Page 31 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
There’snothing wrong with me.He’s just being polite. Lanston doesn’t come off as the kiss-you-hard-on-the-third-day-I-know-you type of guy.
I blow out a breath.
I have to tell myself that a few times as I look for a fifteen-year-old satchel in the dark. We search for over thirty minutes before ultimately joining back at the top of the stairwell. The only source of light is from the lamp posts. Lanston waits, leaning over the edge with his forearms against the railing.
He really is stuck in his past. I observe him before getting closer, trying to picture him before. He seems like someone who used to smile constantly, the light of the party.
A smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I think of something that might cheer him up.
I walk straight by him and start walking down the stairs to the neighborhood below. I cast a look over my shoulder up at him, finding his gaze heavy on me. Confusion pulls at hisfeatures for only a second, then he catches my wicked grin and shoves off the rails.
“Where are you going?” he calls after me, but I quicken my pace down the stairs and his footsteps hasten.
It’s hard to keep in the laughter that bubbles up from my throat, but I manage as I try to focus on each step. The second my feet hit the ground level of the dark neighborhood, I’m racing off toward the alley.
I slow as I pass a small yellow house with a trashed backyard. There’s an old swing set at the center. My feet falter as I take in the familiar setting—the carelessness of the home’s appearance and the clutter that’s been left to the elements and time.
My family had this exact swing set. The two chain-link swings slowly glide back and forth in the breeze. Lanston’s footsteps draw closer, but I don’t look at him as he slows. He stands beside me, only his breath disturbing the cold evening air. Warmth rolls off his skin and his lovely scent of torn pages invades my senses.
My jaw sets as I refuse to let my gaze lift from the swings.
“What’s wrong?” Lanston dips down, setting both hands on either of my arms so his face is level with mine. He inspects me for any harm, but when he finds none, he focuses on my eyes.
I force my jaw to unclench and bury my teeth into my lower lip. Why do I find the swing set so upsetting? My gut twists.
He follows my gaze and looks at the swings. His hands loosen but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he pulls me in for a tight hug. I’m so surprised by it that I let out a small gasp that gets caught in the fabric of his sweater. One of his hands braces my midback, securing me close to his chest, while his other cups the back of my neck. He rests his head on mine and my eyes widen.
Tears roll down my cheek and fall on his sweater—I hadn’t realized they’d even formed.
“It’s okay to be sad, my rose,” he whispers, and the sound of his voice is all I can hear in a world so dark.
How long has it been since I’ve been embraced like this? I let my eyes fall closed and decide that I don’t care. I don’t want to remember anything except this—only him.
I raise my hands and press them to his shoulder blades, embracing him as endearingly as he does me. The warmth of his chest draws a sensation of security into my heart.
He pecks a kiss on the top of my head and slowly pulls away, grinning sadly and shaking his head. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
It’s impossible not to smile back at a man such as Lanston Nevers.
“I’ll tell if you do,” I say quietly, as if someone might hear us.
Lanston brushes his thumb over my cheek; heat follows in its wake as my cheeks flush.
“Deal.” He looks up at the roof of the house, then back to me. “Ever sit on a roof before?”
I crack a half-grin. “Of course.”
“Here, I’ll help you up.” He doesn’t even bother asking as he grabs my hand and guides us over to the side of the yellow house. He lifts me up on top of a garbage can and I manage to climb up from there. Lanston doesn’t have any trouble climbing on his own, and he nods to the center of the roof where the peak resides.
We sit together with our shoulders touching, hands gently entwined. I’ve half forgotten what we even came up here to discuss before he breaks the silence.
“I keep thinking about how I’ll never be able to make new memories with them.” My heart breaks with the sorrow in his voice. I stare down at our hands joined, fingers interlaced and gently brushing together. “I never got to be anything but the fuck-up son. The friend who died.”
I take a deep breath and look up at the sky breaking with clouds and stars.
“I’m certain that’s not true,” I tell him gently.
He leans his head against mine and murmurs back, “How can you be so sure?”
