“He’s not here, boy,” I whispered, scratching behind his ear. “He’s gone.”
Roscoe let out a huffing breath and lay at my side, pressing close despite the heat. Together, we stared out at the Fite land until the darkening sky matched how I felt inside.
I thought about the month before, when the boys graduated and Rylen got his pilot license. We’d all gone to the airfield to watch him take his first official flight as a pilot. One of the instructors had taken a liking to him and allowed him to borrow his plane. My heart had soared with him, even from the ground, as I’d stared up at the sunny sky, blocking the glare with my hand. Rylen was going places. Without me.
I patted his hound on the rump and said, “Go on home, boy.” I never saw Roscoe again.
Though Rylen wasn’t in college, he stayed true to his word about writing me. We wrote a lot. At first it was emails, and more recently he told me he had to go offline, and to expect snail mail. I regretted that we only got to see him briefly, once a year, but each letter felt like a gift, like they were lit with Rylen’s warm sunshine.
The summer before my senior year was the first time we saw both Tater and Rylen together in two years. Neither could seem to get leave at the same time. They’d spent their first year in the military doing training for their specific jobs. Tater wanted to go Airborne, of course, and he ended up being stationed at Ft. Benning, Georgia. Rylen’s off-the-charts math scores, CAP experience, and high school ROTC time allowed him to climb ranks quicker than usual, and to gain top-secret clearance. He’d done jobs like Combat Control Team and Pararescue, and learned how to work on jets. More recently he wasn’t able to tell us as much about his job specifics, which meant he was involved in dangerous situations, securing drop zones in war areas. But of course he would be. I was kind of glad not to know all of the specifics. My own imagination was bad enough.
Years had passed and no organization had taken responsibility for what was now being called Fatal Friday, a day America and the entertainment industry would forever mourn. In the past, someone always claimed blame for attacks, quickly and boastfully. A mysterious attacker, after all these years, was simply terrifying. And the fact that they hadn’t attacked since then kept everyone on edge. Every continent had faced similar simultaneous attacks since Fatal Friday, all by an unknown enemy who killed by the thousands and never attacked the same place twice.
I always hoped for even the vaguest of news or insight from Ry’s letters, but though he filled the space with heartfelt words, he never told anything we couldn’t find out from world news. He never gave details of what he’d seen or been through.
Rylen’s station changed a lot. Andrew’s Air Force Base, then some undisclosed location in the Middle East for a whole year. Six months in Korea. Now he was back in the U.S., but he couldn’t tell us where exactly he was stationed.
Rylen didn’t have any social media pages, but Tater did. Six months ago, when Tater and Rylen crossed paths in the Middle East, my brother posted a picture of the two of them in full BDU gear, Battle Dress Uniform: camo in desert shades from top to bottom, belts filled with ammo, black boots laced up their calves. Tater had a wicked looking gun propped up on his shoulder with a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes slightly squinting against the smoke. Rylen’s arms were crossed and his face wore a hardcore expression. They both looked huge, like they’d been working out nonstop, and their faces were lean, all sharp angles. They were men now.
I refuse to admit the total amount of time I spent staring at that picture. Or how I’d cover Tater and just examine every speck of Rylen’s body. His stance. His badass expression. Looking at him, wondering how cut he was under those BDUs, turned me on more than anything I’d ever experienced. He’s what I thought about when I explored myself in the dark of night. His deep voice murmuring that I was beautiful and all he wanted was me.
Imagine how hard I blushed when Ry walked in with Tater that summer day when I was seventeen and he was twenty. He looked at me from the doorway, a half-grin on his face, and then his gaze seemed to unwillingly dive down my body and swoop back up. For the first time ever, I truly felt shy with him, like maybe he was a different person, like he could see into my mind and know all the thoughts I’d had about him. Tater hugged me tight, tossing me side-to-side like a ragdoll, even though I was a solid 5’5 and muscular from school athletics.
“Looking good, Pep,” Rylen said from behind him, reaching out to yank a lock of my hair while I was being held by Tater. I wiggled away and smacked his arm. He laughed and pulled me close, holding me tightly. Oh, holy crap . . . that familiar scent of him. The feel of him, all hard muscles in his back, his flat, hard stomach pressed against mine, strong, heavy arms draped over my shoulders. My hips instinctively wanted to mesh upward against his. I abruptly pulled away, afraid I might rub against him like a cat in front of my family.
Mom bumped me out of the way to hug him next. As the living room filled with family, all smiling and talking animatedly, I just watched Rylen. I wanted to soak in every detail, not knowing when I’d see him again. His hair was shorn close to his scalp, with the front part slightly longer than how Dad kept his. He wore a T-shirt that fit his arms and chest so spectacularly, it looked like it was tailored for him. Cargo shorts hung from his hips to his knees, showing off his sculpted calves. And then he was wearing ugly slip-on Adidas sandals, which almost made me laugh. His feet were long, always had been, but for some reason even his long feet made me feel hot right now. I blinked and looked away. Having dirty thoughts while surrounded by your chattering family was just wrong.
Mom and Abuela went to the kitchen to start cooking—we’d feast tonight on carne asada and then play cards and dance for hours—and Grandpa Tate and Dad took Tater out back to show them Grandpa’s new rifle. Rylen hung back, making me immediately nervous and excited by the way he sized me up. I crossed my arms over my tank top, just as I had when I was fourteen. Stupid Nevada heat.
“Thanks for writing me,” he said softly. “Means a lot.”
“Yeah . . . you too.” My heart swelled thinking of all the letters I’d received from him, his messy scrawl laced with loneliness, always asking me to please write back and tell him every mundane detail of my life. Which I always did.
I eyed the bottom of his T-shirt sleeve. I thought I’d seen something when he lifted his arm.
“Did you get a tattoo?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah.” He started to pull up his sleeve, but it was too tight, so to my absolute wonder he pulled his shirt lazily over his head and turned to the side. A shiver of pure arousal went through me at the sexy sight of his glorious skin and the markings he’d chosen—from the rounded tops of his shoulders, down the backs of his arms to his elbows were black, tribal designs swirling thickly and ending in intricate spikes. They were the sexiest things I’d ever seen.
“Ry . . . those are amazing.”
“Thanks,” he said softly. He started to put his shirt back on, but hesitated, his back still to me. “And I got one more . . . but it wasn’t as thought out. Don’t be mad.”
Okay, now he was making me nervous.
He slowly turned and I saw a two-inch red chili pepper on his left pectoral, above his heart. I rocked back on my heels.
OH. MY. GOD.
He quickly tugged his shirt back down and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I drank a little too much sake in Japan. That was my first tat.”
OH. MY. GOD.
All I could do was stare stupidly as he peered at me, waiting.
“What made you get that?” I whispered.
His head drooped like he was embarrassed, and I hurried to say, “I mean, it’s totally cute—”
Now he threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, cute. That’s what the guys say too.” He shook his head. “I guess I just needed a reminder of home.”
My blood was buzzing. My nickname had been needled into Rylen’s chest. Over his heart. Forever. I was his reminder of home.
OH. MY. GOD.
“Huh?” I forced myself to focus. “Oh, tattoos? No.”
He nodded his chin down to my shoulder. “What’s that?”
“What?”
He reached out and touched the bottom of my neck. The warm graze of his finger over my skin made me shiver. I brought my hand up to cover the spot, suddenly remembering. Heat flooded upward into my face. Oh, shit. Four days ago the boy I was seeing gave me a hickey. I’d been so mad. But now it was barely visible, just a yellowish spot. Why did Rylen have to be so observant?
“Nothing,” I said with a shrug, but I kept my hand over it.
“You lettin’ some boy mark you?” His voice was half-joking, underscored by half-deadly.
Burning face. Truffle-shuffle. I peered up into his eyes. Those serious cloudy-day eyes. Then I let my hand drop, feeling challenged and needing him to know I wasn’t the young girl he’d left behind almost three years ago.
“I’m old enough.”
He didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Just held me in his stare.
“Don’t give any part of yourself to some boy who doesn’t deserve you. The right man’ll be worth waiting for.”
My heart accelerated so quickly I could hardly breathe. Was Rylen giving me big-brotherly advice, or was he telling me to wait for him? He had no idea how long I’d wait—how long I’d already waited, and how much longer I’d hold out if I knew he wanted me.
“We’re not serious,” I said lamely. I didn’t want him to think I was in love or something.
He studied me, then gave that half-grin again. “All right. Have your fun. But be careful. Let me and Tater know if anyone bothers you.”
Have your fun. Was Rylen out having his fun with women all over the world? Those lucky bitches. My stomach turned over, pushing up sour bile.
He gave me a nod and went to go join the guys, when I practically shouted at his back.
“I’m very patient, Ry.” He turned his head, giving me a funny look until I elaborated. “When it comes to waiting.”
My heart. Once again I was handing it to him, praying he would see my offering for what it was, to see in my eyes that it was him I waited for.
“Good.” His voice was a low rumble through the room. “Hope he can handle you, Pepper.”
“I’m sure he can.”
Rylen grinned and shook his head before slipping through the back sliding door. Once again, I’m pretty sure he was clueless, and I was a fool. I gathered my composure before I went outside to join them. I wanted to text Remy, but she was at youth camp for her church. She’d want a complete detailed rundown of every moment of our encounter when she returned. And she was going to die when she heard about the tattoo. Just thinking about Rylen marking his skin with a symbol of me made me feel strung tight, hot all over. Perhaps a bit of target shooting was just what I needed.
Not gonna lie; when Tater and Rylen went out to a party that night and didn’t invite me, I moped around the house all night. Were they hanging out with people they’d graduated with? Would Becca what’s-her-name be there? I mean, what the heck? I was seventeen now. I went to parties all the time. Why did they still act like I was a kid?
I sat outside on the old tire swing, lost in thought until late in the night, determined to see them come home. At nearly two my eyes were drooping from boredom. I was just about to go inside when I saw headlights crest over the hill at the top of our street. My stomach wobbled and I held the tire tighter. I’d probably be covered in dirt and black marks, but I didn’t care.
I didn’t recognize the sporty coup that pulled up or the girl in the driver’s seat. I stayed very still until I realized it was Tater in the front with her, and Rylen in the back. Rylen got out and Tater proceeded to swallow the girl’s face. Actually, I couldn’t really tell, but that’s what it looked like from far away. Rylen came straight toward me.
“Saw you when we pulled up,” he said, leaning against the tree. I could smell beer and cigarettes on him. “What are you doing out here in the dark all by yourself?”
“Waiting for you,” I said. The words sent a tremor of nerves through me like roller skates on rough pavement.
A sly grin pulled the side of his mouth upward and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “We’re big boys. You don’t need to wait up for us.”
“Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”
He cocked his head at me, as if trying to study my face in the dark.
The door of the car closed and tires crunched in the driveway as the girl reversed. Tater strutted over with a cigarette in his fingers, and I gritted my teeth in irritation.
“What are you still doing up?” he slurred. “Dontchu got school?”
“It’s summer, duh,” I said. “And you’re trashed. You should go drink some water and go to bed.” I smacked the burning nub right out of his hand and he smirked as it went sailing into the dirt.
“Imma eat everything in the fridge first.” Tater patted both of my cheeks and squeezed them in his fingers, pinching me. I could smell liquor on his breath mixed with tobacco. “Aw, my wittle sissy.”
“Stop it.” I pulled back, laughing at his stupidness. He grabbed the tire and gave me a hard swing, making me squeal as I flew high. And to my joy he walked toward the house, and Rylen stayed.
When I started to slow, Rylen pushed off from the tree and his hot hands touched my back, gently pushing me. I swung like that for five minutes in the silence of night, looking forward to each downward swoop when his hands would touch me to push me upward again. Then he grasped the tire with a jolt to stop it, and spun it so that I was facing him. He stood close. His eyes glistened in the moonlight, slightly unfocused. I wondered how much he’d had to drink.
“It’s weird to see you all grown up,” he said in a deep rumble.
My stomach did that truffle-shuffle thing as my brain searched for a response.
“You know,” he said, “when you were little I used to pretend you were Krystal.” Oh, my God . . . his little sister who he lost. I held my breath as he looked away, still talking. “I used to get mad at my mom for making me take Krystal everywhere I went, like I was her constant babysitter or something. I’d get mad at my mom and take it out on Krystal. I was mean as shit to her.”
“Rylen . . .” He’d definitely had a lot to drink. He never let himself talk about his past or his feelings. “You were just a boy.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. And no matter how mean I was, she still stuck to me like a loyal little puppy.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sure she knew you loved her.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, just stared off toward his darkened house. “I just always wanted to do right by you.”
“You have,” I whispered. But I’m not your sister, I wanted to say.
He stepped even closer, enough for us to really see each other’s eyes in the starlight. “There’s so much shit out there in the world. So much fucking evil. There’s times where I’m so submersed in it I start to wonder what the fuck the point of life is. And then I get a letter from you, and it’s like this little light is shining from across the world. Like a piece of gold, making me remember the good that’s out there. The things that are worth fighting for.”
What do I even say to that? I was like gold to him? Swallow. Breathe. Do not cry.
“If I’m gold, Ry, you’re like . . . titanium. Stronger than you know.”
My words made him rock back slightly on his heels and he grasped the tire to steady himself, reminding me he was buzzed. When I kept my gaze locked on his, letting him know I was completely serious, he shook his head in wonder and let out a huff of disbelief. He absently rubbed his earlobe.
I reached out and touched his chest with my fingertips, gently at first, and then fisting his shirt in my palm, urging him toward me. He stumbled slightly and stared into my eyes as I pulled him closer. He began to breathe harder. Our foreheads touched. Then our noses. My body felt light enough to flutter rig
ht out of that tire if I let go of him. Rylen wet his lips and my heart pounded a steady rhythm, chanting finally, finally, finally.
With a bang, the screen door slammed and Tater tromped out with his hands full. “I found the mother lode!” he called with a mouthful. “Dad’s stash of Oreos!”
Damn it, Tater, no! My hand released the fabric of Rylen’s shirt. He let go of the tire and stepped away, shoving his hands in his pockets and clearing his throat. I want that moment back! Tears of frustration threatened as my heart stampeded inside my ribs. I could feel the angry scowl on my face when I turned back to Rylen. He flinched, perhaps from my grimace, so I schooled my face into something calmer.
“C’mon, man!” Tater yelled.
“You okay?” I asked Rylen.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about that.”
“About what?” Why was he acting weird, like he’d done something wrong?
He let out an embarrassed sound and shook his head. “Will you still write me?”
“Of course.” Always. Rylen looked at me for a long moment before listing to the side and righting himself.
“Good.” He ran a finger down his ear and pulled on his lobe. “Maybe we should…go in?”
My heart sank. “Okay.”
He held the swing while I climbed out of it. I’d never wanted to punch my brother’s smiling, oblivious face more than I did as I passed him that night. Instead, I snatched the half-eaten sleeve of Oreos from his nearest hand and gave him a death ray glare when he reached for them. He pulled his hand back.
“Damn, you’re like a viper.”
Rylen chuckled at the exchange. When I stared at him, he hushed and gave me a quizzical stare back, cocking his head. I had almost kissed him. Would he remember? It would have changed everything, for better or worse. I don’t know where the bravery of the moment had come from, maybe the fact that I knew he wasn’t sober, but it was gone now.
“Enjoy your cookies.” Tater’s way of saying get lost.
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