Shadows You Left

by Jude Sierra

  But he did. Fuck, he did.

  …

  When River opened his eyes again, Erik was sliding out of bed.

  “Bathroom?”

  “Left out the door, first one on the right.” River mumbled. He rolled into the warm pocket Erik left behind and dozed fitfully. Morning was a breath away, and a few hours after that, work. River pulled a pillow over his face to stifle a groan, then grunted when cold lips touched the base of his spine.

  “Hey.” River rolled over. Erik was dressed in all but his shoes. The bed dipped under his weight. River curved around Erik, raw and wrung out and vibrating. Wanting. Erik started to speak but then shook his head. River traced that healing cut that defined his cheekbone and the edge of his rueful smile before Erik kissed him one last time and took his leave.

  The breath, a pause, an unasked question on the tip of River’s tongue, came too late. River had walked into this evening with a one-night stand in mind. Now, knowing how Erik moved against him, how Erik took him apart, how his eyes crinkled at the corners when a rare smile poked through, River wanted more.

  Selfishly, dangerously, wished for more.

  Chapter Seven

  The night before stayed with him.

  Erik remembered the long stretch of River’s body, the tremble of his mouth and sting of his fingernails. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and lifted his jaw, exposing a mark River’s mouth and teeth had left at the base of his throat.

  It was a one-night stand, Erik told himself. But he wasn’t naive enough to believe it.

  A Gem patron shouldered the bathroom door open and disappeared into a stall. Seconds later, the familiar snort of powder through a rolled bill filled the space. Erik wondered what it was—cocaine, probably. Maybe oxy. His lips thinned. He turned back to his reflection, to the hickey on his neck, the almost-healed bruise on his cheekbone, the ghost of River’s palm along his sternum, the ink peeking above his jeans on his hipbone.

  Erik’s lips remembered River. They remembered the geometry of colors inked into his arm, the black and gray Seattle skyline across his ribs, the Latin scrawled on his collarbone.

  Another long, obnoxious snort stole his attention. Erik decided to finish taping his hands behind the bar. If he didn’t, he might ask for a line, or a pill, something, anything to take the edge off. Tonight, Erik wanted an edge.

  He grabbed the tape off the sink and walked away, through the door, around a group making bets, and squeezed behind the bar where Desiree took orders.

  “Hey, you,” she cooed. “Get that fix for your sweet tooth?”

  Erik’s brow quirked, and he smiled sheepishly at his knuckles, flexing them under a layer of tape. “He’s a good guy,” he said. It wasn’t what he meant to say. What he meant to say was he was a good fuck. Neither was untrue.

  “Which means you’re not gonna see him again.” Desiree handed a credit card back to a customer. “Just like that nice girl from Atlanta, and the other guy from San Diego, and Jadis, and—”

  “You can stop rattling off people I’ve slept with now.” Erik pinched the edge of an Ace bandage between his teeth and pulled it tight around the ink on his arm. Those encounters had meant nothing. They were people he met at the bar, friends, other fighters. Meaningless, quick, rarely satisfying hookups. Last night was different. Erik was both unnerved and curious about the time he’d spent in River’s bed—even more so, the time he’d spent falling over himself before they’d gotten there, hoping for a kiss or a touch or anything. “River’s my tattoo artist, so yeah, I’ll see him again.”

  Desiree stayed quiet, but he caught her pained smile. “You’ve got five minutes. They’re cleaning the ring right now. Might wanna get back there.”

  Erik grabbed a water bottle off the counter and headed for the old door at the back of the bar. It was already ajar. He heard the ruckus before he crossed the threshold, a cacophony of voices hollering and barking. One of the fighters from the earlier round eyed Erik as he made his way through the crowd. Slowly but surely, chatter dimmed to whispers.

  Erik O’Malley. Yeah, he’s won three weeks in a row.

  Did you see the other guy?

  Don’t matter. Other guy might be big, but O’Malley’s mean.

  It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.

  A staff member walked by with their arms full of bloodied towels. The other fighter, a man with a shaved head and a bulky build, stood in the ring. It wasn’t anything special, not the fighter, not the ring. Three ropes guarded the attendees from the fights, but the ring wasn’t elevated or proper. It was nothing more than a section of blood-stained concrete under a batch of fluorescent lights.

  Erik kicked off his shoes and entered the ring. He flexed his hands. Listened. His heartbeat was slow and steady, a stark contrast to last night.

  Don’t think about last night. He paced back and forth, eyeing his competition with a narrow glare. Don’t think about anything.

  The ref, one of Pete’s friends, pointed at Erik. “Clean fight, O’Malley.”

  Erik nodded.

  He pointed at the other fighter. “You, too, Boston.”

  Boston nodded. Erik didn’t know or care whether that was his real name.

  “Fight!”

  It didn’t last long. Erik was light and fast. Boston wasn’t. Erik was ruthless and reckless. Boston wasn’t. Erik was unbothered and efficient. Boston wasn’t.

  When Boston tried to throw his weight into a punch, Erik dodged. When he got a hold of Erik’s shoulder, Erik slammed his foot into Boston’s kneecap. Erik’s abdomen and rib cage took hard, heavy hits that left him winded. But it didn’t matter. As soon as Boston’s knee gave out—Erik had been counting on it, waiting for it—he smashed his fist into Boston’s cheek. Once. Twice. A third time.

  “That’s a knockout!”

  Erik won. Blood from Boston’s busted lip stained his right hand. Erik’s legs wobbled, but that was okay. He won. Erik pulled on his shirt and grabbed his jacket as the ref cashed him out, counting out bills until he hit eight hundred.

  The blonde from last night appeared in front of him. Her blue eyes were rimmed in black liner, and her chipped red nails were filed into claws. “You owe me a drink,” she said.

  If it had been a typical Friday night, Erik would’ve bought her a drink, they would’ve talked about nothing and then fucked in the bathroom. He would’ve forgotten her name and her face and the taste of her.

  “Not tonight,” Erik said. He waved to Desiree and stalked toward the door, fidgeting with his phone as he went.

  It wasn’t a typical Friday night because the night before, he’d been with River, and Erik wouldn’t forget the taste of him.

  …

  “Okay,” Erik whispered. He poured a bag of ice into his bathtub, already filled with cold water. “Okay…” He grabbed a second bag and dumped more ice in. He hated this. Hated it. But his body would thank him tomorrow. “Fuck, goddammit,” he hissed, hands perched on the sides of the bathtub as he lowered himself in.

  It chilled him to the bone. His muscles seized and clenched. Numbness replaced the dull throb in his chest and stomach. He grabbed his phone off the floor and fiddled with it to keep his mind occupied. His teeth chattered. His eyes watered. He exhaled a sharp breath and opened River’s Instagram.

  He scrolled through the newest images. His Imugi tattoo. A phoenix. Some steampunk-inspired design on someone’s thigh. Erik’s thumb hovered over the message button. It was after midnight. River was probably asleep.

  Wolfbite013: I never got your number.

  A second went by without a response.

  Watermarked: You sure didn’t.

  Erik chewed on his bottom lip. He typed the same thing three times before hitting send.

  Wolfbite013: Can I see you again?

  Another second. Longer than the first.

  Watermarked: Yeah. You can see me again.

  Wolfbite013: Good.

  He stayed in
the ice bath until he physically couldn’t anymore, until his skin stung and his muscles ached from the cold rather than the fight.

  Once he got out, he didn’t bother putting clothes on. Just dried off, slid into bed, and grabbed the old photograph out of his nightstand. He studied his younger self, face split into a grin, Lee beside him with Beverly draped over the back of the couch they sat on, smiling for the camera. Erik slid the photo into the drawer and went back to River’s Instagram. He thought about last night and the storm, River’s body and his laugh, until he finally fell asleep.

  …

  Saturday came and went. Erik slept through most of the day and took another ice bath, which royally sucked. That evening he sent River another message.

  Wolfbite013: I won. Looks like I need another tat.

  Watermarked: Your first one isn’t even done healing yet.

  Wolfbite013: So? You all booked up, pretty boy?

  Watermarked: I’ll pencil you in, tough guy.

  Erik slept in on Sunday until he couldn’t. Pain throbbed annoyingly above his hip on his right side. Boston had been slow and went down hard, but he still left a few sore spots behind.

  Sally brought him a container stuffed with pad thai and told him to take more ice if he needed it. He thanked her before he left and shoveled noodles into his mouth on his way back up the stairs to his dim studio.

  Desiree had invited him out with everyone, but he didn’t know if he wanted to go. Even though she called them their friends, the group was hers. Erik laughed at their jokes and tagged along to bars and clubs. He’d hooked up with one of them at a party once. But that was it.

  Desiree: We’re going club hopping

  Erik: Ugh

  Desiree: Jadis is with us

  Erik rolled his eyes, but the screen changed before he could respond. A number he didn’t recognize flashed beneath the video chat icon. He almost didn’t answer, but maybe it was Pete or one of his family members. Something important might’ve happened, or he might’ve missed his aunt’s birthday again, or—

  He slid his finger across the screen, and a face appeared. The same face from nightmares and memories and from inside his nightstand drawer. His heart dropped into his stomach, and he swallowed hard, watching Beverly look back at him with warm, surprised eyes and a thin, black-painted smile.

  “Erik!” she said. Her voice was exactly how he remembered it. “Holy shit, you answered.”

  For one terrible moment, Erik contemplated accidentally dropping the call.

  “I got a new phone, figure you’d want my number in case you ever decide to acknowledge my existence again.” Same sarcasm. Same edgy haircut.

  Beverly had always been the strong one. The one who kept it together when everything fell apart. Talked to the paramedics. Helped Lee’s parents plan the service. Stayed.

  Erik was the one who ran.

  “Yeah, hi.” He cleared his throat, desperate to keep his breathing even and his mouth set. If he didn’t, she would hear the break in his voice, the way his heart malfunctioned, how his chest fluttered on every breath.

  She gave a single, closed-lipped laugh. “Hi? That’s all I get?”

  “I’m… Sorry, I’m—I just—”

  “Don’t hurt yourself. Listen, you’re in Seattle, right? I’m taking a road trip in a couple months. I’d like to see you.”

  “I… Yeah, sure. But I won’t be here long. My boss is sending me to Austin in the spring.” A part of him wanted to nod, to smile and say It’s been too long, because it had been. But the larger part of him was afraid—of his past, of her, of what he’d done. “I gotta go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

  Beverly’s practiced calm dissolved. She leaned closer to the screen and hiccupped in a desperate breath. “Erik, wait—”

  The screen went dark. Erik dropped the phone and stared at the ceiling, finally allowing his chest to heave and his eyes to slip shut. There was nothing quite like a panic attack. They came in different shapes and sizes and manifested inside him rarely enough to be mistaken for something else. But he knew what this was. His heart refused to slow, his eyes stung, and everything inside him pulled impossibly tight.

  Breathe. A slow exhale followed a slower inhale. Beverly’s voice echoed inside him, how she’d sounded moments ago—Hi? that’s all I get?—layered over the voicemail she’d left years ago, the one he didn’t have the strength to erase—I kept some of Lee’s clothes for you.

  Erik told himself again to breathe.

  Another buzz. Another text. He gathered the courage to glance at the screen and was thankful to see Desiree’s name.

  Desiree: Earth to Erik. You comin’?

  He started to type a message, but another text in a different window popped up before he could respond.

  Watermarked: you should come over

  Erik inhaled. He texted Des.

  Erik: I’ve got other plans. Thanks for the invite.

  Desiree: Fiiinnnnneeee

  Wolfbite013: All right. See you in a few.

  …

  Erik hesitated before he knocked. He blew out a breath and looked down at his old combat boots and the frayed ends of his dark jeans. His coat was damp from walking through a blanket of evening mist. He buried thoughts of Beverly deep, locked them away with the tail end of his panic attack. Nerves buzzed beneath his skin.

  He didn’t know what this was. Another hookup? A date?

  The door opened. River’s skin was the first thing Erik saw, his bare chest and the slope of his neck. He shifted from foot to foot, eyes bright in the darkness. Jeans hung low on his hips.

  This was not a date.

  “At least I fed you first,” Erik teased.

  River’s index finger curled through a belt loop and tugged him inside. “I fed myself, actually. You just showed me where the food was. Why? You hungry?”

  “Yeah, starving,” Erik rasped, accepting the warm press of River’s lips. He leaned into it, into River’s hands pawing his coat off his shoulders, into the tilt of his hips against Erik’s thigh.

  The door closed, and Erik found himself pressed against it. He snaked his hand around the back of River’s head and kept him close, mouth open to accommodate the slide of River’s tongue, the nip of his teeth.

  He kissed River slowly, the kind of kissing that was too intimate, too deep, too good. It twisted his chest into knots. It made him think of things he shouldn’t.

  What’s your favorite color? I want to sleep next to you. What the fuck are you doing to me?

  River’s mouth trailed along his jaw to his pulse.

  “I feel like I know you,” Erik whispered. His lips parted, and his back bent away from the door, reaching for River’s hands when they slid beneath his shirt.

  A quiet laugh answered him. River gripped Erik’s ribs, and pain unfurled on his right side. He squirmed. A whimper followed, and River’s hands immediately retracted.

  “Sorry.” Erik’s throat cinched. Embarrassment pooled in his gut, but he didn’t move away. Neither did River.

  River shook his head, brows slouched and quizzical. He took Erik’s hand and pulled him down the hall toward his bedroom. As soon as River turned his back, Erik took the opportunity to grab his hips, press against him, sink his teeth into the nape of River’s neck. He didn’t want one vulnerable moment to ruin what they’d started.

  They stumbled through the bedroom door and River said, “I might’ve invited you over to watch a movie, you know.”

  Erik circled around to his front. He nudged River’s cheek with his nose. “Let’s watch a movie, then.” He pressed the words against River’s neck, his collarbone, his chest, and eased him against the closed door. He followed the long keys of his rib cage until he was on his knees, teeth hooked around River’s hipbone.

  “Maybe next time.” River traced Erik’s ear with the side of his thumb and gasped when Erik mouthed the soft skin on his belly. Next time. The room was dark except for strips of moonlight dripping through the blinds. They landed on th
e floor, on Erik’s shoulder, on River’s torso, and he focused on the white glow across bare skin as he pushed River’s jeans down.

  It struck him out of nowhere, the suddenness of it hot and foreign. I want him to know me.

  Erik pushed the thought far, far away, and closed his lips around River’s cock. One of River’s hands gripped the side of his face, and the other scrabbled for his shoulder. River’s breath rushed from him, riding the back of a barely-there moan. Erik held on to his hips to keep them still; his heart beat fast, and desire tightened low in his abdomen. He pushed himself until his jaw hurt and his throat was raw, until River was gasping and trembling, fingers wound in his hair.

  “Stop,” River whispered. He pulled until Erik reluctantly got to his feet and snatched the edge of Erik’s shirt. “I refuse to let you get me off while you’re still fully clothed.”

  He tried to think of a witty comeback. Something playful. But he couldn’t focus on anything other than River’s mouth crashing against his own. His jeans were kicked aside, his back hit the bed, and suddenly Erik was the one gasping, fingernails deep in River’s shoulders. His hips lifted, and he closed his eyes, hoping River might skip the lake of bruises on his right side.

  He didn’t. River mapped them with his lips, tender, slow movements. He paused to look, and Erik tried not to pay attention to River’s eyes on his discolored skin or his gentle sigh as he said, “Damn, Erik…”

  Erik swallowed hard. He kept his eyes shut and followed River’s breath across his stomach, listened to him rummage in the nightstand. Focused on the discrete click of lube being opened, the sting of teeth on his inner thigh.

  A sharp inhale cut through the drum of Erik’s heartbeat. His voice was breathy and stuttered, soft moans spurred by River’s fingers pressing inside him, his lips and tongue between Erik’s legs. It was slow until it wasn’t. River took his time, crawled along Erik’s body, and kissed him again. The darkness held them there, enduring urgent touches and breathless sounds, Erik’s arching off the bed, River’s heated gaze when Erik tried to shove him on his back.

  “Easy,” River blurted. He swallowed a fast breath, lips twisted into a smirk. “Tattoo, remember? Still healing.”