Page 36 of Goldilocks (Salt and Starlight #2)

Ivan drove them to the beach in Sam’s car, while Eric took Ivan’s car to Aunt Mal’s. Sam tried not to stress about it. Ivan was the one with the sharp wit, the hard look in his eyes, and Sam had made sure he wasn’t going to be anywhere near Oisín to fire shots that his dad wouldn’t even realise were meant to hurt him.

Roan parted from Sam with a kiss, and Sam saw the relief plain on his face as he changed form. Entered the water. Sam stood ankle-deep in the freezing ocean water, watching until he’d vanished in the distance, before then trekking back up the beach to a waiting Ivan.

“Sally’s?” Ivan asked, swinging the car key around his finger. They’d made plans to meet Eric there for dinner.

Not wanting to be alone with Ivan for too long, Sam nodded.

The pub was filled with people. Sally and Laurence worked behind the bar, and Sam saw Jasper sitting at the bar alone with a pint of what looked like MiWadi while a host of admirers eyed him from a distance. Ivan homed in on Jasper as if he had a sixth sense for strangeness and whistled. “No shortage of pretty faces in this town, is there?”

“I guess not,” Sam agreed. Someone must have made Jasper change out of his own clothes because he sat with an army-green bomber jacket, too-large jeans and boots. There was a lump around his stomach where Sam assumed his tail was wrapped and hidden beneath the jacket and across his knees was another jacket that was suspiciously sword shaped.

Sam approached the bar and pulled out the stool next to Jasper. “Hey,” he greeted. “Jasper, this is Ivan. Ivan, Jasper.”

Ivan’s smile was far too slick and far too bright. He nudged Sam with his elbow, leaning his arm against the back of his high-backed chair and relaxing there. “Should have guessed you’d know the hottie, hm? Mary told me you’re a sucker for a pretty face,” Ivan murmured quietly to Sam. Jasper’s long hair was arranged to hide the strangeness of his ears, but Sam saw the twitch. A vaguely pleased look crossed Jasper’s expression, and he raised his chin.

Jasper had definitely heard the compliment.

Louder, and with a winning smile, Ivan said hi to Jasper. Jasper inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Hi, guys,” Laurence greeted them with a warm smile. He flicked a tea towel over his shoulder. “Any drinks?”

“I’ll have a whisky coke,” Ivan said. “And concussion boy here is only allowed water.” When Sam gave him a look, Ivan shrugged. “The packet the doctor gave Eric said no alcohol for at least two weeks.”

Laurence’s dark eyes slid to Sam, and he raised an eyebrow. A clear question. He was leaving it up to Sam since he knew Adonis had healed him already. “I’ll have the same as Jasper,” Sam said.

Laurence’s smile faded. His dark eyes flashed from friendly to on-guard. Sam twisted to look over his shoulder, catching that Laurence’s on-guard look was being returned by a pair of shining eyes, Austin’s glare far more intimidating than Laurence’s. He stood a step to the side of Sam’s chair, and when he turned, he moved that glare from Laurence to Sam.

“Sam,” Austin said.

“Austin,” Sam echoed back. Sam couldn’t hazard the tiniest guess as to why Austin was approaching him. Between Austin spearing Sam through the ribs with his ‘That’s not what love and patience look like’ , and Sam then witnessing his brutal rebuff at Roan’s hands, Sam was surprised Austin was willing to come anywhere near him. “What is it?”

Austin’s expression vied between uncertain and nervous. His lip twitched, and it seemed as if he was putting in extreme effort to keep his gaze on Sam and not anyone around them. “You…we should drink together. Since we’re friends.”

“We’re friends?” he asked. Was he trying to get back at Sam for what Roan did? Sam wasn’t against getting closer to Austin, but he hadn’t gotten the impression that Austin was interested in anything of the sort. In fact, Sam was dead certain that Austin considered him little more than a nuisance.

Austin’s expression froze. There was a battle between anger and hurt that prodded at Sam’s ribs once more, trying to find a weak spot to sink in. The hurt in Austin’s eyes found several.

“We can be friends.” Sam softened his voice, masking his confusion. He angled toward Austin, aware of the listening ears all around.

Austin’s top lip curled back before his entire expression shut down until his face was as cold as a wall of ice. “Fuck yourself,” he said. He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Sam watched his retreating back, baffled. Austin moved through the crowd of the pub and went out the back door.

“What was that about?” Laurence asked.

Sam waited only another second. “I think I should find out. Excuse me.” Sam slid from the stool and followed Austin’s path, coming to the outdoor area of the pub. Locals mingled with tourists, though it was far quieter outside. A soft breeze drifted in over the ocean and though a tiny wisp of cloud drifted in front of the sun, the lack of sunlight didn’t make it any less bright.

Sam twisted, but there was no silver-blond hair. He walked to the gate that led away from the pub and opened it, but even with quick steps, by the time he rounded the corner of the building, there was no sign at all of Austin. He scanned the pier. It was busier than he’d ever seen it in March, the hot and dry weekend having drawn tourists to the area in droves, and Sam knew that he wouldn’t be able to find Austin among them. He was too good at disappearing.

“No sign of him?” Ivan’s voice chimed in from behind.

“No.”

“He didn’t seem happy with you.”

“I could tell,” Sam said. Austin never seemed to be happy with anyone. Sam turned back to the pub and found Ivan standing there with two drinks.

“Want to sit out here?” Ivan asked. He indicated an empty table tucked against the half-wall enclosing the seating section.

“Sure. But we have to open the umbrella,” Sam said. That wisp of cloud had moved on, and he didn’t want to bake his skin red.

“You’re as bad as Eric,” Ivan said. They walked to the table, and Ivan set down the drinks, then opened the large umbrella in the middle of the table in one smooth movement. “I swear he gets sunburned through the windows, even if he stays indoors.”

“I’m the same. Mom was too.” Sam sat in the chair and pulled the MiWadi to himself to take a sip. “Once, she had me in her lap reading a schoolbook to me. The sun was shining in the window on our sides. I fell asleep, and she didn’t want to wake me, so we stayed there for hours. When I finally woke up the both of us had burned red on the side of our face that had been in the sun.”

Ivan listened, a focused expression at odds with his otherwise relaxed posture. “What book was it?” Ivan asked. “I only remember ‘Under the Hawthorn Tree’ from primary school.”

There was a particular air to Ivan. Sam got the sense he was fishing for something, but he couldn’t tell what that could possibly be. “That was the one,” Sam said.

“Hmm.”

“What?” Sam asked flatly. It was one of those hmms. Judgemental and irksome.

“She burned in the sun? Through the window?”

“How are you finding issue with this?”

“Your mom sat reading with you on the couch. And she got sunburned through the window. And you were reading ‘Under the Hawthorn Tree’,” Ivan recounted. There was a blaze in his eyes, like a bulb that was getting too much wattage. “You and Eric both got your complexion from your dad. Your mom had fair hair, but her skin was olive-toned, a bit like mine. I’ve seen photos of her.”

Sam frowned.

“That was Eric,” Ivan said. “Who read to you on the couch. He’s told me about it before. Said he felt so guilty for letting you get burned that he went straight out and bought you ice cream to cheer you up.”

A bundle of nerves behind his eyes squeezed. Sam rested his elbow on the table and leaned over, rubbing his temple. He remembered the ice cream. He remembered helping apply aloe onto pale skin burned red. And Ivan was right, his mom didn’t have pale skin.

Before he could speak again, Laurence appeared at the table holding two plates. “Here you go. Sorry that it took so long. We’re busy with the lunch rush.”

“I put in the order before I came out, hope that’s okay,” Ivan said to Sam. “You like mussels, right?”

Two plates of mussel starters were set before them and a basket of brown bread. Laurence asked them if they wanted anything else before bounding off.

“I like them,” Sam said.

“You—”

“Ivan,” Sam interrupted. “I’d like to eat first before my headache gets worse and spoils my appetite.”

Ivan caught himself. He inclined his head, and when Sam ate the first mussel, Ivan launched into a story about his tattoo parlour. Talking about how grumpy Eric did this, soft-hearted Eric did that, lonely Eric did this. Love and appreciation laced every story, every word, every laugh and every snort. Sam found Ivan’s entertaining storytelling hard to stonewall. And even though the stories all revolved around Eric, it took Sam’s mind off the fact that Eric had gone off to meet his dad.

The evening rush had died, and their food had been cleared for at least an hour before Ivan tilted his head a certain way and Sam knew the next thing out of his mouth would be a statement that made his head hurt.

“Primary schools don’t start that book until you’re in third class,” Ivan said. “You would have to have been eight at the youngest. And your mom passed away when you were four. It was Eric.”

“I believe you,” Sam allowed. And he did. Because, as Ivan had pointed out, his mom’s complexion was dark, and the more Sam dug into that particular memory, the more the figure turned male. His mom had long, fair hair, dead-straight blonde that reached to her waist. The figure reading to Sam had short curls that bunched around his ears that only an absurd amount of clips could tame.

Ivan’s too-bright gaze didn’t waver from Sam’s face. “Usually nobody has one fig what I’m thinking,” he said. “Most of the time, I’m sure people think there’s nothing really going on up here at all, and I’m perfectly happy with that. But you? You’re sensitive. You can read a room, and I can see that usually you don’t pick fights, but with me, you didn’t let me get away with one single thing.” Ivan inclined his head. “I suppose you could tell, couldn’t you? That I’m an asshole because when you didn’t recognise Eric, part of me—” His voice was rough with emotion. “Part of me was happy. My most important person in the world, and there I was, happy that his most important person didn’t even remember his name because I thought, for one second, that meant nothing would change.”

That birthday party felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. Ivan hadn’t seemed upset. He hadn’t seemed much of anything, actually, his emotions light and shallow, nothing hiding in deep waters.

“I can’t lose Eric. He matters to me more than anything. I love him more than anything, ” Ivan continued. This time, his smile faded. “You have so much power over him, Sam, and you don’t even realise it. You don’t have to do anything more than breathe, and you get to be the centre of his universe. And the thing is, I can see that you don’t want to hurt him, but I can also see that you’re holding back. I get it,” Ivan said, softer now. “You don’t trust easy. You’ve got your walls up so high you probably forgot how to let anyone over them. But Eric? He’s not trying to climb over. He’s just standing at the gate like an idiot, hoping you’ll let him in. Forget about me. Hate me. But please, give Eric a real chance.”

That was a lot to digest, and Sam took the time to think through Ivan’s words. He’d exposed himself. Laid his insides bare, and Sam’s instincts urged him to shield the vulnerable flank. “I’ll like you fine,” Sam said, “so long as you stop the crap about my dad. He never hurt Eric. He never hurt me. He’s a gentle soul, and he spent his life being flayed apart by the likes of you for no good reason.” Sam saw a range of emotions passing over Ivan’s expression. Saw the doubt wrangled into a smile.

“Of course,” Ivan said.

“You’re lying,” Sam said, hard. “You say I’m a good judge of character? Don’t you think I can tell what’s in my own dad?”

Ivan’s jaw clenched. “What about Eric? What do you make of him? The brother you don’t remember?”

What did Sam think of him? Serious and sensitive. A chronic overthinker and worrier. Eric, who showed up. Who made good on his word. And Sam would be so stupid to think it was only guilt or regret from leaving as a teenager. Eric had practically been shouting in Sam’s face how much he cared since the birthday party; Sam just wasn’t willing to listen.

“I wish I remembered all of him,” Sam said gently. “I know that…I know he loved me, and given how much, I know it must have been absolute hell for him if he was driven out and left me behind.”

Ivan leaned in, grabbing Sam’s wrist. “Can you appreciate, then, why I’m so skeptical when you tell me that your dad was good to him? Cause he loves you more than anything, so what in God’s name sent him running to the city and left him too petrified to ever come back?”

And Sam knew.

He knew why there was a gap in his head where Eric should be. Why he’d been so scattered. Why a nameless dread filled him whenever he thought of going home, so he avoided it more and more. Running away. Leaving his dad behind because he was too scared to go near the house. Leaving his dad behind, the same way Eric had left the both of them behind.

The worst part was that Sam had known for a long time now too. His mind just shied away from the information like it was something his brain physically couldn’t accept.

“Eric’s scared of the boat,” Sam said, realising. And he bet that’s where it started. A fish dredged out of the water with a vicious little worm inside of it. And once it was on board, there was no Goldilocks around to do anything about it. Nobody in this world, bar a solitary creature locked up in a lab, who even knew what it was.

“Where your dad was.”

Sam’s headache worsened to the point where it felt like his head was splitting apart. He gritted his teeth and focused on Ivan. Focused on the white knight ready to go to war for Eric.

“What if there was a third person on that boat?” Sam asked.

“A third – hah.” Ivan’s expression shuttered, swapping from intense to his more usual hard-to-read smile. “Let’s shelve this. We’re friends now, alright? So, as friends, let me tell you that texting Eric to go to the house to meet while you’re here having drinks is some next-level mean-girl bullshit which, frankly, I’m surprised you pulled.”

“When have you ever seen me text anyone?” Sam said, distracted. “Screens are a nightmare – wait, what? What did you just say? That’s a joke, right? Eric isn’t—” Sam knocked his drink standing up. “He went to the house? Alon e?” Horror lanced through him. At the edge of the outdoor seating, Sam saw Jasper, and he had the pointed-eared guard in his grip in an instant.

“There’s a ghoul – I need you.”

Jasper’s eyes brightened. He straightened up, and his sharp chin jutted down in a quick nod. “Where?”

“A ghoul?” Laurence chimed in, his head tilting, not the slightest bit of alarm in his expression. Sam, so intent on Jasper, hadn’t even noticed Laurence behind the outdoor bar right next to him. “What’s that?”

Ivan came in at Sam’s shoulder. “Why the hell did you react like that?” he demanded. “What’s at the house? There’s no way whoever broke in is still—”

“Laurence.” Sam scanned his surroundings, finding no merman anywhere. Yachts crowded the ocean, none of them Connor’s. He’d said they were going out to recharge, and Roan had gone with them. “Can you find one of them? If any of them can hold their form, bring them to my house. Please.”

Laurence met Sam’s eye. “Okay. I will.” He leapt out from behind the bar and took off toward the pier, calling, “Bee! Dew! You there?”

Sam released Jasper and darted around the side of the pub. He didn’t need to haul Jasper with him; he was on Sam’s heels. Sam practically threw himself into the car and had the engine rolling over into a rumble. The faithful vehicle, his mom’s last gift to her sons, didn’t fail him now. Jasper got into the passenger seat, and in the same heartbeat, Ivan had the back door ripped open and leapt inside too.

Sam didn’t have time to chase him back out.