Ephemeral (The Countenance) (8 page)

“Did you have your talk?”

“Kind of.” His eyes slit to shore. “Things got slightly derailed last night by way of you.”

My stomach explodes with heat. The idea of derailing his plans with anybody of the female persuasion pleases me.

“This isn’t who you are.” I run my fingers through the back of his hair—slick and glossy, so dark, the darkest black—the deepest part of the night sky couldn’t rival that beautiful color.

“Tell me who I am,” he says it playful, almost like a dare.

“You, my love, are Wesley Parker.” I mouth it fully as if some erotic fantasy were about to play out. “You live on your grandpa’s farm with your mom. You love painting more than anything—you mostly paint trees.”

“Trees?” He leans in. I can feel his warm breath rising over my cheek as the current presses us together.

“Because you know I love them.” I blush when I say it, locking our gaze with something just this side of a promise.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Tell me something about you, other than the things with the trees.” He gives a brilliant smile like he’s playing along with my insanity—only I get the feeling that deep down inside he really wants to know. He can’t hide his curiosity. It elongates like a spool, and I run with it.

“I love frozen grapes.” I bite down on my lip. “I have an aversion toward girls named Kresley.” It comes out far more truthful than it does playful. “I write silly things on the back of leaves and give them to you.” I don’t tell him that I wrote “I love you” a thousand times or that he was my everything or that he saved every leaf I’d ever given him in a box beside his bed—that I did the same with the ones he gave me. “You used to help me pick Maple leaves off the ground. We would measure them against our hands.” I spread my fingers out of the water as if to demonstrate.

“Whoa,” he says rather calm while eyeing a monstrous wave behind me. “Under.” He pulls me down by the waist, and my ears fill with the stillness of the ocean—nothing but the sound of air bubbles rising from my lips. His fingers press in just above my hips, and my insides tremble with pleasure.

It feels intimate like this. It feels right.

I wrap my arms and legs around his bare flesh tight as a coil. I’m so thirsty for Wes. Every cell in my body drinks down his touch as the wave sweeps softly overhead.

We pop back up to the surface, and I forget to let go.

Wes rumbles with a nervous laugh at our newfound position. I press my chest into him—let him feel the warmth from my body as I take in his.  

“So, did you break up with her?” I’m not really interested in the answer. The girl on the shore, whatever her name was, however big her claim was to Wes, she’s already history—nothing more than a freckle on our existence.  

Wes brightens and holds back a smile as though he heard every word.

“I may have.” He gives a little laugh, his chest rumbling over mine.

“Good.” My breathing becomes erratic. It’s bliss like this with Wes, my knees high over his back—my ankles interlocked, securing us together. I never want to get out of the water. “She’s not your type.” My heart picks up pace, delivering one blow after another from my chest to his.  

The smile dissipates from his lips as his eyes magnetize to mine. It’s undeniable, this powerful, unbreakable bond—this love affair that spans two lifetimes. Death couldn’t keep us apart. I doubt Kresley, in all her wicked glory, could do much better.

“What’s my type?” It comes out breathless as his arms secure themselves over my back and he pushes me in ever so slightly.

“I am,” I say, edging my mouth toward his.

“Laken.” He breathes my name as if this were so utterly insane, so unforgivably impossible. “We shouldn’t.”

But his lips ache for a kiss.

Everything in him screams we should.  

6

The Circle

A lavender sky ignites with shades of fuchsia and apricot just before sunset. A neat row of bonfires dot the sand all the way down the bleached shore. Carter and I lounge in front of the smallest one off to the side.

I’m not sure if anyone saw Wes and I holding one another out in the water, but judging by the way Kresley keeps luring him off so they can “talk” makes me pretty sure she suspects something of a sexual nature is about to erupt between the two of us. I can’t blame her since the lust-driven energy expels from our bodies like fumes.

“We get our classes tomorrow,” Carter announces, staring off at the hard line of the horizon. Her hair has frizzed out into a giant ball of ringlets that nest above her head. “We’re both juniors, so we should be in at least a few of the same classes.”

“What about seniors? We have any classes with them?” I try to sound casual, watching Wes and his psychotic ex-girlfriend press against the horizon like cutout silhouettes.

“You mean Wesley? Boy, you’re not even going to hide the fact you’re into him.” She wipes the sand off her thighs like it was no big deal to begin with.

“I think he broke up with her last night.”

“Really?” She braces herself against the chair as if she’s just heard the best gossip ever. “Keep away from him until it’s official. That kind of bull doesn’t go over so well around here.”

Ironic, considering the source.

“Right.” It doesn’t go over so well where I’m from either. I shoot a look in their direction. “So, what’s up with you and Fletch?”

“Fletcher?” She says it like as if she needed to confirm we were talking about the same person, as if the shortened version of his name sounded too foreign to be accurate. “I’m working on Fletcher and me—bringing it home. Just like you.”

“Well I have news for you.” I don’t take my eyes off of Wes. “I am bringing it home.” I roll over and face her. “Hey, Carter? What did I do at Rycroft that was so bad they had to kick me out?”

Her eyes widen, the flames dance over her face hypnotic and smooth.

“Get out.” She nudges sand at me by way of her foot. “You’re a freaking riot, you know that?”

“No, I mean it. I can’t remember.” I point to my head. “That whole tree house thing.”

“Oh right.” She leans back as if my memory lapse made complete sense. “You know…” She bears into me. “Rather than me telling you, maybe you should ask Wesley to show you. I bet you’d appreciate a demonstration right about now.”

I’m sort of liking the salacious prospect of it all.

“I bet I would.” I melt into a smile.  

She hops up as if she’s about to retrieve him for the spontaneous presentation, then stops dead in her tracks.

I look past the curve of her shin and catch him with Kresley—the two of them locked in an embrace. She pecks a kiss on his lips, and he nods into her.

It wipes the smile right off my face.

The roaring fire keeps me company as the long purple and blue tongues lick at the air, gasping for breath just to survive. The fire is hungry, and I’ve made it my responsibility to feed the flames, ignoring the good time had by all taking place around me.

Wes and Fletch sit with a group of guys on the opposite end of the blaze. I haven’t seen Kresley since she managed to pee a circle around Wes. I think she and Casper left early, something about getting the kitchen ready for tomorrow. I’m not sure what they did to amass the killjoy that is kitchen duty, but I’m glad for the punishment—I hope it lingers.

“Hey.” Wes lands next to me in a chair. The velvet night expands around him as the starry hosts honor him with their sparkling tendrils. “You looked like you needed this.” He holds out a stick with two marshmallows spiked over the tip. His face glimmers with brilliant flashes of light from the fire. Just the pleasure of having his feet on the same soil should be enough for me. I should be happy as long as he’s content with whoever he wants to be with, but I’m not that altruistic. It kills me that someone like Kresley may have stolen Wes from underneath me while I was busy grieving his mortal soul.  

“Thank you,” I say, taking the stick and jabbing it into the fire until the marshmallows glow a marmalade orange.

“Tell me more about this other life of yours.” Wes bears into me with something more than a pressing curiosity. I can feel him wanting to touch me, wanting to pick up my hand as natural as breathing.

“Ours,” I correct. “Our life. We’re from Kansas.” Then I spill everything. I tell him about the farm, the field we used to lay in all day until the stars broke through, how we spent hours in the summer just walking around the lake—holding hands, our first kiss.

He gives a somber nod while losing his gaze in the flames. The light from the fire flickers against his skin in sunburst hues of yellow and tangerine. 

Wes gives a reluctant smile born of pain, exposing the sharpened points of his canines. I don’t remember them bolting down into perfect spears like that before, but then again, everything about him is just ever so slightly different.

“You think I’m insane.” I can hardly push the words out.

“No.” He’s quick to answer. He shakes his head long after he says it. “Laken, I think you hit your head, and while you were out, you had some very convincing dreams.” He lays his hand over mine. “I’m flattered to have played such a starring role.”

I slide down in my seat—toss the branch into the fire and watch the fire cradle it with its white-hot affection then cool to a timid blue.

I find it ironic Wes thinks I’ve lost my mind—that I dreamed everything about us that was ever true and pure. Casper was right, I shouldn’t have said anything, especially not to Wes—Wesley Paxton, whoever the hell he’s become.

“I’m interested though.” He produces another stick and attaches two more marshmallows from a bag nearby before handing it to me. “It sounds fascinating.” Wes holds my gaze with the slight look of concern. “I think you really believe these things—that the feelings you have are real. I’m touched that you thought of me. I care about you, Laken, and I care about where your heart is.”

“Like a sister? Is that how you care about me?” I challenge him with the words, trying to stave off the strong pull of tears. I’d rather argue with Wes than bawl like a baby. “I’m like family. I get it.” A part of me wants to strangle Wes, kill him myself for not believing a thing I’ve said. I’m not going to recount any more stories of our life on the farm. I just hope to God he won’t have a good laugh about it later with Kresley while they indulge in some pornographic makeup session.

“Did you sleep with her?” I take in a breath at the thought. Maybe that’s what I’m up against. He’s far too immersed in her because they’ve already connected on so many psychological and physical levels.

His head tips back a notch as though it came from left field.

“Oh my God.” I mouth the words. “You did.” I had no idea. “That’s okay.” I try to compose myself, to hone in on the stabby bitch who lives somewhere deep inside me. It was her strength that helped me survive when he died and I desperately need her caustic superpowers now.

“In this little dream world of mine, you drowned in a lake with Fletch.” I spit it out like I willed it to happen. “About nine months later, I hooked up with Tucker Donavan, the guy that took over your position as quarterback.” I don’t tell him I pretended he was Wes both times we were together. I get up and spear my stick into the fire like a javelin and watch as the marshmallows turn as black as our love.

“Don’t worry, he made sure I had a very good time in your absence.” I leave out the part about Tucker turning out to be the man-whore of Cider Plains—that he fashioned a knife out of the volleyball team and bludgeoned my heart with it. I speed down toward the beach and let the damp breeze wash over me, wet as a blanket.

The sea foam glows a splendid shade of white under the pale stone moon that lounges up above. I let the ice water flow over the tops of my feet and stand still a moment to take in the burn. I like the pain, appreciate how very hard it tries to remind me that I’m real, that this very situation is happening, that it’s not some dream or depraved fantasy I can escape from.

Maybe it’s Casper who’s insane. Maybe I did fall out of a crappy old tree house, and now I’m spouting all kinds of demented things trying to convince the world I’m right.