Page 32 of Goldilocks

“Because I’ve been to their world now too, and from what I’ve seen, they’re the big fish, Sam. In and out of the water.”

The ladder bumped against the hull as Adonis climbed it. Sam stared straight up at the stars, their white light splattered across a sky that wouldn’t go fully dark for months yet until the spring and summer passed. “Where do they live over there? Underwater? On land? Laurence said they can shift like Adonis on that side of The Tear. And they can talk.”

“I only ever see them in the ocean,” Connor said. “Adonis only goes on land when he’s with me. I have no idea where the other three live. Worm One and Two never separate, so I’m sure they have a cove together somewhere. But Goldilocks?” He shrugged.

Adonis draped a heavy blanket over Connor before joining him, resting his head on his stomach. Sam peeked at him, seeing Adonis kept his eyes open, pointed at the water. He wanted to ask why Adonis hated Bee and Dew so much, yet Devil was allowed near them, but he didn’t want to bring it up and make the merman growl. Adonis was intimidating, no matter what Connor said about Sam being safe around him. Sam never felt that same intimidation toward Devil; no matter his growls or hisses, he was far calmer than Adonis. Sam never got the sense that he’d ever lost control of his emotions.

“Do you want Adonis to heal your cheek?” Connor asked.

“Nah,” Sam said. Speaking of strange and unusual… “Nick told you about that?”

“I heard Mary was being her firecracker self,” Connor said. “You okay?”

Sam sighed. “As long as I don’t get a letter saying I’m expelled over that mess.” His thoughts drifted to Mary, to Eric, to Ivan, and he tried to push away from them right away again. “Goldilocks threw my homework into the ocean,” Sam said, redirecting the conversation straight back to something that didn’t fill him with anxiety. “He never gives me a second of peace unless I’m painting him. If he’s trying to get my attention, he sure is going about it backwards.” Again, Sam kept silent about the oysters and champagne. He didn’t want to share that memory for Connor to give a smug smile and a teasing ‘Oh and you think that means he fancies you now, do you?’

“Do you get frustrated when you’re doing homework?”

Sam looked at Connor in surprise, caught off guard by the question. “What?” He and Connor had never gone to the same school, and Sam had put a lot of effort and time into reading and answering his texts when they’d dated. He was pretty sure that Connor didn’t even know he had dyslexia. At least, he’d thought so. Involuntarily, his face warmed, and he knew with his skin tone that he couldn’t hide it. Not at all.

Connor’s eyes flicked to him, and then he scooted over, bumping Sam with his elbow. “You’re relaxed when you paint, right? You enjoy that. And homework is more like work? Less enjoyable?”

“Yes…” Sam answered, still not having any idea where Connor was going with this. “Obviously, I mean. That’s the same for anyone,” he added quickly.

Connor shrugged. “I always liked homework. And Adonis knows I like reading, so he’ll always leave me in peace with my books. What he also knows is that after I paddleboard, I get tired. And that, he doesn’t like – so he takes away the oar so I stop using it. Now I know he’s not doing that to be irritating or get on my nerves – quite the opposite. He’s trying to treat me well, in his own way. So, I’ll ask again: do you get frustrated when you’re doing your homework?”

“Yes.”

“And Goldilocks comes along and does absolutely everything in his power to get you away from those books?”

“He…” Sam’s reply ofhe just wants attentiondied in his throat.DidDevil interrupt because Sam would get frustrated with his homework? Could that really be it? “I thought he was just impatient. That he wanted to be painted so badly he refused to wait.”

“You said he sits still for hours at a time while you paint him,” Connor pointed out. “He’s not impatient.”

Devil had been harassing Sam for months. Sam had an entire portfolio dedicated to the merman, had invested in paints and pencils and sketchbooks. “I don’t know.”

“I’m the expert,” Connor said. He tugged at Adonis’s hair. “Right, Adonis?”

Adonis twisted around so that he was peering up at Connor’s face instead of facing the ocean. A sulky expression twisted Adonis’s features, and Connor’s lips softened into a smile.

Sam looked at the pair an extra moment before he sat up, feeling as though he was intruding. Mary would undoubtedly scowl at him. Tell him he was being stupid to hang out with Connor and his new boyfriend, but Sam didn’t feel bad about it. Not jealous, or hurt, or even lonely. It was nice to see Connor happy. Nice to hear him talk with a soft voice, for his smiles to be sweet and genuine rather than bladed and deadly.

And thinking of the comparison, of how different he was now, Sam couldn’t help but think of his own attitude lately. About how he’d snapped at Eric. Gotten defensive. Dismissive.

A hand touched his back, and Sam peered down at Connor, who was watching him with steady eyes.

“Is it something I can help with?” Connor asked.

Sam rested his arms on the railing and gazed at the darkened ocean. His fishing boat looked tiny floating above the black depths, and the distant coastline was only distinguishable because its blackness held yellow lights rather than the blue-white dots of reflected stars. “No, I’m just” – he kicked his heel against the hull of the ship – “thinking. I’m trying to figure out what to do with Eric.” How were you supposed to suddenly form a familial bond with someone you’d never known before? Connor was probably the perfect person to ask. He’d gone from strangers to family with Trevor, Laurence and Nick in a short amount of time. And Sam could see the genuineness of that mutual affection.

Sam sometimes fantasised about what could have been if things had turned out differently. If there had been no freak brain aneurysm to steal away his mom. If he’d grown up with that bottomless well of love – and Sam remembered enough of his mom to know it truly had been bottomless. Not that his dad hadn’t cared for him. He had. With labour and work and stories and a soft touch that even losing his wife hadn’t slayed. But while early onset dementia and a scattered mind hadn’t affected Oisín’s gentle nature, it had stolen the last dependable adult from Sam. He’d been taking care of his dad, his own welfare lost in the exhausting work of all that entailed, since he was fifteen. Often, he was certain that he did a terrible job of it. Often, he wondered if his family was cursed.

And now there was Eric. An older brother Sam didn’t remember. Sam was afraid to let himself fantasise about what that could mean. He could dream all day long about his mom still being alive, but there was no disappointment to accompany the dreams when they could never be reality. What if he indulged himself in getting to know the soft-hearted man? What if he imagined the weight of responsibility leaving his shoulders? If he opened himself up to the possibilities, he feared that reality would strike him harder than he could bear.

“I was a dick to Eric, and I’m feeling bad about it now,” Sam simplified. He wouldn’t allow himself to unload everything on Connor. He liked that their friendship was uncomplicated, and he wanted to keep it that way. “His friend said something, and I overreacted to it.”

“You were a dick? Wish I could have seen that.”

A sudden snarl tore from Adonis.