Page 46 of Unlocked Dive
The spark flaring to life, lambent blue fire in his eyes.
He got his haircut. It’s no longer shaggy on the sides but is still long on top and freshly dyed to fall vivid along the sharp slope of his cheekbones. He’s lost some of the anime/JRPG look—now a little older, more dangerous.
Still breathtaking.
Mine aren’t the only eyes that follow him as he strips off his shirt and climbs the stage to the first of the two ropes. Shilo hands him his shot of whiskey, and he raises it to me in invitation.
“You coming, old man?”
Shilo arches an eyebrow at me and passes over my own shot. I knock it back and vault onto the stage, skipping the stairs. Adrenaline kindles at the base of my spine, eager as an old friend returning. Passing Echo, I peel off my own shirt and lean over to whisper “don’t get distracted” as I pull the elastic from my topknot and shake my hair free with a wink.
“Totally cheating,” he grumbles, but his eyes are dancing, and he sucks on his lower lip as he watches me take my place at the second rope.
“Your move, birthday boy. Gonna start us out slow?”
He should. One shot of whiskey is not a warm-up, and although Echo probably won’t feel it, my body will punish me tomorrow if I hit it hard right off the bat. But I still hope he goes for it.
We stare at each other, surrounded by the chatter and occasional catcall from the gathered cast and crew. Milla is arguing loudly with someone—probably her brother—about the music, and Hals is asking anyone who will listen if they know where the tap for the keg ended up.
Under the lights, it’s just us.
I’m thinking words I’ll never say, and it’s okay. His eyes are soft now, and when he says “unlocked dive,” I let it mean the same thing.
On my turn, I choose ninja rolls, and even though he’s too far for me to reach this time, it doesn’t matter, because I’ll never forget the taste of his elation.
After that, it devolves quickly as the audience gets into the game, calling out tricks—some of which aren’t even possible on the rope and some of which have everyone arguing about what they mean. Circus is a wonderland, and although most of the moves are universal, every school has its own naming system, and not everything overlaps.
We do straddle-key roll ups and Crane rolls, saltos and wheel ups and bombs, and Echo never falters. We’ve had three shots apiece now, and we need to be done before it gets dangerous, but his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wild, and he’s so high, I never want to bring him down.
“Pirouettes.” It’s Milla who brings it all to a halt. I realize we’ve been lucky no one’s called for them before now and wonder if Shilo laid some ground rules. But if she did, Milla never got the message.
Echo smiles at the girl, but when he looks at me, his face is tight with rising panic, and I know I should call it. If I forfeit now, we can end the battle and let the party move on.
But he’s been fearless tonight, and if he crumbles at this last hurdle, it will taint the triumph of the last hour, and I might never get him to try again.
I hold his gaze and pour all my faith into the thread that stretches taut between us.
He’s mine tonight.My Echo. And for another few hours, I’ll protect him from the power of fear.
Iseethe moment he catches it—feelthe shiver that ripples over his skin—as his head comes up and his shoulders settle and his phoenix will ignites in his eyes.
But he still doesn’t reach for the rope.
“Do you want me to go first?” I ask, low enough to keep the crowd from hearing. I haven’t done a pirouette in years. I’ll probably blow it, and I don’t know what it will do to him to watch me fall.
He shakes his head a fraction and blows out a heavy breath.
My heart pounds in time with his movements as he climbs. Three inverted straddles, and he’s well past the midpoint—high enough to catch the trick without throwing off the swing. I’m expecting him to hesitate, bracing myself for the too-long pause and rising tension, but he beats right out of the third climb. Once to the right for momentum and then straight back into the release on the left.
It’s perfect.
Effortless. And before I can start to breathe, he beats over and does it again on the right, exactly like the Echo in my dreams.
Shilo, who knows his whole story by now, lets out a piercing wolf whistle, and he descends amid whoops and laughter and cheers, straight into my arms.
I catch him up and kiss him under the lights in front of everyone.
He tastes like salt. And redemption. And wild things, once caged, set free.
