Page 36 of Never Say Die
Aiden flexed his jaw. His focus narrowed to their shoulders, touching, and Shay’s hand, squeezing. “Tried something different.”
“Aiden.”
“What do you want?” he snarled, resting his cheek on the fresh sheet. “Last night, you told me you’d wished it’d been me in that bathroom?—”
Shay moved too quickly for him to process. One moment, Shay was beside him, looking at him, nose to nose, then he had Aiden pinned, clutching both wrists, straddling Aiden’s hips. Fingernails nipped his skin. Cigarette breath fanned his face. Shay snapped his teeth, fangs bared. “I wished it would’ve been you, because I would’vestopped. Now, tell me the truth. For once, just tell me?—”
“What? That I lived after trying to die? Yeah, you’re not the only one who should’ve stayed dead. I can’t seem to get that shit right for anyone.” His chest knotted painfully. He tipped his face toward the window, inhaling an unsteady breath. He’d told the truth, mostly. The unspoken was harder, though. Complicated. He hadn’t wanted to die, but he hadn’t stopped himself either,and he’d spent too long trying to decodewhy. He’d lived. That’s what mattered.
Shay went limp. He rested his forehead on Aiden’s temple. Fingers unlatched, slipping over Aiden’s palms. His voice changed. Softened. Right then, they were younger. Fifteen. Sixteen. Scared of each other, obsessed with each other. “You’re okay, right? Now, I mean. You’re okay now?”
“Define okay.” Aiden curled his pointer finger thoughtlessly, feeling across Shay’s knuckles.
“Should I be worried?”
“No,” Aiden said, gently, like they were friends again. Like they were something else. “You’re the only one allowed to kill me, I guess.”
Shay nosed at his cheek, tipped his head, and kissed Aiden.Oh, Aiden thought, then, like always,Shay. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he cracked them open again, wading through pleasant warmth, surprised but not. Enraptured. Arrested. Completely fucked, honestly. Shay had kissed him hard, but not hard enough. A sure, firm press, close-mouthed and polite, stolen like a breath. His parted lips hovered just out of reach, but their palms met, hands tightly clasped.
Slowly, he lowered his mouth to Aiden’s ear, and said, “I’m the only one allowed to kill you. Period.”
Aiden refused to nod. His face burned; body wrought with undefinable want.
Shay clipped his ear as he pulled away and climbed off the bed. He raked his hand through his hair, unlocked the fold-out door dividing the bedroom from the rest of the RV, and walked into the living area, catching himself on the table as the RV bounced through a pothole.
Aiden rolled onto his side, pulled his jacket over his head, and brought his knees to his chest, staring through the window at the desolate landscape. He licked his lips. Chased remnants ofstale smoke and beeswax balm. Tried to slow his heartrate and failed miserably. He closed his eyes, asked for sleep, and begged, silently, not to dream of him. Of them, together. Of a future with Shay Bennett.
He did, though.
Aiden dreamed of kissing Shay on Sunday mornings. Arms wrapped around his waist in a spacious kitchen they never used. Slow sex in a shadowy shower. Teeth, sharp, buried in his throat.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Knight’s Blood had been granted a week of downtime before their next tour stop. Sun-ripened tourists crowded the sidewalk on Hollywood Boulevard, snapping selfies and searching for celebrities. Aloe permeated the air, expensive cars idled bumper to bumper, and traveling musicians performed at opposing intersections. Aiden dropped a wrinkled dollar in an open guitar case as he crossed the street.
He’d spent the four days following their departure from Las Vegas searching the internet for resources on ritual mishaps, waiting for a cop to knock on his door. One website was Myspace-Era bad. Like, pixelated flaming banner, giant font, bright red backgroundbad. The second website documented anonymous experiences with ritual-work, seances, and sacrifices. Moving chairs, slamming doors, disembodied voices—the works. No fangs, though. Or vampiric-maybe-Chupacabra-behavior.
No cops either. He should’ve been happier about that, but unease smoldered beneath his skin.
Besides researching late into the night, he’d met with the band for rehearsal, attempted to jog through Echo Park and quithalfway, waited for Shay to go pale and hungry again—nothing yet—and hadn’t, not once, mentioned being kissed. He’d fixated, though. Daydreamed about the grimy RV, barely hitting sixty on the US 95, Shay pressed against him atop plastic-scented sheets, every day since.
Heat suffocated the metro, amplifying the steely odor trapped underground. He stepped onto the train, leaned against the wall, and flicked through Instagram, steering away from the bite-kiss-bite-kiss cycling in his thoughts. Instead, he focused on the passive-aggressive interrogation he was about to walk into at his mother’s house. He braced for the glance his tía would give him, hunting for traces of Camila in his slender hands and wide hips. Anticipated the Facetime round-table with his abuelita, and knew his deadname would slip from her mouth accidentally, landing like a wasp on his cheek.
The train screeched to a stop at the Highland Park station. Aiden sidestepped a skateboarder on the sidewalk and lowered his sunglasses over his eyes, taking in the brick buildings and brightly colored shopfronts beyond the intersection. A vegan bakery had replaced his favorite taqueria, renting the space next to his family’s business, Ramírez Botanica, and the liquor store on the corner was now an overpriced yoga studio.Figures, he thought. He tongued at his blunt teeth and cut through the parking lot behind Tierra Mia Coffee, slipping through a gap in the fence separating the business lot from enclosed backyards.
Georgia Williams: Running a little late
Aiden Moore: it’s cool, i just got here
Cars filled the driveway and lined the sidewalk in front of the two-story, salmon-colored house. It looked exactly the same—hand-painted yellow door propped open, porch crowded with flowers and succulents in terracotta pots, tiled roof striped bypalm trees. Laughter erupted from inside and silhouettes crossed the windows. He thumbed at his belt, buckled around the nicest jeans he owned, and inhaled deeply. He’d done this before. Stood outside the place he used to call home and breathe. Prepare. Grit his teeth. Uncork the love he’d put on reserve and hope it didn’t go to waste.
The screen door wheezed open and Camila shielded her eyes from the sun. “Aiden?”
“Yeah, hey.” He hopped onto the porch and forced a smile. “Long time no see.”
She tucked a black curl behind her ear. Ruby liner framed her pouty mouth and falsies curled from her eyelids, catching on her coarse brows. They looked alike, born fourteen months apart, raised under the same roof, scarred from each other—fingernails, teeth, closed fists. Changed by hormones, some made, some injected. The same, but different. She held the door with her foot and reached for him. “You look like hell,” she said. Her hands landed on his waist, then his biceps, lastly his cheeks, round like hers. “I’ve got stuff for you—don’t look at me like that.”
“I don’t need another candle, Camila.”
