“Precisely. It’s like they always say. Never let a little thing like light pollution stop you from finding constellations.”
“They always say that?”
“No?” He glances over at me. “Then what do they always say? You tell me.”
I want to believe. I want to think that there are other stories. I want to believe that we could be one.
I take a deep breath and then I point, far out over the water, to the lights of the Dumbarton Bridge.
“There,” I say. “That’s Ling-ling. She’s a dragon. Many years ago, she made a bargain with the residents of the land.”
“You need to say ‘a bargain she made.’”
I squeeze his hand. “Am I telling the story or are you? I’ll let you know when we get to the epic part.”
“Sorry. Back to the bargain.”
“She would carry them on her back for a period of fifteen years. But if anyone forgot the end of the contract and crossed after the bargain ended, that person she would devour.”
“Do Chinese dragons even eat people?”
“She lives in the Bay Area,” I say severely. “She eats a westernized diet.”
“Good point.”
“In any event, Ling-ling fell in love with a college student named Kenesha Walters. Kenesha’s mother crossed the bridge with her daughter every day, and when Kenesha graduated, she started working at the same place as her mother. Ling-ling can’t bear to be parted from her love, so for now she stays in place. But one day, Kenesha is going to find a job closer to home. And then, Ling-ling will feast.”
“I love it.” He turns to me. My body hums as he slides his arm around me. And then, very slowly, very methodically, he sets his lips on mine. There are no stars, not a single one visible. Still, I can feel the light of constellations, of things born out of our imagination. Of epic fights to the death. Of a dragon-love so powerful that it transcends species and time.
His kiss makes me think that this can be real, that we could be a story. His hands come around me, sliding underneath my t-shirt to hook around my belt. We could be there, two lovers set in the constellations below us.
Tina and Blake, placed by the gods in lights, constantly reaching for one another and never quite touching.
“That’s just the thing,” he says. “Maybe all the stories have been written about the stars. Fuck the stars, then. They’re light years away, and they don’t give a shit.”
We’re touching now. His hands are warm against my skin; his lips devour mine. I run my fingers down his chest, past his waist, letting them rest on hard thighs. I disappear into his kiss. Into the give and take, the cycle of tongue and breath. He lights me up, setting me ablaze until I’m breathing hard. Until my hands brush the hard rod of his erection through his jeans.
His breath breaks. “God, Tina.” His hands slide up my ribs, the fingers of his right hand brushing against my breast—lightly at first, and then with more fervor.
“This can be anything we make it,” he says.
There’s no relief, not from the want that floods me. I want him—his body—hard inside me. But I want more than that. I want this evening, all of it. I want to forget how close we are to the end. I shut my eyes and kiss him harder.
He takes a fistful of my shirt in his hand and pulls me on top of him. Our lips meet, hungry.
“Want to go back?”
“Your dad. Is your room soundproofed?”
“Actually, no. But he’ll be occupied. And he won’t hear a thing, so long as we’re quiet.” He finds my mouth again, kissing me hard.
I pull away breathlessly. “Is that a challenge?”
Blake considers this. “Hell, yes. It is.”
And then we’re going back, running in the dark, pelting through the front door. A light to the left signifies that his dad is still working even though it’s now past midnight, past the time he predicted he’d finish—but Blake doesn’t call out in greeting. Instead, he grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. He stops halfway, pressing me into the wall and kissing me harder. His hands clench around my hips; I can feel him hard against my belly.
I’m not sure how we manage to make it to his room, but as soon as we’re in, we’re kicking off shoes. As soon as mine are gone, Blake grabs hold of my jeans by the belt buckle. He undoes it and then slowly, slowly, slides my pants down.
Before I can even think to return the favor, he pushes me onto the bed.
“Remember,” he growls, “we have to keep it quiet.”
Then he’s over me, spreading my legs wide, settling his face between my thighs. Licking me. After more than a week together, he knows exactly what I want him to do with his tongue. Where to go. How to hesitate just long enough for the anticipation to build—and how to surge forward. I have to grit my teeth not to moan aloud.
He’s relentless and I’m so close to the edge. I slide my fingers through his hair, guiding, urging him on. I’m close, so close. Pleasure sweeps in, so undeniable. When I come, my hands clench against his scalp. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out, and the orgasm goes on and on and on in endless surges. And when the tide finally recedes, Blake lifts his head.
He gives me a self-satisfied grin. “My turn.”
“My second turn,” I tell him.
“That’s what I said.” He strips off his jeans and underwear in one smooth motion. His shirt comes off. He pulls me to my feet and takes off my shirt, undoes my bra.
Then he kisses me. We’re naked, skin to skin, and I can taste myself on his lips. I should be boneless with pleasure, but I can feel my desire rising.
His has already risen. I run my fingers down his length, feeling him, listening to the change of his breath. God, I’m going to miss this. I’m going to miss this so much. I’m feeling too much, too much more than just the physical. Blake is an ache deep inside me.
“On all fours,” he whispers in my ear, and I comply.
I hear the wrinkle of a condom wrapper, feel his hands on my hips. Then there’s the brush of him against me from behind and the swell of want. He enters me, hard and sweet. I bite my lip, refusing to cry out.
“God, Tina.” His hand rests against my behind. “God. This is so fucking good.”
It’s more than good. I can feel every stroke of him against my sensitive flesh, can feel the tension in his body as his thighs slap against mine. I take him, feeling him in me. Feeling the tide rise in both of us. My orgasm rises as his does; I crest just before he does. My throat feels hoarse from the effort of not screaming.
And then his thrusts get harder, firmer, faster. I feel a burst of heat as he comes, and I’m so sensitive by now that I moan.
He laughs. He’s breathing hard.
He pulls out. I turn to look at him—at his wide, blue eyes, his hair, tousled by my hands. I try. I try so hard not to care, not to want, not to love.
It’s too late. I’ve been lying to myself for weeks.
God, this is going to hurt.
19.
BLAKE
There are times when you find yourself in perfect harmony with another being. Like after you’ve taken a risk, faced your biggest fear, and found yourself blinking in the dust as a wall crumbles in front of you. Like after a perfect evening of constellation watching, followed by the best sex of your life.
It’s more than just a moment. The past and the future join hands in a clasp that cannot be loosened. My fingers trail through her hair. Our bodies tangle, warm with exertion, comfortable with each other.
She looks into my eyes. Tina isn’t smiling, and I know why—because she’s scared, because she’s feeling vulnerable. Because, like me, she doesn’t want this to end.
I lean in and find her lips with mine. I don’t know how this will work. I can’t see any details. The only thing I know for certain is that I’m holding her now and I don’t want to let go.
She looks up at me. The moon filters through the blinds, casting zebra stripes across her face. I don’t want to ruin this moment, don’t want he
r to pull away when I tell her the truth. But I can’t stay silent.
“Tina.” I lean in, pulling her close, and she comes to me. Her body is soft; she settles against me, her head resting against my shoulder in an act of complete trust.
There is no way I’m letting her go. Not today. Not tomorrow. Hell, no.
“We need to renegotiate.” My voice feels hoarse. I wait, searching for the right words, but they don’t come. The house is dark around us. I can hear the muted hum of a server in a nearby room, the occasional creak as the wood settles overhead. “Not just the end date of us—the existence of an end date at all. I don’t want to let this go. I don’t want to let us go.”
I can feel her muscles tense. But she doesn’t turn away.
“I don’t know how this will work,” I say. “But…it’s working now.”
Her hand clasps mine.
“I don’t want this to end,” I tell her. “I don’t want to walk away from you.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice is low. “I’m not good at taking risks, Blake, and you’re the biggest risk there is. I’m scared.”
I can’t tell her not to be scared. “I know,” I say. “But I think you’re wrong about the stars. There are no gods here. There are just mortals. There’s just you and me. We make our own light, and we can make it say anything we want.”
She turns away. And as she does, outside the edge of my consciousness, something registers. Something that draws me away from a moment that I didn’t think I could be drawn away from.
A chill runs down my spine. I don’t know what it is, why I give a quick shiver. I just know that something just changed—something big. There are no gods here.
“I don’t…I’m not sure,” Tina starts to say.
“Wait.” I set a finger on her lips. “Something is wrong.”
I hear another noise, this time coming clearly from downstairs: the shattering of glass. That, and then, a stark nothing.
It’s my dad. I can explain the noise. It’s well after midnight now, and despite his boasts earlier, he’s not finished yet. He was getting himself some coffee and he dropped a mug. It’s nothing.
But even though my mind is telling me to dismiss it, my body refuses. The hair rises on the back of my neck. I can feel it overtake me. My life just changed, and I don’t know how.
“Blake,” Tina says. “I…”
It’s nothing, I tell myself. I turn back to Tina. But that sense of wrongness is too strong, too powerful, like my subconscious is reaching out and shaking me awake.
Fuck.
“Hold onto whatever you were going to say.”
And that’s when I hear something else. It’s a low sound that I can’t classify. I try to tell myself that it could be anything: a raccoon in the backyard or a coyote slinking through from the hills.
But I know it isn’t any of those things. It’s instinct operating here, but I grew up in this house. I’ve fallen asleep listening to its creaks and moans all my life. And right now, the sounds all feel wrong. The moment isn’t just gone; it’s smashed to irretrievable bits. I push back the covers and pull on a pair of boxers and then jeans.
“Blake?” Tina’s watching me, her eyebrows knitting into worried lines.
“Something’s wrong,” I tell her, and that sounds right, even though I have no idea what is going on.
She doesn’t ask what. She doesn’t say anything. She just scrambles into jeans and a shirt and follows me downstairs.
A light is on in the kitchen; it casts a warm glow on the stairs, but for some reason, it just chills me. Something is wrong; I know it, even if I don’t know what. I hurry. Tina’s slippers slap on the stairs behind me, but I rush ahead.
Shards of ceramic greet me, spread over the marble floor. That’s when I realize how my subconscious knew something was wrong. There was something I didn’t hear. Dad’s a neat freak. If he dropped a glass, I should have heard him cleaning up afterward.
I didn’t. And I don’t see him now. Not at first.
Then I hear him. It’s a repeat of the second noise I heard—a low moan, followed by the catch of breath. I pick my way among the glass shards, making my way around the gleaming island of black marble. My heart is pounding. I don’t want to think what is happening. I can’t.
Dad is there. He’s lying on the floor.
For a moment, it doesn’t make any sense to me. Why the fuck is he on the floor? What’s going on? And then I see his hand, clenched hard. Beads of sweat are popping out on his forehead. His skin is pale; his teeth are gritted.
“Dad?”
Behind me, Tina comes into the kitchen. She looks around, slowly. “Oh my God,” she says. “Blake. Call 911.”
“Don’t.” Dad grates the word out.
She’s already looking around for some kind of a phone. “Don’t be an idiot,” she snaps. “Something’s obviously wrong.” Her gaze lands on his phone on the counter. She grabs it and swipes at the screen. “What’s your passcode? Oh, wait. Never mind. The emergency call still works.”
“No. Call my fucking doctor.” Dad pushes up to a sitting position. “He’s handled this before. There’s an emergency contact screen—you should be able to find his contact info without the passcode…”
“What the fuck, Dad?” I ask. “What do you mean, before?”
“I had a little arrhythmia a few weeks ago,” he admits. “Bad enough that I was a little shaken. Nothing like this, though.”
I stare at him. “You’ve been having heart problems and you didn’t tell me?”
“Your doctor is Kevin Wong?” Tina is asking.
“Yeah,” Dad says to Tina, ignoring me. “Kevin. That’s him. He lives two streets over. He can be here before the paramedics. And he’ll make sure we get in front of the narrative. God knows what the fucking ambulance drivers will say if they get here before Kevin can tell them what to think.”
“Narrative?” I say. “You’re having a heart attack and you’re worried about what the public will think?”
But inside I’m screaming. This is exactly what happened to Peter—exactly. Heart attack. Just before a launch. I can’t lose Dad, not like this.
Dad shakes his head. “It’s not what you think.”
“What,” I ask him, “you’re not having a heart attack?”
Tina speaks swiftly into the phone. I tell myself it’s going to be okay. Someone will be here soon, someone who will be able to fix this. They’ll make it all better.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He shuts his eyes. “I’m only having a heart attack, Blake. That’s all that’s happening, right? That’s what we have to make sure everyone thinks.”
I don’t understand what he’s saying at first. Tina sets the phone down. She doesn’t look at me. She looks at my dad, looks at him as if she’s seeing him for the first time.
“How long…” Her voice shakes. She lets out a long breath. “How long,” she finally asks, “have you been doing cocaine?”
For a second, I don’t know what to say. It’s fucking ridiculous to even consider. My dad wouldn’t…wouldn’t…
I lift my head. It’s on the counter. A fine dust of white powder glistens in poisonous contrast to the gleaming marble. It sits next to a plastic bag filled with a white substance.
On the floor, Dad shuts his eyes. “Oh, you know. On and off. For ten years or so.”
Ten fucking years? He has to be shitting me.
“More on than off these last six.” He blows out his breath. “I was losing my edge. I had to do something.”
“Christ.” I can’t breathe.
“Blake.” He motions me close. “Look. I was going to tell you. I meant to.”
He was going to tell me? I don’t even know what to say to this. The thing he’s talking about—it’s just not possible. I don’t believe it.
“When I was twenty and thirty, I didn’t think anything of doing ninety hours a week. But then I hit forty.” His hand curls around me. “It was like I hit a wall.
I needed something to keep my edge. And Peter and I…”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” I say. “Peter knew about this, and he let you do it?”
And that’s when Dad breaks. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t moan. But his face collapses.
“God, Blake. Why do you think I couldn’t tell you? You think Peter had a heart attack at forty-five for no reason? He didn’t just let me do it. He was doing it with me.” He gasps for air. “How could you live with me once you knew I killed him? I can’t even live with myself.”
I don’t even know what to say. “You told me you wanted to go on vacation.”
He shakes his head. “Vacation. Rehab. Whatever.”
“What about tonight? You just shrugged and told me not to worry about you. You didn’t tell me.”
He opens his eyes, meeting mine. “I killed Peter.” There’s a stark coldness inside him. “You think, once you told me, I’d kill you, too? I’d rather fucking die.”
He just might.
It’s weird. All this time I’ve been telling myself that my father is stronger than I am. That the last thing I want is his disappointment. That I can’t tell him that I have a problem, because if I do, I might lose his respect.
I was right. There are no gods, just us shit-stupid mortals.
I take hold of his hand. “You stupid fucker,” I say. “I’m never going to stop being proud of you. I’m never going to stop loving you. So live. Live, you stupid bastard.”
I hear the door open in the distance. I hadn’t even realized that the doctor was here. Tina must have let him in. Dr. Wong comes in at a half jog and leans down beside my father.
I expect him to take his pulse or examine him, but apparently that’s old school. He pulls out a phone and snaps a little plastic alligator clip on his finger.
“Are you experiencing chest pain?” Dr. Wong has a soft, sweet voice. It’s almost instantly calming. I can already tell he has a great bedside manner.
“It’s cliché, but…it’s like there’s a damned elephant sitting on my chest.”
“There you are,” Dr. Wong says in his quiet voice. “I told you to stop doing cocaine.”
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