Page 44 of Ricochet
The body goes over.
It falls.
And splashes into the water below.
Then everything goes quiet, quieter than before. The waves from the splash ripple onto the pebbled shore. Stone stands at the edge of the dock, looking down, then back up to the stars. Like maybe he’s feeling everything I am right now too.
It’s as though I’m out there on the dock with him. Sharing in the beauty of this moment he’s created with his hands, crafted with a knife.
A god of death. An artist in his own way.
A beautiful, breathtaking reaper.
I don’t know how much longer I have before he starts heading back. So I take one last breath—breathing in the death and the beauty that I’ve wanted to experience again for the past five years. The kind I’ve considered bringing into existence myself but have been too scared to do it, those dark ruminations always leading to a panic attack. But, now, I breathe it in deep, trap it in my lungs, hoping to hold it in forever.
After one last glance at Stone, I turn to head back. I think I even keep holding my breath until I make it to the street. But even after I let it out, it’s still there. That moment.
I choose a different path back to the hotel just in case Stone isn’t too far behind. The return walk doesn’t seem to take as long, my mind too busy replaying the scene on the dock over and over again.
As soon as I’m back in our hotel room, I strip down to my boxers, grab my travel sketch pad out of my bag, and crawl under the covers. I shouldn’t do it, but I do. It’s a quick sketch, a reference for a more detailed one I’ll do later. I’ll have to fill in some blanks left by shadow, but my head is pretty full of ideas.
Once it’s finished, I rip out the page. I fold it into a tiny square like I did that night five years ago and tuck it beneath my pillow. Since I don’t know when Stone will be returning, I turn off the light next to my bed and lie down on my side facing the door. I don’t want him to know I’m awake when he comes in. I don’t want anything to shatter this exquisite feeling.
I’m not even close to falling asleep when I hear a key slide into the door nearly half an hour later. But I close my eyes and pretend to be.
The bathroom light turns on, and the door shuts. The water for the shower runs for about ten minutes. I’m so high off the night that I feel no shame for imagining Stone on the other side of the wall. Naked and wet.
Maybe with a little of that man’s blood swirling down the drain.
My cock is hard by the time he comes out in his boxers. But I only get a peek before I remember my eyes are supposed to be closed.
The room falls into darkness again when he turns the bathroom light off. His steps are light on the carpet as he crosses the room. Behind me, the mattress groans quietly when he sits. There’s a crinkle from the bag of chips when he picks up the Funyuns I left on his bed. A pause. Then he opens it, and I hear a crunch.
It’s just a bag of chips, but it’s more too.
A thank you.
I’m lying mere feet away from a murderer, and I feel none of what Ishouldbe feeling.
Instead, I feel…safe.
I had been a bit worried I’d have those nightmares during this trip. But, that night, I sleep better than I have in weeks.
“Get up, Callum!”
My alarm went off fifteen minutes ago, and he’s still not so much as stirring.
I march over to his bed, only one arm in the sleeve of my shirt as I shove the other one through. I stand above him, peering down. He looks so damn peaceful, his full lips parted. A dark spot on his pillow shows where he was drooling in his sleep. I hate to wake him, but…
“We’re going to be late for practice if you don’t get up.”
It’s not until I kick the bottom of his bed frame that he finally jerks awake. He blinks up at me a few times before his gaze focuses. He goes still, then his face relaxes.
“Did you get drunk last night?” I ask, my brows tightening.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Something like that.”
I scoff and walk away to sit on my own bed so I can pull on my shoes. “Great. Determined to make us lose by even more tonight, huh?”