When we get to our neighborhood, I park the bike by home, then we walk across the street to Xave’s small, one-level rambler house. We pass the large trees in the front yard, walk to the back and climb through his bedroom window as we always do, except this time it feels very different. Secret and exciting, right and wrong, all at the same time. We’ve both been so busy in the past few weeks that we’ve barely had time to see each other, much less be alone.
At school, he’s a year ahead of me, so we don’t share any classes. And afterward, he spends most of his free time with the IgNiTe crew, mainly helping Rheema on all sorts of mechanical duties, like keeping the surveillance van running smoothly, customizing engines for higher torque and improving James’s already souped-up, expensive cars. Something Xave enjoys more than he’s willing to admit to me, since I don’t get to be part of anything—not even the most mundane hacking chores that Aydan would consider beneath him.
I go in first. Xave follows. I stand in the middle of the room, looking around, drinking in every detail of my boyfriend’s bedroom. It still feels good and new to say my boyfriend. The one good thing about being kicked out of IgNiTe is that I don’t have to invent an excuse for hiding our relationship from the crew. The truth is, at The Tank, we couldn’t have acted like a couple, and any reasons for secrecy I could have offered Xave would have been nothing but more lies.
If only I could create a world where neon signs flashed our names within big hearts and no one would disapprove. If only I could tell Xave the truth and not lose his love. Too often Kristen’s words echo inside my head. She told me our relationship was a bad idea, asked me what Xave would think if he found out what I truly am, said that being with him would endanger IgNiTe and the trust among Symbiot and non-Symbiot members, assured me that a relationship based on lies was nothing but doomed.
Her words swirl so much inside my head that I’m always thinking of comebacks, things I should have said to challenge her negativity. Most of all, I wish I could have recognized the hypocrisy in her words, wish I had asked her to be honest about whatever she has going on with James.
Xave’s bed is unmade; his bedside lamp is on, casting its glow on the olive green walls. There are a few library books on his desk—Holley Carburetor Manual, The Classic Indian Motorcycle, Muscle Car Source Book—and a huge tilting stack of Motorcycle Mechanics magazines by his scuffed night table. He stands behind me, pulls my jacket off and throws it on his cluttered desk chair on top of a red metal toolbox. He sheds his hoodie and tosses it on top of my jacket.
Gently, he gathers my hair to one side and kisses my neck, nibbling up and down until my head is thrown back against his chest.
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he draws me close. “This is great. Just us.”
“Yeah, it is.”
He makes me turn and face him. His eyes search mine as if I hold a treasure he deeply desires. He fiddles with my hair, brushing it away from my forehead and tucking it behind my ear.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
I smile, feeling anything but beautiful. The only person to ever call me that was Dad, so it’s been a while since I heard it. I guess I stopped believing it. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I know so.”
His mouth inches toward mine. When he’s millimeters away, he pulls back and lays a small peck on the corner of my mouth. My stomach drops in disappointment. He’s toying with me. Well, he’s about to find out he’s not the only one capable of torture.
I slip my hands under his t-shirt and run my fingers over his solid abdomen. Xave sucks in a breath and looks at me in surprise. He lowers his mouth to mine, but I dodge him and leave a trail of moist kisses along his jaw, sliding my hands toward his back, then letting them travel the length of his spine.
“You,” he says in a breathy, accusatory voice.
Suddenly, Xave pushes me onto the bed and lands on top of me. Something pokes my ass. I reach back and find the sturdy motorcycle gauntlets I gave him for his birthday. I toss them aside. Before I can evade him again, he captures my mouth in his and kisses me like never before. His lips move with abandonment and confidence. There’s no one here to snoop or judge and that seems to make all the difference. I never knew he was holding so much back, keeping so much passion locked inside of him. But it’s free now. Free and tumbling all over me, stirring my own desire and making me feel alive.
His hands find their way under my shirt. I squirm with the intensity of the sensations that keep growing within me, as if I’ve always lived folded into a little square and I’m finally getting to be as expansive as I’m meant to be.
I pull the t-shirt over his head and fling it across the bed. He props himself up with his left hand and looks at me in surprise. It’s like he can’t believe I have this in me, but he has no idea what he has awakened. A sexy, lopsided smile slowly materializes on his face. His eyes search mine, then flick to his watch in the most shameless way.
I open my mouth to ask why the hell he keeps checking the time, but he gives me no chance. He lowers himself and kisses me again, catching my hands between his chest and mine. All thoughts go out the window as the solidity of him assaults me. He’s all muscle and ridges and warmth. And I had no idea I could be such a fool for a nice set of pecs and washboard abs. I want to memorize his exact shape, every dip and rise of his beautiful torso.
His hands tentatively push my shirt up, exposing my abdomen. He stops to check if it’s all right, if he can go on. My eyes scream “yes,” so he removes it, tosses it aside and allows himself a leisurely look down my chest, a look that might as well be a match on my very, very flammable skin.
We go back to kissing, but my attention is now someplace else, specifically, on the way our agitated breaths make our heated chests move against each other, pushing gently together then moving away just to return faster than before, fiercer than ever.
Xave lets his fingers memorize me, the same way I’m memorizing him. He explores my shoulders, my stomach, my back, but especially the skin around the outline of my bra. When he boldly begins to trace kisses down the length of one of the straps, my heart stops, frozen with expectation. As he ventures lower and lower, I gasp, overwhelmed by his daring, his skill, his gentleness.
He stops. “I—I’m sorry.” His breaths are fast, out of control. “Please don’t get mad at me.”
“Mad?” I say dumbly. Who told him I was mad? Is he insane? I’ve never been happier. Well, maybe happy isn’t the word, but I’ve never been this, whatever it is. And I like it. A lot.
“I shouldn’t. I promised myself to take it slow, but I … I want you. Can’t seem to think of anything else but …”
He wants me. He thinks I’m beautiful. And just like that he boosts my ego and makes me feel feminine. I’ve always been such a tomboy that, more than once, I’ve wondered if a boy could be seriously attracted to me. Now Xave has left me no doubt.
A moment later, the rest of his words register. He promised himself to take it slow. Why? I don’t want him to take it slow. Slow is all it’s ever been for me in the relationship department. I want to go on the fast lane; the Autobahn is nothing compared to the speed I’m thinking of. Call me whatever you want, but I’m ready. Ready because my body is telling me so, because life doesn’t have the same leisurely shape it used to, because everything feels askew and finite, the way it must feel to a terminal patient.
“I want you, too,” I say, because I need him to know I’m ready—not that he wouldn’t be able to tell. I imagine I’ve made myself pretty clear.
He growls and rolls to the side, taking me with him so I end up on top of him. “You’re killing me.”
I trace a pattern on his chest with my fingernail. He shivers. “You don’t … have to take it slow.” Unable to keep eye contact, I let my gaze wander about the room. I focus on the red Ford Mustang Boss poster taped over his bed.
Xave sits up and rests his head on my chest. Now it’s my turn to shiver. “I do.”
“No, you don’t. Maybe a few months ago I would’ve agreed, but not now. Not with all that’s going on.”
“I hate thinking that way.” His voice goes low.
“Me, too. But I can’t help it. Sometimes I feel I have an expiration date and it’s not that far off. I think the Quick Mart would have me at a discount already.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it.” The mood has shifted. My shoulders feel heavy again—the way they do most of the time nowadays.
“Well, you seem mighty fresh to me.” He squeezes my sides and takes in my scent. “God! Your scent both drives me crazy and grounds me. It feels new and exciting and, at the same time, comfortable and familiar. I love it.”
His breath is warm on my skin as he exhales. I hold him tight. His words resonate inside of me, because I know exactly what he means. I feel the same way. We stay still for a long moment.
When we pull apart, his gaze drifts to the alarm clock. “Oh shit!”
“What?”
“I—I … there’s this thing. Um, I have to—”
I push away and stand. “No need to lie, Xave. I know perfectly well what’s going on. You’ve been checking your watch all night.” I pick up my shirt, suddenly feeling quite cold and bare. I slip it on, trying not to appear rejected. I understand the state of things too well to blame him for bringing me here even when there isn’t enough time to dawdle in each other’s arms for hours. He’s just trying to make the best of what little time we’re allowed to have to ourselves.
Xave rubs his forehead with a sigh. “Clark is picking me up in a few minutes. We’re going to check out this place.” He also snatches his t-shirt and puts it on. My mouth goes dry with disappointment.
“This sucks.” I slump on the bed. “When is James going to stop punishing me? I’m sick of this. I want to help. I want to go with you.”
“He’ll change his mind. Though I kinda like it this way,” Xave says in a furtive tone.
I give him a dirty look.
“Well, I like knowing you’re safe.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit. Don’t give me that crap. I can take care of myself better than you can. And what? You think I don’t worry about you? Think I don’t wanna be there to save your sorry ass in case you need it?” If he knew the half of it, he wouldn’t patronize me this way.
“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much. I’m not the one who screams at the sight of half-baked Eklyptors.”
What the hell? That happened only once, and it was the very first time I saw one. Besides he has no idea what it feels like to discover you’re a monster. I punch him in the arm, a nice jab with a lot of bite.
“Ow! Why are you getting violent?” He rubs the spot and tries not to laugh.
“This is funny to you?” I want to stay mad, but I can’t.
This isn’t his fault. If James kicked him out, I would be relieved, too. I don’t want him to go out there and risk his life, but it’s not like we have a choice. Someone has to stop this horror, this latent doom that could be the end of us all. And lately, with my head buzzing wherever I go; with factions clamming Seattle, carving it in sections like an orange; with violent crimes and missing person reports on the rise, I know everyone should be fighting. I don’t think it’s something IgNiTe can keep under control by itself, no matter how many cells they have around the world. They’ve tried to contain it, to eradicate it before it becomes public, before chaos ensues, but it hasn’t been enough. Because not even James knows how widespread the infection is and how many levels of society they have infiltrated, including the top ones, especially the top ones.
They’ve sabotaged us and, now, fighting for survival is left up to people like Xave—a boy whose only dream was to fix broken things, to love a girl who loved him back, and have a normal family with no superhero names.
So he has to go. He has to be wherever Clark is taking him, dangerous or not.
My anger drains. He sees it and walks to me, arms outstretched, ready to receive me. I take a step forward, into him, and let all that he is, strong and tender, gather me against him.
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t take it out on you,” I say. “I should kick James’s ass. That’s what I should do.”
He smooths the hair down my back. “I think I’d like to see that. Sometimes he can be such a pain in the butt. It’ll be fine. After this, maybe we can take a break, do something nice. How about a date? You could wear a pretty dress and we could go out to dinner to a nice place.”
“Sounds good, except for the dress part.”
He chuckles. I rest my head on Xave’s chest and concentrate on his heartbeat. It’s strong and even and, I’d like to think, partly mine. Because I can command it. I’ve made it go fast, real fast. And I’ve soothed it, too, made it beat in sync with mine.
“Be careful,” I say.
“I will be. The crew has each other’s backs. Clark is pretty annoying, acting like my babysitter half the time.”
I know it must kill him to say this—proud male that he is—but he’s doing it for my sake, to make me feel better about him going off into the night to fight misshapen humans. He’s doing it to remind me that he’s not alone and has the rest of the crew.
And he’s not. I’m here for him, and he’s here for me, too. More than ever. Because with the way things are at home—Mom lovesick with her son and Luke cooling off on his initial hey-look-I-have-a-mom notion—and with James kicking me out of IgNiTe, Xave is the only solid thing left in my life.
The realization hits me with its veracity.
I knew this. I did. I’ve thought about it plenty of times. I just didn’t want to believe it. I want to think there’s hope for my family, but Mom’s newfound awareness could come to an end at any minute. Maybe it’s too late for a second chance with Mom and the twin brother who should have grown up alongside me. I also wanted to fight next to IgNiTe, wanted to make a difference, but that’s gone, now.
So all I really have is Xave and he’s mine in a way no one’s ever been—in the same way I’m his. And nobody, nobody, should have a say in that. Nobody should be allowed to keep me away from him, especially those who don’t give a damn whether I die in an alley unable to defend myself or whether I live trapped in my own head while a parasite morphs my body into “The Fly” or something equally disgusting.
I hold him tight, so tight that he gives a little exhale. He squeezes me back and I know he feels it, this need to be one, to be with each other at all times, ensuring nothing bad happens.
“Xave,” I say. “I—”
“Shh, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I promise. You know we have to do this. There’s no choice.” His warm breath tangles with my hair. His chest rumbles with the intensity of his words, with the zeal spilling from his lips.
“We can get through this. Promise,” he adds. “We’re strong. You’re strong. More than anyone I know. And I’m so glad for that ’cause—even though I worry about you—I know you can take care of yourself, no matter what.” He kisses my cheek and pulls away. His fingers trace a line down my jaw. “I’m so proud of you, for that and for so much more.” Something glints in his eyes. “Marci, I …”
He trails off and his expression changes and I’m reminded of Xave, the child, before his features sharpened and his voice deepened, before the tough exterior closed him off and made him into the man he’s supposed to be. He’s open, so open, that I know exactly what he’s about to say. And I want to hear it. And I don’t.
My heart beats in a wild pattern. Air knots itself in my throat. My cheeks flash with a strange heat. I can’t even remember the last time someone said those three words to me, and—for some stupid reason—I’m scared and full of shame. Why is it so hard to give yourself fully?
Without making a conscious decision, I push on my tiptoes and press a silencing kiss to his lips. For a second, he doesn’t kiss me back. And, then, the moment is gone and his lips move against mine, telling me without words what they meant to spell out.
Relief and regret mix in my chest. I want so badly to hear him say it. I want so badly to say it back. But I think each day I’ll grow a little more and, soon, there’ll be nothing to stop me.