Page 9 of Adonis (Salt and Starlight #1)

Aimless driving brought Connor to the docks. Connor scanned the fishing boats lining the water’s edge. Aside from a few older models, no yachts lay anchored in the bay yet. It was still too soon in the season for the rich to descend upon them. That meant there was nobody for Connor to persuade for a trip on the seas.

Connor walked along the weathered boards, breathing in the salty air as he searched the horizon. Sometimes they parked out on the water, but all he saw were fishing boats. Near the end of the dock, a small group of men drank on a vessel. Connor walked by without comment.

“If it isn’t Ben’s boy,”

a voice said.

Connor paused, looking. He recognised all the fishermen. Rotten drunks that caused trouble every summer and had been barred from every bar on the bay.

“It’s Connor,” he said.

“Connor.”

The one that had called out, a scrawny older man, grinned yellowed teeth his way. “What are you doing? Your daddy’s boat is parked over there.”

The man nodded to the next dock over. Ben’s boat was under lock and key, with all the equipment kept behind locked doors or bolted down. Connor knew how valuable and delicate all the equipment was because he’d never once convinced his dad to let him take the ship out. Maybe if he’d been successful, he’d have spent less time partying and more time exploring the coast.

“He’s the only one allowed to drive that one.”

Connor swept his gaze to the men behind the scrawny guy; they all had beers, but the deck was tidy, and one of them had been untying from the dock. “You’re heading out in this?”

He nodded to the forming grey clouds on the horizon.

“It’s all rain and no wind today.”

That didn’t make the prospect any more appealing. For others, anyway. Connor could be out in a typhoon and enjoy it as well as he would a sunny calm day.

“Scared of a little rain, boy?”

The man grinned again.

“Petrified,”

Connor replied dryly.

He laughed. “Come aboard. You can steer.”

Connor’s gaze darted to the other two men, considering. He’d put up with an awful lot just for chances to go out on the water during the summers. But he might not have any opportunities to deal with annoyances this year in exchange for time on the water. He might only have old fishermen who didn’t care that he was a supposed bigot and probably liked him all the more for it.

Connor almost smiled. What a rotten thought to have.

“Alright,”

Connor agreed. He easily hopped onto the rail and lowered his feet to the deck.

“You’ve got good sea legs, don’tcha?”

“Everyone that grew up here does,”

Connor replied. They were in the shelter of the bay, but the boards underfoot swayed in the water. Shivers prickled up his arm at the familiar feeling. Now, this felt like coming home. Connor glanced at the bay’s troublemaker, the one that had let him feel this for the first time. His skin was sallow, probably due to drink and bad habits, and there was a distinct yellow sheen to what should have been the white of his eyes.

They were bright and alert, despite everything.

“What’s your name?”

Connor asked.

“Dave.”

“I’ll take the steering, then?”

Connor questioned.

Dave nodded him on. The other two were more interested in their cooler than Connor. He crossed to the steering wheel, familiarising himself with all the controls. Dave untied them, and they cast off into the ocean. Connor expected an engine run by these sorts to cough and choke, but it started smoother than half the yachts Connor had been on, and a powerful engine had the boat cutting through the ocean like a knife through butter.

Once they breached the bay’s protection, it was like a knife through cold butter.

Connor breathed in the sea spray and anchored himself to the steering wheel as a cold wind whipped at his hair, turning it into a tangled mess. Below him, the fishermen were talking, looking at their course, and opening a cooler packed with beer. Music started to play.

Connor grinned as Katy Perry’s voice came through a speaker next to him. He never figured they were the type. Apparently, they didn’t care about Connor’s presence in the slightest.

Dave came up the steep steps to Connor. He offered Connor a beer, which he took with the intention of doing little more than sipping for the evening. Not that it would get him drunk either way. A beer wouldn’t achieve what straight vodka couldn’t.

“Head up the north coast. There’s a bay of shallower waters we can lay anchor,”

Dave directed him. He held on to the railing as Connor changed direction, bringing them closer to those grey clouds on the horizon. “You looking for a job?”

Dave asked.

Connor remembered the job he’d secured in Malta for the summer. The one he was meant to go to with a group of guys from school. With Austin.

“You could help bring out tour groups during the summer,”

Dave continued before Connor could say no. He forgot these men did that, too. Tours whenever they could manage to trick some tourists into thinking they would get a quality experience along the coast.

Connor paused for a moment. As often as he’d seen this trio, together or separate, starting stupid fights, throwing drinks and getting themselves kicked out of every establishment in the bay, he had never actually seen their boat close up.

“Is that what you have the sound system for?”

Connor asked. And a decent engine that would offer a smoother ride for passengers.

“Mikey’s boy installed it,”

Dave said.

How bizarre. “Even if I was looking, you’d do yourself no favours hiring me,”

Connor said.

“Because of that fuss at school?”

Dave snorted. “Not a bother, Connor. That’s the internet in outrage, not the real word. All most people care about is a pretty face to look at.”

He clapped Connor’s shoulder. “Up here, come to a stop opposite that rock jutting out from the shore.”

Dave left him, going down the stairs to join his… friends?

Connor parked the boat where he said, and Dave threw out the anchor. Connor turned the key, killing the engine, and the hum went quiet. He listened to waves lapping against the side of the boat, the breeze, and the seagulls in the distance. Connor tipped up his face; grey clouds blanketed the skies above.

Connor set the beer next to the wheel and walked to the railing, examining the water. They were too far from shore to see the bottom, and he couldn’t see anything in the deep murky blue. It looked cold. And as the ocean always did, it also looked strangely inviting.

Connor sat next to the railing. He tipped his face up as rain began to fall from the sky.

*

Connor borrowed Dave’s phone to text his mom when it became clear they wouldn’t return to shore before six. It didn’t bother him, but he didn’t want Edith to know he’d skipped on the lab for the day. Obviously, he didn’t tell her the truth, only that he was spending the night at his dad’s house. She was probably delighted to be rid of him for the evening. She and Nick could do a happy dance together.

Connor was soaked to the skin. It was only a light drizzle falling, but a persistent drizzle that lasted hours had the same effect as a brief, hard downpour.

The three men played cards at a table set up in the middle of the deck. The cards were laminated, though the men were as drenched as Connor. None wore any jackets or hats, and with water saturating their hair and trailing down their skin, they somehow seemed otherworldly.

The rain didn’t bother Connor, in fact he liked being so utterly drenched like this, but he wasn’t an older guy with glaring health problems.

“Want to join in, boy?”

one of them asked. Connor didn’t know if it was Mikey or the third whose name he didn’t know. They all looked at Connor, eyes sharper than they ought to be after the number of beers Connor watched them consume. He shivered at their attention, feeling that there was more than simple fishermen staring at him.

“I’m good,”

Connor said.

Dave’s smile was sharp. They turned their attention back to their game and Connor was forgotten in seconds.

He approached the edge of the deck and leaned against the railing. Connor stared at the water, trying once more to see beneath the darkness of the waves. It was impossible now, of course. The sky had darkened, and more light came from the lamps than from the sky. He reached out, his fingertips threading water. His body temperature was already lowered by the rain, so the cold of the ocean didn’t bother him.

The water next to his hand rippled. First beneath his fingertips and then a larger ripple next to his hand.

A face rose from the water.

Connor’s heart stopped.

With his sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, his merman gazed up at Connor from the ocean. The tops of his shoulders breached the water line, and he flattened his hands against the side of the boat. His short hair, a dark blonde, weighed down against his face, his forehead covered. Dark blonde, not the black I’d thought before.

Connor froze, staring at the creature. The lamp at the side of the boat reflected off his face, giving his skin a blueish glow. He studied Connor, examining him with what could have been curiosity, but that was a big guess on Connor’s part. He had no way of knowing if mermen’s expressions were like people’s at all or simply looked the same occasionally.

Waves lapped against the merman.

Connor released a slow breath. “Hello,”

he whispered.

His eyes jumped to Connor’s mouth. His hand lifted from the deck’s side, hesitantly rising toward Connor. An image of getting dragged into the water flashed in Connor’s mind, but he held still. The merman’s fingers hovered beneath Connor’s mouth.

Connor swallowed, and those dark eyes jumped to his throat to watch the movement.

“Are you curious about me?”

Connor asked.

The gills at the creature’s neck flared out.

“Do you follow me out here?”

Connor asked. “Spot me on the boat?”

The merman’s expression changed, his eyes darting over Connor’s face. There seemed to be some agitation in his energy now. He moved, laying on his back so that his body floated on the water’s surface.

Connor’s gaze darted to the length of his tail. The scales were blue and black, and then red where the shine of the boat’s hull reflected on him. The merman touched his scales. The line where his skin transformed from human to fish. He made a sound in his throat, a light purr, almost, that Connor thought was friendly.

Connor examined his face to be sure. He found a haughty look in the merman’s eyes; he repeated the sound, splashing the water by his midsection so that it would draw Connor’s attention there. Connor grinned. “Oh, that’s pride, alright,” he said.

Connor’s fingers were in the water still, next to the merman’s side. Unable to help himself, he reached. The tips of his fingers touched the merman’s scales. And when he didn’t try to rip off Connor’s arm, he got braver and dragged his touch over a line of scales. They were soft. Warm. The path brought Connor’s hand level with the merman’s.

Holding his breath, he brushed his thumb against the back of the merman’s hand. That too, was soft and warm. The merman twitched. Connor’s gaze jumped to his face. The merman stared at him, his eyes wide.

A hard grip seized Connor’s wrist.

Connor sucked in a sharp breath.

The merman thrust Connor’s hand down, digging Connor’s palm against the scales. The merman made that soft sound in his throat again, like the gentle call of a cat, as he guided Connor’s touch over his tail.

Carefully, Connor reached down with his other hand. He held his breath as he gently tugged at the merman’s fingers, trying to pry free without provoking the merman. The merman released him, splashing his tail in the water as he did, sending up sea spray. He touched his own scales and glanced down the length of his body with a frown.

The merman’s tail dipped beneath the waterline, becoming a black shadow in the water. He levelled a final look at Connor before vanishing beneath the waves. Connor stared at the water for a long time, his palm tingling like it had been lit on fire. He rubbed it over and over, feeling the ghost touch of the warm, textured scales.

It was midnight when they arrived back at the docks.

Connor climbed off the ship, feeling an odd jitter in his legs to now be standing on something solid and unmoving. It felt unnatural to him, as if his natural place was the ocean rather than land. Nothing bad ever happened to him on sea, only on land.

“Think about the job,”

Dave called after him.

Connor waved at him as he left, following the lamp lights toward the car park. He passed lonely ships, smelled the pungent fish from someone’s boat, and cocked his head to the side at a persistent rustling.

“What are you doing?”

Connor stopped. The voice came from his left. Sam stood on his boat with a look of utter disapproval. He’d obviously seen whose boat Connor came from.

“Walking,”

Connor replied.

Sam hopped off his boat, scowling. “Is that who you’re going to spend the summer with?”

“They’re good company.”

“Jesus, Connor. Why are you trying to hang yourself?”

Sam asked, voice packed with frustration. He glared at Connor, no hint of that softness from the cafe.

Connor stared back. He was a pro at dealing with glares and disappointment. “Enjoy your cleaning, Sam,”

he said. And he knew that nothing was more infuriating than—Sam grabbed his elbow as he continued on—walking away.

“I’ll drive you home,”

Sam said, bite in his voice. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to look at Connor straight on.

“I brought Dad’s jeep.”

“You’re not driving anywhere after drinking with them,”

Sam snapped. “You’ll end up wrapped around a tree or in the ocean.”

Even when angry, Sam’s good nature bled through.

“Do I look drunk?”

Sam dragged his gaze to Connor’s face. “You’ve always been able to hold your drink well. But,”

he added quickly. “That doesn’t mean you can drive.”

The will to fight with Sam didn’t come. Not when he’d been at the cafe offering help, and not now that he was mad at Connor, thinking he was about to do something stupid like drive home drunk. “I wasn’t drinking,”

Connor had to force the words out. He hated explaining himself. It always made him feel like he was trying too hard to make people see him in a better light. A way of showing the world how desperate he was for the smallest crumb of positive attention.

Sam’s grip on Connor’s elbow tightened.

“Do you smell drink on me?”

Connor challenged him.

Sam’s eyes glittered. “I do, actually.”

“Liar. You can only smell the fish you’re gutting over there.”

“I’m painting the boat.”

“With fish guts?”

Sam’s anger broke, veering into exasperation. He released Connor’s elbow. “Why couldn’t you just ask me?”

he asked. “If you want to go out on the water so badly that you’ll spend time with them, then just ask me. What do you think I’m going to do? Bite? Fight you? You know me better than that.”

Connor didn’t get this. They had barely exchanged a word in years, and now Sam was throwing himself at his feet to be used. “Mary might stab me.”

The look in Sam’s eye said he didn’t believe Connor. “You don’t need to feel bad about what happened before. I mean, yes, what you did was extremely shitty, but—”

Connor’s past actions swarmed back to him. His discomfort as he realised the romance he’d started with Sam at the start of summer wasn’t what he’d thought it would be. The guilt that he was dreaming about sharp eyes and a smart mouth when Sam was so good and soft had suffocated him.

Until Connor lashed out, and Sam got hurt.

“I don’t have to worry with them, do I?”

Connor cut off Sam. Guilt pricked at his conscience. He remembered now. Why he avoided Sam like the plague. It was so he didn’t have to feel this. This guilt, this inadequacy, this heaviness. Connor gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to be friends with you, Sam,”

he forced the words out.

It was cutting, needlessly cruel, but Sam only sighed. “Sounds about right,”

he said. “But just remember, you start hanging around with them, you’re going to find yourself getting banned from everywhere out here, too.”

Connor snorted, mouth twisting into a crooked smile. “I’m a social pariah. Nothing I do now can make it any worse.”

Sam met Connor’s eyes, a frown dragging down the corners of his lips. “Not everyone believes it, you know,”

he said. “Despite your best efforts, you’ve let some people close enough to know you. The kid you beat up—”

“Kid? Peter is the same size as me.”

“His mom is a politician,”

Sam continued. “Sandy and Marty tell anyone that mention it that you’ve been set up. That they’ve known you since you were a toddler, and they’ve never seen a hint of bad in you. This is only a politician trying to get her name in the news before her election, at your expense.”

“They obviously don’t know me very well.”

Sam groaned in frustration. “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m going home,”

Connor said. As he moved away from Sam, he wasn’t grabbed again. “And just so you know, coming out here at midnight to paint your boat? Creepy as hell.”

“This is the only time I’m free,”

Sam grumbled. “I’m not creepy.”

Connor, his back to Sam, allowed himself a smile. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Connor. And pay Sandy a visit one of the days. She’s been defending your name like it’s her reputation on the line.”