Page 126 of Go Luck Yourself
Because he’s falling too, and we’re knotted up together, each a parachute, each in a terrifying free fall.
I wouldn’t say Iwake up,but I come out of some kind of coma with soft yellow light pouring down on me. There’s a window high in thewall of Loch’s basement studio, fogged glass that lets enough light shine through for me to take stock of where, exactly, I am.
On the floor. There’s a pillow and a blanket—ah, yeah, he has bedding on hand for when he pulls late nights, he’d said.
Everything else slips back through me. Head to toe and up again in gradual, palpitating awareness, languid limbs and exhaustion, but the kind of exhaustion that’s relaxed on a bone-deep level.
I force my eyes open wider. There’s another pillow, but it’s empty—
A silhouette comes into focus next to me, backlit by that yellow light.
He has one knee propped up, a sketchpad balanced there, a pencil in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. He’s back in his sweatpants but covered in paint, and I know I am too; I can feel the chalky stiffness in my hair and all across my chest, legs, and arms.
“Hey.” I touch his ankle. The easy contact reawakens every single sensation from last night.
His eyes glide down to me. There’s a beat where we’re looking at each other. One that stretches, stretches, and my body goes from limp in relaxation to springing with tension. I can’t tell whether it’s good or bad.
Until he smiles. “Hey,” he says back. And points at a tray beside him spread with breakfast food and steaming cups. “Eat, boyo.”
My chest warms and I sit up, blanket pooling around my thighs. I don’t miss the way he makes note of it, and that tension cranks to passion. But I am hungry, so I take a scone and get one bite into it before I realize—
It’s morning.
My eyes flare. “We have an event today, right? What time is it? Shit—”
Loch puts his hand on my knee, staying me from getting up. Even through the thin blanket, electricity sizzles, stops me cold.
“There is an event, but I talked with Finn and Siobhán. They can handle it. Another festival, nothing you have na seen already.”
“But…” My mind is moving like sludge this morning. Thoughtscome to me scattered and disproportionate like my brain isn’t sure how to reboot after goingquietfor so long. “The press?”
Loch’s hand is still on my knee. His thumb moves over the blanket, rubs back and forth on me. “You’ve more than helped in that area. We can miss one day.”
I scrub a hand through my hair. One whole side is caked with paint, plastered down the side of my head. “But you only talked to your court a few hours ago. Shouldn’t you make an appearance at this event, reassert what you told them? We can—”
Loch leans forward and kisses me. He tastes like apples and mouthwash and it thoroughly shuts me up.
“I shoulda been clear,” he whispers into my lips. “I’m na willing to share you with anyone yet.”
“Oh.” My face heats. “Okay.”
“You should na worry about my court. Aboutme.I have it handled now, I promise. I—” A rough, harsh swallow. “They know now most of what I’ve done is behind the scenes, anyway. I’ll be at the Dublin parade, though, and that’ll satisfy everyone.”
“You’ll confront Malachy there?”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Mm.”
It’s not exactly confirmation. But he pulls back and shoves my half-eaten scone against my mouth before I can ask more, and I don’t want to get into details of Malachy while I’m naked.
“I will na have you passing out.” His cheeks are stained pink through his own smears of paint.
“Bossy.” I eat.
“You do na seem to have a problem with it.”
I really, really don’t. “Only when you—” I catch a glimpse of the sketchpad in his lap. “Are you drawing me?”
His eyes cut down to the sketch, and that blush along his cheekbones darkens.
