Fortitude Smashed Page 21

  The anger making waves on Shannon’s face gave way to sadness, or perhaps pity. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “She does, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” Aiden said quickly. He smiled, forced and thin. It was difficult trying to fabricate sympathy for a woman who was the human embodiment of everything Aiden despised.

  “I don’t want to hurt her, Aiden.” Shannon wrung his hands. His tenderness for other people, even people like Chelsea, was one of the traits Aiden loved most about him and envied. “What do I say? ‘I’ll always care for you as a friend? Your Rose Road will change everything?’”

  “You’re asking me to help you with sentiment?”

  “Horrible,” Shannon repeated. The soreness faded from his voice. He sighed and prodded Aiden in the chest with his index finger. “You, me, we’re horrible.” Aiden smiled, and pressed his lips back against Shannon’s when he stole a kiss. “And gross. Help me with this.”

  They piled the sheets, comforter, and frilly pillows into a laundry basket that Chelsea had left outside the door. They made their way down the stairs. Hissed chatter died as they walked through the living room to the front door. Chelsea and her three-piece squad of plastic friends eyed them as they crossed the open entryway that led to the kitchen. They all had different shades of yellow hair, Chelsea’s being the least offensive, and they looked Aiden up and down with their noses high in the air.

  “Leaving?” Chelsea asked.

  “Yeah, we have to get to church, actually.”

  “I bet you do,” she said and gave one enthusiastic nod. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were glaciers.

  Aiden cleared his throat. He touched Shannon’s wrist and murmured, “I’ll be in the truck.” It was best he left, he knew that. But Shannon’s face dropped, and he snatched Aiden’s hand, wordlessly asking him to stay. Aiden shook his head. “Shannon,” he flicked his gaze to Chelsea, “go talk to your friend. I’ll wait.”

  Chelsea also cleared her throat. A resounding hum from her trio of pet vultures followed.

  Aiden opened the door.

  “Oh, Aiden!” Chelsea called. The cheeky tone of her voice cracked through her forged smile. He glanced over his shoulder. An unlit cigarette drooped from his lips. “It was such a pleasure meeting you! I’m sure we’ll see each other again real soon.”

  Aiden winked. “It was a pleasure, wasn’t it?”

  He heard Shannon curse as the door shut behind him.

  Aiden laughed all the way to the truck.

  00:00

  Shannon rubbed a hand over his freshly shaven face. The reflection was someone he faintly recognized, someone he’d left behind. His eyes were deeper, mouth quieter, brow tenser, older and younger at once.

  “You could’ve tried being nice, Aiden! We desecrated her safe space; you littered in her backyard. We deserved her… temper, I guess,” he said, loud enough that Aiden would hear him across the hall.

  “How did you ever stand dating her?” Aiden called from the bedroom.

  Shannon rolled his eyes. “It was high school. We had classes together and shared a group of friends. She was sweet and kind and classic, I guess. Still is, you know. She has her faults, but Chelsea’s a good girl.” He buttoned his cuffs, smoothed the front of his shirt, and centered his necklace. Tan pants, pressed and hemmed, felt strange without the weight of his badge.

  “I was nice, by the way. Sorry your shitty ex is a hyena, but it’s not my fault she’s still got it bad for you. Her jealousy isn’t my fucking problem.”

  “I never said it was!” Shannon stomped across the hall. “But I think you could’ve at least…”

  Aiden stood by the bed. He glanced over his shoulder. A crimson shirt covered his upper half, fitted and tucked into black pants—no holes in the knees, no muscle tee or tank. A black tie was knotted intricately in a way that unearthed one of Aiden’s secrets: He knew how to properly wear a tie. Another revealed secret was a decent pair of shoes. But his greatest secret was in the angles of his face, the nooks and crevices that could nick a finger. Aiden sharpened further in elegance than he did in comfort, transforming from a cluster of knives into an intricate collection of stealth weapons, unsheathed, black-handled, and poised—as much a work of art as blood was paint at a murder scene.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. All sarcasm and impatience, he sighed. “I could’ve what, Shannon?”

  “You could’ve nothing. You’re right. She was jealous, and I don’t blame her. You’re a frightening thing for her, Aiden Maar.”

  Thin lips spread into a smile. Its gentleness betrayed his claws and darkness, rare and poignant. He either believed Shannon, or he didn’t. Perhaps that was his greatest secret. “Why’s that, Wurther?”

  Shannon closed the distance between them in two long strides. He flicked Aiden’s black tie, caught a glimpse of silver chain beneath his collar, and tugged on a belt loop. Aiden stared at Shannon as his gentle smile turned clever and coy. He lifted his head when Shannon brushed his jaw with the tips of his fingers.

  “Because you’re one thing she will never compare to,” he mumbled. Aiden’s eyebrows rose. His tongue darted out to taste the pad of Shannon’s thumb before he snatched it between his teeth.

  “Eleven forty-five,” Aiden said around his thumb.

  Shannon wanted to feel the warmth of Aiden’s mouth. “What?”

  “It’s eleven forty-five. Church, dumbass.”

  He pulled his hand back. Amusement ran rampant on Aiden’s face. Shannon floundered to regain his composure, stepped away, and grabbed the truck keys off the dresser. “Church, yes, yeah. Let’s try not to be horrible, all right?”

  A laugh, as gentle as his fleeting smile, and Aiden said, “All right.”

  “All right,” Shannon echoed.

  29

  Six years.

  Aiden hadn’t stepped inside a church in six years.

  Forcing his legs to move, counting each step, he followed Shannon, Loraine, and Lloyd. It was a dark building, with stereotypically high ceilings, stained glass, and tall steeples. Four steps led to the two front doors. Six rows in, right in the middle of the pews, flowers, crosses, and holy water, they sat down. The pew was cold against Aiden’s legs. Vulnerability gnawed on his thoughts and nibbled the back of his neck.

  Six years. Six years. Six years.

  Marcus’ arm around his shoulder; his voice, soft and waterlogged.

  We’re gonna be okay, me and you.

  The smell of lilies and baby’s breath, salt and burnt out candles.

  I’m gonna take care of you, and you’re gonna take care of me. We’re gonna make them proud.

  Hands on Aiden’s face, his shoulders, his arms; people he hadn’t seen in years, shadows he didn’t recognize.

  If you need anything at all, Aiden, you let us know.

  A priest making the sign of the cross over two beautifully crafted closed caskets.

  They will be missed.

  Marcus tugging Aiden’s face into his shoulder, a shield.

  You can cry, you can cry, you can cry.

  “Aiden?” Shannon set his hand gently on Aiden’s thigh. He flinched. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Aiden put one word in front of the next. He counted the syllables before they slipped through his lips. Breathe, inhale, hold it. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he whispered, exhaling.

  “You’re not.”

  “I am,” Aiden snapped. He didn’t brush Shannon away. He slid closer and took Shannon’s hand in his own.

  Shannon’s thumb swept across his wrist and pressed down. “Your heart’s racing.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “We can go outside.”

  The pastor adjusted the microphone. He said, “Happy New Year, everyone.”

  Now in the kingdom of Heaven.

  “We’re gathered here tod
ay to celebrate a new spring, a new summer, a new fall and winter, the turning of the clock, a new beginning.”

  A celebration of life.

  “God has a plan for every one of us, and this year it’s up to us as a community to see our plans to fruition. We must allow his guiding light to illuminate our path, and take shelter in the protection he provides.”

  Sasha and Christopher haven’t left us behind; they’ve moved on to greater things and together they will look down upon us and smile.

  Aiden’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He jolted, finding his hand empty and shaking against his thigh. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.

  Shannon Wurther 1/1 12:10 p.m.

  Deep breaths

  Aiden Maar 1/1 12:10 p.m.

  i cant breathe

  Shannon Wurther 1/1 12:12 p.m.

  Yes you can. Count them

  One. Aiden inhaled. Two. It burned his lungs. Three. Aiden exhaled.

  Shannon Wurther 1/1 12:13 p.m.

  you should have told me

  Aiden Maar 1/1 12:15 p.m.

  I didnt know

  Shannon Wurther 1/1 12:16 p.m.

  Im sorry

  Aiden Maar 1/1 12:17 p.m.

  its not your fault

  After another set of three breaths, Aiden’s foot started to tap. He chewed on his lip. The next breath came easier. But the heaviness pressed on his collarbones again, slithered between his ribs, and clawed at his lungs. He hadn’t felt such breathlessness in a long time.

  Aiden couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost control, the last time he’d fallen apart. Once it happened, it happened. Once it was over, it was over. Last April. April before last. All six April’s before this coming April. And all the Aprils after.

  Aiden wanted to ask the pastor, “Have you ever felt like you were dying?” Just to see if he said yes. And if he did, Aiden would ask, “How do you make it stop? How do you live?” Just to see if there was an answer, if there was an after.

  “Please stand and show your love for your neighbor with a handshake or a hug,” the pastor said.

  Everyone except Aiden rose from their seats. His body was cemented to the pew. A sensation of weightlessness swelled in his gut, overwhelmed by the oppressive anchor sitting atop his chest.

  Make it stop. Aiden tried to catch his breath.

  “C’mon.” Shannon’s voice. “Aiden.” His hand curled around Aiden’s wrist. “We’ll be outside.” This he said to Loraine. Aiden caught a brisk nod from her before they slipped past.

  Say something, Aiden scolded.

  One. Two. A third step. The fourth. His shoes hit the dirt parking lot, and Shannon steadied him with hands on his waist, then his shoulders.

  “Lean back,” Shannon said, and Aiden did.

  He felt warm wood against the back of his head, sunlight on his face, and Shannon’s hands. Aiden leaned against the side of the church and listened to tires crunch against pebbles in the lot and cicadas hiss from the trees a few yards away. He told his lungs to do what they were supposed to do. Inhale, hold, exhale.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Aiden croaked and he hated how pitiful it sounded.

  Shannon touched the base of his neck with one hand and held onto his right wrist with the other. “You had a panic attack.”

  “I don’t have panic attacks.”

  “Sure looked like one to me, sugar.”

  “Sugar?” Aiden laughed, but it was broken and small. “How would you know what a panic attack looks like?”

  “I’ve had them.”

  Aiden’s eyes cracked open. Now was as good a time as ever, he thought, and forced the words out before he lost the courage to say them. “I have dysthymia. It’s a form of depression, but I’m not like…” He circled his hand, embarrassed. “I’m not depressed. I just fall apart sometimes because I’m a fucking disaster, and that’s what my doctor calls it. Anxiety comes with it. I guess panic attacks, too.”

  “You’re not a disaster,” Shannon said. A crooked smile dimpled his cheeks. “We all fall apart sometimes.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know how to put myself back together; that’s the dysthymia shit I was talking about.”

  Shannon nodded. “Can you breathe?”

  Aiden inhaled. The weight was gone. The emptiness in his stomach filled again and roiled last night’s alcohol. He nodded. “You didn’t have to do that—take me out—you didn’t have to leave your parents in there.”

  “I know.”

  He leaned against Shannon’s chest and caught the sweet scent of floral cologne. Shannon’s hand played on the back of Aiden’s neck; his fingers drew circles above his collar. They stayed like that, leaning against an old church beside a stained-glass window, with Shannon not saying a word and Aiden still counting his breaths, until the doors opened and the New Year’s service was over.

  In the fleeting time between—Shannon’s thumb was below Aiden’s left ear, Aiden was inhaling his eleventh breath, and everything was still—Aiden realized that there was nothing like being in love with someone. He’d never felt it, not until that eleventh breath, and Shannon’s thumb, and the tender way he held Aiden as if he wasn’t something that needed mending, but something that needed validation. During that time, fractured and motionless and silent, Aiden’s heart plummeted, because he loved Shannon Wurther, and loving someone meant giving them the tools to destroy you. The things that turned Aiden into a weapon, all the tools Aiden had used on himself year after year after year, how bold and cruel and mistaken they would look clutched between Shannon’s fingers.

  An accident, the breathlessness, red knuckles, dying.

  A smile, the brush of fingertips across his shoulders, an almost-kiss, how was work.

  “When’s our flight?” Aiden inhaled another breath, the last one he counted.

  “We need to be at the airport in two hours.”

  Aiden set his forehead on Shannon’s shoulder. “Sorry I’m a mess.”

  “You’re not a mess,” Shannon laughed against his ear. “Did you not hear me when I said I have them, too?”

  “I figured you’d said it to make me feel better.”

  “I didn’t. So, when I have one, and I will, put me back together all right?”

  Aiden nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  Loraine’s voice carried high over the crowd of Sunday-best churchgoers. “You boys ready for lunch? We’re goin’ to Becky’s before we drop you off at the airport.”

  “What’s a Becky’s?” Aiden’s stomach turned.

  “Lunch place down the road,” Shannon said. “We should eat.”

  Aiden heard Lloyd ask if everything was all right, and Shannon nodded. He saw Loraine’s eyebrows ask a silent question. Shannon growled at her. He slid in the back seat next to Shannon; his phone was slick against his palms.

  He wanted to say it. He wanted to look at Shannon and say, “I think I love you, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever loved myself.” But it would be a lie, half of it at least. He swiped his finger across his phone and typed out a message: I love you happy new year

  A second later his phone vibrated.

  Marcus Maar 1/1 12:45 p.m.

  I love you too Aiden. Hope youre having a good time. Happy New Year.

  Aiden Maar 1/1 12:46 p.m.

  tell mercy i love her

  Marcus Maar 1/1 12:47 p.m.

  She says she loves you too.

  00:00

  Shannon didn’t sleep on the plane, but Aiden did. He tucked his face against Shannon’s shoulder and refused to move for the duration of the four-and-half-hour flight.

  Karman picked them up from the airport and asked a million questions about their New Year’s. Aiden didn’t talk much, and Shannon caught him playing with his camera in the rear-view mirror. Shannon answered question after questi
on and listened to Karman ramble about how Marcus and Fae almost burnt the house down with sparklers.

  “I swear, your brother is as crazy as you sometimes.” Karman glanced over her shoulder.

  Aiden raised his middle finger and narrowed his eyes. He’d thrown his cigarettes in the trash on the way out of the airport. Shannon didn’t want to imagine what the next few days would be like: Aiden kicking a bad habit, and Shannon being the one who’d convinced him to.

  Once she dropped them off at Shannon’s loft, they crawled into bed and slept until the next morning. Life went on as it was supposed to. It was a new year, Shannon and Karman were taking on more cases, Aiden was getting a few more hours a week at 101, and slowly but surely Laguna Beach was starting to thaw.

  Winter faded, and in its place flowers began to bloom and rain pelted the streets from low-hanging clouds. Spring was on the horizon.

  Shannon decided he would tell Aiden he loved him when it was warm and new and bright and great. He would sit him down on the beach and say it as plain as day. He wouldn’t crack or lose his words or fall silent. Shannon would say, “I love you, Aiden Maar,” and he hoped Aiden might say it back.

  Aiden Maar 1/15 2:04 p.m.

  i just got a call from daisy. shes here early.

  Shannon Wurther 1/15 2:06 p.m.

  Yay?

  Aiden Maar 1/15 2:06 p.m.

  yeah except i gotta cancel tonight, sorry

  Shannon Wurther 1/15 2:07 p.m.

  its okay. Tomorrow?

  Aiden Maar 1/15 2:09 p.m.

  I work :(

  Shannon Wurther 1/15 2:10 p.m.

  Monday?

  Aiden Maar 1/15 2:12 p.m.

  okay monday

  Shannon Wurther 1/15 2:13 p.m.

  spaghetti?

  Aiden Maar 1/15 2:14 p.m.

  Yeah yum

  “Wurther.” Karman held up a file. “Piper’s on leave for a few months. Homicide needs us to step in; you up to it?”

  “Why’s Piper on leave? She never misses work.”

  “Clock shit, apparently. Something happened with her daughter. They’re taking an extended vacation because of it.”

  “Is her daughter okay?” Shannon stared at Karman, unnerved.