Fortitude Smashed

by Taylor Brooke

  A masterpiece, Shannon thought. The kind people didn’t understand, but wanted to.

  “Shannon, this had to be like…” Aiden’s breath caught. He tapped his fingers on the frame. “Two grand, at least. This—this isn’t… I was expecting a new camera strap or something, this is—”

  “Say thank you,” Shannon interrupted.

  “Thank you,” Aiden said, and it was grounded and true and wide open. “Why did you do this?”

  Shannon shrugged, sat beside him, and glanced at Catalyst. Aiden stared at him as vivid curiosity replaced bewilderment masked as anger.

  Aiden stole a quick look at the painting before he asked again, “Why…?”

  “Reminded me of you,” Shannon said. It was easy to say because it was the truth, but if he had to explain it, Shannon feared he might ruin everything.

  A sound left Aiden. Shannon had never heard it before—not from him. The winded acceptance of being told an unbelievable something. Aiden would usually scoff, or roll his eyes, or twist his handsome features into ghastly, vicious laughter. But this time, his lips parted and, very quietly, he whispered, “This is artwork,” as if to correct Shannon, to say this is not me, this cannot be me.

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “And still…?”

  “Still,” Shannon said. “Happy birthday, Aiden Maar.”

  Aiden’s eyes turned to the frame and candlelight reflected, and Shannon wished he had the courage to take a picture. Aiden, admiring Catalyst, a thing so much like him, wearing a whisper of a smile. What a picture it would be.

  “Where should I hang it?” Aiden asked.

  “Wherever you like.”

  His thumbs traced the frame, and Aiden set it on his thighs while he whipped his gaze around the living room. “What about there?” He pointed at a space beside a photographic collage on the right side of the entertainment stand. “Above the Vincent Cross sculpture?”

  “That’s as good a place as any.”

  Aiden nodded. He swallowed dryly, lips parting and closing.

  “I wish I had more to say, but… I don’t understand, I’m trying to wrap my head around it and I can’t. This isn’t just a gift, it’s… This is something else. I don’t know, I can’t figure out how to say what I’m trying to say.”

  “Don’t say anything then.”

  Aiden picked up Catalyst and set it on the entertainment stand, away from the coffee table and Daisy’s mess. Quiet knotted between them: Aiden breathing, Shannon holding his breath. Shannon wasn’t sure if he should breach the distance, or if Aiden had kept it there for a reason.

  “We’re still not good at this,” Aiden said.

  Shannon narrowed his eyes. “Good at what?”

  “Talking.” Aiden reached across the middle cushion and grabbed Shannon’s hand. He stood, hauling Shannon along with him. “We’ll get better at it, but for now…” He pushed into Shannon, guiding him clumsily toward the bedroom. “Let’s just get on with it.”

  Briefly Shannon thought, wait or let’s talk, but Aiden’s mouth was on his, and Aiden’s body was pressed against Shannon’s, and it didn’t matter. Aiden was all-encompassing. His thumbs stroked Shannon’s temples; his fingers dragged through his hair. They fell against the bedroom door, and Shannon hoisted him up.

  “I always forget you’re cop strong,” Aiden mumbled, grinning against Shannon’s cheek.

  Shannon shoved him against the door, one hand wrapped low on his thigh, the other sliding beneath his T-shirt. “I’m glad you like it,” Shannon said.

  “The throwing me against things, or the painting?”

  “Both.” Shannon worked a violet bruise on Aiden’s throat. “But I was talking about the painting.”

  Aiden’s thighs tightened around Shannon’s waist, one leg slipped to the floor. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me. No one’s ever listened. I can’t believe you remembered. I…” He paused. Shannon bit his jaw, his shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d understand what I meant when I told you about Fortitude—”

  His voice cracked. He clawed at Shannon’s shirt and tossed it away. “I never thought you’d see me as anything other than a guy who stole shit. I never thought you’d see me as…”

  Shannon would ruin it if he tried to explain. “You’re my best kept secret, Aiden. You’re the most vibrant thing in the room, artwork unlike any other.”

  Somehow, in a tangle of arms and legs, they found the bed.

  Aiden’s fingernails dug into Shannon’s shoulders. Shannon hoped they tore him open.

  This candlelight, this wolf, this magnificent being—he’s everything.

  42

  Shannon opened his eyes. The ceiling fan spun brisk morning air through Aiden’s bedroom. He glanced at the open window, then followed the slanted light to where it cut through the shadows on Aiden’s back. He slept on top of the comforter, both arms shoved under the pillow, his nose buried in the mattress. What a view, Shannon thought, and was careful not to wake him while he reached for the camera on the nightstand.

  Aiden stirred after Shannon took the first picture and woke as he was taking the second.

  “Don’t,” Aiden hissed, pulling the pillow over his face.

  “I have successfully captured your first minute as a twenty-three-year-old; how does it feel?”

  “Like that Blink-182 song. Go back to sleep.”

  “Nope, get up. We have things to do today. Daisy’s already in the shower and Chelsea will be here soon.” Shannon tried to pry the pillow away, but Aiden gripped it tighter.

  “It’s my birthday, isn’t it? Don’t I get to decide when I wake up?”

  Shannon rolled over and threw his arm around Aiden’s waist. “We’re supposed to take the girls to the Hollow, remember? Then sushi for lunch.” Aiden made a pleased sound and peeked at Shannon from beneath the pillow. Shannon continued. “You mentioned the Southside cliff, so after we eat, we can go up there. Are we still doing dinner with Marcus?”

  “And Karman and Fae, yeah.”

  “Okay, there you have it, a whole day planned out.”

  The bedroom door swung open.

  “Are you two decent? Not that it matters, lord knows I’ve seen too much of you both to care.” Chelsea grinned, leaning against the inside of the door. A long, white shawl covered a neon pink bikini top, and a pair of frayed jean shorts clung to her hips. “C’mon now, wake up. Aren’t you supposed to be takin’ us somewhere amazing?”

  “How’d you get in my house?” Aiden mumbled, rolling his eyes.

  “I let her in!” Daisy bounded past Chelsea, leapt onto the bed and climbed over Aiden’s naked back. “It’s your birthday! Get up, get up, get up,” Daisy chirped, pressing loving kisses against his cheeks and forehead. Bouncing on top of him, she shoved his shoulders. “Happy birthday to you,” Daisy sang. Her mouth hovered inches from Aiden’s ear. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear asshole, happy birthday to you!”

  “Get off me,” Aiden groaned, his gaze fixed on Shannon and a smile lingering on his face despite the wake-up call.

  After a trip to the Hollow and lunch at Aiden’s favorite sushi restaurant, they found a spot on the beach and lounged about. An hour passed, two maybe, but it wasn’t long before Aiden’s restlessness brought them to the top of the tallest cliff in Laguna.

  Waves crashed beneath, licking the sides of maroon boulders and jet black rocks. Kelp clung to the jagged edges at the bottom and painted the surface dark green. Far off in the distance, a buoy bobbed against rolling swells. To the right, Main Beach extended down the boardwalk. Tops of umbrella’s and folding chairs lined the beach, and the remote sound of chatter filled the air. Sunscreen, aloe, and salt scents wafted around them, mingling with sweet wildflowers and dirt kicked up from their shoes. The sun was bright, dead center in a cloudless sky, overpowering the cool breeze that rile
d the palm trees.

  “I haven’t been up here in years,” Shannon said.

  Aiden tilted his head to welcome the sun on his face. “I come up here a lot.”

  Daisy balanced on the very edge. Her dress billowed, and the wind tousled her hair: locks of white overlapping black. She swayed forward, arms outstretched for the world to see.

  Chelsea stayed put behind Shannon, her hands laced firmly in front of her. “Daisy,” she called nervously. “Can you not do that?”

  Daisy ignored her. She reached toward the sky with her fingers spread.

  “We should jump,” Daisy said, her voice carried by the wind.

  “No,” Chelsea sang. “We definitely shouldn’t do that.”

  Aiden stood beside her, looking over the water. Shannon traced the outline of his tattoo, vivid and raging in the mid-day light. The wings of Aiden’s shoulder blades tensed. Shannon never had been good at stringing together proper descriptions. He found that what he thought and what he said sometimes became jumbled, no matter how many times he went over it in his head. This moment, like many moments, was one Shannon would never be able to properly explain. He thought it might have been poetry—the art of it sewn together in a single, easy scene. Aiden standing on the edge of a cliff, beaches stretched on either side of him, and Shannon wondering what he ever thought was beautiful before this—before Aiden Maar and Laguna Beach.

  Daisy’s chin lifted. She gazed at Aiden, feral and certain and alive, taking the form of one of her fantastic sketchbook creations. What she was constructed of beneath her skin besides bones and muscle and blood? Was there magic inside her, too? Surely there was; people like her, who ran with people like Aiden, had to be some sort of magical.

  “We should jump,” Daisy repeated, stern this time, ready.

  Aiden smiled and said, “Is this how we fight back?”

  “This is exactly how we fight back.” Daisy slid out of her dress and adjusted the straps on her sleek one-piece bathing suit.

  “There are other ways to fight.” Aiden leaned over the edge. He kicked off his shoes and stuffed his socks inside them.

  “Aiden, don’t…” Shannon tried to find something else to say, but there was nothing. All he could muster was a gentle plea, and a useless one. If Aiden decided to jump, Shannon knew nothing could stop him.

  “I’m sick of being scared,” Daisy said, barely audible over the sound of Shannon’s racing heart. “I’m ready to let it go. I found a way for us to fight, and it’s this. This choice is our weapon.”

  Aiden looked at the waves crashing below, and Shannon looked at Aiden.

  Instead of trying to plead with him, Shannon simply said his name. “Aiden…”

  Aiden glanced over his shoulder. Sunlight played on the slope of his nose; fair lashes fanned over his cheeks. Blue sky against pale skin and pale skin against blue sky accentuated Aiden’s strength, cast shadows along the nooks and curves that pulled his body tight, and reminded Shannon that Aiden was a cluster of knives, a shark’s mouth.

  Aiden’s lips parted in a sly smile. “Jump with me.”

  Shannon swallowed dryly, saliva thick and sticky in his throat. “That’s a far fall.”

  “It always has been.” Aiden tilted his head. The sun reflected in his eyes, a little bit like stars, a little bit like candlelight. “I’m not dying,” he added, holding out his arms. “This is me deciding to live.”

  “You will die if you jump off that damn cliff!” Chelsea squawked.

  Aiden stepped into Shannon’s space. Warm hands, fairy tale hands, gripped Shannon’s face. Lips, chapped from the wind, pressed against his. Aiden’s breath trembled on Shannon’s jaw; his bottom lip dragged across Shannon’s cheek. His breath didn’t taste like soot and smoke, but Shannon remembered when it had. Now it tasted like honeysuckles and green tea. Aiden stepped back, inching toward the edge.

  “Jump with me,” Aiden whispered. “Live a little.”

  The world turned slowly, slowly, second by second. Yet Shannon didn’t have enough time to form a coherent thought, processing one moment after the next: Aiden’s lips, gentle and familiar; his voice; the sound of bare feet against dirt; and Chelsea’s strangled gasp.

  Daisy and Aiden disappeared over the edge.

  Daisy’s joyful scream on the way down anchored Shannon to the present, to the sound of one splash and then another, to his name being shouted from the bottom of the cliff. The world jolted into its usual pace.

  “Those two are insane!” Chelsea’s whole body shook, and her foot tapped against the ground. One trembling hand covered her mouth; the other perched on her hip. She watched him, wide-eyed, before she stumbled over an explosion of words. “Shannon Wurther! No, don’t you—don’t you even think about it. I am not, I will not! Don’t you dare, for one second think that I’m…”

  “C’mon, Chels. Let’s do it; let’s jump.”

  “Now you’re crazy! First Aiden, then Daisy, and now you’re losin’ your mind, too? I can handle you and your boyfriend being idiots, but you are not draggin’ me into this!”

  “Either we keep being afraid, or we jump in after them. I don’t know about you, but I’m done being scared. I’m ready to fight, too.”

  “Shannon, we can’t follow them into every stupid situation they get themselves into.”

  Shannon pointed over the edge of the cliff, where Daisy and Aiden’s laughter rang like faraway bells. “Yeah, we can. We just have to stop being scared to jump.”

  Chelsea’s expression dropped. Her wide cerulean eyes darted around Shannon’s face, then flicked from him to the pile of clothes on the cliffside and back to the expanse of ocean in front of them.

  “Are you coming?” Shannon held out his hand.

  Chelsea stepped out of her shorts, folded them, and set them on top of Daisy’s dress. She tightened her bikini, top strings, then bottom.

  A deep, unsettled sigh was Chelsea’s answer, before she snatched his hand and they ran into the sun.

  43

  Laguna Beach was a canvas.

  The sky twisted colors into shapes, manifested sound into sculptures. Daydreams came to life on the horizon, bursting from the sun as it melted into the ocean. Reflected off the top of the water, segments of the coming night shone and glittered. High above the leftover sunset, stars blinked awake beside a waning moon. Aiden had seen sunsets before; he’d seen them from Top of the World and from the Hollow and from his apartment, but he’d never seen one quite like this.

  Perched on the cliff they’d jumped from, Aiden sat with Shannon, Chelsea, and Daisy. Shannon’s feet dangled off the edge; god-awful sunglasses settled on the tip of his nose. Chelsea and Daisy shared a towel beside him: Daisy with her chin on top of her knees, and Chelsea cross-legged with her head tipped back as she gazed at the waking stars.

  Aiden didn’t know what to look at. He was torn between watching the ocean swallow the sun in a pageant of rose-stained clouds, Creamsicle kissing purple above rolling waves, and navy clashing against sleepy gold and Shannon Wurther—witness to it all.

  Colors manifested across Shannon’s cheeks; orange streaked his bottom lip, pink caressed his brow. He leaned back on his palms, and blue tinted his throat.

  “Are you ready for twenty-three?” Shannon asked. His head lolled and he gazed at Aiden over the top of his sunglasses.

  “I think so. I think it’ll be a good one this time.”

  “We’ll make it a good one.”

  The sun was a blood-red dome sinking and sinking. Light from it danced on Shannon’s face; it cast elongated shadows along the bridge of his nose and deepened the line of his jaw.

  Aiden grinned and asked, “What do you think summer will be like?”

  Shannon shrugged. “Warm,” he whispered, “new, bright…I think it’ll be great.”

  Summer—warm, new, bright—would be a summer unlike any
other.

  This spring Aiden would remember as the spring he decided to live, the spring of cheap drinks beneath a blanket of stars and the taste of honey between shared breaths, of a day spent trying to drown and a night spent learning to breathe, of “I love you’s” against bloody knuckles and artwork meant for his hands. Spring was Daisy singing in the shower and Shannon asking how was work. It was Chelsea Cavanaugh, tropical storm of woman, beautiful and captivating. Spring was the world turning radically, wonderfully, unceremoniously, out of a winter of firsts and afters.

  A winter of champagne-stained laughter against Shannon’s smile and photographs that told the beginning of a beautiful story, of feelings manifesting from a void of uncertainty and a Christmas tree Mercy decided was hers. Winter was yes, and this is it, and asking fireflies for forgiveness. It was naked trees, and hot coffee, and Shannon’s lips on the back of his neck god, you’re beautiful. Winter was the heart of the world beating louder, and it had come from a fall that shivered.

  Fall—constructed of impossibilities—was the tumbling of leaves across his boots and a pair of eyes that reminded him of rain. It was daydreaming about what if’s that came true and you’re here that became you’re home, a fall of skeletons and cigarettes, lips against lips, and hands against hands, of Shannon’s smile memorized, phoenix feathers ruffled, Clock’s that were wrong first and right second. Fall was hunting for Fortitude Smashed and finding fate instead.

  Summer was on the horizon, leaving behind a spring when he decided to live, a winter of firsts and afters, and a fall that started with Shannon.

  The fall that turned him wild.

  “What do you think summer will be like?” Shannon touched Aiden’s hand.

  Aiden glanced at the dwindling light leaking from the place where sky met ocean and ocean met sky.

  A smile and the brush of fingertips across his shoulders, an almost kiss and how was work.