It was such a tragic thing, holding a cluster of knives, and realizing how painless the risk could be.
Sunlight picked up the lines of Aiden’s tattoo, and Shannon traced it with his fingertips. His pulse skittered against Shannon’s lips. “What does it mean?”
It took Aiden a moment to answer. Maybe because he didn’t want to, maybe because he was too wrapped up in Shannon to notice the question. Shannon liked to think it was the latter.
“What?”
“The phoenix, your tattoo, what does it mean?”
Aiden rolled away, untangling their legs and arms. He watched Shannon’s fingers walk up his rib cage, outlining the black ink. “Have you ever felt like you were dying?”
Shannon locked onto Aiden’s face. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I haven’t.” Those were strong words—words that weren’t thrown around often—not by people like Aiden, not by people with nothing to prove.
“I have. I figured if I felt like I was dying, I’d probably die, but I never did. So, I got this. The tattoo artist said the ribs hurt the most, so that’s where I had him put it.” Aiden looked at his tattoo and then back up at Shannon.
Simplicity wrapped around every word. He said I felt like I was dying the same way someone said I had a good day today, and that made Shannon’s stomach turn.
“Phoenixes rise from their ashes. I figured if I was going to die, I might as well be a phoenix, you know? Rise out of all the bullshit after,” Aiden said.
“Did you?”
Aiden’s brow lifted. “Did I what?”
“Did you die?” Shannon didn’t like how heavy the words were on his tongue. He wanted to go back to two minutes ago when he was busy with Aiden’s neck.
They stayed like that for too long—Aiden looking at Shannon, searching his face for recognition, wearing an expression that was calm enough to soothe a storm. He craned up, and Shannon sighed against his mouth. “I have to go feed my cat,” Aiden whispered. He pressed his lips against Shannon’s. “I’ll see you, though.”
The question went unanswered. Shannon let it go. “Yeah, okay.”
After another quick kiss, Aiden left before Shannon could get a better look at his black phoenix, and before he could say I lied, I’ve felt like dying too, and before he could ask if Aiden would stay.
Just stay a little longer.
00:00
“Holy fuck, Mercy, he mauled me,” Aiden whispered.
He spoke to the mirror and to Mercy, who lounged in the sink, peering up at him. She meowed and swatted at his elbow. He stared at his reflection with one hand splayed over his throat where sprawling marks bloomed.
“How am I supposed to…?” He squinted, eyeing the bruises carefully. Each one resembled the next: circular, mouth shaped, and the color of crushed berries. Rows of smaller dark spots hid inside them. Half-moons. Shannon’s teeth.
Chills ran down his back. He grinned at the sink, and at Mercy, and then at himself. Yeah, it happened, last night really did happen.
But he still didn’t know how to cover the monstrosities on his neck before he had to go to work. The bar manager wouldn’t be too pleased when Aiden showed up to bar-back sporting enough hickeys to break a Guinness record. He poked a hickey and flinched.
After pacing around his apartment, considering calling Marcus, pricing cheap foundation, and searching for natural remedies on the Internet, Aiden went back to the source.
Shannon Wurther 11/1 12:18 p.m.
what do you mean? youve never had to get rid of a hickey before?
Aiden Maar 11/1 12:22 p.m.
normal hickey, yes. hickeys like this, no
Shannon Wurther 11/1 12:23 p.m.
ice it
Aiden Maar 11/1 12:28 p.m.
its not working
Shannon Wurther 11/1 12:29 p.m.
thats because its only been five minutes
The Internet said to use a frozen spoon, or banana peels, or to scrape the bruises with pennies. Aiden tried all of them, and after another fifteen minutes went back to a cold compress. He stomped into the bathroom and gritted his teeth. His neck looked a little better, but not good enough for work. His phone vibrated on the toilet seat.
Shannon Wurther 11/1 1:05 p.m.
wait. what kind of work are we talking about?
Aiden Maar 11/1 1:06 p.m.
don’t worry detective i’m being good
Shannon Wurther 11/1 1:11 p.m.
don’t get arrested
A pack of ice snug on his throat, Aiden grinned at his phone and ran his hand along Mercy’s back.
11
No one noticed the bruises on Aiden’s neck, or if they did, they decided not to comment on them. He did his best to entertain customers, even though his boss only allowed him to pour beers and bus tables, but he couldn’t focus enough to keep a conversation going.
His mind drifted to last night on the beach and in Shannon’s loft: the way his hands walked over Aiden’s body; the drag of his lips and pinch of his teeth; his curious gaze, the sweep of it down his torso, the steady way he drank in every bit of Aiden’s face; how he’d taken his time, paused to breathe against Aiden’s mouth.
That shared breath held a language Aiden didn’t speak, but he sensed it. He felt it everywhere.
The images played like clockwork: Shannon’s hands on his face; the lazy kissing deep in each other’s mouths; even the shared words, few and far between. Once Shannon’s mouth had rested on Aiden’s jaw and he’d whispered, “What were you planning to take that night?”
Had they been in a different situation, Aiden would’ve reacted bitterly. But he’d sighed and said, “Fortitude Smashed. It’s a contemporary piece made from crushed flowers and accented with pollen to look like paint.”
“Why?” Shannon’s lips had trailed over his cheek and hovered over the bow of Aiden’s top lip. There was no malicious undertone or judgmental gaze, just Shannon looking down at him with a patient half-smile.
“Reminds me of myself,” Aiden had admitted. Smashed up and spread out, not ruined, but a little bit of a mess. A lot of a mess. Shannon got lost in Aiden’s mouth again, and Aiden forgot how much of a mess he was.
Snapping fingers tore him from his thoughts. “Maar, hey, get out of your head, man. Can you wipe down the rest of the back tables? We’re closing in five.”
Aiden nodded. “Yeah, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Do you need any help with the kegs?”
His boss, Carver, was a short Irish man with a full beard and a get-it-done attitude that Aiden appreciated. Carver was to the point in a way that made work easy, but never pushed harder than he had to. “No, we’re good. Everything okay with you?”
“I’m…” Aiden couldn’t think of the word. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine, yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Carver clasped a hand over Aiden’s shoulder. “Your check is on my desk; don’t forget to grab it on your way out. You’re here tomorrow, right?”
He nodded. “All week.”
“Need any time?”
Aiden narrowed his eyes and gave a quick shake of his head. “No, why would I need time?”
Carver’s gaze darted to Aiden’s hands, and he offered a knowing smile. “I get how it is when the timer goes off. I don’t mean to pry into your personal shit, but if you need a couple days off let me know.”
His cheeks burned, but Aiden tried not to look surprised and tucked his now-blank thumb into his fist. Sometimes the Camellia Clock was more than a bitch to deal with on his own; sometimes it was publicly embarrassing, too. Empty Man from the beach was one thing, but Carver catching on was an entirely different story.
“Yeah,” Aiden said, voice clipped. “I think I’d rather be here. Working takes the edge off.”
Working
didn’t take the edge off whatsoever, but he needed the money. Without having deals set up for jewelry or paintings, he was without a steady income, and touching the funds his parents had left for him was out of the question. Even if he did want to, and he didn’t, Marcus wouldn’t allow it. He was given enough money to pay his rent and utilities from their joint account, but, other than that, he was on his own.
“Thanks, though. I appreciate it.” Aiden finished wiping the tables, took his check, and clocked out.
As soon as he closed the thick wooden door, November wind hit his face. Autumn was delicious, scented of maple and salt and smashed pumpkins, and Aiden loved it. Fall was a whisper spoken before the silence of winter. A cacophony of emotions and colors swirled around the beach; dried leaves crinkled beneath his boots; and along the sidewalk shadows danced, playing tricks on his eyes.
He fumbled in the pockets of the long wool trench coat Marcus bought him last year for Christmas and then lit a cigarette.
He tapped the screen of his phone and almost tripped on a crack in the sidewalk.
Marcus Maar 11/1 9:46 p.m.
Yes, I’m up. Swing by.
Aiden Maar 11/1 9:48 p.m.
hungry :(
Marcus Maar 11/1 9:51 p.m.
Fine. Diner downtown?
Aiden Maar 11/1 9:52 p.m.
:) 5 mins
“Thanks.” Aiden squirted ketchup into a cup with a ketchup smiley face drawn into its bottom.
The waitress smiled and touched his shoulder. “You stayin’ out of trouble, honey?”
Aiden plucked a French fry from the basket, swiped it through the ketchup, and popped it into his mouth.
“Of course not,” he said with a wink. His gaze flicked past the waitress, with whom he’d become acquainted over the years, and he waved his hand toward a shabby man sitting alone at a booth. “Get him something to eat, all right? It’s on me.”
Kelly, the waitress, smiled. Her skin sagged around her eyes and on her chin, but she still had beauty that Aiden admired. She seemed like a person who kept secrets and didn’t make promises. She nodded and tapped her pen against her notepad. “He likes milkshakes, I think. He comes in here all the time and gets water and soup, but he’s always talkin’ about milkshakes.”
“Get him one then, whatever he wants.” Aiden didn’t like to see hungry people. It was a problem, being generous, but he couldn’t help it. Laguna didn’t have a large population of homeless people, but at night and in the early mornings, shadows stirred on park benches and individuals dug through garbage cans for food.
A few minutes later, Marcus arrived. Aiden sat with his knees pulled to his chest and his heels on the edge of the seat. He glanced up and offered a feeble smile. Marcus’s mahogany eyes slanted as he slid into the other side of the booth. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on his wide nostrils, and his full mouth twisted, a sign he was speculating.
“So?” Marcus arched a brow. “You gonna tell me about it yet or what?”
Aiden growled at him before he slid his phone over. On the screen, lit up for Marcus to see, was Shannon Wurther’s Facebook profile picture. Bright smile, full rows of white teeth, tanned skin, beach in the background, hair sticking up from the salt water, sunglasses hiding the blue of his eyes, it was all there—the Shannon Wurther that everyone else saw.
Marcus held up the phone, adjusted his glasses, and grinned. Eyeing Aiden carefully, he gave a couple deep chuckles. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me about it. This is him? This is your Rose Road?”
He nodded and shoved another French fry into his mouth. “Yep. He’s a cop.”
At that, laughter rolled from Marcus in steady waves. It was a good laugh, the contagious kind, and it pulled a smile to Aiden’s face.
Aiden snorted. “Yeah, okay, enough,” he mumbled, consoling himself with another fry.
“Does he know that I’ve had to bail you out of jail twice?”
“Yes, Marcus. Hence the cop part.”
“Does he know that you steal things for fun?”
“Oh, no, he has no idea. He’s just a detective.” Aiden glared at his brother from across the table. “He… That’s how we met, actually.”
“Aiden!”
He cowered and showed his palms. “No lectures! I know, I shouldn’t steal shit. I get it. I’ve heard it. Mom and Dad would be upset with me; you’re upset with me, just… Skip it, all right? He caught me before I could take what I wanted, but he let me go. That was three weeks ago.”
“I know how long ago it was. I knew this October was your month. When you stopped responding to my phone calls, I assumed it was because you’d found your Rose Road.”
Kelly walked up to the table and set down two baskets, one with a burger and fries, the other with strips of fried chicken. Aiden picked his entree into small bits and stared at his food. He didn’t look up when Marcus cleared his throat, nor when he said, “Do you like him?”
Aiden chewed on a piece of fried chicken, wondering what answer he could give that would be simple enough. “Like” was a word used for food and colors and movies, not Rose Roads. It was used for meaningless somethings. I like him or I like her was easy to say about someone who didn’t matter.
Shannon mattered, and that made like an unknowable thing for Aiden.
“Yeah.” Aiden breathed the word: a confession more than anything else. “I do.”
Marcus wore a pleasant, prideful smile. He tapped Aiden’s nose. Face crinkled in a scowl, Aiden swatted Marcus’ hand. His brother was the better of them, the truer of the two. He was an art teacher, a gifted painter, older, and wiser. If Aiden was a wildfire, Marcus was a cool breeze.
“Oh, what,” Marcus dragged the word out as he turned Aiden’s chin and stared at his throat. “Did the cop do that to you?”
“No, I let someone else suck on me all night.” Cheeks darkening, Aiden seethed. “Yes, dumbass, he did.”
“So, you two are getting along, then?” Marcus slurped on his cherry Coke and arched his brows.
Aiden shook his head. “We hadn’t been getting along until last night. It was… unexpected.”
“Why? Everyone likes you,” Marcus scrunched his face. Apparently, Aiden’s popularity was painfully obvious, and he hadn’t caught on in the last twenty-two years. “You’re like a six-month-old tiger; people wanna pet you but they’re also scared you might kill them. That’s the best way to be.”
Aiden threw his hands in the air and leaned back. “Why a six-month-old tiger?”
“Because they’re not totally grown yet. Still fluffy and cute, but big enough to eat you. Teenaged tiger. Emotionally constipated, brooding tiger.”
Aiden gaped at his brother. “I’m not a teenaged tiger, you asshole,” he said, fighting to sound serious.
Full-bodied, open-mouthed, even a little misty-eyed laughter broke out between them—the kind of laughing that chased away anxiety and made sadness seem secondary. It went on too long, with Aiden wiping his eyes and Marcus crunching ice cubes in his mouth.
“Maybe I am.” Aiden sighed. He shook his head and poked at his fries. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Marcus. I don’t know how to do any of this.”
“You like him, right?”
Aiden nodded.
Marcus shrugged and rubbed a dark hand over his shaved head, the only part about them that matched. “You’re obviously attracted to him.”
Aiden narrowed his eyes, but he nodded. “Attracted” wasn’t the term he’d use. A gravitational pull would be more accurate. A head-on collision, an absolute, that’s what Aiden felt when he looked at Shannon. Not attraction, but something raw and unobstructed. Necessity. Oxygen. An explosion of unwarranted actions, an eclipse of his control. Aiden wanted to crack Shannon open just to see if he would fit inside.
Attracted was in the same pool as like, surpassed, but not an inappropriate ter
m.
“He’s obviously attracted to you.”
Aiden waved his hand. “Get on with it.”
“Fate doesn’t make it easy, Aiden. It put you two together. It’s your job to figure out the rest. Do you want to be with him?” Marcus shrugged on his coat and scooted out of the booth. He wasn’t going to wait for an answer, probably because he knew Aiden couldn’t give one. “Come over for dinner tomorrow. I’ll make chow mein.”
“Yeah?” Aiden grinned and tossed enough cash onto the table to pay for the homeless man sipping on an Oreo milkshake in the corner booth.
Marcus nodded and smoothed the collar of Aiden’s trench coat: a very brotherly gesture, which Aiden had grown fond of in the last six years.
“Yeah, we’ll watch a movie. Bring Mercy,” Marcus said.
Kelly waved goodbye as they left. Frigid air bit Aiden’s cheeks. Marcus turned to him and smiled, but when Aiden tried to say he’d see his brother tomorrow, he said, “Do you think I’m good enough?”
The sound of his own voice sent a chill squirming between his vertebrae. Aiden struggled to breathe. He struggled harder to feign subdued interest. He hadn’t meant to bare himself like that. But he would pretend he had, if only to keep his pride intact and Marcus’ worry in the shadows.
Marcus’ smile deepened, the same knowing smile he’d seen since he was a baby. Marcus slapped a hand on Aiden’s cheek. “Course you are. See you tomorrow?”
Aiden tried to smile, but his lips barely twitched. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
Marcus patted his cheek again and walked to an old VW Bus.
Aiden chewed on the inside of his cheek and glanced at his phone. Shannon’s name flashed across the screen.
Shannon Wurther 11/1 11:23 p.m.
when can i see you again
The phone weighed like a brick. He dug in his pocket, lit a cigarette, and read the text over and over.
Aiden Maar 11/1 11:27 p.m.
tomorrow. late
Shannon Wurther 11/1 11:28 p.m.
late?
Aiden Maar 11/1 11:29 p.m.
yeah late
Shannon Wurther 11/1 11:31 p.m.
Fortitude Smashed Page 7
