The Uncrossing

by Melissa Eastlake

  “Okay. Yes. I know.” Jeremy thought now kiss me, and Luke did.

  He slid his hands under the hem of Jeremy’s shirt. “Is this all right?”

  Jeremy nodded, and Luke lifted Jeremy’s shirt off in a tipsy whoosh. Luke was kissing him before he had his bearings back, rubbing up and down his back, while Jeremy hung on his shoulders to stay upright.

  Luke pulled his mouth away, rolling his forehead against Jeremy’s. “What do you want? For real.”

  “What do you want to do?” Jeremy asked slyly.

  “Make it good for you.”

  Jeremy fake-glared, and Luke grinned for real. “It’s not a trick question. It’s just better to decide first. I don’t want to go too far.”

  “You won’t. I like this. I want more.”

  Somehow, that was the right thing to say. Luke’s hands tightened on Jeremy’s back. “I can do more.” He swallowed so hard Jeremy felt his chest move. “We’ll take it slow. One step at a time.”

  Without consulting his mind, Jeremy’s body had gone all wriggly. “Maybe one step at a time, but, like, fast.”

  “You.” Luke drooped so his face skimmed Jeremy’s shoulder and chest. “Damn. Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Um.” Jeremy went pliant as Luke got them arranged, sitting on the bed and pulling Jeremy over his lap. Jeremy draped his arms around Luke’s neck, and Luke hiked him closer. These kisses were new, more—Jeremy could tell right away that everything that came before had been beginner stuff. When they needed to breathe, Luke didn’t pull away. He nuzzled pecks along Jeremy’s collarbone or rolled his neck open for Jeremy to kiss him there.

  It was almost everything Jeremy had ever wanted. The weight of bracelets dragged his wrist, and he couldn’t have stayed the night; even if he could have, Luke’s parents were afraid of his family and wouldn’t want him to.

  Luke had his hand on Jeremy’s knee, and then his leg, and it was easy to stop worrying. He slid it higher, cupped Jeremy’s hip, and it was hard to think about anything else.

  Luke leaned back, pressing Jeremy’s waist to hold him away, and breathed hard through his nose. His eyes squeezed shut so tight his forehead wrinkled. “One sec.”

  “Don’t stop.” Jeremy tried to tug him closer by the wrist, but when Luke opened his eyes, the look there, cool and hungry and awed, was so intense it stopped him. He sat back on Luke’s knees and let his grip soften around Luke’s hand. Watching, Luke pulled his lips between his teeth and shook his head, as if something impossible were happening.

  Jeremy wondered what Luke saw. He felt tediously possible, hemmed in on all sides. He was constantly happening to himself, and didn’t find it all that special. He thought he should say something sexy. He said, “What?”

  Luke laughed.

  “You laugh at me a lot.”

  “You’re pretty funny.” Luke sat up slowly, his hands hovering like he’d forgotten what to do with them.

  “What’s next?” Jeremy asked.

  Luke looked up. “You tell me.”

  Jeremy huffed, but he could say it. “I want to have sex. Maybe not anything advanced, but we can just…be…together. Right?”

  Jeremy caught some of Luke’s smile before he hid it, ducking into Jeremy’s neck. “You are so sweet. You could sell hot chocolate in hell.”

  “I’m not trying to sell anything,” Jeremy said. “Do you not want to?”

  “I want to,” Luke said heavily. The heat of his breath, the vibrations of his voice in his ribs, pressed into Jeremy’s skin. “But I don’t want to mess this up.”

  Jeremy blinked at the wall. “Oh. I probably wouldn’t even notice.”

  Luke snorted. “Not like that. God, you’re—” He sat up and put his hands under Jeremy’s jaw. “I wish it was me. But it’s not, Jeremy, and if you meet your true damn love, aren’t you going to wish you kept all this?”

  It hit Jeremy like a slap or a splash of ice water. He twisted off Luke’s lap and clambered gracelessly to his feet. “It’s not a joke.”

  “I’m not joking,” Luke said. “What if you end up stuck because you gave your first to the wrong person?”

  “What if I’m too careful, and that gets me stuck?” Jeremy crossed his arms over his stomach. “I haven’t thought about all these what ifs, because it was supposed to be you. You’re supposed to—”

  He stopped himself in time, but he might as well have shouted love me. Luke’s forehead crumpled. Jeremy’s skin prickled; he turned, scanning for his shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” Luke said, soft in a way that reprimanded Jeremy’s yelling. “We just—we have to be able to talk about stuff—”

  “It’s all you ever talk about.” Jeremy turned again. He had to find his shirt. “I’ve heard enough.”

  “That’s not fair.” Luke’s voice was so rough Jeremy stopped and turned slowly back to him. His face had gone hard. “You can’t mess around with me while you wait for someone else, and get mad when I try to change your crossing, and get mad when I deal without changing it. There’s nowhere left for me.”

  Jeremy stepped back, stunned, and pressed his arms over his stomach. Luke made him sound horrible. He wasn’t waiting for anything, didn’t want anyone else. But he also didn’t know what the future held.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jeremy was supposed to be happily-ever-aftering right now. Jeremy squeezed himself harder, trying to press the thought out of himself—hope fit more comfortably than bitterness—but it tumbled him like a wave, stealing his air.

  “I didn’t mean—” Jeremy started, but he couldn’t finish. He had meant it, every kiss and prayer, even the foolish, impossible ones. Like a plant that had grown sideways in poor light, he was too used to making do. Luke would want something real—deserved it. He was right. It wasn’t fair for Jeremy to drag him down.

  “Hey,” Luke said, much more gently. He reached for Jeremy’s elbow and pulled him closer. “Talk to me.”

  Jeremy’s arms crawled up his chest, following their own instinct to cover him. Luke twisted to the side and got Jeremy’s shirt out from underneath his leg to hand it over. Jeremy pulled it on and felt more naked, standing there avoiding eye contact. Neither one of them was moving, and he had some time. He thought about what he wanted to say, and it came out perfect, like his words never were. “I’m with you because I like you, not because of the curse. If it meant I was stuck, I’d still want to be with you.”

  Luke jolted like Jeremy had electrocuted him and took his own time answering. “I think I like you too much to let you do that.”

  Jeremy shook his head. He grabbed his bag from the floor and threw it on. “Sorry to bother you, then.”

  “Jeremy, no.” Luke stood. “Come on.”

  The only thing Jeremy didn’t like about Luke was how he always said Come on during fights, as if the only reason you could disagree with him was that you hadn’t caught up yet. Tears burned behind Jeremy’s eyes, and he squeezed them closed. Luke’s hands on his waist made him jump.

  “Don’t touch me.” Jeremy pushed away too hard and crashed into Luke’s dresser. He yelped in surprise—it didn’t hurt, just made a lot of embarrassing noise—but Luke shot his palms up, stricken, as if he’d shoved Jeremy himself. And that was even worse, Luke thinking it was his fault, when of course it was only Jeremy, flailing around and ruining everything.

  Whatever they had made collapsed around them, messy and claustrophobic, and Jeremy couldn’t imagine finding a way forward again. All he knew was that he had to get out of there before he cried, because he couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than that, and his whole life was already humiliation enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jeremy stood in front of the candy in a convenience store down Luke’s block until the treacherous heat behind his eyes started to calm. He waited for the roiling hurt and shame inside him to settle, but they didn’t and they didn’t and they never would. He was going to feel like this forever.

  He stared at his p
hone’s black screen, pretending he had a decision to make. But his options were limited, and even if Sergei was done with Natalya, Jeremy wasn’t ready to face him.

  Instead of hello, Alexei said, “Your highness! How may I serve?”

  “Could you come pick me up?” His voice sounded pitiful, and he hated it. More firmly, he said, “Or send a car. Sergei said no cabs.”

  “Of course. Scots on the loose. Where are you?”

  “A bodega on East 149th Street in the Bronx.”

  “Where? The Melnyks’?”

  “No.”

  There was a long pause. “Ah,” Alexei finally said. “Next time, if it’s easier, you can just say rock bottom.”

  After they hung up, Jeremy made some selections. Three candy bars. Four. He made a slow lap of the store, looking for something to soothe his mood.

  He frittered away his attention at a stand of sunglasses until one pair caught his eye. They were huge aviators with hot pink plastic frames and iridescent mirrored lenses, and they were, if he was entirely honest with himself, the most important sunglasses he had ever seen. He put them on and used his phone’s front-facing camera as a mirror. The boy on the screen had no cheekbones, and no eyebrows, and not a thought in his head. Jeremy had heard luxury goods described as aspirational before, but he’d never understood it until he put these sunglasses on his face.

  They would be the best fourteen dollars he ever spent.

  For so long, wanting Luke had been another on the long list of things that made him feel lonely and weird. How could it be that having Luke made him feel just the same way?

  When the Flying Spur rolled up to the curb, Jeremy was waiting outside the store in his new sunglasses, steadier after a Snickers and two Twix. The front passenger window slid down, and Alexei leaned over from the driver’s seat. “Your car, my prince?”

  Jeremy checked the back as he climbed in. “Where’s Katya?”

  “Working.”

  Katya’s job was driving Alexei around, so she obviously was not. Something rebellious caught Jeremy’s tongue. “I know you were with Natalya. I’m not stupid. You can tell me.”

  Alexei glanced at him, weighing. “Someone tipped her off. She’s gone. Left town, I believe.”

  “Oh.” Jeremy was a terrible Kovrov; he felt a wave of pure, traitorous relief.

  “You’ll have to come back to mine for a while. Sergei is quite colorful. Unless there’s somewhere else you want to go?”

  Jeremy shook his head. They turned a corner, and his breath hitched and stopped—Luke.

  He stood under a basketball hoop with the Wesleys. Straight Wesley dribbled a ball back and forth and the other boys were talking, Short Wes laughing and Luke covering his face and shaking his head.

  Jeremy twisted to keep watching as they drove. Short Wes slung an arm around Luke’s shoulders, and Luke took his hands away from his face. As he looked up, his eyes landed on the gorgeous, glowing, far too distinctive car. Jeremy jerked away from the window. Alexei’s attention was palpable. There was nothing Jeremy wouldn’t give to have someone to talk to who wasn’t bound to him by familial or financial obligation.

  Alexei gripped the gearshift fiercely. “You will tell me if he hurt you.”

  Jeremy shook his head, gaze drifting back to the window.

  “I will destroy him,” Alexei said, not in a growl like Sergei would, but calm and casual.

  “No. It wasn’t like that. It’s just—it was stupid.” Jeremy’s voice cracked, and he swallowed. “It was me.”

  Alexei stopped at a light and peered into his face, thoroughly blocked by the wonderful sunglasses, before nodding. He didn’t speak again but rubbed Jeremy’s head vigorously, scratching behind his ears, as if Jeremy were a small dog. It was a classic Alexei move, so familiar with years of repetition that it was comforting.

  They drove into Manhattan. The Flying Spur’s ride was fluid and quiet, sealing them in and muffling the shimmer and zoom outside, and Alexei kept talk radio murmuring low. The stores and crowds changed abruptly—they were in one world, and then they were in another. The same magic crackled under all of it, but that didn’t make anything better.

  Jeremy didn’t feel like crying anymore, but he could have gone to sleep forever. Or for a few decades, at least. He wanted to sleep until someone simply and comprehensively defined love, however long that took.

  He could sleep like that here. Nowhere he knew was further outside day-to-day reality than this car. He’d curl up in the corner while Alexei ran errands and entertained dates. “Don’t mind him,” Alexei would say. “He’s taking a break.”

  No, Alexei would say something way cooler than that. He’d put his arm around some pretty man or woman and say, “The young prince is dreaming of love.” Sergei had said, I can’t have you end up like Alexei, but Jeremy could think of nothing better. Alexei had probably never cried in his life.

  “Alexei?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Do you really believe in true love?”

  “Yes.” A beat. “I think it’s a curse.”

  Jeremy thought about that for a while—the true love of Alexei Kovrov. He hadn’t met very many of the people Alexei dated. Like most of New York, he followed it through the tabloids. Although… “Alexei?”

  “Mmm?” It was a small syllable, but Jeremy heard the laugh in it.

  “Did you and David break up because of me?”

  Alexei was so surprised he let it show on his face, a twitch that traveled from his mouth to his eyes. “No,” he said quickly. “David. Wow. I didn’t even know you remembered him. I haven’t thought about him in years.”

  Jeremy watched him contain his expression. He should get some pink sunglasses, too. “Was that a lie?”

  Alexei’s lips curled a little. “It wasn’t because of you, not really. Tell me what you remember, and I’ll fill in.”

  “I had my—we were outside.” Jeremy touched the seat next to him, the fine, smooth texture of the leather and the tiny hard seam of its stitching. He’d been six or so. It was not the first time he suffered his consequences, out of the house at noon, but it was the first one he remembered. “I just remember you were together for a long time, and I liked him, and I never saw him after that.”

  “You did like him,” Alexei said. “We were together for three years, off and on. Not that long, really. Do you remember why you were outside?”

  Jeremy shook his head. Alexei was self-contained again, eyes distant. “He was watching you. We told him not to leave the house, but I didn’t tell him why. So he left anyway, for lunch, and he took you out. Obviously, he flipped when you disappeared and called the police, and we had to try to explain that.” Alexei stopped.

  “And?”

  “And, well, I was furious. You were home alone for hours, and you didn’t understand why it had hurt. I told him what he’d done, and he was angry with me, too. We did break up after that fight, but it wasn’t you. I think something about you made him understand all the rest of it. He was always very good, and I was always a Kovrov. Better to let him go before he got hurt.”

  Jeremy chewed his lips. Luke was very good. Jeremy adored that about him. “That’s not fair. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Alexei’s sigh was complicated. “It was too much to ask, for someone else to live with what our family does. What we did to you.”

  It was like a hot white light; Jeremy had to turn away. “You are my family.”

  “Of course,” Alexei replied. Jeremy was still fidgeting his fingers against the seat, and Alexei patted his hand.

  Alexei’s guestroom was shipwreck-themed, the bed made of—according to Alexei, for as much as that was worth—reclaimed wood from an actual shipwreck. It certainly had the drama of a wreck, jagged-edged planks joined together as fluidly as waves. It was also a huge, cozy bed, floating inside the room’s pale blue walls.

  Jeremy slept fitfully, zoning out more than resting. When he couldn’t drift anymore, groggy and hollow, he checked his phone, and
it told him two hours had passed.

  He sat up and considered the other things his phone had to tell him: there was a new trailer for the next season of one of his favorite shows, everyone was angry about something the president had said, Sergei said he could come home anytime, Luke hadn’t texted or called. Well, of course he hadn’t. Jeremy had acted totally princessy. He wouldn’t have called himself, either. He wasn’t sure what he even wanted to hear, much less what he expected Luke might say.

  Prints of old maps, the boundaries nonsense and the seas dotted with monsters, decorated the walls of the shipwreck room. Jeremy got out of bed and got steady on his feet, staring at one, the shapes of France, Spain, and Portugal dwarfed by the dragon-faced serpents and fish-faced crabs in the paper ocean. He let his eyes slide west and found the spot he thought might be New York in a flicking forked tongue.

  Downstairs, Alexei sat at the island counter, drooping blank-faced and over his silver bowl. It wasn’t milk or water in there—the dense, metallic scent could only be blood. Alexei’s palms lay open on the counter, crisscrossed with tiny scars.

  Jeremy thought of the Melnyks’ dustless, herb-fragrant back room and pushed it away again. He was a Kovrov. He should have known, the whole time, how that would go. He had told Sergei he might need to be with Luke to learn some lesson for his real true love down the road, but he found he didn’t like the learning much at all.

  He checked Alexei’s pulse, dripping like molasses but steady, and held his hand under Alexei’s nose to feel the shallow flutter of his breath. He was not dead, though he was a fool to be doing whatever he was without someone keeping an eye on him.

  Jeremy found a slice of leftover pizza in the fridge and turned on the TV, scrolling restlessly through the channels. He wasn’t paying attention and didn’t realize Alexei had woken up until he heard the effervescent hiss of a bottle opening. He twisted on the couch. “You’re going to turn into a ghoul.”

  “I believe that would be a step forward, morally,” Alexei replied mildly. “Beer?”

  Though Sergei and Alexei didn’t care, Jeremy didn’t drink much. He was afraid if he started, he’d never want to stop. But this time, he said, “Yeah.”