He broke the surface and sucked in a breath. His lungs expanded, jarred by the cold, and he kicked his feet, waiting for the next wave to pummel him beneath the water again. It happened. His limbs, jumbled one way and then another, lacked energy; his eyes stung when he opened them. Sunlight, filtered through navy blues and vibrant greens, fell upon his hands. Aiden looked at them, and then at the rolling swell of a wave as it passed overhead, and he asked again, fate, why, why, why.
Fate did not take his face in its hands.
Aiden swam to shore.
The sand was hot on his back as he lay down; he stared at the sun until his eyes began to water. Thoughts were not his own; they came and went one right after the other, and Aiden was not in his body. He tried to think of his name, the name Sasha had given him, but all he could hear was her irritated voice. He tried to think of Daisy, but the only thing about her he could see was black and white, the only thing about her he could hear was his name leaving her mouth a whimper, and a gasp, and a shout all at once.
That was his name—a plea.
That was his name—a something and a nothing.
Aiden thought of Shannon and he took another breath.
That was his name—a something, a something, a something.
A shadow crept across his face and blocked the sun. Aiden opened his eyes, and a man built of ages of wandering looked down at him.
“Where’s your cat, wild boy?” Empty Man said.
Aiden turned to look at the cliffs, natural castles above the beach. Empty Man plopped down beside him, as invasive as ever.
“You’re gettin’ sand all over yourself. Where’s your towel?”
“At home, same place my cat is,” Aiden said. He didn’t know he’d spoken aloud until Empty Man nodded.
“You ever let what goes, go?”
Aiden shook his head. “I’m working on it.”
“Doesn’t look like it to me, kid. Looks like you’re waging war on all the wrong things.”
“What do you know about my war?”
Empty Man laughed until he choked, and coughed until he was laughing again. “Still as wild as ever, I see. What were you lookin’ for out there anyway? Nothing in that ocean for you except drowning.”
“Maybe that’s what I was looking for.”
“You’re too young to drown, too much of a lot of things to drown.”
Aiden sat up. He wished there was a pack of cigarettes in his jacket, but there wasn’t. His black jeans grew colder, sopping wet and clinging to his legs. It was the only thing he felt besides the breathlessness, a chill that crept through his veins, frostbite beneath his skin.
“If I want to drown, I’ll drown,” Aiden growled. He picked up a handful of sand and sifted it through his fingers.
“Yeah, sure. But here you are, on the beach, not drowning. C’mon, now. Don’t act like you’re ready to die when all you’re asking for is a way to live.”
“Not a way, just a reason.”
Empty Man followed Aiden’s nervous sifting and tossed a handful of sand on Aiden’s lap. “You’ve got a reason; that’s why you came to shore.”
“All I’ve got is myself,” Aiden snapped. He swept the sand off his lap and glared at Empty Man. He wore the same torn beanie, had the same weathered face, and his fingernails were still long and chipped. A brown coat, patched and sewn with different colors of thread, covered his shoulders. His shoes, still carrying all the places he’d been, had holes and rips and frays.
Empty Man stared at Aiden, and this time Aiden was sure Empty Man had seen a thing like him before. He looked at Aiden as though he was looking into a mirror.
Aiden wanted to run.
“You don’t need any other reason to live than that,” Empty Man said.
Aiden grabbed his jacket and stood up. “What do you know about living?”
“I know you’ve got enough to live for. Go on, eat the heart of the world, swallow it whole, be as wild as you keep tellin’ yourself you’re not. I see you, wild boy. I see you.”
Aiden ran. He zipped his jacket as his feet hit the sand, one right after the other. In the distance waves crashed, and Empty Man laughed, and seagulls screeched, but the only thing he focused on was his breathing. Inhale, exhale, hold.
The ocean was a soundtrack.
Aiden’s lungs burnt. He ran faster. He ran harder. The sun was high in the sky. It was too early in the day to feel what he felt. That, the spike of heat, the thaw, the surge of spring, of life, of it’s over, that came when he tried to sleep and couldn’t. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready to be anything except ashes.
He wasn’t ready to be on fire again.
Aiden ran, and ran, and ran.
39
Shannon Wurther 4/8 9:05 p.m.
Is he okay?
Karman de la Cruz 4/8 9:10 p.m.
Sort of
Shannon Wurther 4/8 9:11p.m.
Sort of? What does that mean
Karman de la Cruz 9:15 p.m.
It’s up to him at this point
Shannon opened the front door at midnight. It wasn’t raining, but the air outside was wet with the promise of it, and Aiden’s leather jacket was damp from the fog. He slipped past Shannon’s arm and into the loft without a word, with his face turned toward the floor and one hand shoved deep in his pocket, the other holding his helmet.
None of the lights were on, and Shannon kept it that way. He shut the door, twisted the lock, and hesitated before turning around. Aiden leaned against the wall. His helmet—dangling from two fingers—smacked the floor.
“Can you not ask me if I’m okay, please,” Aiden whispered.
“Have you slept?” It wasn’t are you okay, but it pointed in the general direction of the same question. Shannon didn’t have to ask, he knew how not-okay Aiden was.
“I don’t know.”
“I called—”
“Yeah, I know. Can you not…” Aiden tried to take a breath, but it trembled. His chest caved, and he braced his hands on the top of his thighs. “Can you not be the good guy, just this fucking once?”
“What do you want me to do?” Shannon dropped his hands to his sides, looking for signs of life in the darkness. There was a perfect silhouette of Aiden against the wall, helmet rocking by his feet, shoulders rising and falling, but somehow it didn’t seem alive at all. Somehow there was emptiness where Aiden should’ve been. He took a step, and Aiden didn’t move. He took another, closer, and reached out. Fingertips brushed the top of chilled hands, then wrists, until Shannon unzipped Aiden’s jacket. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”
Aiden’s gaze lifted from the floor; his eyes were ringed red and swollen. Where candlelight used to be—was ashes. He battled with himself, and his lips quivered around unspoken words.
Shannon pushed the jacket off his shoulders, and, before it hit the floor, Aiden’s hands gripped his face. Their mouths collided, rough and painful, sending Shannon’s complicated reservations falling. He shoved Aiden backward, knocking the air from him. Teeth dug into lips, fingers wound in Shannon’s hair, nails scraped beneath Aiden’s shirt.
Every ounce of worry that’d been boiling in Shannon’s veins burst from him. The sedentary panic and ruthless unease melted into Aiden’s mouth. He snatched Aiden’s bottom lip and bit, gripped his ribs, dug his thumbs into his hips harder than he should have. Aiden’s cold hands tangled in Shannon’s hair, holding him in place, keeping him present in Aiden’s pain.
That’s what this was about, Shannon knew. It was about pain. It was about feeling.
Aiden removed his hands once to strip his shirt off, twice to push Shannon toward the middle of the room, a third time to pull Shannon back against him. Aiden kissed as if he was dying, and it was a frightening, jarring thing.
It scared Shannon, more than when he’d shown up bleeding and laughing with a half-
inch gash in his stomach, or when he’d stared back at him from the other side of thick glass. It scared him more than the night Shannon almost used his gun, when Aiden’s knuckles had been torn open and raw. This—not Aiden burning away, but already burnt out—was brutally reminiscent of those instances, and so far beyond them.
A phoenix—flames and talons, cinders and soot—refused to rise.
Shannon leaned forward as they stumbled into the side of the couch, trying to catch his breath between Aiden’s lips. Aiden surged forward, hips rolling into his waist. Fingernails raked down Shannon’s spine, and he winced, rumbling into Aiden’s open mouth, nipping his top lip, his chin, until Shannon dragged his lips across Aiden’s jaw and tasted salt.
Everything stopped. He set his hands on Aiden’s face, and felt warm, wet tears on his cheeks. One complicated emotion by one, Shannon clicked them into place. He pulled back, just enough to see Aiden’s eyes squeezed shut and his bottom lip white under the weight of his teeth.
“No,” Aiden snapped. “Don’t you dare; don’t do this right now.”
“Aiden, this isn’t…”
“Don’t.” He gasped, eyes flashing wide in the darkness. It was a sad noise. The heaving, shaking, distressed sound of someone who refused to feel what couldn’t help but be felt. “I need this. I need you, okay? Don’t fucking stop.”
Aiden’s words left his mouth in too much of a hurry to mean anything. He didn’t retreat from Shannon’s gaze, and he didn’t swat Shannon’s hands away, or make vicious, empty threats.
Shannon said, “Not like this.”
Aiden fought the crumbling until his knees started to shake, and when his shoulders slumped, head heavy in Shannon’s hands, he surrendered.
“C’mon,” Shannon whispered. Aiden hid his face in Shannon’s neck. “Boots,” he added, giving Aiden something to hold on to while he kicked his shoes off. “Pants.” Shannon unbuttoned them and Aiden stepped away. His feet dragged against the rug as they made their way to the bed.
The crying came from his chest in hiccuping breaths. His gaze was far off, unfocused. He swiped tears off his cheeks, pulled his knees to his chest, and tucked his hands against his sternum.
“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” Aiden said softly. “I shouldn’t have listened to Karman. I should’ve stayed home.”
Shannon trailed his fingertips across Aiden’s side, his shoulder, the bit of his jaw that wasn’t hidden. “If anyone is supposed to see you like this, it’s me.”
Aiden’s breath caught. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, to the top of his head, and pulled himself into a ball. Shannon touched his thumb, his wrist, eased his fingers off his scalp. It took patience to coax him to uncurl, one delicate touch at a time, first his arms, then his shoulders, relaxing a little more on every breath. Shannon ran his fingertips over Aiden’s warm skin in gentle reassurances that he wasn’t alone.
“Close your eyes.”
“I can’t,” Aiden snapped. Tension gathered between his brows.
“Come here,” Shannon mumbled. He tugged on Aiden’s arm, but he wouldn’t budge. “Aiden, come here.”
Aiden glared at him; glassy eyes narrowed dangerously and lips pressed tight together. His top lip twitched, and his nostrils flared: razor-edged villain, displaying a heated warning.
“That,” he circled his finger around Aiden’s face, “doesn’t work on me anymore,” Shannon said through a sigh.
“Fuck you.”
The side of Shannon’s mouth lifted. Aiden didn’t appreciate the smile. He snorted and rolled away. Shannon slid closer. “Stop.” He eased one arm over Aiden’s torso. “Just stop, all right?”
After Aiden’s breathing evened and the trembling stopped, he let Shannon wrap around him. Aiden hid beneath Shannon’s chin, nose pressed between his collarbones. His arm clutched at Shannon’s waist.
Shannon stroked the back of his head and wrote phrases with his fingertips on his nape.
“I wish I would’ve had you then,” Aiden whispered, voice muffled against Shannon’s chest.
“I wasn’t the same me seven years ago.”
“You were enough of you,” Aiden said.
He fell asleep, and Shannon listened to him breathe.
00:00
Aiden watched Shannon sleep for close to an hour in the morning.
He didn’t move: not to pee, or check his phone, or start the coffee pot. He stayed next to Shannon, who was sprawled out as usual with his arms thrown across his face. Aiden watched Shannon’s chest rise and fall, enjoying his own ability to breathe after days of being breathless. He didn’t believe in miracles; after being versed in tragedies for so long, miracles seemed mythical. But Shannon was a fucking miracle, if Aiden had ever seen one.
Three-second breaths turned into two-second breaths, and one long inhale followed by a yawn alerted Aiden to Shannon’s waking. Shannon’s lashes, dark against his cheekbones, lifted and fluttered. He licked his lips, blinked, glanced to the side, startled, and then relaxed as soon as he realized Aiden hadn’t left.
“I’m sorry,” Aiden said immediately, before he changed his mind, “for being a train wreck. It happens every year.”
Shannon flung his arm lazily across Aiden’s stomach. “Don’t be sorry, darlin’.”
“Darlin’?” Aiden barked, face heating. Shannon’s accent wasn’t always sexy, but sometimes it was, and pet names weren’t always Aiden’s thing, but sometimes they were. “Well, I am. I’m sorry for being a mess.”
The tip of Shannon’s finger traced his hipbone. “That was yesterday.”
“Yeah, but I was a mess all the yesterdays before yesterday, too.”
“Today’s today.”
“And if I’m a mess tomorrow, what then?”
“Then it’s a good thing I like messes,” Shannon sighed. He laid his head on Aiden’s shoulder.
“I don’t think you can clean this one up, Detective,” Aiden whispered.
“Don’t need to.” Shannon pressed his mouth against Aiden’s collarbone, his sternum, the edge of his jaw. “I happen to like my mess the way it is.”
“Your mess?”
“Your mess is mine; my mess is yours.” Shannon slid his hand up Aiden’s side, thumb climbing over each rib.
“You aren’t a mess, Shannon. But I am, and my mess doesn’t have to be yours. You don’t have to keep dealing with it because the Clock says so.”
“I’m not perfect. I’ve got messes, different than yours, but messes.” He tugged, urging Aiden to lie on his side and face him. Shannon’s accent was always thick in the morning. Their noses bumped. “The Clock doesn’t make the choice, Aiden. It just makes the match. I choose you, all your messes, too. I choose you when you’re pissed and when you’re reckless and when you’re hurt,” he said.
Aiden kissed him, but Shannon kept talking between the parting of their lips.
“When you’re distant and when you’re right here.” Shannon pulled him closer beneath the sheets. “When you’re happy…” He paused, allowing Aiden to roll him over on his back. “When you’re wild.” He took Aiden’s face in his hands. “I choose you, all of you.”
Aiden touched Shannon’s Cupid’s bow. “What’s your favorite part?”
Shannon bit at his fingers, but Aiden jerked them away. “Wild,” he said, “my favorite part of you is wild.”
Danger, danger, another wild one born to eat the heart of the world.
Maybe the heart of the world wasn’t in the sea after all.
“I love you, Shannon Wurther.”
“And I love you, Aiden Maar.”
Some advice for you, wild boy, let what comes, come, and let what goes, go, you understand?
Aiden understood. Finally, he understood, and he was never letting go.
40
Daisy balanced on one foot, shifted, and b
alanced on the other.
Aiden wanted to say something to make what he’d done seem better than it was. He’d never been able to, though. This year didn’t change that. Even now, even in the after, he couldn’t find a way to express what went on, not the breathlessness, not the loss of identity, not the emptiness—nothing. Once it was over, it was over. Once it was gone, it was gone.
“I’m sorry,” Aiden said. It was the best he could do, despite having more to say. If he could’ve strung together the proper terminology, he would’ve; if he could’ve formed what he wanted to say in a way that made any sense, he would’ve. Shannon had been easy. He’d accepted Aiden’s mess as his own and moved on, unaware that messes got messier before they got better.
Shannon wasn’t Daisy, though, and Shannon hadn’t been around to read the book of Aiden Maar’s disasters chapter by chapter the way Daisy had.
An apology was all he had to give, and the silent promise to fight harder.
Daisy narrowed her eyes and glared, anger stitched finely across her brow. “Sorry?”
Aiden nodded. “Yeah, for…You know, for freaking out. I shouldn’t have.”
“You’re apologizing for having a panic attack and disassociating?”
“I guess,” Aiden stammered. “Yeah, what else am I supposed to say? I shouldn’t have put you through that. I should’ve kept it together. I’m sorry you came back and I’m still like this.”
Daisy tilted her head. Her dainty feet dragged against the carpet. Mercy meowed and rubbed against her ankles. The world turned. The world still turned.
“Don’t ever apologize to me for that.”
Aiden blinked and nodded.
“Take it back,” Daisy snapped, suddenly furious. “Take your apology back.”
“I take it back,” Aiden said, halfway between a whimper and a growl. Confusion settled between his temples, and he thought it might give him a headache. Apologizing was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Aiden had been alone long enough to assume the people who quenched his loneliness deserved an apology.
Fortitude Smashed Page 29
