Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
ZIGGY
My favorite place in Wilde’s End? My immediate thought is home. My mine. Where everything feels right, and I don’t have to think about the outside world or force myself to act a certain way.
But I’m not taking Kennedy there.
Part of the reason is because it feels private, but the other part couldn’t handle it if he saw my home and didn’t like it. Kennedy’s opinion means more to me than it should, and since my home is the only place where I’ve ever felt safe, I can’t let anything disrupt that.
We finish cleaning the car, and even after polishing the tires, I still haven’t come to a decision. There’re only so many times I can check the window wipers are in good condition.
“So what are we doing?” Kennedy asks, dropping his rag back into the bucket with a splat. He’s filthy from a day’s work, hair a wild mess, but he’s smiling because he’s always smiling.
Without an answer for him, I want to turn and walk away, but that would mean not spending time with him, and after three days, I need this.
His presence pulls at me in a way no one else’s does.
There are so many places in Wilde’s End we could go; miles and miles of wilderness hide so many amazing things.
The trails through the trees, the swimming hole, the jagged rocky outcrop by Hobby Straight that I like to watch the sunset from sometimes.
Natural beauty is everywhere out here, but I want to hold Kennedy’s interest in the same way Rooney did, and unless I’m going to suddenly fuck off my anxiety and start talking, I need something else.
Something fun.
The tire swing down on a quiet stretch of river flitters through my memories, and excitement tickles me at the thought of showing it to him. It’s a hot day, and at least it should keep us entertained for a while.
I tap my temple and give his sleeve a tug. Whether he gets that I’ve had an idea or not, I have no clue, but he waves his hand ahead.
“Lead the way. After following you directly toward Lynx, I think I’ve proved that I’ll follow you anywhere.”
I muffle my laugh as I dig my elbow into his ribs, and Kennedy playfully grabs both my shoulders to shake me. We leave the road and walk past the old shops as we jostle and shove each other, and I’m almost able to get lost in the moment of being with a friend.
“Where are you taking me this time, huh? A cliff face to push me off? A sinkhole where no one will ever find my body.” His fingers squirm against my stomach, and a giggle slips out as I slap his hand away. “You’re so feisty. You’re going to kill me with your bare hands, aren’t you?”
If he doesn’t stop tickling me, I might. I hate being tickled, but for him to do it, he has to get close enough, touch me, and I can’t say I hate being touched. Still, I glare at him to show how stupid I think that comment is. He’s completely unaffected.
Just like he said though, he doesn’t question following me once. I lead him through narrow paths with sheer drops on one side, then through stretches of forest where there is no path, only knee-high, scratchy grass and speckled patches of sun that have to fight past the thick tree coverage.
We’re on a narrow, single-person track, and Kennedy’s close behind me, his whistle filling in the still day and bringing it alive.
I wish I knew how to be so perfectly content in every moment, but that will never be me.
We reach the stretch of river that I found by accident and like to come to when it’s hot as hell.
Like today. There’s a large, flat rock overhanging the water that heats up in the sun and is perfect for lying on while I dry off.
The huge oak on the other side has a tire swing that I’ve never used, and we’re sheltered in a small part of the river that dips inward, creating a secluded natural cove.
“This is pretty,” Kennedy says, stepping past me. “Wish I’d brought my swim shorts.”
Swim shorts. Fuck.
It isn’t something I thought of because I normally come here alone, so getting naked isn’t an issue.
Getting naked in front of Kennedy? I might die.
I run my tongue piercing behind my teeth, trying to convince myself that this is nothing.
We’re friends. He won’t glance at me twice.
It’s not like I have to get all the way naked either, but even contemplating it feels like a lot.
With nerves threatening to make me feel sick, I strip off my T-shirt and reach for my jeans. The denim is too hot anyway, but I like being covered. I like hiding in my clothes, and the way my heart is heavily thumping only reminds me of how exposed I’m about to be.
But even with how tense I am … I don’t want to hide from him.
When I’m down to my briefs, I pull my gaze away from the water and over to him, just in time to see his eyes drop to my chest and slowly run downward. My skin prickles under his attention.
As soon as he notices me watching, his eyes snap back to mine, and he grins. “Good idea.”
Then Kennedy strips off before I’m ready for it.
Lots and lots of golden skin, big shoulders, a soft belly, and strong legs. His briefs are tight, and I refuse to look at that area, or my face might actually catch fire.
A loud exhale leaves him. “I didn’t realize how hot today was.”
He means the weather, obviously. There’s no way his body is overheating the way mine is. I need a distraction, and fast, because if I stand here too much longer, my cock will definitely give me away.
Instead of tugging him like I normally would, I point toward the swing.
“Think it will take my weight?” he asks as we approach.
I squint up at the weathered rope, but it still looks thick and strong. I take hold of one side of the tire, and like he can read my mind, he grabs the other side. We both pull down hard against it, but the rope doesn’t give, so I take that as a good sign.
“Only way to know is to test it, I guess,” he says.
That’s true. I set a foot on the tire, prepared to go up, when Kennedy’s face drops.
“I don’t mean you.”
I tsk at the worry in his voice. Of course it’s going to be me. I’m lighter than he is; it’s the basic process of elimination.
“What if you get hurt?”
Then it will save him from being hurt. While I appreciate him looking out for me, I get this a lot.
This … suffocating kind of protection. There might be some wires crossed between my brain and my mouth, and I might be scrawnier than him or Wilde, but it doesn’t mean I’m helpless.
I like people looking out for me; I don’t like being babied.
I stare Kennedy down until he lets go of the tire with a laugh. “Okay, okay. But if it breaks on you, I’m going to feel really bad.”
I can guarantee I’ll feel worse in that scenario.
I climb up onto the tire and then gesture for him to give me a push. I’ve never done this before, but I assume once he gives me a solid shove, all I have to do is let go once I’m over the water. I already know it’s deep enough.
“Ready?” he asks, pulling me back, but before Kennedy lets me go, he chokes out, “Goddamn, Ziggy.”
I glance down and find my ass in line with his face, but before I can ask—before I can even think to ask—anything else, he lets go.
My gut performs a painful somersault as I fly forward, and I’m still so focused on the moment I left behind that I almost forget to let go. My hands loosen on the rope, and I’m suspended for a freeing moment before I drop.
I plunge beneath the surface, cool water wrapping around me, and I fight the buoyancy to dive deeper, loving the coolness on my overheated skin. Under here, there’s no Kennedy, there’s no awkwardness, just murky water in every direction.
Until the muffled sound of another body breaking water comes, and a few seconds later, Kennedy appears.
He swims toward me, hair a fluffy cloud around his head, and doesn’t stop until he’s a foot or two away.
We blink at each other, and down here, we feel equal.
A world without words, just every emotion playing across our faces.
Kennedy drifts closer. Closer. At first, I assume it’s the current, but then his face is leaning in, his eyes close, and he … it kind of … I think he’s going to kiss me.
Nerves explode in my gut, and I know there’s no way it will happen, no way he’d want to, but he’s inches away and still moving into my space and—
He blows all his air out in a burst, bubbles exploding in my face, and I almost react before I remember I’m holding my breath.
I kick to the surface and suck in so much oxygen my vision goes wobbly for a second. Somehow, Kennedy made me forget I need oxygen to exist, and when he appears right after me, it’s easy to see why.
Kennedy is normally attractive.
With wet hair and the water reflecting off those eyes, he’s stunning.
“Your hair is everywhere,” he says, affection heavy in his tone.
He moves closer, and before I know what he’s doing, he pulls out my headband and runs a hand back over my hair.
The usual strands in my vision disappear before he tucks the rest behind my ears.
His hands linger, his eyes soft, and I wait for him to look his fill, hating the way I’m searching his eyes for approval.
Something in his gaze lights up. “I almost forgot there was a face under there.”
I cup my hands and send a barrage of water his way, putting distance between us as his laugh rings out through the cove.
“Let’s do that again!”
I take the headband back and wave him ahead, still reeling from how I thought he might kiss me and how desperately I wanted him to. It was a ridiculous thing to assume, stupid, useless, inconsiderate, so the disappointment kicking in shouldn’t be this intense.
I leave the water behind and lie back on my sunning rock, watching Kennedy take turn after turn on the swing. His enthusiasm for everything makes me smile, makes me happy, and I know I’ll never be larger than life in the way he is, but I don’t want to be.
Seeing him enjoy himself is enough.
It takes way too long for him to get over it, and once my briefs are dry, I grab my shirt and pull it back on to avoid being burned.
“I needed that,” he says, flopping back on the rock like a seal, droplets of water flinging everywhere. “We should do this again.”
I nod so he knows that I’d like that.
“I really love Wilde’s End,” he continues. “This place is the perfect example. It’s like a hidden paradise, and I bet there are so many other great spots like this one.”
Wilde’s End is as familiar to me as a city.
The trails are the streets, the trees are direction markers, and everywhere I go has a destination I’m traveling to.
I can understand why it’s all so fascinating and mysterious to Kennedy, but I doubt he’ll feel the same once the newness wears off.
I’m about to get up the courage to ask him when he continues.
“Maybe I’ll bring Hartwell here. He’s so determined to be negative about everything, but this place has to change his mind. He used to have fun—maybe this will remind him what that was like.”
What kind of fun? It’s a perfectly normal, average question that will keep the conversation going.
Something easy to start with. Something that will keep Kennedy interested in talking.
I repeat the line in my head, get familiar with it and how to make it sound.
I’m about to push the words out when he chuckles to himself.
“I bet there’d be something wrong with … I don’t know, the color of the water or … the sun being too hot.”
Like that, my chance to ask is gone. Frustration flickers in my chest. I want to be part of the conversation.
Normally, I love that Kennedy can carry it by himself.
It’s helped me get comfortable with him, taken the pressure out of spending time with him, but moments like this, where I want to be involved, it hurts to not get the chance.
I want it to make a difference that I’m here.
“Damn, the sun’s so warm,” he moans happily, stretching out.
Before I can agree, he continues. “I’m probably getting burned, and I don’t even care.
” Another short pause. “You know, the sky is my favorite thing in maybe the whole wide world.” Words are clawing at my throat.
“It’s so big, you know? Just covers everything.
Goes so far.” There’s another short gap, and as he opens his lips to continue, I lean over and cover his mouth with my hand.
His eyes fly wide in surprise, and I squeeze mine closed so I don’t get intimidated by his expression. I don’t want to see curiosity or worry or surprise or any of it.
I want to be involved.
I have so many questions stockpiled for Kennedy that I don’t even know which to start with. My hands are shaking, and somewhere deep in my soul, the wrong kinds of words echo, like scars that will never fade. Weird, loser, talk like a girl …
My deep inhale burns in my lungs, and I hold it for a moment before breathing out again.
I’m at the river. I’m with Kennedy.
He wouldn’t know the first thing about being mean.
Instead of asking a question about him, different words come. Ones that offer up a small piece of myself to him.
“I like … spending time … with you.”