In Place of Never (20 page)

“How is it?”

“Phenomenal.”

He tilted his head in concentration. “What are you thinking?”

I set the coffee in the grass beside the blanket. “I’m curious. What are you planning to use these boyfriend points for, exactly?”

He frowned. “To get out of trouble?”

“Why? Are you getting in trouble?”

Cross sat beside me. “I don’t know. I’ve never been a boyfriend before, not even a summer boyfriend. I might be horrible at this. What if I forget your birthday?”

I laughed. “You don’t know my birthday.”

His expression lightened. “Yes, I do. You were born July thirty-first.” He laughed at my expression. “I had your license, remember?”

“And you memorized my birthday?”

Worried eyes bore into mine. “Is that romantic or creepy?” Sincere concern wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “I live with a traveling sideshow. My concept of romantic may be skewed.”

Well, that made two of us. I’d brought him to the cemetery to meet my dead sister. Blades of ice sliced through my heart. I’d never get over the power of those words.
Dead sister
. Cross and I both had opposing communication issues. He always said whatever came to mind and I never could. I shook my head. “What if I was a jerk when you returned the wallet and we never saw each other again? You’d have memorized my birthday for nothing.”

“Nah.” He gathered a handful of grass clippings and piled them on the blanket at his side. “I knew when I saw you.”

I twisted to face him. “Knew what?”

He looked away. “I don’t know. Something.”

I stifled a dreamy sigh. “Your turn. When’s your birthday?”

“September first. I’ll be twenty.”

Twenty seemed a lot older than nineteen. “Wow.”

“Is that too old for you?”

He read me so easily.

“Well, I’ll be eighteen before you turn twenty. That helps.”

He crossed his ankles and locked his fingers around his knees. “Can I ask you something? I’m being nosy. I know I am, but usually I can guess. This time I can’t.”

“What?”

“You lost your mom right after you lost Faith.”

“Yeah?”

“You never mention your mom.”

Oh. I pulled the coffee into my lap. “I don’t know. I think I’m mad at her.” I peeked in his direction. The words felt right and honest on my tongue, though I’d never thought about it much before. “Mom left us. There was never any doubt about it. She took a ton of pills and went to bed. Pft. That implied she ever left her bed, which she didn’t after Faith died.” I chewed the giant red straw and slid my fingertips over the condensation on my cup. “Mom left Pru and me to fend for ourselves. Pru learned about sex from the Internet. Jeez. We were kids and she left us with Dad. We were torn and hurting and she left anyway.” I crushed the straw between my teeth. Emotion heated the pit of my stomach. “It pisses me off she could do that. Who does that?” I caught my voice climbing the rungs to crazy and pressed my lips shut. “I’m not ready to forgive her. I will. I know I have to. It’s the right thing to do, but I’m not there yet.”

One of Cross’s giant hands flopped over my shoulders. He tipped me into his side and kissed my head. “Fair enough.”

“Thanks for not thinking I’m a horrible person.”

I bounced against his chest as he chuckled. “You’re the least horrible person I’ve ever met. You know what else? You look happier today.”

“I am. For the first time in forever, I have a purpose. I want to know what happened on Faith’s last night here. Pru and I talked about it, and I’m not looking for something sinister. I’m enjoying the process. I liked hearing her friends say how much Faith meant to them. I like getting outside on my terms and being part of the town again before I leave. I feel stronger every time I leave home and make eye contact with someone I expect to taunt me. People are nicer than I imagined.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “You’re extremely likeable. It was only a matter of time before you remembered that. Anton thinks you’re beautiful, but too serious, though he admits that makes you perfect for me. He thinks Pru’s hilarious, and Pru thinks you’re the best thing since the Internet. As a bonus, she likes me because you do. I get the impression she’d stay away from me if it wasn’t for you.”

I bumped my weight against his side. “Anton thinks I’m beautiful?” The teasing tone of my voice made me laugh.

He snorted. “He’s not blind, but he is too old for you.”

“I keep attracting older men this summer.”

Cross pulled my legs across his lap. My feet rested on the other side of his body. “I can see you better now.”

A pair of squirrels rushed past us in the grass and disappeared, chattering up a neighboring tree.

I squeaked. “Good night!”

Cross squeezed my knees. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Paranoid.” I panted. “I’m seeing things. Shadows, lurkers, creeping stalking serial killers, the usual.”

He nodded. “Sure. Sure.” He peered into the distance. “Do you see the killer now?”

“Shut. Up.” I leaned back on my palms and stared at Cross, memorizing the contours of his face and the lines of muscle over his neck and down his arms. “I only see you now.”

He laughed. The low rumble tickled my heart and I laughed too.

I’d never wanted to live in one moment before, but sitting with Cross in the sun was close to perfection. I was safe, warm, and desired. The look in his eyes and the set of his jaw said so. He cared for me, for my safety and my future, enough to bring me coffee and meet my sister. In his presence, I was unjudged. Free to be me. Free to change or stay the same. Just free.

Above us, small white clouds lazed against the backdrop of a perfect blue sky. The sun floated higher, burning the final drops of dew off grass blades and flower petals. Speedboats towed squealing people on inner tubes across the river. “This is a good day.”

“Yep.”

I leaned forward, stretching a finger toward Cross’s neck. He sat expressionless and unmoving.

“May I?”

He nodded.

I traced my fingertips over the lines of ink. “Can I see the rest?”

I pulled my legs back, tucking both feet beneath me and rising onto my knees. Cross pulled the material of his shirt away from his neck with one hand, tugging the soft cotton until it revealed his collarbone.

The art was phenomenal. Maybe the best I’d ever seen. “Who did this?”

“Tom.”

“Tom? The grouchy guy?”

He chuckled. “Same one.”

An old map of the world covered Cross’s skin from collarbone to shoulder blade. Muted shades of sepia, blues, and greens filled the space, occasionally punctuated in red. Dotted lines marked longitude and latitude. A detailed black compass indicated the cardinal directions. Intricate gears and sprockets marked locations I couldn’t name. A blooming black rose lay against his collarbone. Thorny vines stretched and climbed the flesh of his neck to his ear.

I explored the warmth of each twisted line with my lips and he shivered. “I didn’t know these were vines.” Out of context, the ink on his neck resembled a pattern I’d seen before. I’d expected a tribal tattoo, barbed wire or flames. “His work is unbelievable. The tiny details. How long did this take?”

“A few passes. We’ve added to it over time.”

“The map is because you travel. What’s the red x?”

“Philadelphia.”

“That’s where you’re from. It’s where you met the Lovells, right?”

“And where my mom is.”

Right. I pulled in a tight breath. “Why don’t I remember this? You took your shirt off that night. The first night.”

Cross leaned forward. Gripping the hem of his shirt, he raised it over his head the way he had on our walk home. His elbows pointed skyward. The material hooked over his head, but once again I only saw his torso. The ink along his neck bunched in folds of muscles and shadow, becoming nothing more than lines. The map somehow lost its intensity when the whole of his body was there to see.

He flexed his chest and my heart leaped. “Don’t forget, it was dark and you were looking at my abs.”

I bit my lip. “Was not.”

He replaced his shirt, straightening it over his shoulders and waist. “Really? Not even a little? Abs don’t occur naturally, you know.”

I smiled. “Are you looking for compliments?”

“Not compliments, necessarily.” He grabbed my hips and towed me to him. “You could kiss my neck some more.”

I snickered. “Sorry about that. I got carried away. The ink looks so alive and inviting.”

He looked in the direction of St. Mary’s Campground. “Speaking of invitations. Should we start walking toward lunch?”

I stood and helped Cross shake grass off the blanket. “It was romantic of you to bring a blanket. Very thoughtful. Thank you.”

Cross stuffed the folded blanket into his bag and craned his neck, looking into the tree where the squirrels disappeared. “Could you climb this tree?”

I scoffed. “You know I can climb trees.”

He looked again. “Yeah, but this one’s tall and it doesn’t have steps nailed to it for cheating.”

My hands pressed over the narrow of my waist. “Excuse me? Are you calling me a girl?”

His lips twitched. “You are undoubtedly a girl. Don’t assume that’s an insult.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You turned that around on me.” I dusted my palms against my jeans and jumped for the lowest branch. I kicked my feet up and slipped them between my arms. “I’m a dedicated feminist.” I released my grip and swung by my knees.

Cross clapped. “Me too.”

The material of my blouse fell around my face and hair. I pulled it away. “I can’t see if you’re joking.”

The branch bounced. Cross appeared beside me, also upside down. “I’m not joking. I’m a feminist. I’m passionate about it, truthfully.”

“What are you doing upside down?” I laughed.

Cross gripped the branch and pushed his legs free in a flip. He landed on the ground and reached for me. “I think old country folk call that trick a skin-the-cat.”

I followed his example. “That’s true, but that wasn’t tree climbing.”

“No, but it was fun. I haven’t done that in years.” His eyes twinkled. He ran heavy hands through dark bangs, shoving hair away from his forehead.

He was so unusual. Was my worldview too small, or had I met an extraordinary guy? Were there more like him in Tennessee? Would I meet them this fall? The idea seemed surreal. Impossible. “You read minds, write songs, and flip out of trees. What else can you do?”

An impish grin changed his features, making him appear younger. Why couldn’t I read his mind?

Cross took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “This.” He kissed my knuckles.

I suppressed a swoon. “Okay. You know I climb trees because I’m a country girl, but where’d you learn to skin-the-cat?”

“Playground.”

I laughed. “Playground? Man, you’re downplaying my skills.”

He smiled, sharing his dimple with me more every minute. “Tell me something else, country girl. What else can you do?”

My mind raced. A list of things I hadn’t thought of in forever raced past my lips. “I can run, swim, dive, catch fish, cartwheel, backflip, sing, and I’m kind of a smart ass, or at least I was.”

“You sing?” His inquisitive stare worried me.

Time stopped. Humility burnt my cheeks. “Not like you. I sang in the church choir when I was younger, but that was nothing like what you do, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He pulled the little silver lip ring between his teeth and released. “We’ll see.”

My chin swung left and right. “Ha. No, we won’t.”

Cross tugged my arm and we moved, hand in hand, toward the campground.

“What else can you do?” I asked.

“I’ve lived with a Roma traveling sideshow family for three years. I can do all sorts of things no one wants for their resume. If I don’t leave soon, I’ll never get a regular job and I’ll have to travel forever.”

“What sorts of things?”

He rolled his eyes and smirked. “I can get anywhere in the country without GPS. I can play cards, arm wrestle, bench press my weight, tell what you’re thinking, backflip, twirl fire, cook for twelve, and teach a dog to dance.”

“You cook?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I tell you I backflip and twirl fire, and it’s the cooking that gets your attention?”

I pressed my nose to his arm as we walked and smiled against his sleeve. “Yeah, well, anyone can twirl fire.” The scent of his cologne warmed me.

“Would you like to help me with my song for this week?”

“Oh, no. I can’t. Wait. What do you mean? No. I can’t.”

Cross laughed and turned to face me, walking backward through the field, our linked hands stretching between us. “I need someone to advise me. Words are hard for me, and I don’t want to ruin this week’s song with my complete mental disability. I need honest feedback and maybe some input. Sometimes I mean well and still say the wrong thing.”

I stopped walking. “Your song last week was beautiful. Every word was perfect. You’re far too hard on yourself. You have a talent, Will. Making people feel something is a gift. You should trust it.” My heart thumped. I’d called him Will. I hadn’t meant to. On stage, he didn’t look like the brooding member of a traveling sideshow. He looked like a singer. Like a regular guy pouring his soul out to an audience who understood him. On stage, his Lovell nickname didn’t work.

The smile in Cross’s eyes faded. “Will?”

I opened my mouth and lost the words. “When you sing, you aren’t Cross. You’re…something more. Something real.”

He closed the space to me in two short strides and lifted me by my hips until our lips lined up. “You see something else when you look at me?”

I nodded. A rush of emotion overcame me. Zero words.

His sweet breath washed over my lips. “I don’t know how I found you, but a few weeks isn’t long enough to keep you.” Passion burned in the words.

I wrapped my legs around his back to help him bear the weight, though he held me as if I weighed nothing. A shudder pounded through his chest.

Cross turned us around and walked into the smattering of trees outside camp, carrying me against his chest. Our bodies lined up perfectly. The friction between us increased with his every heavy footfall. He lowered his lips to my ear. “We’re going to be late for lunch.”