Together We Caught Fire

by Eva V. Gibson

  “Don’t you start,” I snarled, face catching fire as they both fully lost their shit. I glowered at Connor as he doubled over, laughing too hard to breathe. “Wow. Thanks for your support, asshole.”

  “I’m sorry,” he howled. “It’s just so fucked up. Your life. Your poor life.”

  I didn’t bother arguing with that one.

  Paul cackled his way out the door as I slid off the futon and rummaged through my bag, seeking the needles and skein attached to my current hat-in-progress. Might as well get some work done while stewing in said ridiculous life.

  Connor’s laughter slowed to gasps, then trailed to chuckles, as he bent over the sketchbook. The hush was sudden and obvious; the only sounds were the rustling of pages, the scratch of his pencil, his quiet breathing. I stood there with my yarn, unsure where to sit. Wondering if it was too late to chase down Paul and dive into his car, peel out of the parking lot in a hot-cold cloud of adrenaline and skin-crawling shame. Why did every visit to the warehouse seem to culminate in an excruciating silence? This was even more awkward than the dead-mom conversation.

  “I should go.” He didn’t respond. I swallowed hard, voice catching in my throat with a tiny click. “Connor.”

  “What?”

  I’d startled him out of his trance. He blinked at me through a stray lock of hair, then swiped at it until it settled behind his ear with the rest, and I was back in the metal room, blade poised, voice caught in the spaces between each impossible breath. The last time his eyes looked like that, things had ended in blood. An eternal pause hung between us, as if the awkward moment in the Trader Joe’s parking lot had sniffed out our trail, followed us and found us, engulfed us once more in its thickening silence.

  “Don’t.” My voice was little more than a whisper. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “I wasn’t looking at you at all, until you said my name. But I’ll stop, if it bothers you.” He tilted his head to the side, considering, then let his eyes slide from mine to the floor, and all the way back up. The corner of his mouth curled into a slow, wicked smirk. “Hmm. Or should I look at you more often?”

  “God, will you not?” I glared at him, cheeks sparking and flaring all over again as he refocused on his work, not bothering to stifle a laugh. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. Just, eye contact wasn’t a problem when I was gay.” He made a show of peeping through his hair, ducking back behind it when he glimpsed my scowl. “Ah, shit. Busted.”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  He burst out laughing, deflecting the flying skein. It bounced off his arm and landed behind him on the futon. I gave him a halfhearted scowl, wishing it was possible to fade a blush by sheer force of will.

  “Okay, Connor, you made your point. Any chance we could never speak of this again?”

  “Hell no. This is forever our thing.”

  “But you won’t—” Even thinking the words made me cringe, but I forced them out. I had to. “You won’t speak of—anything—to anyone else either, right? Please?”

  “Wait—what exactly are you asking me to hide?” His eyes darkened; his mouth pulled into something just short of a snarl. “I was borderline joking earlier, but if he’s messing around on Sadie—”

  “No, God—nothing like that. It’s not about her—it goes so far back, way before them, but I would never—” I stumbled over my own protests, pressed my palms over my eyes to block his judgment. He was going to tell Sadie. He’d tell her, and she’d rip the world off its hinges, and I would deserve every last bit of the resulting fallout. “I’m the worst and I know it, okay? But it’s all on me—he hasn’t done anything. He doesn’t even know.”

  The silence that followed was damn near eternal, building and buzzing in my quaking limbs. His sudden laugh, when it happened, nearly sent me out of my skin.

  “Lane, if you can maybe locate your chill, that would be great. So, you have a crush—so what. As long as my sister isn’t getting screwed over, I honestly don’t give a shit.”

  “You—don’t?” I peeked out through my fingers. Connor gazed at me, unblinking, mouth quirked, eyes in neutral. “So you won’t tell them?”

  “Like I’d do that to you.” His conspiratorial wink sent a sharp burst of relief through my bones. He shook his head at my sigh and gestured to the space beside him. “Jesus, you’re a mess. Sit down, knock out some rows. Grab something to read or whatever, and calm the fuck down before you pass out.”

  “Are you absolutely sure, Connor? If I’m in your way—”

  “Never stopped you before.”

  “You’re such an asshole.” I climbed onto the futon and retrieved my yarn, stretched out beside him on my stomach. Leaned against his knee, determined to bulldoze my way back to normal. “I’ll show you ‘in the way.’ Move over.”

  He grinned at the fading flush of my cheeks and resumed work on his sketch, shifting sideways. Making room for me.

  10

  MY EYES STRAYED AROUND THE living room, mind blank, vision bleary. When I’d settled on the floor next to Sadie for an afternoon of studying, I’d drastically underestimated the definition of the word as it applied to Grey McIntyre. He’d been fused to the couch for literally hours, hunched over his work, hammering on his laptop and muttering equations under his breath. It was exhausting just being in the same room.

  I set aside my homework and stretched out on my stomach, braced my hands, pushed up into a full plank. From there I lowered into chaturanga, moved into up dog, then down dog, and from that into child’s pose. I leaned into the stretch, focused on my breath, letting my spine lengthen and my muscles melt. I’d spent several predawn hours that morning curled into a fetal post-nightmare ball; the ache still lingered, right down to my bones.

  “I always wanted to try yoga.”

  Sadie’s voice disrupted my meditation. She watched me pointedly, head to one side, then turned back to her book. My eyes leaped sideways, catching Grey’s—they were wide and hectic, occupied with my limbs. Too late, he started, blinked back to his laptop, stared a hole through the goddamn screen. Guilt bloomed bright across his cheekbones as I looked to Sadie, then him, and back again. She was lovely and serene, once again absorbed in the page.

  It had to be an accident—a random glance that meandered past its own intention. Hell, he’d barely looked at me since that night in our kitchen, and now he was damn near craning his neck past his future whatever’s head. I’d stretched without thinking; a habit, formed over years of practice, and what the fuck was I supposed to do about that—should I check myself forever now? Retool my wardrobe and my posture, and my whole goddamn existence, in case the interloper in my house yielded unto temptation, or whatever the fuck phrase somehow transformed his faults into mine? What the hell was with his sudden, reckless stares?

  “You should come to the studio with me some weekend,” I squawked at Sadie, wincing at the cheerful blare of my voice. “I’ve been slacking hard since school started.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. It’s not really in line with my belief system.”

  “The classes I take focus more on the physical elements of the practice,” I reassured her. “Stretches, poses, controlled breathing. There are definitely people who embrace the spiritual aspects, but how far you get into that is up to you.”

  “Try it, babe,” Grey said, twirling a lock of her hair through his fingers. “Make it a girls’ day out. Come by after, show off those little stretchy pants.”

  “Oh stop,” she giggled, delighted blush visible even beneath her makeup. “I’ll take a girls’ spa day over a workout, thank you. A massage and a mani-pedi. Maybe a nice makeover.”

  “You, Sadie Hall, are gorgeous just how you are.”

  Her giggling intensified as he leaned over, kissing a trail from her cheek to her lips. I let my forehead drop back down, much preferring the shoe-and-foot funk of the carpet to the visual of him latching himself to her face, so suddenly focused on his one and only love. So blatantly signaling his true inte
ntions, regardless of where his eyes preferred to wander when she wasn’t looking.

  Kill me.

  “It’s a good idea, though,” she said when they resurfaced. “A makeover day. Oh, Lane, we so have to do that.”

  “We so do not. Though thanks for the implication that I need a makeover, Sadie. God.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, honey, you’re lovely—but they’re so much fun. I can do your face and nails right now, actually. Like a trial run. Please?”

  “Whatever.” I sat up and stretched one final time, set to work unraveling my mussed braid. Much easier to let her have her way, seeing as I barely gave a shit. “Nails only, though. A glittery face is not a thing for me.”

  “I have a matte palette, if you don’t want glitter.” Sadie’s eyes gleamed as she dug in her bag. Grey chuckled and shook his head, directed his smirk back at his screen as I covered my face with one hand, waving her away with the other. “Oh, fine. Nails it is. I only have pink, so that’s what you’re getting.”

  “Like I expected anything else.”

  I had to hand it to Sadie—she was all about outdoing herself at every turn. The girl pulled a full manicure set out of that bag, along with about eighty bottles of nail polish—strengthener, base coat, topcoat, and, of course, every shade of pink under the goddamn sun. Twenty minutes later, my toenails were a creamy carnation, Grey’s homework was done, and his patience was hanging by its very last thread.

  “This is going to take all night,” he sighed as Sadie started on my hands. “Meanwhile, my stomach is physically digesting itself.”

  “We’ll grab dinner as soon as I’m done with Lane,” she reassured him. “Go get a snack. It won’t be long.”

  “I would love to go get a snack. Getting a snack, in theory, is my very favorite thing. If only Elaine hadn’t left my fucking snacks all the way across town.”

  “And a day later, you’re still bitching,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. “I said I was sorry, okay? I’ll make a special trip to the warehouse tomorrow, just for you.”

  “Fuck tomorrow, I’ll drive you over right now. Get your shoes on. I’m starving.”

  “Don’t you move, Lane. Your toes are still wet.” Sadie finished buffing my thumbnail and picked up the polish. “Why in the world were you at Connor’s with Grey’s snacks?”

  “I ran into him and Paul at the store. They invited me back, and I left one of my—don’t you give me that look, Greyson. It happens.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you met Paul,” Sadie squealed. “He’s such a sweetheart, isn’t he? And he has the most wonderful laugh in the world.”

  “Yeah, I heard it.” My face combusted all over again at the memory. “It made quite the appearance when he found out I thought he used to date your brother. Really gave the moment that special something.”

  “Wait, what? You thought Connor was—” Grey’s laugh was sudden and sharp, and just a shade too loud. “Are you high?”

  “Apparently? Everyone at school said he was—and if it’s true, that’s totally fine, but I guess no one thought to double-check with him.”

  “Oh, that.” Sadie waved off the rest of my rambling. “When Connor left home, some kids from church went around spreading lies—everybody whispering, saying he liked boys, and he’d betrayed Christ. That anyone who accepted him would burn in Hell at his side. It was awful.”

  “The fuck?” Grey slid off the couch and settled beside her. “What is wrong with people?”

  “I wish I could tell you. I know what Daddy preaches—I know how ugly they can get—but I don’t believe they speak for God. I can’t. The Lord I love would never turn away His children. Not even the sinners.”

  “It’s not a sin in the first place,” he answered, eyes on her downcast face. “You know that.”

  “I know—and either way, it’s not for me to judge. The world needs all the joy it can get, these days.” She was quiet for a moment, her mouth a sad, pink quirk. “I love my brother. You know I do. But sometimes I really miss him.”

  “Babe, you see him, like, ten times a week.”

  “I don’t mean like that—I miss who he was before. When we were kids. He never would tell me what happened to him, all that time he was homeless, but I know it was bad. It changed him.”

  “Unsurprising,” I said flatly. “Not to be a bitch, but your family threw him out like garbage. I’m sure he did what he had to.”

  “Whatever that was, Lane, it’s not his fault. Believe me, when it comes to my parents, we all do what we have to.” She blew gently on my ring finger, eyes fixed on her handiwork. “By the time I met you, Grey, Connor had been gone a year, and no one talked about him at all anymore, rumors or otherwise. Anyway, you know him better than they did. You know the truth.”

  “But Elaine was clueless up until yesterday.” Grey’s side-eye swung my way, the edge in his voice sawing its way across my spine. “What did he do, hit on you?”

  “Baby? Why would you say that?”

  He blinked away from me, as if caught off guard by the reminder of Sadie. She’d paused in her task, brush poised over my finger. Stared at him when he took a little too long to answer.

  “Just surprised he hasn’t,” he finally mumbled. “She’s been all over him since day one—practically chased him down.”

  “I have not,” I sputtered, brain spinning recklessly backward, sifting through the images of the past month. Freezing frame after damning, relevant frame: me stretched out beside Connor on the futon. Lying on the pavement at the overlook, drunk and laughing, legs tangled with his. Leaning out the window of a goddamn moving car, fingers sunk into his sleeve like claws. All that without even counting secrets and conversations and inside jokes—like the picture of the missing groceries and about eight cry/laugh emojis Connor had texted me the night before, followed by the selfie of him smirking into the camera, clearly simulating direct eye contact. Not to mention the joint grocery shopping itself, like we were some old domestic couple, or the whole mess that led to cleaning his blood and my tears off both our hands. All utterly without motive prior to our weird little reverse-coming-out party, but oh dear God, Grey had way too much of a point. Jesus Christ. “Did we not just establish I thought he liked guys?”

  “Rumors, honey,” Sadie snickered. “Like I said.”

  “It wasn’t like that, anyway. Paul was ripping on him for something, and I said—oh, it’s a long story. But he’s never hit on me, and I obviously never tried to hit on him.” I shook my hair off my face and sat up straight. Zeroed in on Grey until he met my eyes. “And in case you were unaware, Greyson? I do not ‘chase’ guys.”

  He answered my glare with skeptical brows, sending a guilty jolt from skull to sacrum. His fading blush crept right back to red when I refused to blink—I sure as fuck wasn’t the one feasting my eyes on stepsibling ass scant moments before, and we both knew it.

  “Really,” he finally droned, as if the whole issue existed, but only on a plane far beneath his notice. “Why’s that?”

  “She doesn’t need to, baby—if a boy is interested, he’ll let her know.” Sadie smirked at my hand, dragged a final swipe of pink down the center of my pinkie nail. “If.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I snapped. Her answering laugh was light but raw, like music—the kind that winds its way in, rooting into your bones. Her lips parted, then closed over a breath, gulping back her follow-up thoughts.

  “It doesn’t mean a thing, Lane. Hand me that topcoat, will you? Your toes are just about set.”

  I passed her the bottle, cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way her lips curved into a glossy smile. The way they barely quivered at his nearly silent sigh.

  11

  SEEKING OUT GREY’S SMILE IN the school hallways had been a staple of my daily routine for years—it was sweet and frequent, one of my favorite sights in the world. It was still the strangest thing, to see it aimed at me.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Very.” I closed my locker, adjusted my messeng
er bag strap across my body as we fell into step side by side, headed for the parking lot. “This day has dragged like a dead limb.”

  “Tell me about it. Are you up for a Starbucks run? Mom texted me—they’re going out tonight, so we’re on our own. I thought we could grab coffee and some sushi, have a Netflix binge. If that works for you.”

  A weird thrill of anticipation crept over my skin, threaded over my scalp and down my back. Coffee and sushi and Netflix. A dimly lit living room, in an otherwise empty house. A perfect date night. A perfect storm of pitiful wishful thinking.

  Nothing real would come of it, of course. I’d walked that road before, knew the exact number of steps that led to its typical, anticipated end. With Grey, however, the path would always end at a big brick wall, ideal for banging my head against until the end of time. We’d eat our food and watch our show. He’d shut himself in his room to study, or read his daily tarot or some shit, while I busted out my yarn and needles alone on the couch, just like any other night.

  He’d been trying so hard to pretend the lines we’d crossed were tiny hiccups in a larger waking dream, all of which could be redrawn by deliberate, platonic interactions. Like if we made it through a whole season of Riverdale without accidentally spooning, everything would return to normal. It was almost sad, how desperately he wanted to be my brother.

  Still. I’d take what I could get.

  “Yes. Yes, to all of that.” I faced him, forgetting to steel my face. Watched him start, then falter at the sudden intensity of my focus. “Grey, I—”

  “Grey! Greyson McIntyre!” Sadie was an IMAX version of herself, careening toward us, tackling Grey against his car. I heard the air leave his lungs in a long sigh, felt myself deflate as well, toppling right off the pathetic bliss cloud I’d been primed to ride straight into the sun.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said when they came up for air. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything is perfect. Connor texted me. He wants us to come over and look at his designs.”

  “Designs? For what?”