Page 28 of Scars of the Sun

No, I wanted to say. But the world around us was filtering back in, and with it, was my more rational mind. Maybe it was good that he’d stopped us. Though I’d obviously proven to myself that I didn’t have as many reservations as I thought I did, my reaction to going further right now wasn’t just nothing.

I agreed, and Río stayed close by while I laced my roller skates as quickly as I could. Once they were on, I made my way over to him, tracing circles like I always did. Except, this time, after I grabbed my headphones and turned on my music, we were lost in our own worlds but never far from one another. Like orbiting planets, I worked on my toe-spins while he pulled kickflips and shove-its, lost in his own movements. When he went over to the bowl, dropping in and revolving in its depths, I practiced turning my hips out, bending my legs so that my feet formed a straight line and the placement of my weight let me wind delicate curves around the bowl.

Río and I exchanged glances that felt comfortable and intimate. No need to talk, just content that the other was there, within reach.

The hours bled into each other, the passage of time marked only by the people that arrived or left. All the while, Río and I didn’t really speak with anyone else aside from quick greetings or head nods of acknowledgement.

The skate spot technically had a closing hour, but since it was considered a public park and the lights stayed on at all hours of the night, many ignored the signs that told us to get out at midnight. The cops rarely came by here to enforce it, so when I opened my eyes after losing myself to the music I danced to, I was surprised to find the park empty aside from Río and I. The last skaters were heading to their cars or walking down the road, to go home and sleep or continue hanging out elsewhere.

When I turned over my shoulder, Río was already standing, watching me. He had one foot on the tail of his board, angling it up in the air. He’d removed his shirt earlier in our skate session, and the thin sheen of sweat made the vibrant colors and deep blacks of his tattoos glisten. The trio of graceful cranes before a bright, orange sun took up most of his right side and contrasted sharply with the macabre skulls on the back of each of his hands. There was little space on his upper body that wasn’t covered in art, and I had the urge to run my fingers over each piece.

Feeling a bit more comfortable with him now, I rolled over to Río, my braid sticking to the side of my neck from the hours of sweat I’d worked up. With the added height of my wheels, Río was only about two inches taller than me. I stopped, close enough to see the tiny black hairs that’d begun to sprout on his cheeks since his last shave, and I gave into the prickling urge in my fingertips.

Río’s hair was up in a messy bun, but the hairs that’d fallen free tickled the back of my hand as I traced the bold dahlia flower on the side of his neck. The petals were sharp and drawn with thick, black lines, but all together, they conveyed a gentle grace.

I swept my touch down to his chest, tracing the flapping wings of three cranes, two smaller than the third that seemed to be leading the flight they’d taken. My fingernail just barely scraped a path around his pierced nipple as I mapped the other tattoos that were expertly drawn on his flesh.

“Ramona,” his voice held the beginning rumbles of a purr, and I rested the pad of my finger on the blade of a dagger along his ribcage. I tilted my head to look up at his face, eyes winding up past the silver studs beneath his lips and the rings punched through his nose.

Río rested his hands on my hips, and when he dipped in to kiss me, it was a soft press of lips. My palm flattened against hischest, feeling his heart beat and his lungs swell. Number Twelve, it turned out, wasn’t just sex, or the pleasure he coaxed out of me.No, I amended my list.It’s this, too.We pulled back for air, resting the sides of our noses against each other. I breathed him in, let the feel of his body ground me.

Then, I felt his hold on me clench. Not painfully, but the bubble around us shifted. Río biting at his lip caused it to bump against mine. I held my breath, heart beating faster as he kept me close.

“I’m not staying here.”

My lashes fluttered wildly, mind trying to catch up to what he was saying. Even though we were too close to be able to focus on much of anything, I looked into his black eyes, trying to decipher what path his mind had taken.

Here, I noticed the almost-invisible ring of contact lenses around his irises, but that curious detail was in the background as I realized what he was trying to convey with that one sentence.

That he wouldn’t be staying in town. That he would be leaving at some point.

That he liked me. That he wanted to keep me close while he was here but not close enough to be here long-term.

I swallowed the conflicted lump in my throat. While my stay in Antler Pointe had no definite end, I could easily be leaving, too. He was warning me that whatever this was, it was finite.

I reached up to hold his jaw with both of my hands, nodding with small, jerky movements, and brought our lips together again. I’d never expected anything lasting. Not this shaky peace I’d been feeling, not the care of my brother or his family. Not my life.

Knowing that Río and I had an approaching deadline was okay. It had to be.

CHAPTER TWELVE

RÍO

The rest of the band began to pack up their shit, but I felt myself hesitating. It wasn’t unusual for me to hang back after practice when we were at Tyler’s, but it was mostly so we could shoot the shit and talk about non-human things. Today, there were more serious thoughts in my mind that were itching for an audience. Or just—a third party to bear witness and help me make sense of them.

But I couldn’t tell himeverything.

I put my Iceman in its case, raised a hand to Brody and Jess as they started the process of loading their respective cars.

Tyler’s house was huge and outside of town—the perfect place to set up all our gear and play as loudly as we wanted. When I’d first come here for practice and took in the sleek, modern home with black walls and gleaming floors, I’d been struck with how much it looked like my father’s. Where I’d lived out my imprisonment with staff at my beck and call that would also look the other way because they were just as likely to be killed as I was to be beaten.

But, the closer I looked, Ty’s home was also different. Not as many walls of windows, as he truly liked the darkness, the modest-sized kitchen in contrast with the sprawling rooms andgrounds. A room specifically dedicated to our practices that was set up with pretty much everything we needed.

I’d been fiddling with the edge of a leather sofa that was pushed up along one of the walls of the practice room, but Tyler’s scratchy voice interrupted my anxious fiddling. “Are you leaving or staying?”

He wasn’t dressed in either of his personas tonight. No eyeliner or metal band frontman getup. No pressed suit and styled hair. Just a baggy t-shirt and cargo pants. “Thought I’d fuck around here in the lap of luxury for a bit.”

“Whatever, dude,” he flicked his eyes toward the door, “got a bite coming over in a few, but you can stay.”