. The best option? To forget Rylin was even here.

  Stepping around him, I hike a leg over the backend of the double seat.

  “Are we going, or what?” I clasp the helmet under my chin.

  With a half-smile and a shake of his head, he climbs on and revs the engine. I lace my arms around his waist and hold on tight as we swerve out of my driveway.

  But I can’t lie. It takes a little while for me to stop dwelling on the music that has laid dormant for the last five years.

  Twelve

  The hot wind whips at us, grazing the skin on my bare arms, and I nestle in closer to Kane’s back to block it. He doesn’t stop at the gas station. He just waves an arm in the air as we pass, and Jonas eases out onto US-50 to follow us. Devan won’t be with him. Her version of camping? A road trip in a fully-loaded RV. I’d have to agree.

  I’ve ridden on the back of this bike more than a few times, but today, it’s different. Without a doubt, our relationship took a wayward curve this morning, and I find myself concentrating on things I normally wouldn’t. Like the width of Kane’s broad shoulders that taper to a slim waistline. I haven’t spent a single second of my life on this, and yet, here I am marveling at it. I notice that even though my seat is raised a few inches higher, he’s still too tall for me to see over him. I’m acutely aware of how the insides of my thighs press against his hips, and how I’m in the habit of tucking my arms up under his pits and clinging to his chest. More than once, I slide my arms down to his waist, but it’s useless. Before long, they’re hugging his chest again.

  I notice the expanding and releasing of air from his lungs with each breath too, and I like how it feels. In fact, I’ve always liked this about Kane—how he makes me feel when I’m with him. He brings something to life inside me. He brings out my sense of adventure. A passion. A love of nature, despite the bugs. But always before, these were innocent rituals. Observations that carried no more weight than two people with common interests. But now, my sensitivities are on full alert.

  I can’t decide if it’s the close proximity to him or the revival of the music. Maybe it’s my run-in with Rylin, but the little girl inside me is suddenly wide awake and totally in tune with everything that she’s always known in Kane. I see the vivid pattern of his life so intricately entwined with mine. Maybe all I needed was his nudge to see us with a whole new set of eyes. This boy who waited on my porch hoping I’d let him rescue my heart.

  We soar down this highway, free flying with nothing to stop us, and all I can do is think.

  My conclusion? What more does he have to do that he hasn’t already done to prove himself to me?

  I shift my legs more firmly against him, and his head turns to the side.

  “You all right?”

  The sound of his voice fills the helmet through the built-in intercom. I smile and tighten my grip on him.

  “I’m perfect.”

  “Perfect.” I hear the smile in his voice. “That so
unds nice.”

  “Yep.”

  I think a minute, deciding what to say next. Because I want it to sound right. I want him to know how much it means to have him in my life. He’s told me so many times, and I’m ready to reciprocate. Because in reality, I’m not sure I’ve ever said it. He should know that even though I talk big and act like I can take care of myself, a part of me always needs him. Telling him now, inside the safety of this helmet, seems ideal.

  “Kane?”

  “Yeah?”

  I pause, afraid no matter what I say, I’ll sound lame. His head turns again, then realigns with the road in front of him.

  “What is it, Jude?”

  I clutch his chest a little more tightly. “I just wanted to say thank you. For being such a great friend. For making me feel better and, you know, safe.”

  I wince. Yep. Lame.

  “Sure, Jude.” His voice crackles out. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. ‘Cause that’s always my first priority.”

  “That’s what I want.” I weave my fingers together, squeezing him, wanting him to feel our closeness in a new way. “I want you to be my priority.”

  Silence. I wait, unsure. But his hand suddenly covers my own, pinning it over his heart.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for a long time.”

  I sigh.

  “I know. I’m sorry it took so long. I—I was being stupid.”

  “No. You were being sensible.” He laughs into my ears. “That’s always been my dream. A sensible girl.” He squeezes my hand. “You’ll do.”

  The rest of our ride is soaked in a newness, and I’m so happy. It’s the best feeling. And this may sound cheesy, but happiness seems to flutter back and forth between us as the wind screams through our helmets. The sun smiles down on us. The engine buzzes, loud and strong, but my heartbeat thudding in my chest is louder. I haven’t felt this way since my dad was alive. Can that be right?

  When we reach the campground, Kane eases his motorcycle to a stop and cuts the engine. He slides off and removes his helmet. I fumble with the strap on my own for a few seconds before he moves in, unfastening it and lifting it from my head. He deposits both in his back compartment while I work my fingers through my matted hair.