Page 8 of The Rivers Edge

Long-suffering candidate for sainthood, Ma was. So everyone said. But she could’ve picked up and left. It’s not like we were living in the 1950s. Half the kids I knew had step parents, or half-siblings, or single moms. I pondered it now and then, whenever I spotted a woman in dark sunglasses big enough to hide a good shiner. And eventually I realized Ma would never leave.

Especially after I tried to slip her an envelope full of cash, enough for first and last month’s rent and week’s worth of groceries, at least—and she threw it back in my face.

You can’t help someone who won’t help themselves. Try all you might—people do what they’re gonna do. End of story.

And whatever Ma got? She deserved it.

The memory of the look in her hard little eyes as she called me a good-for-nothing hoodlum was enough to make my head split. I parked my ass on a fallen log and stared out into the mist, wishing the mental image of her I’d just conjured could sink down into the river, like the salad bottle had, and disappear for good.

I was still wishing when I heard the gravelly sound of distant footsteps.

Shane.

He came back.

I was on my feet in no time, stupidly relieved…until I realized I couldn’t exactly tell where the footsteps were coming from. Noises carried funny as they bounced off the fog, and at first, I got away with telling myself it was Shane—it had to be, ’cause no one else was there but him and me and the creepy fucker in the boat. And no way would that asshole hop overboard and come trudging up the bank.

At least, I sure as hell hoped not.

My hand went to my holster—still empty—and then to a fallen tree branch as thick around as my wrist. With a good stomp, I snapped off a length about as big as a baseball bat, hefted it a few times, and gave it a swing. Not one of the better weapons I’d ever had at my disposal. But it would do.

The footsteps got louder. Closer. And they sure as shit weren’t coming from the direction Shane had gone.

We weren’t alone—but somehow I’d let myself start carrying on as if we were. Stupid. One look at a pretty face, all cheekbones and stormy eyes, and suddenly I’m throwing caution out the window? You can’t afford to be careless in my line of work. One bad call and you’ll get yourself killed.

But it wasn’t me I was worried about. It was Shane. I’d let him traipse off into the fog,alone, without so much as a halfhearted attempt to make him see reason. If anything happened to him, so help me….

The footsteps in the mist ground to a halt. “Gino?”

The fog shifted…and there he was. Shane.

Coming from the opposite direction.

I would’ve taken it for some kind of trick, if not for the look of utter confusion on his face. “But…how did you get ahead of me?”

“I didn’t. I been here the whole time.”

“No.” Shane took a step back. “That can’t be. I was following the bank, walking in a straight line.” He wrapped his arms around himself, looking young, and scared, and way too vulnerable. He looked like he might bolt. And I’d be damned if I let him strike off on his own again without a fight.

The branch fell from my numb grasp and hit the gravel with a dry crunch, and before he could think better of it and take off, he was in my arms, slender and perfect and real. I buried my face in his reddish brown hair—his shampoo smelled like carnations—and said, “Whatever the hell is happening, I got no idea. But from here on out, you and me…we face it together.”

Shane was trembling, and I kicked myself for ever letting him walk off like that to begin with. I cupped the back of his head and stroked his hair, and said, “I got you. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” he said reflexively, though he melted against me as he said it. “Not one thing about this is okay. But whatever you do, don’t let go.”

I’m not sure how long we stood like that, clinging together. But eventually he eased back just enough to look into my eyes. “This must be a dream,” he said—not like he really believed it, either, but was hoping I’d agree with him anyhow.

“It’s as good an explanation as any.”

Shane’s hands were around my waist. He wriggled one hand up between us and skimmed his thumb along my jawline. “If it’s true, though—and I am dreaming—then there’s nothing to stop me from kissing you.”

Bad idea. He was only into me because he was scared, and I was familiar, and he thought I could protect him. And if we let our dicks lead us around, it left us vulnerable to god-knows-what.

And I didn’t care.

Shane kissed with the desperation of a man with nothing left to lose. He crushed his mouth to mine and found my tongue with his, and a broken, needy sound escaped him as my stubble rasped against his smooth chin. I squeezed him against me hard enough to knock his breath into my lungs, which only made him grapple me harder. He threaded a hand through my hair…and then jerked back and shoved off me.

Yeah, I’d known it was a shitty idea…. But then I saw he hadn’t reacted to a simple change of heart.

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