Page 8

“You’ve got interesting friends,” Ivan said as they stepped out of the pub.

Sam winced. “I didn’t mean to ignore you guys.”

Ivan clapped his hand on his shoulder and cast him a friendly smile. “No worries, nobody was left out. And I’m sure Eric is happy to see you have a lot of friends. Very interesting friends,” Ivan said again, and this time, his gaze was on Connor and Adonis. They were still at the table talking with Nick. “He was on the news, wasn’t he?”

“You probably saw his face at some point.”

“With that conspiracy?”

Sam looked to where Eric was at the bar, chatting with Trevor and Sally. Sam didn’t need to hear them to know what the discussion was about. Eric was trying to pay for his and Ivan’s food, and Trevor wasn’t letting him. Sam usually snuck a fiver or a tenner into one of the brothers’ pockets when it happened. Laurence was the easiest mark.

Sam hummed noncommittally.

“Alright, I won’t pry,” Ivan said.

Eric broke away from the bar and joined them at the door.

“He didn’t let you pay?” Sam checked.

“Sally was the one who didn’t let me,” Eric said. “Said it was a gift. Sounds like she wasn’t going to charge anybody else from the table either. How she manages to keep this place running when she’s not accepting money is beyond me.” His scowl was equal parts annoyance and worry.

“She always gives Connor special treatment,” Sam said, falling into step with the both of them as they walked toward the parking lot. And he had no doubt, with Laurence working in the kitchen, that he’d totally won her over too. It was hard not to like him. “It’s always packed here in the summer, so she does just fine.” Sam wanted to ask, ‘So she remembered you too?’ but held back. The fact that Sam didn’t remember Eric had clearly hurt his feelings, and Sam wasn’t mean enough to press against the bruise…again.

“Should we go for a drive?” Ivan suggested as they reached their car. “You guys can show me the sights?”

“I have to work on assignments,” Sam declined.

“On the boat?” Eric asked.

“On the boat,” Sam confirmed. “I’ll set some pots while I’m out there.”

“And meet up for that boat party?” Ivan said with a smile. “I’m jealous. Nobody invites me to boat parties.”

“Invites or forces?” Eric asked, frowning again.

Ivan rolled his eyes and peeled away from them. “Walk together to the boat. I’ll swing back for you in ten.”

Was Eric always grumpy? Sam wondered. “I’m docked at the far pier, all the way at the end,” he told Ivan, pointing him in the right direction.

Ivan got into his car and pulled away, leaving Sam and Eric to a painfully awkward silence Sam wished someone was there to fill. Even starting to walk was awkward, a jerk and a misstep before they found a matching stride.

“You never answered me inside,” Eric said.

“You asked me something?”

“Your college course,” Eric prompted.

“Right. I’m doing a general arts degree. I picked out classics, business, and accounting modules,” Sam explained. “It’s my first year, so I can try out a few and see what I like best. Then stick to those.” He didn’t get enough points in the leaving cert for the specialised business course, so he had to do the arts degree and get in that way.

They walked along the path, and Sam cast his gaze to the clouds in the distance. It was pushing 7 p.m., and a light sprinkle of rain had been promised that evening. That left him a few hours to work in good weather. Not that the rain would stop him. It just meant he wouldn’t be able to paint Devil if he came knocking.

“Thanks for those paints, by the way,” Sam said.

Eric’s frown vanished, his lips twitching up into a half smile. “You used to be obsessed with painting. Every other day you’d be begging me and Dad for new paints, new pencils, new sketchbooks.”

Sam remembered asking his dad for paints when he was very young.

“I’ll get you some more,” Eric continued jovially. “What do you prefer to use now? Acrylic? Water paints? Oils?”

Sam suspected Eric would deflate if he said no again. “Everything, but usually acrylic. Same as you got me the other day.” He thought about it for a second, gaze drawn to Eric’s tattooed arms. “What’s it like working in a parlour? Drawing tattoos for a living seems pretty cool.”

“I enjoy it,” Eric said. “Ivan designs all day, and I ink his work onto skin. Like he said inside, I’m completely hopeless at drawing anything original – but if I’m copying, I can do just about anything. I…”

Sam continued a few steps down the boardwalk to his boat before he noticed that Eric had stopped. He glanced behind him. Eric was frozen on the threshold of where the pedestrian walkway along the wharf became a pier jutting out into the ocean, the blood draining from his face.

“Eric…” Sam stepped forward, alarmed. He reached for his elbow, and Eric reeled back, head jerking toward him. His pupils were blown wide, the green of his irises reduced to thin rings. Sam stilled, hand outstretched. After a second, he lowered it. “Are you okay? Should I call Ivan? Maybe you should sit down.”

Eric seemed to have difficulty swallowing. His hands, tightened to fists, unwound in twitches. “I’m fine,” he said.

He obviously wasn’t.

“Let’s walk this way.” Sam stepped off the pier. He didn’t reach for Eric again, but Eric turned toward him, following seemingly on autopilot. Sam went to the nearest bench and sat. He didn’t say anything, and after a second, Eric joined him. Pale. Holding his shoulders high in tension.

Sam made a purposeful effort to relax his own body, letting his hands lie slack on his lap, stretching his legs out in front of himself and dropping his shoulders. He released a long, slow exhale.

“Who owns the tattoo parlour?” Sam asked.

“Ivan does.”

“He seems like a fun boss to have,” Sam said. “What’s that like? Working for someone your own age? Does he give you talks about behaving?”

Eric scowled. “If anything, I have to give him talks about behaving. He always takes on the longest, hardest jobs every other parlour turns away, and he’ll stay up all hours of the night working if I don’t stop him.” Eric’s breaths evened as he spoke. “Ivan was at the bus stop when I got off. Everyone else went off right away except me. I just stood there, trying to figure out what the hell I was doing, and he struck up a conversation. He left home when he was fifteen, and he had a room in the city. He let me stay with him, and we’ve been together ever since.” A steady calm seemed to wash over Eric. “I’m sorry.”

Was he apologising for his panic or for running away? Neither required an apology.

“When did he start up the parlour?” Sam asked.

Eric cast him a look, clearly seeing through Sam’s attempt to distract him.

Sam gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Tons of people are afraid of the ocean. Nothing to be sorry about.” Talking to a guy with a phobia of water? Sam had seen it plenty. What Sam didn’t know how to broach was Eric running away. He didn’t even know how he was meant to feel about it, let alone how he actually did.

Eric set his elbow on the bench between them and rubbed his jaw. “You’re grown up,” he said. He tilted back his head, face pointed to the sky, and his expression looked…was that anger? Sam didn’t know.

“I’m twenty,” Sam said with a shrug and a hint of guilt. Eric was clearly feeling things that Sam wasn’t. Maybe a sense that he’d missed out? And Sam couldn’t even remember him beyond a vague inkling. He wanted to ask if they used to paint together, but he didn’t know how to do that without rubbing it in Eric’s face again that he had no recollection of him.

“I’m not afraid of the ocean,” Eric said. He directed his gaze to the sea. In the fading light, the ocean was inky black and stretched to the horizon line. It had already swallowed the sun, though faint orange and pink hues remained, differentiating sky from sea. The clouds bringing the promised drizzle were bearing in from the east. “My legs just—” He breathed out hard. “I used to hate going anywhere near that boat. I guess my body remembers that clearly, even after all these years.”

Sam didn’t question Eric about why he hated it. Sam used to hate it too. Back when he was in secondary school and his classmates used to torment him. Plugging their noses as he walked by, saying something stunk of fish. Sam never did. He swore he didn’t. He would scrub himself raw to make sure not even the skin cells he’d gone out on the boat with remained. He knew now, of course, that he hadn’t ever smelled like fish, that those kids were just bullies who had figured out how to get under his skin. But at the time, Sam hated them, hated the boat, hated fishing. Hated his fisherman dad.

It was probably a safe bet to assume Eric had gone through something similar. Except where Sam had come to realise that the problem wasn’t on his end but on the bullies’ side; Eric had run away and never dealt with the issues. What age had he been again? Sixteen? Did Sam want to run away at sixteen? He’d dated Connor when he was sixteen. Certainly, he hadn’t wanted to run away while that relationship was going on. When it ended, though…he’d have happily disappeared. But his dad was getting bad by then, and if he disappeared, the only people to care for him would be family members with less patience than Sam. He shook himself from his thoughts.

“No reason you have to go near it ever again,” Sam said. “Especially if it bothers you.”

Eric had that expression again that looked like anger.

“You could tattoo Laurence,” Sam added lightly. “Adonis will sink it, and then it won’t exist anymore.”

Eric snorted. Amusement cracking through the anger. “He was a strange one.”

“Strange. Gorgeous. Alluring,” Sam listed.

Eric cast him a sidelong look, and Sam grinned.“You don’t need to like guys to appreciate that he’s beautiful.”

“Is Adonis his modelling name?”

Sam couldn’t say that Connor named him before Adonis could speak, and now Adonis would never tell them his actual name because he liked the one Connor gave him more. “It’s his actual name.”

“It seemed to me like you found his boyfriend just as beautiful.”

Sam leaned back with a huff. He knew Eric had clocked that look earlier. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Connor’s gorgeous too.”

“Is that why Mary doesn’t want you spending time with him?”

Sam didn’t really feel like getting into this. Even if Eric was technically family, he didn’t remember him. Didn’t feel it. “We dated a few summers ago, and it ended badly. And before you press further, you’re not getting any more details than that. I have Mary bringing it up enough.” As in, anytime she found out he’d been hanging out with Connor, which was whenever he was this side of The Tear. “We’re friends now.”

After a moment, Eric nodded. “Felt like you were part of the family. Does Adonis know you two used to date? He didn’t mind you getting cosy with Connor.”

Sam tensed. “Do not say that to Adonis.”

Eric’s eyebrows rose.

“I genuinely think he’d drown me at sea if he knew.” And Sam really did think he would try. And if Connor stopped him, Adonis would certainly make sure Connor never sat next to him again. He’d make sure Connor didn’t put his arm on the back of Sam’s chair or have hushed conversations with him.

Ugh .

“I gotta head out,” Sam said, dragging himself into the here and now, out of those thoughts he should have stopped having the summer he had his heart torn out. It wasn’t as if Sam wanted to get back together again. He just wanted to be friends. The reasons Sam had been drawn to Connor in the first place didn’t vanish just because they’d broken up. “I have schoolwork to do. Pots to pull.” Devils to paint.

“And a boat party to get to.” Eric glanced down the pier to where Connor’s yacht was casting out to sea. “Are you free tomorrow? For…lunch? Dinner?”

“How about we do something on the weekend? Saturday for lunch?”

Eric nodded. “I’ll meet you here. Or I can pick you up from the house?”

“Here is better,” Sam said quickly.

Eric’s happiness gave way to something troubled. “I won’t cause Dad trouble, even if I go by the house.” He stood up. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay away from it.”