by Anyta Sunday
“I like it,” he says. “Your mask.”
I laugh. “I hope that’s not all you like.”
“No.”
The direct response sobers me.
Ice numbs my hand where I clutch my glass. I sip, staring at the wait staff as they rush to pour drinks and clean spills.
His gaze burns the side of my face like the whiskey burns my throat.
“What are you thinking about, Wesley?”
He holds out a hand. “Would you like to dance, Mr. Son of the Groom?”
My breath catches. “Call me Cooper.”
He wraps his warm hand around my iced one and leads me to the dance floor.
Tens of couples are waltzing. Among them, Annie and Ernie are sharing a tender kiss. Lila and Dad are at the sidelines pointing at people’s feet and discussing something.
Jace tugs my arm just enough to turn me. He slides closer, placing his right hand on my waist toward my back. I set my hand on his shoulder. He steps forward into a simple waltz and falters. “Sorry, did you want to lead?”
“I don’t mind. I’m versatile.”
His lips twitch. “Me too but if you prefer—”
“Lead. Please.”
His steps are confident but his eyes hold a vacant sheen.
The first song ends and the next starts. I squeeze his shoulder. “You know the guy I told you about?”
“The one who you think gave you the stone?”
I don’t step back as far on the next beat, drawing us an inch closer. “The one I know gave me the stone.”
“What about him?” His words hit my neck and tunnel under my collar.
“He’s a musician. A brilliant musician.”
His grip tenses. “Is he?”
“Yes. You might have heard him play and sing with my sister earlier.”
“I’d hardly call the performance brilliant.”
I smile. “He plays as an accompaniment to operas, ballet, and modern dance. Even had an appearance with the Dunedin orchestra.”
“Just classical stuff? Sounds pretentious.”
“He’s not though. He makes crowds cry. Makes them roar for more.”
He blinks. “Is that right?”
“Yes. I know. I’ve been to every concert he’s ever done.”
He misses a step. “Sorry, I—”
“You okay?”
He holds my gaze then steers me back into the waltz. His tender touch prickles my skin with goosebumps. “Why would you see his concerts if he broke your heart?”
“He means too much to me not to witness his successes.”
“You saw all of them?”
“Yes.” I whisper at his ear. “And they were brilliant.”
He shivers and presses us closer with each step. “That’s amazing of you.”
“Do you think he would have minded if he knew I was there?”
“I think he’d have been touched. I imagine he wishes he’d invited you in the first place.”
“But he didn’t.”
“The guy is a fool.”
“I wonder if he’s changed but doesn’t know how to tell me?”
“Can he be both a fool and have changed?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe he’s between the two—no longer a fool because he knows what he’s done wrong, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to change either.”
“Do you think he eventually will?”
Jace shrugs.
Lila and Dad are scaring half the dancers with their awkward steps. The song winds down, and I pull out of Jace’s grasp. “Another drink, Wesley?”
“Please.”
“I’ll grab them and we can go somewhere quiet. Sound good?”
His Adam’s apple juts as he swallows and nods.
When I come back with two whiskeys, I lead him upstairs to the balcony. The music rises faintly from below but otherwise it’s quiet.
We huddle together in the fresh breeze, our drinks resting on the flat wooden edge of the railing. The bush we walked through is a dark silhouette against a star-spotted sky.
“I think you might be right.”
“What’s that?”
“My guy isn’t really mine right now.” I face him and he mirrors me. “I’m glad I met you tonight, Wesley.”
His gaze runs over my mask to my nose and lingers on my mouth. “You are?”
I draw closer. “Perhaps you can help me show my man what he’s missing.”
His breath catches and his gaze flickers to mine. “What did you have in mind?”
“If we were”—I slide my hands down his hips and draw us together until our hard groins meet—“to get close like this.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe we could make him jealous of you.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then I had a wonderful night with this incredibly hot guy named Wesley, friend of the bride—”
He kisses me. Our masks and noses bump, and his lips press firmly against mine, sucking in my bottom lip. His arms draw tight around me and I moan into the kiss, deepening it with my tongue. I press my groin against his and lightly thrust while I cup the back of his neck and massage him closer.
He shifts, his thigh slipping between mine, and suddenly I’m passionately shoved against the railing and one of our glasses falls and cracks on the grass below. “God, you’re beautiful,” he says, rubbing his nose against mine and staring into my eyes before resuming our kiss. “But I can’t do this,” he says as his kisses trail over my jaw and under my ear. “I can’t. It’s not fair to you.”
“Of course you can, Wesley,” I say. “You’re just a one-night stand. I know not to expect you in the morning.”
“That’s not right,” he says again, but his hands explore my back and he holds me so close his heart hammers against my chest.
“Please don’t stop,” I whisper.
“Cooper—”
“Please.”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, like he’s trying with every ounce of restraint to pull back but he can’t. His warm lips crush against mine once more and his fingers tickle as he drags them up my neck to thread into my hair.
A cool breeze hits my back, and with it, I push us back to the balcony door and through to my bedroom.
The lights are off and it’s dark, but we stumble to my bed, kick off our shoes and yank down our pants while locked in kisses. The heat of his hard cock nudges mine, and the length of his thigh presses warmly between my legs. I thrust against him, eliciting an animalistic groan.
His fingers are trembling just as mine are as we fumble to undo the buttons on each other’s shirts. His comes off first and drops to the floor.
Jace rearranges his cock so it’s between my thighs, rubbing lightly at my balls. He finishes the last button and sweeps his hands over my shoulders and down my arms until my shirt hits his. His full length is against mine, everything hot save the cool bite of his greenstone hook jammed between our chests.
I maneuver us to my side table where I pull out supplies. I’m aching to have him inside me, and I make quick work of rolling on the condom and lathering him with lube. I poured too much on my hand and Jace scoops some up on his fingers as he takes my cock in his hand and strokes me lovingly.
His lube-laced fingers draw over my balls and press tantalizingly against my entrance. I want—need—more. I lie lengthwise on the bed and Jace crawls on top of me. His hand gently probes my ring as he kisses and suckles my nipple. His mask scratches the top of my shoulder, reminding me to bite down on crying out his name.
This is Wesley. Tonight, he’s Wesley.
No, he’s not.
Now who’s the fool?
“Please,” I say, after he’s thoroughly worked me with his fingers.
He kisses a path up my stomach to my chin, and the hook bumps along my skin with them.
I grip his cock, angling it at my entrance. He sucks in a pant and kisses me hard.
“Please,” I say again as the hea
d of his cock pushes into me. “All I want is you.”
He slides all the way in and I grab his hips as I arch against him. He stills and presses his forehead against my ear, his harsh breath tickling my neck. “Cooper.”
I swallow the rise of emotion and focus on how full I feel, how my cock is rubbing against his skin, how my toes are curling, the way the silky bed sheets feel against the back of my thighs.
I dig my fingers into his hips. He snaps into a thrust that jolts me with deliciousness I need more of.
He thrusts into me like a waltz, three times and the swivel of his hips, over and over until I hear the music and feel it beating against my skin.
He kisses me again, and closes a hand around my cock.
I clench at the pleasure and we both let out a groan. His thrusts push me closer and closer to the edge. I want to fall so badly but I don’t want this to be over. Never want this to be over.
As if he can read my mind, he slows his thrusts but he doesn’t let go of me. I fight not to give in to the pleasure of his strokes and the way his thumb brushes over the head.
He looks down at me, his jaw clenched in passion, but he never closes his eyes. His mask glitters but his eyes are pinning my soul to his. It’s intimate in a way I’ve never experienced. I’m somewhere between panicking and experiencing the biggest release of my life.
He bites his lip and rocks more quickly into me. The bed groans with us, and I clutch Jace’s ass tightly, pressing him in, in, in.
The strokes on my cock are in time to his and when he presses his mouth against mine and calls my name over my lips, I come with him, crying out as my orgasm bursts out of me and keeps coming, coming, coming.
malachite
I follow his blog through Germany, France, Spain, Greece, Turkey, and Scotland. I wish I’d thought to give him a piece of malachite to protect him on his travels.
Malachite, a copper carbonate hydroxide mineral.
Mineral. Not a protective talisman.
He’s Jace, a pianist traveling the world before settling into a career of teaching.
His own person. Not mine.
Tonight, he posted about England.
I’m at Mum’s for our weekly roast but I’m not hungry. Paul offers me the carafe of gravy, but drowning the dry vegetables isn’t going to make a difference. I pick at the chicken and eat a few peas. After a bite of potato, I rest my knife and fork on the plate.
Mum eyes me, questioningly arching an eyebrow. “Ever since you started flatting, you’ve neglected your diet.”
“I’m not hungry right now,” I murmur. I ask Annie where Ernie is tonight.
Mum cuts over her answer. “It’s not just now. You haven’t been hungry in months and you’re studying yourself thin.” She turns to Annie. “Get your boy to take this one out on a guys’ night. I think he needs it.”
“What I need,” I say, shoving my chair back from the table, “is to bloody well be in England.”
I walk out. Everything is winding me up the wrong way—even the way the bus driver gave me a cheery greeting earlier. No, I won’t have a good day, dammit.
My days are restless as though ants are marching through my veins, tickling my insides so I can’t settle.
I stop in my bedroom doorway. It looks smaller than it used to. Even the toolboxes lining the walls don’t seem to have the presence they once had. I breathe in the stale air, then turn my back on the younger me and head outside.
The veranda creeks underfoot, and the winter air bites as I hunker down, resting against the house. I pull out my phone.
England, Stonehenge
A picture with a short caption underneath:
Something’s missing.
I rub my phone over my forehead, trying to smooth out the heavyset frown that seems to be staining itself to my skin.
The wooden planks creak, and I glance up. Mum is shrugging on a brown winter coat and stealing toward me. She sighs and drops down next to me, draping a green mohair scarf around my neck.
“It’s Jace, isn’t it?”
“What?”
She takes my phone and slips it into her pocket. “You miss him.”
I knock my head back against the side of the house and stare at the quarter moon. “It’s complicated.”
“Ah,” she says in that all-knowing tone that mothers have. “I see.” I drop my head to her shoulder, and she pats my head in that awkward way she does.
“It’s okay,” she says. For a second, the stars look like the glowworms in our cave. “It’s not like you’re real brothers.”
apache tear drop
It is said those who have an Apache Tear Drop will never cry again.
Legend speaks of a brutal surprise attack on the Apaches, where fifty of seventy-five men were shot. The remaining twenty-five retreated to the edge of the cliffs, where they chose to jump rather than be killed as their brothers were.
The Apache women, lovers, mothers, sisters, and daughters gathered at the base of the cliff and mourned their loved ones. Their sorrow was so great that their tears turned to black stones.
Holding this stone to the light reveals the shimmer of the Apache Tear Drop and is good luck to those who have it. They will never cry again because the Apache cried enough for them.
I hold this stone after learning that Lila’s cancer has returned.
I hold it after learning that the cancer has spread to her bone marrow, lungs, and liver.
I hold it after watching Dad cry that it’s the liver that will take her away from us in a few months.
I hold it after overhearing Dad telling Jace to cut his trip short and come home.
I hold it after Annie hugs him, me, then Lila who is sitting on the grass outside in the spot her and Dad were married.
I hold it but it doesn’t take any pain away.
The Apache women did not cry enough for Lila.
stonehenge bluestone
Annie brings over the kauri rocking chair I gave her. She smiles at me in the doorway to the dining room as Lila sinks onto the cushions.
The patio doors are open and a warm breeze stirs the trees and ruffles Lila’s skirt. She grips the chair arms and rocks. “This is lovely, Annie.”
Dad squeezes Annie into a hug and slips into the kitchen to make tea. His back is to me and his shoulders are higher up than usual, as though he’s stiff with worry.
I push off the doorway to help him when the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get that.”
For all the windows in this house, it is strange that the door is so solid, so dark, so impenetrable. I grip the cool handle, ready to let him in.
I pull the door open.
Jace stands in the porch with his suitcase and carry-on bag. He’s tanner than the last time I saw him at Lila and Dad’s wedding, but unlike the suave suit he wore then, he’s wearing jeans stained with flight food and wine. Even with sunglasses on, the puffiness of his cheeks gives his tears away.
“You’re home,” I choke out.
He doesn’t move forward to hug me or even push past me. It’s as though he’s afraid to cross the threshold of truth.
I pick up his suitcases and drag them inside. They’re heavy with a hundred memories of fun and laughter.
“I’ll put these in your room.”
He stops me, finally breaching the threshold. “Wait. I have something in there for her.”
Jace unzips the front pocket of his large bag and pulls out a small box. He hops to his feet, sliding his sunglasses onto his head. Tears have made his eyes a shocking blue. “Where is she?”
“The dining room, by the patio.”
He clutches his gift and heads toward his mum.
I move his stuff to his room and head downstairs.
Dad is still standing in the kitchen with his back to us, even though the water is well and truly boiled. Annie is on the patio watering the potted plants, and Jace is placing a pendant over his mum’s head.
“What is it?” she asks.
; “Stonehenge bluestone.” A precious stone used for centuries in alternative healing. “It’ll help you get better.”
A cup drops and smashes on the floor. I hurry into the kitchen to help dad clean it up. It’s my cup he dropped—my Rock Whisperer one. Though it’s beyond saving, I stow the pieces in a freezer bag anyway.
Dad is sitting on the floor leaning against a cupboard. I crouch next to him and rest a hand on his knee, rubbing the linen.
“Come with me,” I tell him. “The afternoon, just you and I.” Let Lila have time with her son to break it to him in her way.
“Yeah,” Dad says, running a hand through his greying hair. “That’s probably a good idea.”
We hike the ridges of the hills where pine needles sweeten the air. Birds click and cackle and wheeze overhead. I wonder if they are conversing about us:
They seem rather somber, don’t they?
Like they built a nest in the shadows and have never see the sun.
Poor things. Someone should teach them how to fly.
A white-tufted bird with dark, iridescent feathers swoops in front of us, bringing us to a sudden halt in the middle of a patch of sun. “Jesus, that was close.”
I spin in an arc to find the bird again. I spot its black opal feathers in the tree to our left. “It was a Tui.”
Tui. Tui. Tui. The word is mimicked back to us. Yep, definitely a Tui. “Hear that? It’s incredible.”
Dad nods. “Sounded just like you. Lila would be beside herself. She loves Tuis.”
She loves Tuis. She loves Tuis. She loves Tuis.
And it sounds a bit like She loves you, eh?
Dad laughs, his crow’s feet deepening. “That’s beautiful.”
He slings an arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple.
That’s beautiful. That’s beautiful. That’s beautiful. The bird says.
It is.
smoky quartz
At home, Jace is pulling ingredients out of the fridge and pantry for dinner. Lila sits in her rocking chair with a notepad and a pen, letting ink flow over the fine blue lines as she writes. Dad kisses her cheek and she stops writing to ask what we did. She laughs as I draw in a breath and move into the kitchen.