Page 83 of Dear Mr. Brody
A tear fell down my face and he wiped it away. I hadn’t even realized I’d started to cry. There was a small scar that cut across his eyebrow, and I traced it with my thumb, and he closed his eyes.
“Marcos keeps my secrets and I keep his.”
I cupped his face and he leaned into the touch. It didn’t change anything, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Me too.” And God, he smiled, and my chest ached. “But they didn’t win. Maybe they did for a while. But not anymore.”
“And I’ve asked you to hide again,” I said, the realization cutting me in two. “I can’t... I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s not the same.” He leaned in, the warmth of his breath on my lips. “It’s not, so stop overthinking.”
Parker kissed me soft and sleepy. Like he hadn’t just opened an old wound, like he hadn’t started to bleed all over again. His hands in my hair, his tongue parted my lips. It didn’t last long, but this kiss was different from the previous kisses we’d shared. It tasted like trust and hope and something I couldn’t name, something that was unique to him, something sweet and somber.
This man. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Turns me to dust.
“The free association assignment,” I said, and he nodded.
“It was about my last week in Florida. I met the guy at a bar. It was a one-time thing. But for some reason I’d told him everything, let him fuck me. All of it was my choice. I took back my freedom under the same pier where I’d almost lost everything.”
Earlier we’d talked about his writing over boxes of lo-mein, talked about a future he didn’t think he could have, but he’d said he’d given some thought about changing his major to creative writing next semester. He didn’t get it, how rare his talent was, how special. He’d laughed when I told him Anders was interested in talking to him about working on a novel. He’d laughed like I’d been pulling his leg, like he wasn’t good enough. I’d said, “I told you so.” And he’d laughed again. I had no idea. No idea the scars he held. I should have told him he was worthy, like that stranger on the beach, who’d had him in a way that twisted me up inside. That he was this rare and special person. That he deserved this, that he never deserved to bleed. I wanted to say it now, but it felt like it was too late.
Instead, I said his name and kissed him until we couldn’t breathe.
Parker
The drive to my mom’s house in Marietta usually didn’t take me longer than twenty-five minutes. Depending on traffic, I could get there in twenty, but today seemed to drag. It was only ten in the morning, and I was already tired. I’d stayed up too late, which had become my routine over the past six weeks. If I wasn’t at work, or over at Van’s, I was home trying to catch up on my classes. I yawned, trying to keep my eyes focused on the road, the fall foliage burning bright orange and yellow as the car sped by.
“Stop yawning, you’re making me tired.” Marcos leaned forward and turned down the volume on the stereo. “You need me to drive?”
“I’m fine, we’re almost there.”
“Most accidents happen when you’re only a few miles from home.”
I glared at him. “I’m fine.”
“Someone’s cranky today. Maybe if you would man up and deflower the professor already, you’d be a little less irritable.”
“It’s not like that, asshole.” I laughed. “And would you please stop using the word deflower.”
“He’s an ass virgin… it fits. I mean, unless him and his ex-wife used to—”
“Marcos.”
“Calm down,” he said, mumbling something in Spanish under his breath.
“We’re not ready.”
I kept my gaze fixed on the road even though I could feel him staring at me.
“He’s not ready,” he said.
“It’s only been a month.”
“It’s been six weeks. You’ve fucked guys you’ve known for thirty minutes, Park.” He turned in his seat to face me. “You’re over there almost every night.”
“Why are you so concerned about my sex life?” I asked, my aggravation leaking through my half-hearted smirk.
“Jesus.” He held up his hands. “Forget I said a word.”