Page 35 of Crocodile Tears
I laughed and shrugged. “I wanted to show a softer side of myself, I guess,” I admitted. “People know me for fight scenes and big stunts. The tone of my last show was so serious. I wanted people to know I could be funny and romantic sometimes too.”
“If they listened to your music they’d know.”
That comment caught me off guard. I wondered how much of my music Dove had listened to. Did she listen to it still? Acting felt a lot less personal than singing. It was easier to fade into someone else’s story than share my own, but the music always felt more meaningful to me in that regard too.
“It’s true,” I mused. “My music was mostly love songs.”
“Lotsof yearning,” Dove added, making me laugh.
“I was nineteen,” I lamented. “Cut me some slack.” I let out a wistful sigh. “Lucky Role feels like a lifetime ago. A lot of people don’t even know I’m the same guy. I want them to think Deacon has depth too, you know?”
“I think your hundreds of thousands of die hard Harrow Head fans already know you can be funny and romantic,” she said. “You crack one bad joke on a press tour and they think you’re the world’s greatest comedian. There’s like a million fan edits of you on TikTok.”
“Oh really?”
“I mean, I just stumbled across them. I wasn’t seeking them out,” she added defensively.
“Uh-huh,” I teased. “Oh well. I guess I just wanted people to know I had more versatility in me.”
“You were a modelanda rock star before you started acting,” Dove pointed out. “You’ve always been a triple threat. You can’t suddenly develop comedy chops too or that would just be plain cruel to every other performer out there.”
“I suppose so.”
“But I know that you’re funny,” she added.
And I really wanted to replythat’s all that matterslike the sentimental fool I was, but instead, I said, “A comedy fandom of one, excellent.”
I’d once been the goofy, funny one, the clown of my family. Many actors started off that way—nerdy theater kids who ended up having the good looks to carry them further than others. It had always been my goal whenever Dove and I had been together to make her laugh because I’d known that if I could make Dove Lachlan laugh, I could make anyone. Her smiles were hard-won and therefore that much sweeter.
Dove stopped, spying a piece of blue sea glass and picking it up. She held it to the sun with a smile before pocketing it.
“Still pilfering treasure from the beach, I see.” I tipped my head to a barnacle-covered rock bisecting the beach. “Do you remember that gold coin we found down by the rock pools that one time? You swore it was pirate treasure.”
“How could I forget?” She chuckled, lifting her hand to show me her palm.
“I wondered if it would leave a permanent mark.” I pressed my lips tightly together after that admission. I was already saying too much.
Taking her hand in mine, I swept my thumb over the scar. She’d cut it open when she’d fallen on the slippery rocks tryingto retrieve the coin. She’d been so obstinate that she’d kept going until she’d gotten the coin even while she’d been bleeding onto the sand.
“It’s mostly faded,” Dove murmured, her voice getting lost on the wind. I realized I was still touching her, but I couldn’t seem to let her hand go.
The memory of sitting in the urgent care flashed back to me—the smells of the sterile hospital, the bright fluorescent lights, and the sound of Dove’s laughter as her dad had shown us all of his scars and regaled us with stories each more epic and gruesome than the last. Simon Lachlan had been such an incredible storyteller that Dove hadn’t even noticed the stitches going in. It should’ve been a bad day, a bad memory, but I could tell Dove remembered it with the same fondness I did. I hoped the mark never fully disappeared.
Without thinking, I lifted Dove’s palm and kissed her scar. I was surprised that she didn’t pull away as my lips lingered on her warm skin as if I could feel the memory beneath them. That hug from the previous week echoed in my limbs, the desire to wrap Dove back up in another hug overwhelming now that I knew how good she felt pressed against me, like a piece of a puzzle that I hadn’t known was missing.
When I released her, she cleared her throat and kept walking, speeding up a little bit. It had been too much to hope she wouldn’t immediately pull away again.
“Seven stitches,” Dove said with a stilted laugh.
“Your lucky number.”
“You remember that?”
“It was seven because there are seven kids in your family.”
“Wow, I’m impressed.” She paused to study my face before carrying on down the beach. “Do you still have that coin?”
It took me a second to speak. “Probably somewhere.” I didn’t know why I’d lied. But the fact she hadn’t run away from meafter I’d kissed her palm was a big deal, and I didn’t want the truth to scare her away. Everything felt so delicate, teetering on this precipice of something I was too afraid to name . . .
