Wild Summer (11 page)

At twelve she was small for her age, but her features echoed Summer’s in every other way. If she was older, they could have been twins.

Crash smiled and crouched down.
I remember you too. Are you hungry? Want me to go get you something to eat?
Although she had signed to him, he wondered how much she would understand. But she was watching him so carefully, he guessed she knew quite a bit. He was sure Summer was the one to have taught her.

Stay here,
Sky signed.
I don’t want to go back there. I want to stay here with you.
That last comment seemed directed at Summer.

Summer put the phone down. “What happened?” he asked Sky.

I missed home,
Sky signed and started crying again. Her face crumpled as Summer held her tight.

“You don’t get to just run away when you feel like it. Do you know how worried I’ve been? We’ve been…,”
he added, giving Crash a puzzled frown. “Thank you,” he continued, holding Crash’s gaze. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“What? Worried?” Crash shrugged, perplexed. “I’m just glad Sky is okay.” That was all that mattered right now, wasn’t it?

Feeling redundant and wanting to give them some privacy, Crash went downstairs to look for the kitchen. It wasn’t a big house, and there were only two rooms downstairs: a stale and dingy living room with thin curtains drawn over the window and the tiny kitchenette at the back.

A quick search of the cupboards provided him with a couple of tea bags but no milk. Crash lit the gas hob anyway and boiled a pan of water, hoping the gas hadn’t been cut off like the electricity had. Thankfully, it held out. Black tea wasn’t his favorite drink, but he made it anyway. Having something to do distracted him. He poured a cup for Summer and went to take it upstairs. But Summer was on his way down, carrying Sky in his arms, her eyes closed, her limbs hanging loosely.

“She’s tired out. I’m going to lie her down on one of the sofas down here.”

The brown half-collapsed sofas were the only pieces of furniture that remained in the house as far as Crash could tell.

“You disappeared,” Summer said, coming through into the kitchen. Crash handed him the cup of tea and leaned back against the work surface. The room darkened as the sun disappeared behind a cloud.

Summer looked uncomfortable.
Thought you’d gone,
he signed after putting the tea down.

Crash looked away, through the chintzy net curtains to the dying day beyond, wondering if Summer wanted him to go. “Estella will suggest Sky go back.”

I know,
Summer signed, moving into Crash’s space, standing so close it would be so easy to close the gap between them.
I’ve talked to Sky. Told her how worried I was. I don’t think she’ll run again. The foster people she’s with don’t seem so bad. They were a bit wary of me at first, but they were the ones who told me she was missing. They have a nice house, and they’re kind to her. I just wish she could stay with me.

The wistful look on his face made Crash’s heart hurt for him.

Hesitantly, Summer brushed his thumb against Crash’s cheek, the touch so tender it paralyzed all thought or response. “Thank you again,” he mouthed, quickly stepping away to pick up his tea, his face hidden behind the mug as he drank.

“What now?” Crash asked, feeling his voice do something weird as he spoke.

Summer just looked at him, his knuckles tightening around the handle of the mug. All at once the atmosphere felt spiked with electricity.

“I should call Ren,” Summer said finally.

Ren who treated Summer like shit. Ren who’d done nothing to help find Sky. Ren who wasn’t
here.

The words were like a punch to Crash’s gut, knocking all the air out of him. His phone had become so heavy in his pocket, it took all his strength to hold it out. But he did hold it out, because however much he felt, this wasn’t about him. This was about Summer and Sky.

Summer stared at him a while longer before taking it, and Crash hated that he couldn’t disguise his emotions better. He hated not being able to pretend this was okay. He hated not being able to pretend he wasn’t hurt. But the way Summer was looking at him made him think there was something else going on here, something he couldn’t quite grasp, like a question he didn’t know the answer to, but he should. It was as if it Summer expected that
he should
.

Summer turned away to make the call and, with stones in his chest, Crash went into the living room to sit with Sky. She was sleeping peacefully, her face clear of worry. It was how it should be.

The day darkened beyond the window. Black clouds rolled across the horizon. A storm was coming.

Half an hour passed, and the wind was picking up when Summer answered the door to a young woman Crash guessed was the social worker. He didn’t meet Summer’s gaze as the three of them stood in the hall. Summer explained that Sky was sleeping and every so often turned his head to glance at Crash.

When Summer led the social worker through to the kitchen, Crash stared at the open front door. He thought about closing it, but then found himself outside on the pathway just as it started to rain. The cloud was as gray as the wet ground. The air tasted metallic.

The stress of the day weighed heavy, and the desire to run suddenly took over.

Crash didn’t know where it came from. He just needed to go, to move, to stop thinking. Gently he tugged the door closed behind him and sprinted off across the grass, not caring where he was running to, not caring that Summer had his phone. He just needed to outrun his aching heart, to stop trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to do about his feelings, and leave them all behind him.

I
T
WAS
a wild summer storm Crash ran into. The rain that had begun so gently at first began to hammer down so hard, he could hardly see as he reached the cliffs above the sea. And he ran quicker and quicker until, almost blinded, he leaped over the sea wall and skidded down the muddy cliff face. It was a stupid, reckless move, but only once he slipped and fell flat on his back did he stop and stare up at the fragmented sky, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Perhaps he should work on trying to forget all this, to fucking well get over it. But it would never work—he wanted to be Summer’s friend, even if watching Summer go back to Ren, however badly or carelessly he was treated, was destroying him. He wanted to be there for him, because all these years he hadn’t been, and maybe things would have been different if he had. Summer had no one else.

This was what his heart told him he had to do, and this time he wouldn’t let Summer push him away, however hard it got to stay.

The rain hammering onto his chest seemed to strengthen his resolve—he was alive, and he wouldn’t waste his life forever feeling guilty for his mistakes. If he’d gotten over this once, he could do it again. He could move on, and they
could
be friends like he and Romeo had become. He would be strong. He
was
strong.

Only you haven’t got over it, have you?
a little voice reminded him.

Why the fuck was love so complicated?

There was movement farther up the cliff, and it wasn’t just the rain. Crash turned his head, just about able to make out a blue-haired figure slipping in the mud and gingerly attempting to pick his way down the cliff face.

Crash sat up, brushing his sopping-wet hair out of his eyes. He couldn’t look up for more than a second without getting blinded by water. The rain was warm but relentless, the sky nothing but gray. He wasn’t sure if it was elation that made everything look brighter and berated himself for feeling it if it was.

Summer saw him and looked relieved. Unhappy but relieved.

We need to talk,
Summer signed when he reached the flattened grass where Crash had fallen. He flopped down in the mud and bumped his shoulder against Crash’s.
I was a dick to you back there. You should have called me out on it.

Crash frowned. He wasn’t sure what Summer was talking about.

I wanted you to,
Summer carried on signing.

Wanted me to what?

Summer brought his lip ring between his teeth and stared at the ground.
I didn’t want you to give me your phone back there.
He paused, running a hand through his hair.
I can’t stop thinking about you. And these past few weeks have been hell. I’m such a mess, and I can’t believe you’re here. But you came when I called, and I kept telling myself you should hate me. Why the fuck would you want anything to do with me? I’m not fucking worth it. But here you are, and I need to have it out with you one way or another. I have to know.

“Have it out with me?” Crash echoed, still stuck on the “I can’t stop thinking about you
”
part. His hands pulled at the tough sticky grass, liking how it felt as it ran through his fingers, disguising the fact he was shaking too much to sign.

When people argue they tend to be more honest.

“I don’t want to argue with you.”

I know. I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget that not everyone wants to fight
.

Summer glanced up at the sea wall. He tried to make it look natural, but Crash could tell he was looking out for someone. He looked away guiltily when Crash caught his eye.

I didn’t phone Ren.

And now you’re worried he might see you here with me.
Crash sighed. He didn’t like playing games. He liked people to be straight with him. Saying something to get a reaction was likely to piss him off. Not that he was pissed off with Summer—mostly he felt confused. Perhaps not being straight with people and playing games was the only way Summer had survived.

Only because I don’t want him to hurt you.

I can stand up for myself….
For both of us.
Is there no way down to the beach anymore?

It probably wasn’t a great idea to go climbing down a muddy cliff face that had half fallen into the rock-strewn sea, but swimming in the rainy water, Summer by his side, like they had all those years ago, seemed like a pretty good idea right then. Even if it was mostly because Summer wanted to talk, and Crash didn’t know what to say.

Maybe, if we go farther along.
Summer got up and held out his hand.
We might kill ourselves getting down there, though.

Crash took his hand, gripping it tight as they wound their way across the cliff much farther than they had gone before. Thin rivulets of water ran down the back of Summer’s neck, disappearing into his T-shirt. The thin fabric stuck to his back, outlining every vertebra, every muscle flex as he moved—and Crash loved the way he moved.

“If we stick to the rocks here, we should be able to climb down,” Summer said after turning around.

Glancing at the descent, Crash calculated the easiest route. It was steep, not impossible, but the rain made it more dangerous than it would have been otherwise.

“I’ll go first. Follow me,” Crash said, stepping onto the rocks before Summer could respond.

It was clear that although he was light and agile, Summer was not a climber, and Crash spent the whole descent with his gut in a knot as he kept a close eye on what Summer was doing and instructed him every so often where to put his hands and feet lest he slip and fall. He was relieved when they finally reached the stony beach.

It was the same beach they’d wandered across the rocks to four years ago. Crash felt a stray echo of himself still there, of how he’d worried about how they’d get back and how self-conscious he’d felt about swimming naked in the sea. Things he didn’t worry about now.

With his hands on his hips, and his blue hair hanging in his eyes, Summer stared out to sea. The waves were choppy but not rough, and far out along the distant horizon, there was a line of brightness—the edge of the cloud.

Crash hesitated for a moment and then thought
fuck it,
and he pulled off his soaked T-shirt and shoved down his trousers and underwear. He was going swimming.

He could feel Summer’s gaze like sparks along his naked skin as he waded into the sea. The water was freezing, making it hard to breathe, but he bit his lip and submerged himself in it. Not letting himself look back once to see if Summer had followed him, he swam out just far enough that he could touch the bottom. When he turned toward the beach, Summer was knee-deep and shivering, his clothes discarded with Crash’s on the beach behind him. His expression seemed to wryly acknowledge the role reversal of when they had done this before.

The sight of Summer standing there naked—muscles tense beneath honeyed skin, his cock lengthened, half turned on—was beautiful, and Crash could do nothing but stare.

Summer liked to be looked at. Crash had figured that out early on. And whether it was a self-confidence thing or not, Crash wanted to look.

You don’t want to talk, you want to go swimming,
Summer signed ruefully.

Crash swallowed. His skin felt electrified, hypersensitive, the cold forgotten. He shook his head, water running down his face. “I don’t know what to say.”

No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew exactly what he
wanted
to say, but it just wasn’t helpful. Summer was in a relationship. He had to respect that, despite whatever had happened between them in the past.

But he could have this—this moment, this stunning naked boy before him.

The rain got heavier, even though the sky was lightening around them, the cloud retreating. Slowly Summer lowered himself into the water and swam toward Crash, circling him, his eyes large and watchful.

“No one else?” Summer asked.

It took Crash a moment to figure out that Summer was responding to what he’d said earlier at the train station—that there had been no one else for him.

“No one.” Crash lowered his eyes self-consciously as he spoke.

“Why not? You’re gorgeous. And I’m not all that. I’m skinny and short with a big mouth and weird-colored eyes,” Summer said, a challenge in his expression.