Page 129 of Paint the Town, Dove
His eyes never moved.
“What?” I laughed. “What is it?”
But he didn’t speak.
“Okay now, now you’re scaring me Ryd –”
I felt his lips against my cheek before I could finish my sentence, felt his hand slick up my spine as he rested his forehead in the crook of my neck. “You’re the life I’ve been waiting for, aren’t you, Dove?”
I didn’t move.
Not because I was shocked (I was), but because I didn’t want to.
We… We practically grew up together. I’d known him for seven years. Everything that happened before him was irrelevant, my loyalty to him now, irrevocable.
His lips gently kissed my neck, then slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled away. A tortured expression painted his face, a coating of pink swam beneath his cheeks.
He was embarrassed to have touched me.
[Should I have been embarrassed to have liked it?]
“Th… thank you, again, Dove. I –” he stuttered, “I can’t wait to sing for yo – I mean, sing to uh – to the audience.”
I swallowed my feelings because that’s what I needed to do.
We were starting this journey together. We were embarking on our path to freedom.
This was the first step.
I could be his muscle. He could be my ticket.
My aggression, his talent.
Emory… Where – “Where’s Emory?” I asked.
Both Emory and I shared the reclining couch while Ryden took the twin mattress under the window. The basement apartment wasbelow a duplex, and our upstairs neighbour was a cat lady with a death rattle – but we made do.
Emory moved out when I did, but her adoptive parents were more than supportive and helped us all through. They were happy she was finding her own way with good friends, and good friends we were.
Except…
“Is she with Jared?” I questioned, flipping out Sinead’s phone. I scrolled to her number.
Her “contact” happened to be a guy she met at the foster homes before she left. They lost touch but she told me they reconnected when she saw him at the Pier a few years ago.
Why she kept him a secret was beyond me. But people’s business was their business.
Lord knows I had a stack of bones in my own closet to keep hidden. So did Ryden.
“Don’t bother, she is.” Ryden grabbed a pile of sheet music and Harley. “I think she’ll be home soon, but hey,” he nudged me, “do you mind if I practice a few songs? I’ll play in the bathtub so it doesn’t bother you.”
I sighed. “You never bother me.”
He smiled, that deep sunken dimple making me melt. “In that case, I’ll be at the kitchen table.”
***
I watched Ryden play for what felt like hours.
