Page 5 of My Lovely Tragedy
Glancing down at my feet now firmly planted on the ground, I take a steadying breath before adjusting my stance to lean in and reach across his waist to latch the seatbelt. Being so close, I allow myself another quick inhale of his unique scent, eyes shuttering and nearly rolling back into my head. Greedy for it as the words flow through my mind.
Salt and musk. A hint of spice—cinnamon. Deeper than that is anger. Sorrow and loneliness. Things inherently untraceable by scent—if I wasn’t already intimately familiar with them. Bleeding out and into me.
Forcing myself to pull away with a strong, unwavering sense of regret, I cross to the driver’s seat and start the car, pulling away from the snow-packed curb, tires spinning in the slush. The sensation of the car fishtailing makes Brooklyn giggle, face pressed against the interior of the door, and my heart flips inside my sternum.
I chance a peek over at him once the car has straightened out and the road ahead isn’t nearly as slick. His eyes are closed, but there is the smallest lift to the corner of his mouth before it falls slack and his breathing evens out.
It takes a few minutes of driving for the car to fully warm up properly, and when it does, I turn the heat to full blast and relish in the way the warmth makes my hands and face feel like they are burning, the chill of the storm melting from my bones.
Brooklyn’s sleeping form keeps me from turning on the radio, a habit I’ve formed on such a long trip home, but this time, the silence is welcomed.
Far too often, the voices in my head berate and scream for no other reason than because they can. But finally, there is nothing but peaceful quiet. The only thoughts churning are ones of simple content and curiosity.
For this man and what it could mean. Selfishly, for me.
A friend.
This storm will keep us snowed in for at least a few days. The roads will be impassable on the county road, even more so on the smaller dirt road leading to the cabin.
I know he is unaware of the repercussions of the decisions he has made to come home with me. A stranger, in all senses. He does not know me, and I, him.
But that doesn’t sate the interest festering. A slow, lukewarm simmer I feel just beneath my flesh.
CHAPTERTWO
TOBIAS
The skyline fillswith the glowing outline of the mountains as we near my cabin located hours outside the city, and with it, some of the tension in my neck eases.
I dig at the muscles, rotating my head around, but am careful not to take my eyes off the road. The night is pitch black with only the white glare of my headlights emphasizing the snow blowing across the road, creating patches of black ice.
Knowing the storm was impending, I should have driven my truck into the city instead, but I also did not plan to spend countless hours wandering. Though, it seems fate and its circumstance decided for me.
My eyes flicker toward Brooklyn. He’s still slumped over in the seat, all soft snores and the occasional mumble. Golden hair knotted and plastered haphazardly against his face, a few wayward strands snaking down across his torso and the black leather at his back. One strand in particular caught in the stubble on his upper lip.
I reach across the small, warm space between us to wrap that thin strand around my index finger, my eyes never straying from the two-lane highway. His hair is soft despite being tangled, dirty, and half-wet. I coil it around and around until my other fingers brush the thin, heated flesh of his forehead.
My eyes burn with focus on the road, and I squint, resisting the urge to glance at him, to see my fingers touching his sleep-softened face.
With a deep breath, I slide my hand around the back of his head, keeping that one strand curled tight. A pressure that would most likely wake him if he wasn’t in a drunken slumber, but I take the moment for what it is: stolen and unscrupulous.
I slowly tap the brake as my turn draws near, the promise of home finally minutes away. The dip of the car jostles Brooklyn, and I use my hold to steady his head. The tires spin in the freshly fallen snow but gain traction, pulling us forward.
We crawl along the dirt road, snow flying outward as the trees fill the vastness on either side, only caught in the headlights. A quick glance in the rearview mirror turns them scarlet as I press the break, turning left to pull up beside my old Chevy truck.
After shifting into park, I turn the car off and am immediately bathed in darkness. Not a single light other than the transient moon and fiery stars penetrate the sky this far out, and there has never been a sight I’ve loved more.
Although, in this moment, as my eyes catch the barest shadows of Brooklyn’s face, I think this just might be better.
I am surrounded by beauty in all its rawest elements. The chaos of destruction merging with unknown elements.
It doesn’t take long for the chill of the blizzard to work its way through the darkened car, and with a regret I’m not used to, I am forced to wake Brooklyn from his slumber.
I gently remove my hand from his hair, the pads of my fingers digging into the scalp just before they fall to his shoulder. “Brooklyn,” I murmur with a gentle nudge, but the larger man doesn’t move. “Brooklyn.” I try again, this time brushing his stubbled cheek. He startles in an instant, head jerking in my direction.
I see the moment of impact just before his skull connects with the bridge of my nose, and my wire frames cut into my skin. “Fuck,” I hiss as blinding heat explodes between my eyes. My hands move to cover my nose just as blood spills over my upper lip.
Brooklyn grunts, swearing himself. “Shit, what—” I hear the rustle of clothing, but the sheen coating my eyes makes it far too hard to see.
