Under the Texas Sky

CHAPTER 6

KIAN

Trent follows me to the rocking chair and waits for me to sit before he sits himself down on the hard porch in front of me, using the front of my legs as a back rest. He tilts his head back, and I comb my fingers through his hair, scratching my nails against his scalp and feeling the resounding shudder through his body.

Mitch is busy telling us about all the new neighborhood drama, the shit-stirrer that he is. The sun is high in the sky, beating down on the concrete so hot I can see the rays. My stomach grumbles, announcing its displeasure very loudly and making Mitch and Trent chuckle. They know how I get when I haven't eaten, so Mitch invites us inside for food.

Two sandwiches and a bag of family-sized chips later, I know I should leave. I don’t need to be here while Trent is getting settled in. He knows Mitch as well as I do, and I know he’ll be taken care of. At the same time, I hate leaving him without him. It feels unnatural.

I can’t be there to stroke his hair and make sure he’s okay. And who’s going to hum my favorite songs to me while I struggle to fall asleep? Maybe I could call him anyway; I didn’t say we couldn’t talk. I told him I didn't want to find him dead, which was harsh of me. I've never spoken to Trent that way. Ever. But I couldn’t take it anymore. He promised me he would be back though. He asked me to wait for him. So I can be patient. I'm not expecting immediate changes in his behavior.

We can weather any storm put in front of us, and I have to believe that now more than ever.

“I’m leaving. Do you need anything before I go?” I ask Trent as he unpacks his bag in Mitch’s spare room. He looks up from his minuscule amount of belongings, and I feel terrible all over again. I’ll have to bring him more clothes tomorrow. And his journal, as I don't see it in his bag.

“Kiss me, Ki?” His hopeful expression warms my stomach, and I can't tell him no. Not when his berry-colored lips are being offered on a platter for me to take.

I cross the bedroom to him, squatting down until we’re eye level. His brown eyes to my green, straight hair to my curly. So different in looks, but what does it matter if our souls are what tether us together?

I press my lips to his, softly at first. Feeling the pressure of his mouth against mine and letting the feeling of coming home cocoon me. His lips move, pressing the slight space between them against my cupid's bow, then traveling down to the bottom part of my lip. Placing soft angel kisses all over the sensitive flesh. I could kiss him for hours and never be tired of it.

He pulls back first, his lips ghosting across mine as we share the same breath. “Do you remember when we went to the beach?”

How could I forget? It was one of the happiest times we’ve had together. Two years ago, for our 21st birthday, we decided we were going to drive six hours down to Galveston Beach. Swimming in the ocean, letting the waves knock us under, and then standing back up just for them to do it again. Building sand castles and getting sand in our every crack and crevice. We had sand in our clothes for months after that.

The pier, where we sat and people watched, and no one paid attention to the two young men holding hands and feeding each other peanut butter sandwiches because we couldn’t afford the expensive food on the pier.

“You thought it would be a good idea to try and catch a crab.” I chuckle at the memory of Trent trying too hard. He picked one up, but it immediately pinched him and he dropped it, claiming to never want to come to the beach again.

“You told me to be careful, and I told you I had watched enough YouTube videos to know how to do it. I should have listened to you.”

“Yes you should have. I tend to be right more times than not,” I reply haughtily, and we both chuckle. Because more times than not we’re both wrong.

“Yeah, you are. I’m just too dumb to notice sometimes…” He trails off, and I don’t know what to say.

I want to tell him he’s not dumb, he’s one of the smartest people I know. He always knows what to say and how to communicate when I don’t feel up to talking. He’s anything but dumb. He’s intelligent. He’s resourceful. He’s passionate. He’s so many things.

A dreamy look crosses Trent’s face, like he’s remembering. “My favorite part of that trip was being away from everything. Just the two of us. No expectations, no jobs, no rules that said we couldn’t eat donuts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We were able to just be.”

That’s Trent. Always content to be on his own, doing his own thing without worrying about what someone else thinks of him.

“We can go again,” I tell him, “but no catching crabs. And we won’t need to sleep in the back seat of our car either. We can actually afford a hotel room this time.”

It’s supposed to come across as a joke, but from the dejected look on his face, it fell flat. And now I feel like even more of an asshole.

“Trent… I didn’t–”

His mouth presses against mine- cutting off my words. His kisses bring me home. The gentle exploration of his tongue in my mouth, rubbing and coaxing. Reminding me how easy it is to be with Trent.

We can struggle, as long as we're struggling together.