by Avon Gale
“All right,” I said, slowly. “You can talk to him.”
“Thank you.” Poe leaned up and kissed me, mouth warm. “Thank you for trusting me.”
I kissed him back, one hand on the back of his neck. “I trust you. If you think it’ll work, give it a try. But, Poe, if he doesn’t turn himself in . . .”
Poe’s mouth went tight. “If he doesn’t turn himself in, I’ll do it for him,” he said, grimly. “Let’s go home.”
Poe
It took me almost a week to catch up with Blue, and with every day that passed, my frustration grew.
I knew Blue. He wasn’t above going ghost on me whenever we had a serious fight—and right now, he had a really good reason for avoiding me.
But I also knew Blue was a creature of habit. In the end, he couldn’t afford to ditch his job, no matter how shitty it might be. He wouldn’t be able to stay away from his usual haunts for very long either. When Blue staked a claim on something, he guarded it possessively. Sometimes I wondered if that was why he clung so hard to his starving, persecuted artist ideals. If he wasn’t raging against The Man, what did he have left to fight for? If he wasn’t making himself out to be some kind of martyr for the cause, maybe he didn’t know who or what else to be.
When I found him, it was at our spot in The Pit.
Light filtered in through the dusty broken windows, illuminating the space and causing the defunct textile equipment to cast long, sinister shadows. In the middle of the day, the old industrial district was deserted, the factories no more than the skeletal remains of companies that currently paid for cheap labor done overseas—if they still existed at all. Nowadays, the area really only came alive at night. The rest of the time it was just depressing. Much like the situation with me and Blue.
His back was to me as I approached. He had a can of spray paint in hand, and he was covering a piece we’d done together . . . which didn’t exactly bode well for the conversation I wanted to have.
I stopped next to the couch, shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “Hey.”
Blue froze for a second. Then he shook the can and went right back to what he was doing—spraying white over the galaxy we’d created, the colorful planets and stars that we’d named, the hours and hours of time we’d invested. We’d been slowly adding to it for years. We’d even snuck in a few Star Wars Easter eggs for any fellow nerds who might care to look.
Pain streaked through my chest at the sight of Blue erasing what we’d brainstormed and imagined together. Pain—and fury. Add one more item to my list of grievances. It was getting longer every day, and my anger grew right along with it.
“So you’re going to ignore me,” I said, voice tight. “Is that how this is gonna be?”
“Nothing to say,” Blue answered without looking at me. He wore nothing more than a pair of tapered joggers and a thin tank top despite the January chill that penetrated the unheated building. His dark-brown hair hung in waves past his bare shoulders. It looked damp from a recent shower.
Frustrated, I kicked one of the beer-can towers on the floor near the couch. Empty cans rattled off in every direction. “There’s a lot to fucking say!”
Finally, Blue stopped with the spraying. He dropped the arm holding the cannon to his side and swiveled to face me. “Did you rat me out?”
“No. But I damn well should have! Jericho is going to call the cops and tell them it was you if you don’t turn yourself in.”
Blue sneered and started to turn back to the wall.
I darted forward and grabbed his arm. “No. Fuck you, Blue! You’re gonna listen to me! I don’t know what the hell you were thinking wrecking Jericho’s shop, but that isn’t you, man. Do you realize how much damage you did? This isn’t only about you and me. Your actions have consequences.”
Blue shook my hand off. “Good. I intended them to.”
“Listen.” I got right in his face. “This isn’t something you can blow off. You owe me a goddamn explanation! You’re acting like I betrayed you when you’re the one who fucking stabbed me in the back.”
“You did betray me,” Blue snarled, his lip curled up. “You fucking disappeared.”
“What are you talking about? I’m right here. I’ve been here for years.”
Blue crossed his arms over his chest, the posture as defensive as his voice. “No, you haven’t. Not lately. Lately you’ve been at that shop. Or with Jericho.” He spat the name with a look of absolute disgust on his face.
“So you decided to wreck his shop to get even with me? To ruin the best thing I have going for me?”
Blue shrugged, his gaze slanting away. After a long pause, he muttered, “Honestly? I didn’t mean to do that much damage. I was gonna break the window, tag the walls. But once I started, I couldn’t stop. Something came over me, and I went into this rage. I was so fucking mad at you.” His eyes met mine, whiskey brown and dark with emotion. “No one else in my life gives a shit about me. You, you’re supposed to care. You’re not supposed to ditch me for money. Or for some dude who’s old enough to be your fucking dad.”
“Why didn’t you try to talk to me like an adult, Blue?” I stepped closer, reaching out to grab his arm again. I wanted to shake the shit out of him. I resisted. “Huh? What do you think you were going to accomplish by wrecking the shop? If you wanted me to understand your feelings, you chose the wrong fucking path.”
Blue scoffed. “Please. You weren’t trying to hear what I had to say. Talking to you wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Well, we’ll never know now, will we? You blew any chance you had of getting me to see your side.”
Blue made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “As if there was any chance of that to begin with. You’ve already made your decisions and moved on without me. You’re barely around, and when you are, you’re distracted. It’s not me and you anymore. It’s not Azure and Raven. It’s you and him.”
My stomach plummeted in a sudden swoop, like I’d gone over that first sharp drop on a roller coaster, and comprehension finally dawned. The bitterness in Blue’s voice, that was definitely jealousy. Jealousy about Jericho and the time I’d been spending with him. Not my apprenticeship or the art or our friendship. And that meant Jericho was right. Maybe Blue did have feelings for me. I hadn’t thought so before, but maybe . . . Well, maybe I hadn’t been paying enough attention. It all seemed so obvious now.
I felt like an asshole.
“Blue . . .”
I didn’t know what he heard in my voice, but Blue jerked away from me so suddenly I couldn’t even try to stop him.
“Don’t.” The word burst from Blue as if it’d been ripped from his chest. He pitched the spray paint can at the wall with so much force it took a chunk out of the old brick and ricocheted away. It happened so fast I jumped, my nerves jangling.
I watched numbly as he went on what I could only call a rampage—throwing empty bottles, swearing, ripping apart the table we’d constructed from plywood and milk crates, tearing at the already tattered couch.
Blue had always been given to rapid changes in mood, happy in one second and angry the next. But I’d never seen him lash out like this. I almost didn’t recognize him as I watched him go berserk—until he finally went still.
Panting roughly, Blue met my gaze. His hands were fisted at his sides, his hair disheveled and falling over his face.
He blinked once, slowly, and his forehead puckered. Blue stared at me like a lost little boy. Right then, he looked like my Blue again, not the stranger who’d totally lost his shit and left destruction in his wake.
I crossed to Blue and hugged him hard. This didn’t make what he’d done okay, not by a long shot, but I better understood his motivations now—and I felt guilty for being so goddamned oblivious.
Blue went rigid in my arms. He didn’t return the embrace. His clothes clung damply to his sweat-soaked body, and his chest moved against mine as he fought to catch his breath.
“Blue,” I said s
oftly, my nose buried in his hair, “this isn’t you. You’re so much better than this.” I squeezed him tighter when he tried to pull away. “Hear me out. I’ve found something I love. Let me help you find something. We can still do big things together. It doesn’t have to be tattooing. There are so many things you can do with art, different ways you can stay true to yourself and where you came from. There are so many different things you can be.”
Blue stayed quiet, but he wasn’t struggling against my hold anymore.
“Think about it. Please. This is your chance to do the right thing. The cops will go so much easier on you if you turn yourself in. Jericho is going to call them tomorrow regardless. Do the right thing today, now, and show them all you’re sorry. Show them you regret what you did.”
“I’m not sorry,” Blue said, his voice muffled by the material of my hoodie where his face was pressed to my shoulder.
I leaned back to look him in the eye.
“I’m not,” he repeated, and when he tried to pull away from me again, I let him go. “You can fuck right off if you think I’m going to make things any easier for your boyfriend.”
“No, you can fuck off.” I dropped my arms to my sides. “I wasn’t trying to make things easier for him, asshole. I was trying to make them easier for you.”
Blue shrugged and turned to stare out of the windows. “It doesn’t matter,” he said dully. “You have a new life right now. New friends. Better get back to them.”
“Don’t be this way. I love you, Blue. You’re still my best—”
“Just go. You’ve had your say. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. Held it to the count of ten. Let it out.
Leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. But staying would lead to more fighting, and putting my anger aside, I was so fucking tired of arguing with him.
I couldn’t change his mind. I saw that now. He was too stubborn. He wouldn’t change unless he wanted to. I was wasting both my time and my breath.
With a heavy heart, I left the factory. I skated around for hours, feeling as lost as Blue had looked after he’d destroyed the place that used to be ours.
I ignored greetings from people I knew and the ache in my chest, and skated, absorbed by the sound of polyurethane wheels moving over asphalt and concrete.
Until Jericho’s ringtone started playing from my back pocket. It was “Hey Darlin’, Do you Gamble?” by Lucero, a band I’d started listening to months ago, after hearing them on Jericho’s Spotify playlist. Something about the song reminded me of him, something about taking chances and not knowing the odds—because it didn’t always seem like the odds were stacked in our favor. But I wanted to keep trying with him anyway. He was worth it. We were worth it.
I answered the phone with an involuntary smile that died the instant Jericho said, “The cops just called.”
My pulse accelerated as nervous sweat began to slick my palms.
I stopped my skateboard and popped it up to grip the kicktail. I had a feeling I’d need both feet on the ground for this conversation. My mouth went so dry I had to force myself to swallow before I could speak. “What happened?”
“Blue turned himself in.”
My jaw fell open. Of all the things I’d expected Jericho to say, that had to be dead last on the list. “He— I mean, what? He did?”
“Yep. They want me to come down to the station. They’re asking if I want to press charges.”
I tongued nervously at the ring in my lower lip. “And will you?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure yet.” Jericho sighed. “Where are you?”
I looked around only to frown in consternation when I didn’t immediately recognize the neighborhood. “Um. I . . . I don’t know, actually. I just started skating. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Jericho laughed, equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Well, stay there. Do you have Google Maps on your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Share your location with me, and I’ll come get you. We should talk.”
My fingers tightened on the board. “Yeah, okay.”
“Be safe, all right? I’ll be there soon.”
The call disconnected. I puffed out a long breath as I tapped on the app and did as Jericho had asked. When I was finished, I shoved the phone back into my pocket.
We did need to talk. About a lot of things. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted Jericho to press charges or not. On the one hand, it would teach Blue a lesson. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but think all Blue needed was guidance, someone to show him a new path. It was more than obvious that person couldn’t be me.
Blue deserved a second chance. The trouble was, I didn’t know if he’d get it from the cops. If anything, I could only see their involvement making Blue’s growing anger issues even worse. What else could we do, though?
I groaned and dropped my head back, staring up at the sky.
I hadn’t found any answers in the clouds by the time Jericho’s truck stopped in front of me. I got in the passenger side, and Jericho leaned over to kiss me. He was smiling when he did—I could feel it against my mouth. I cupped his cheeks in my palms and deepened the kiss, not caring who might be watching. Seeing me had put that expression on his face, that happy light in his eyes. It made me want to eat him whole. That he could smile at me when his shop was in shambles, and when it was one of my own friends who’d done the damage, meant more to me than I could say.
Eventually I got control of myself. Jericho was double-parked, and there was a café nearby that had been getting a steady stream of customers. We couldn’t sit here making out all day, regardless of how much I wanted to. With one last suck on his lower lip, I pulled back.
Jericho’s eyes searched mine. Whatever he found, he liked. His mouth quirked, and he gave my thigh a quick grope before turning his attention the road.
“So, your talk must’ve worked,” he said once he’d merged into traffic.
“I guess. It didn’t seem like it had at the time.”
Jericho shot me a glance. “What do you mean?”
“The talk wasn’t exactly what I’d call a success.” Briefly, I recapped what had happened between me and Blue. “When I walked out of there, I would’ve sworn on a Bible he’d make the cops chase him down before stepping a foot into the station on his own.”
Jericho hummed. “Something you said must’ve gotten through to him.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I chewed contemplatively on my lip before I added, “I think you might be right about him having feelings for me, though. I mean, he didn’t say so specifically, but . . .”
“But?”
I bounced my left knee and played with one of my wristbands to avoid looking at Jericho. “The way he says your name. Some of the things he said. And he keeps mentioning the age gap. Like it matters.”
Jericho hesitated. “It does matter to some people, Poe. It bothers them to see us together. They’ll look at us and wonder if I’m some kind of pervert, or maybe if you’re only fucking me to pay your bills.”
I jerked my head around. Jericho’s expression was pensive as he stared out at the road. “Like a sugar daddy, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
I snorted. “That’s not the kind of daddy I want.”
“I know that. But there are people who’ll wonder if that’s why you’re with me.” Jericho cast a quick look at me. His tattooed fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Are you okay with that?”
I gaped at him. “Of course I’m okay with it! Like I give a shit about anyone else’s opinion about our relationship. This is you and me. As long as you don’t think that, we’re golden.”
Jericho laid a hand on my knee, stopping the bouncing mid-motion. I hadn’t realized I was still doing it. “I don’t think that.”
“Good.” I placed my hand on top of his, threading our fingers together, his dark ink and my pale, freckled skin. “Then what other people think doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.” Jer
icho stopped at a light and glanced at me again. “Now, about your friend. I was thinking about the entire situation on the drive to pick you up. I might know a way for him to pay me back without involving the cops. If he agrees, I won’t press charges. I can’t say the police won’t pursue them, but in my eyes, we’d be square.”
I straightened up in my seat. “Really? That’s awesome! What is it?”
Jericho gave me a cryptic smile. “You’ll find out soon, promise. I have to talk to someone first.”
Jericho
After I dropped Poe off, I went to Callum’s loft, which was on the edge of the Central West End. While he probably could have afforded something either in Central West End proper—or the pricier lofts on Washington Ave—he’d opted for this place because he’d purchased a workspace for his sculpting right next door. I wished it wasn’t so cold and I could have taken my bike, because parking was always a bitch.
Callum’s loft was gorgeous, with ten-foot ceilings and large windows letting in plenty of light. He was barefoot, his blond hair was tied back off his face, and he was dressed casually. “Jericho. Long time, no see.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Come in.”
I always felt like I had to take my boots off when I came over here, because everything was so clean. I followed Callum into the kitchen.
“I was making myself a smoothie. You want one?”
I declined, took a seat on the barstool in front of the counter, and watched Callum prepare his smoothie with the same efficiency he’d once prepared for court. Callum did yoga, hardly ever drank more than two beers, and didn’t smoke. But no matter what he said, he was addicted to those goddamn smoothies. Once he’d tried to tell me that they were “liquid sunshine”—at six thirty in the morning, if I was remembering correctly. Goddamn Callum and his sunrise yoga.
