Page 44 of Confession
In her yellow bikini, a shocking contrast to her usual black, Sasha plops into the chair beside me, crossing her feet at the ankles. She sips her vitamin water and, like me, pretends there isn’t a lot of shit going on just outside this bubble we’ve made for the afternoon.
It feels so damn good to be out here on the back patio. Lucas is swimming, kind of playing, like the kid I suspect he never really got to be. Roman is sitting at the edge of the pool watching him. Quinn, wearing indecently short green trunks, is turning burgers on the grill.
It is, mostly, an idyllic scene, and I’m trying to appreciate the fact that the pool is in use for the first time in years and there’s something like a family gathered around it. The sun feels good on my bare skin, my beer is cold and hoppy, and the smells from the grill are mouthwatering.
But there are a few things that I’m having to pretend don’t bother me. It’s really fucking hard to see Roman wearing those old blue and red striped trunks that he used to wear all the time and that don’t quite fit him anymore. He’s big but he’s so damn lean, nothing but sharply delineated muscle under all that scarred skin. His wrists and ankles. All over his torso and arms. His legs too.
And it’s not just the physical changes. It’s the way he sits, so fucking still and silent, watching Lucas in a way that would freak most people out, though Lucas seems unbothered by it.
He swims over to Roman from time to time and puts his hands on Roman’s knees. Sometimes Lucas says something, sometimes he doesn’t, then he goes swimming away again, doing underwater somersaults and paddling around.
Sasha calls out to Quinn in a heavy, very fake British accent, “What’s happening with them sausages, Charlie?”
I stare at her, dumbfounded, then look to Quinn for his reaction. Completely unfazed, he glances over his shoulder at her and replies, “Two minutes, Turkish.”
Sasha grins.
“What is happening?” I ask.
“Oh, come on,” Sasha says, “you’ve seenSnatch.”
“Years ago.”
“Ugh, Vitali, you need to watch it again.”
“Do you and Quinn watch movies together?”
“Occasionally. Why? You jealous?”
I glare at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows, Vitali.”
“Well, that’s fine. But I’m not jealous. I was just curious. Where do you watch?”
“My room. He doesn’t have a TV.”
“Hm.”
Sasha gives me a pointed look as she sips her vitamin water. I am jealous and she knows it, and she wants me to know that she knows it.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell her without heat.
“I know.” She sets her bottle aside and pops up from the lounge chair. Braid flying, she takes three running steps toward the pool, yells, “Cannonball!” and jumps in, hugging her kneesto her chest. She lands in the center of the pool, sending a huge spray of water in every direction.
Lucas laughs while Roman and I both make futile attempts to shield ourselves.
“Ugh!” I shout, taking off my water-spotted sunglasses and mopping my face with a nearby towel.
Quinn, who was outside the blast range, is shaking with poorly suppressed laughter. I get up from my chair and walk over to him.
“You think that’s funny?” I whisper behind him.
“Mm-hm.”
“These shorts are very short. I can almost see your ass.”
“Hey,” he complains, pulling away from my hand. “I’m cooking, they’re not that short, and you’re wearing a speedo. And don’t touch my ass.”
