Fortitude Smashed

by Taylor Brooke

  dont be sorry

  The image of Aiden’s eyes misted over, his lips drawn into a thin line, blinking at the ground, forced its way to the front of Shannon’s mind. He almost winced.

  Shannon Wurther 10/27 1:32 p.m.

  dont ask me not to be sorry. i was an asshole

  Aiden Maar 10/27 1:33 p.m.

  i was an idiot

  Shannon Wurther 10/27 1:35 p.m.

  fair enough

  Once again, Aiden stopped typing, and Shannon remembered the way he looked—pained and soft and everything that Shannon didn’t realize he was. The rose, who was usually all thorns and no petals, had wilted.

  Shannon looked at the paneled ceiling and wheeled back and forth in his chair.

  9

  Summer had faded. It happened every year. Tourists flocked to the beaches to soak up the little bit of heat that clung to the Southern California coast. At night, flames licked the cold from inside concrete fire pits, and locals scoured vintage bars in search of seasonal drinks. The town wasn’t transformed. The same palm trees swayed in the wind, but instead of warmth and sunlight, a cool, haunting breeze whipped through the streets and a few more stars littered the sky.

  October let the beach-goers soak up the trailing dog days until Halloween. That night was always the death of summer. The last bit of heat was swept away, gobbled up by the ocean, and in an instant, autumn was in full swing. Leaves skittered over Shannon’s shoes as he walked past the pizza parlor on Third. Most of the kids dressed as goblins and angels and dinosaurs had retired for the evening. Now, streets echoed with the sounds of taxis, too-loud music, and the distant growl of waves breaking on the shore.

  Aiden Maar 10/31 12:05 a.m.

  the saloon dumbass. its a bar

  Shannon Wurther 10/31 12:07 a.m.

  are you with friends?

  Aiden Maar 10/31 12:08 a.m.

  no

  Shannon knew the Saloon, an old bar downtown next to Main Beach, but he didn’t frequent it. Every venue in town, up the coast, and inland was doing something for Halloween. There were rooftop parties at resorts, a horror movie marathon at the theater, and events at every watering hole he could think of. He stepped around a stumbling group of undead brides, shared the sidewalk with vampires, and darted out of the way of scantily clad superheroes, as he made his way to the fanciest dive in town—and to Aiden. That was his real destination, wasn’t it? They’d shared a few texts, but Shannon hadn’t seen him since he left his loft the morning after their argument-not-argument.

  It hadn’t dawned on him, not until after Aiden’s emotional exit, that Shannon might be able to hurt him. He didn’t think it was possible. Aiden was… Aiden was Aiden. He was cold and jagged and walled-up. He was a stranger.

  The streetlight outside the Saloon illuminated a group of smokers standing by the door. Shannon wove through them and slid inside. A mahogany bar stretched down the side of a narrow corridor packed with people in costume. A couple straight out of the Roaring Twenties made room for him at the bar, where he ordered a whiskey, neat. It was hard to make out faces in the dim lighting, and it was even harder when everyone wore a different personality. He caught the eye of a bedazzled blonde dressed as a Playboy bunny, smiled at a man wearing yellow contacts, who was covered in fake blood, pieced together by latex wounds.

  It took a few minutes for Shannon to find him, but he did. Aiden was in the back, lurking in a shadowed corner. A wide grin split his face, which was painted like a skeleton, and he talked against a girl’s ear. His hand hovered on her lower back, and he smirked when she threw her head back in an exaggerated laugh. His dark eyes locked onto Shannon. Aiden watched as Shannon side stepped one way and dipped another and he straightened his back when they were close enough to speak.

  The girl beamed. She stared at Aiden as if he was exactly what she thought he was—the boy her parents told her to stay away from, with an aura that said danger, danger and a devious smile. Shannon rolled his eyes when she placed a hand on Aiden’s chest and asked, “Oh, is this your friend?”

  “‘Friend’ is a strong word.” Aiden lifted a glass of amber liquid to his lips.

  Shannon’s mouth twitched. Jealousy? No, that wasn’t it. Not at all. Not even a little.

  He tugged the bottom of his jacket to the side, flashing the badge attached to his belt. “Detective Wurther, ma’am.” The petite brunette shot Aiden a withering look. “May I have a word with your date?”

  “He’s not my date,” she stammered, and offered Aiden another pitiful, apologetic smile. Her faerie wings bounced on her back as she slipped away.

  “Wow…” Aiden sighed, laughing through it. “That was mean, Detective.” The bar was too loud. Aiden had to shout over the music. “And look at you! I should’ve guessed you wouldn’t dress up.”

  “Costumes aren’t my thing.” His gaze wandered the black paint covering Aiden’s face. It hollowed his eyes and cheeks and slashed his mouth into segments of flesh, black, flesh, black, flesh. “All you did was paint yourself,” Shannon mumbled, gesturing at the rest of him, dressed in a pair of blue jeans with a tear in the knee and a black long-sleeved shirt. “How’s that cut of yours doing?”

  “I superglued it.” Long fingers spread over the place where the bandage had been.

  “You what?” Shannon leaned forward. His eyebrows bunched together. He couldn’t have heard that right.

  “I superglued it! They do it all the time at the hospital!”

  “Seriously?” Shannon barked a laugh. He wanted to be surprised, he really did. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and took another, longer sip of his drink. It burned his throat, reminding him to look away once in a while, not to stare at the tendon flexing in Aiden’s throat, and especially not at his mouth, which tilted in a coy smile.

  “So.” Aiden set his empty glass on a round table cluttered with other empty glasses. “What’d you wanna do?”

  Shannon’s stomach jumped. He crossed one foot over the other. It was Halloween. Talking about anything important was out of the question, and so was going somewhere quiet and less crowded, seeing as everywhere else was just as crowded and just as loud. He shrugged. “I didn’t have anything in mind. I just wanted to see you after—”

  “Yeah, let’s not talk about that.” Aiden said it through an endearing smile, honest and distant. “I don’t exactly know what we’re doing here.” He waved his hands between them. “But I’m going out for a smoke.”

  Shannon stood in the back of the bar while Aiden walked past him. Shannon might have felt his fingertips brush the top of his hand, his waist, but he couldn’t be sure. He took a long sip.

  He didn’t know what they were doing, either, but they had to do something.

  00:00

  Halloween used to be Aiden’s favorite holiday. He could dress up as an astronaut, or a dragon, or a knight, and no one would question it. But he was twenty-two now. He couldn’t pretend to be something noble or fantastic or important anymore.

  He inhaled deeply, enduring the burn the tobacco left behind in his throat. It was cold, finally. The air rolled off the backs of crashing waves and chilled the streets. He rested his back against the wall of the bar. Bass from the music playing inside vibrated along his spine.

  The alley beside the Saloon faced the boardwalk that paralleled the sand. A couple played at the tideline. Aiden watched their shadows as they kicked up water with their bare feet and grabbed each other. Were they walking their Rose Road, too? Or did they stray, find love with another, and defy fate? Maybe those shadows playing catch me if you can on the first cold night in fall were two people hoping they could redefine their futures. Maybe their Clocks had stopped, and maybe they’d fallen into each other the way they were supposed to.

  Maybe it was all a sham.

  Maybe he wanted to be them.

  The paper sparked on the end of his cigar
ette. He pinched it between his teeth and took another drag. Footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley, treading closer. Took him long enough.

  “That’s a disgusting habit,” Shannon said. He stood in front of Aiden with his hands shoved in the front pockets of his perfectly pressed tan pants. His face was all nice angles: a sloped nose, square chin, incredible eyes—eyes like rain. “When’d you pick it up?”

  “When I was a teenager.” Aiden inhaled again. Shannon stepped closer. “Why does it matter?”

  His skin tingled, and his stomach fluttered. A delicious pull started below his belly button. Shannon put his hand on the wall beside Aiden’s head. They were about the same height, but Aiden’s chunky combat boots gave him an extra inch.

  “It doesn’t.” He lifted his eyes, and his lashes swept across his cheeks. Shannon sighed and asked, “Why’d you get out of my car so fast that first night?”

  There was tenderness in his voice and a raw curiosity that pulled harder on Aiden’s gut. He looked away from Shannon and his fucking eyes. Aiden had a nice buzz going, his body was loose, he was in a good mood, and now it was all fucked up. He didn’t want to talk about the first night. He didn’t want to talk about any night involving Shannon. Couldn’t they just be here? In this night? At this bar? Couldn’t moments be fleeting and easy?

  Aiden let the alcohol talk. “Because you kissed me back. You surprised me, I guess. I wasn’t expecting that you’d be all…” Okay, maybe he shouldn’t let the alcohol talk. “All over me. I thought you’d throw me out of your car.” He chuckled over the last few words. “I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

  “Because I’m a cop, is that it?”

  Because I’m a mess. Aiden shook his head.

  “Then why?” Shannon almost sounded breathless. He almost sounded shocked. The drawl at the end might've been an accent.

  Aiden flicked the cigarette butt away and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, removing flaky black paint. “You’re fucking ridiculous, Shannon.” Hoping none of it got in Shannon’s face, Aiden blew the tail end of smoke at the ground. He heard the wobble in his own voice, the uncertainty, and flicked his wrist up and down. “C’mon, look at you…”

  Shannon made an offended noise, a short ha that sounded like disbelief rather than mockery. But Aiden wasn’t looking at him; he couldn’t tell if it was the ha of someone who agreed, or the ha of someone who was blindsided. Shannon stepped closer, and Aiden stepped back, but there was nowhere for him to go.

  “Yeah, look at me.” They were rough, calloused words, forced between his teeth like something he shouldn’t have to say. Shannon gripped Aiden’s face and pulled.

  Their lips clashed. They kissed as though they were waging wars and winning them. Aiden tried to steady his breathing. He pushed into Shannon, into his hands, his chest, his mouth, and everywhere else. The back of his head lolled against the concrete wall as Shannon crowded him against it. Smooth hands skirted beneath his shirt, and Aiden tensed, his flesh squirming away from near-frozen fingertips. He didn’t know what Shannon was searching for on his skin, his rib cage, the curve of his lower back, but Aiden hoped he never found it—until Shannon’s thumb dug into the hollow of his hip.

  “Careful, careful.” Aiden winced, gripping Shannon’s wrist. “Superglue isn’t magic—still sore.”

  Aiden chased his lips, but Shannon examined the messy superglue stitches. Shannon’s thumb flicked across the skin above the wound. The flat of his palm disappeared under Aiden’s shirt and stepped over his ribs. The fabric bunched around Shannon’s wrist and left a sliver of flesh uncovered to welcome the brisk night air. Shannon’s other hand curled around Aiden’s neck, and his thumb guided his chin to the side.

  Shannon went back to digging his nails into Aiden’s side. Warm breath on his throat. Feather light brush of lips against his ear. Pain. Teeth sinking in above his pulse. Aiden faltered, stumbling to speak. He managed a whimper. He gripped the short hairs on the back of Shannon’s head, which forced him to stay where he was, to bite harder, to leave marks.

  He wanted to wake up with bruises on his neck. He wanted proof.

  Aiden had been kissed before. He’d been kissed many times before. But none of the befores were anything like this now. Every before had seemed like stealing, seized adrenaline, mastered and then discarded. This kiss was suspended high above the others: a losing track of, and making sure to, an unfinished statement going on and on. Shannon’s teeth in his throat became Shannon’s mouth on his mouth, again and again.

  This kiss was it’s you and impossible and you’re real.

  They stayed pinned against the wall until whispers from the door of the Saloon turned into laughs and laughs turned into shouts.

  “We’re drawing a crowd,” Shannon mumbled. His thigh pressed between Aiden’s legs.

  “Good.” Aiden clenched his hand on the front of Shannon’s shirt and pulled him back.

  A raspy laugh was all of Shannon’s protest. It was thrilling to hear him laugh, genuine and playful and confident. The smell of bourbon and whiskey mingled in their shared breath. Shannon dragged his lips against Aiden’s jaw, his cheek, the bridge of his nose, but stopped a fraction of an inch from Aiden’s mouth, just to breathe, just to look.

  He couldn’t imagine what Shannon saw. Aiden’s face was hot beneath the paint, his bottom lip tingled where it’d been bitten, and his stomach was somersaulting. He couldn’t catch his breath. He turned his face away in search of cold air. Shannon’s forehead rested against his temple. His hands crawled from beneath Aiden’s shirt. “Come over?”

  “To your place?” Aiden arched a brow.

  Shannon shifted and took a half step back. “Yes, to my place.”

  Someone smoking by the door yelled, “Done already?” Aiden smiled, sheepish and a little embarrassed. He averted his eyes, staring at the scuffed tops of his boots.

  “Let’s go to the beach first,” Aiden said.

  Shannon tilted his head, lips barely parted. He gave a curt nod. “All right.”

  There it was again, the long “ah” in the way he said “all” and the crisp “igh” in his “right.” Aiden didn’t mention it.

  They walked to the beach. Not hand in hand, but close enough. Aiden smoked another cigarette even though Shannon wrinkled his nose and shot him a deadly glare.

  The sound of bargoers hailing taxis and skyscraper heels tapping the concrete were the backdrop to Halloween. Add his own heart beating a mile a minute and Shannon Wurther’s breathing, relaxed but not, a steady hum by his side. The waves were their only witnesses, lapping at the shore, crashing on the sand and eating the echo of anything else, even Aiden’s heartbeat, even Shannon’s breathing.

  There was stillness under the blanket of darkness on the last night in October, where summer shouted its final hurrah. The moon hid behind dark cliffs. Aiden looked up, his focus drawn to the pinholes that littered the sky. Stars didn’t twinkle as people said they did, but he saw them shine, tiny bits of light, like far-away drops of paint scattered above them. Shannon’s breath was on his neck again. Steady, stay steady. He took Shannon’s lips in his own: a hard kiss, a kiss he hoped said, there’s no going back.

  Aiden was a shadow on the beach. His hands were inside Shannon’s jacket; his fingertips ran along his chest, his waist. He felt the edge of his golden badge against his pinky. Shannon was the other.

  10

  Shannon wanted a camera—a disposable film camera—a way to capture what happened to Aiden Maar when he slept. The edges that Aiden kept sharp softened in the morning light. His parted lips calmed, became still, as he drew slow, long breaths. One of his arms was above his head and his face was turned away. His shoulders, usually rigid, dipped into the white sheets. The sweep of his eyelashes might have been the gentlest thing about him, even then, even in the stillness.

  Muddled violet bruises spanned hi
s throat, starting below the shell of his ear, fading into rings of purple and scarlet as they snaked over his collarbones. Shannon was unnerved. He’d never tried to devour someone like he’d tried to devour Aiden last night. His gaze flicked back to Aiden’s face, taking in the straight line of his nose and the arch of his dusty eyebrows, which were a shade or two darker than his fair buzzed hair. Remnants of black paint stained his eyelids.

  They’d left the beach a tangle of limbs and lips and heated intentions. As the night lingered, they’d mapped out chests and shoulders and stomachs and each other. Bringing Aiden home wasn’t the problem. Neither was falling asleep beside him. It was waking up. It was Aiden being there, picture-worthy in his bed, that Shannon didn’t know how to handle. He swallowed the dryness in his throat and shifted, uncomfortable in the tan pants that still clung to his hips. His belt was gone, lying next to Aiden’s rumpled shirt. Light shined off the top of his badge.

  When Shannon turned back to Aiden, his eyes were open.

  Again, somewhere far away inside of them, Shannon saw candlelight.

  Aiden’s head lolled and pushed into the pillow. His nostrils flared. All the sleepy soft edges sharpened. He turned into a cluster of knives, a shark’s mouth.

  “What is it?” Aiden rasped. He cleared the sleep from his voice and inhaled, quick as a startled animal.

  Shannon eased back into the comforter. “Nothing. Good morning.”

  That was the simplest way to put it. Nothing masked his thoughts: You’re beautiful. I’ve never been scared of anything until you. I might love you, someday.

  Aiden’s vicious smile reminded Shannon of everything illegal he’d ever done: drinking in a park on his sixteenth birthday, stealing a soda from the gas station down the street from his middle school, sneaking into a concert during his freshman year of college. Aiden was new, and still he waded between distant and here, gone and now. He didn’t move until Shannon placed an arm across his torso and leaned over.