Clear

  “Sam went ages without tripping. He was fine.”

  Costa drapes his arms over his knees and rests his head down. I can’t deny that there is genuine kindness beneath his obnoxious attitude.

  “If either of you thought that hiatus from death tripping was going to last forever, then you were both fooling yourselves. I know how strong the pull is.”

  I don’t know what to say to this.

  “Stella, I’m not trying to scare you. I’m telling you so that you can fully understand who Sam is. He’s going to need to trip now and then.”

  “He was tripping too much before.” I pause. “Your son…”

  Costa takes a long breath.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “That’s none of my business.”

  “It is your business. You’re with Sam, so it is.” He runs a hand through his hair and stands up. “Come on. Sam’s going to be hungry when he gets back. Let’s see what we can rustle up for him.”

  I don’t hesitate when he extends a hand and pulls me to my feet. It’s odd that I’m relying on Costa to get me through this trip when he’s the one who caused it. “How long will he be gone?”

  “Dunno. Depends on where he surfaces. It can be a bitch sometimes because you can’t always control where you come up. Sam’s out of practice, but he should be okay. Generally, the more we trip, the faster we can come back. I don’t think more than a few hours.”

  “Really?” I am hugely relieved. “I thought I was in for another long one, like last time.” I follow him into the kitchen. “Fuck you for that, by the way.”

  “It was a bit dramatic, wasn’t it? With the gun and all?” Costa smirks.

  He turns and places his hands on my waist.

  I let him set me onto my usual spot on the counter—but not without question. “Have you been watching us?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Costa, have you been watching Sam and me? You know this is where I sit, don’t you? With Sam. And you knew my name when you showed up at my place.”

  He fills his arms with food from a cabinet. “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  He sets a can of tomato sauce down. “I don’t know. Look, I didn’t know what I was walking back into with Sam. We didn’t exactly part ways under the best of circumstances. I was wrecked. He was wrecked. So, I wanted to feel things out.”

  “And you decided that the best entrance was to shoot him in front of me?”

  Costa shrugs.

  “Look at me.”

  I wait until he stops fussing with a can opener. There is such sorrow in his face, and I’m now hyperaware that the last time he saw Sam—before he shot him in the living room—was right after his young son died.

  “Were you…punishing Sam? For Toby?”

  “No,” he immediately says. “No. Besides Toby, Sam is the only person I’ve ever given a fuck about. And I hate that he has to live with how Toby died. It must be all sorts of hell. This is a small town, and people will always talk. I know how they’ve treated him. When I came back and I saw him with you…how happy he was, how really happy he was…”

  “And you wanted to punish him.”

  He slams the can hard onto the counter, and red sauce flies everywhere, half of it landing on my dress. “Shit!” He wets a dish towel and starts wiping my arms.

  I’m fascinated while he cleans off my hands and then rinses the cloth. I look down and see red liquid seeping through the fabric on my legs. I feel it on my skin. He stands in front of me again, and I am shaking and engulfed in nausea and fear.

  “Costa…”

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “Costa…Costa…”

  He finally looks up at me. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Stella. It’s not blood, okay? It’s not blood.”

  “Get it off me. Get it off me…” Speaking feels nearly impossible. “Costa, please.”

  With one hand, he pulls me off the counter, and with the other, he lifts the dress over my head and then tosses it aside. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He brushes the towel over my legs. “Don’t look down. Just look at me, okay? Look at me.”

  So, I do.

  He soaks the towel again and returns, setting one hand just under my chin so that I can’t see the blood.

  The sauce. The blood...

  “You were right,” he starts. “What you said earlier. I was probably punishing Sam. I guess I didn’t think of it like that, but maybe I was.” Costa moves the cloth over my thigh, but he’s respectful, not roving once. “I’ve probably always been jealous of Sam. He’s everything I’m not. He has everything I don’t. And now, he even has you. It’s stupidly easy to see that he is in love with you—all the way. I haven’t had anything close to what you two have.”

  When he throws the towel into the sink, I start to ease out of my fog. It dawns on me that I’m nearly naked, but before I can say anything, Costa is unzipping his hoodie and slipping it over my shoulders. He tucks my arms into the sleeves and zips it. All the while, he does this without a lurid look, which I appreciate. He seems like someone who could be an asshole about this, but instead, he’s very sweet.

  “I know Sam loved Toby as much as I did, but this is an impossible situation. I can’t forget what happened, but I can’t hate him. Sam is the best thing to happen to me, next to my kid. But maybe I did need to lash out.” He grins. “Passive-aggressive, I’ll admit.”

  “You two boys always seem to be unraveling me with dramatic bloody displays and then dressing me,” I mumble. “It’s quite gallant. And sickening.”

  He smiles. “Sorry that the hoodie is red.”

  “Sorry everything looks like blood to me right now.”

  “You’ll toughen up,” he says.

  “I hope so.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  AFTER I CHANGED INTO A CLEAN SKIRT AND T-SHIRT while Costa finished preparing a lasagna with both red and white sauces before setting it in the oven, I check the clock. Killing time has not been easy.

  “It’s been a while,” I say.

  “Distract yourself,” Costa says. “Tell me something, anything.”

  “I just spent the past hour summarizing every season of Sons of Anarchy. It’s not acceptable that you haven’t seen that show, by the way, considering you have a fondness for murder.”

  “Maybe it’s not acceptable that you have seen that show. Pick another topic.”

  “Okay, Costa Jorden,” I say. “Do people call you CJ?”

  He wrinkles his forehead. “Uh, no, they do not.”

  “Then, I will.”

  “No, you won’t. What else?”

  I pace the floor outside the open kitchen and blow a stray hair out of my face. I can’t think of anything to discuss that will make me stop thinking about Sam. “I have a crazy mother,” I spit out.

  “So do I. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “And my father left us years ago. Although I’m not really sure, I think he kissed me good-bye in the middle of the night. I haven’t seen him since. We weren’t allowed to talk about him.”

  “You don’t know where he is?”

  “No. And I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t know where my parents are either. And I also don’t want to.” He fakes a smile. “Isn’t it great how much we have in common? The start of a beautiful friendship.”

  “Yep. Lifelong friends, you and me.”

  “Next topic,” he says. “I got an apartment in town, above the bakery. My place smells like snickerdoodles all the time.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “You should come over one day. Check it out. I’ll shuck oysters for you.”

  I glare at him. “Nice try.”

  Costa takes the tequila bottle from the table and hands it to me. “Have a drink. You’ve sobered up way too much.”

  I slug down a shot. “Happy, CJ?”

  “Your crazy mother. Is that why Sam was worried about you before he tripped? Why he told you to stay with him? What does that mean?”

&nbsp
; His questions feel like a violation, and I don’t want to explain too much. “I get…messy sometimes.”

  “Messy?”

  “My mother did a number on me.”

  Costa takes the bottle and drinks. “Messy, like you can’t see things clearly?”

  I’m surprised by what he understands. “Yes, actually.”

  He walks the floor for a minute, seeming lost in thought, and then goes to the stereo. He scrolls through his phone until he finds music he wants, and then he takes another drink. “Dance with me.”

  “I already danced with you.”

  The music is slower this time.

  “Dance with me again. It’ll help pass the time.”

  “Fine.” I step into him, somewhat reluctantly, but the truth is that I also welcome physical closeness and comfort because I’m beginning to falter in my faith that Sam will be okay. I put an arm over Costa’s neck and a hand in his. “What are we listening to?”

  “Matthew Mayfield. ‘Heartbeat.’”

  “Ironic.”

  Costa’s hand moves to the small of my back, and he pulls me in hard, his waist pressing into mine. “Feel.”

  I push away. “Don’t be a shit again.”

  “No, not that.” He repositions me against him. “Feel my heartbeat. I’ve died way more than Sam has. My heartbeat is still strong, so feel.”

  I lean the side of my head on his chest. Even with music filling the room, I can hear, and I feel a little better—only a little, but it helps. I let Costa rock us back and forth to the lyrics. “Who tripped you?” I asked.

  “Some guy.”

  I step on his foot. “Say more.”

  He laughs. “About ten miles north of here, there’s a place where people go cliff diving. It’s illegal, but it’s fun. I never jumped, but I used to go sit and watch from a distance. I caught him there, alone—the death tripper.”

  Costa makes a dramatic ghost sound, and I smile.

  “When he jumped and crashed, I saw him die. I saw him and the blood on slabs of rocks. Then, I watched his body disappear. I thought I’d made it up. I stayed there all day, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t crazy.”

  His heartbeat continues to keep me calm.

  “I understand that.”

  “He came back just before nightfall and did it again. He tripped over death. It was awesome. I don’t know what he calls it, but Sam and I go with death tripping. Nice ring to it, huh? I watched him a few more times, and then I asked him if could make me what he was, if that were possible. He said he could do it to anyone. So, he did it to me. Made me a death tripper. End of story.”

  “Just like that? But why did you want to be tripped?” I ask with skepticism. “You went up to some stranger and—”

  “End of story, okay? The point is, I got what I wanted, and I never saw him again.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” I step back just slightly and look up at the raven-haired boy who I know damn well is holding back the full truth. “You hardly knew anything about death tripping. You still don’t. Why didn’t you ask him about it? I mean…if there are rules or whatever? Will you and Sam ever die? Are there more death trippers? There have to be, right? Shit, Costa, why would you ever choose this?”

  He stops dancing and holds me still. “You, more than anyone, should understand wanting a way out. That’s what I got. I got my out. Death tripping gave me a life. Until it took my son’s.”

  I don’t know what to say to this, so I move into his body and make him keep dancing with me. Three more songs play before I speak again, “What the fuck is this song we’re listening to?”

  “Hey, be careful there. This is Bret Michaels. ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn.’ Don’t mess with Bret.”

  “Fine, fine. Sorry. I had no idea this was so important to you.”

  “Ballads from the eighties are very important to the world. And this is the updated country version. It’s hot.” He steps back and gets on one knee while he serenades me.

  “You’re so weird.”

  “And you love that about me.”

  “I acknowledge that about you.”

  “Same diff.” He stands back up and continues our dance.

  “What power do you have now?”

  “I don’t,” he says simply.

  “Only Sam has powers?”

  “I used to have them. After I tripped Sam, they disappeared. Apparently, there’s a trade-off.”

  “That’s a big one.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Death tripping got to be lonely. I needed someone.”

  “So, you sucked your best friend into this nightmare?”

  He slowly turns us. A haunting new song fills the silence. Finally, he says, “Yes. I did that.”

  I shut my eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have,” he continues. “I know that. I was lonely. And I needed Sam with me. I’m not justifying it. I’m just telling you. I can’t take it back, so the only thing to do is have fun with it.”

  I place my hands on his shoulders and push, creating a good distance between us. “Yeah, it’s a fucking joyride. It’s been over four hours now. Where is he? Where the fuck is Sam?”

  “What? You’re not having fun with me? Of course you are. Stop worrying.”

  “No. No, I’m not going to stop worrying. You don’t know shit about this. Is there some…some book of rules I don’t know about?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “But nothing. Maybe there’s a limit on how many times you can die. Maybe his limit is different than yours. Maybe he’s dead for real this time.” I am incredulous—and increasingly furious—that Costa chose death tripping without having any real grip on what it is.

  “Stella, he’s not—”

  “You don’t know that!” I’m full-on yelling at him now, but I can’t stop. “My life was a complete fucking disaster until I came here and found Sam. I pulled my shit together, and for once, everything felt clear and normal. Then, you show up and blow it all to hell!”

  “Stop, okay?” He looks broken, but that doesn’t slow me down.

  “He didn’t need this. He wouldn’t have chosen this. You’re like me. Your life was a disaster, and you needed death tripping. People like you and me have to escape somehow, but Sam wasn’t like that until you made him need this. You tripped Sam, and Toby died because of that, so losing your son is on you.” Before the words are out of my mouth, I regret them—deeply.

  Costa reaches for the bottle again and leans against the wall. He cracks his neck and then takes a long drink. He’s stoic, but he can’t hide the hurt. “Well, that was brutal. Do you feel better now?”

  “No.” I walk to him. “No. I’m sorry.”

  He takes another drink and wipes the back of a hand over his eyes.

  “Really sorry. Costa, that was awful. I’m awful.” I nod at the tequila.

  He holds the bottle to my mouth, and I drink more than I should. But it’s what I want—to feel numb. Then, I put my arms around his waist and hug him close, attempting to undo some of the damage that I’ve just inflicted. He doesn’t move, but I don’t let go.

  “There’s no blame in any of this. I’m sorry for what I said. And, God, I’m so sorry your son died. That’s unbearable. It’s the only thing that matters in all of this. Sam told me what a great father you were and how much you loved Toby.”

  Costa moves a hand to my back and drops his forehead onto my shoulder. “We couldn’t trip him. We tried. He was nowhere.”

  “I know. Sam told me that you did everything you could. You both did.”

  Together, we stand like this for what feels like forever, yet it also feels like no time.

  Later, he takes out his cell and shows me a picture of a toddler with hair as dark as his and eyes just as intriguing. The child is holding a raggedy stuffed lion over his head and smiling at the camera.

  “I miss him every second of every hour.” He tucks the picture away. Then, Costa says something that nearly breaks me, “I lost Toby. I can’t lose
Sam, too.”

  I grab fistfuls of his shirt in my hands. “Sam’s been gone too long, hasn’t he?” It hurts to even ask.

  “Truth?” It takes him a minute to answer. “I thought he’d be back by now.”

  “Oh God, Costa.” My voice breaks.

  “I know. I love him, too.” He rubs my back. “Look, you can’t always control how long you’re under or how long it takes you to pull it together when you surface. He’s different now. He was off for a long time before I tripped him a few weeks ago. It’s been a while, so he might still be getting back into the swing of things. And his powers seem different and stronger, so his trips might be different. Maybe he surfaced far away, but he’ll call if that happens. We’re just going to wait, and Sam will be back.”

  For another forty-five minutes, Costa holds me and tolerates my tears. I don’t disappear into my alternate world, but I’m not entirely in this one either. Costa must know this experience because he doesn’t force me to choose. The only thing he does do—just when my fear and anxiety have peaked—is turn me around in his arms and face me forward, so I can see Sam, who has just come through the door. The real Sam. He is whole and beautiful and alive.

  I let out a choke of relief, and my legs begin to buckle. Costa catches my body and holds me up, and I fall against him. Sam strides to me, his expression intense, his eyes nearly on fire with lust. I’m not sure that he’s even aware of Costa. Maybe he’s not aware of anything or anyone but me, which I understand because the only awareness I have is my equally fervent and immediate desire for Sam—to be entwined, engulfed, and in love with the person I am so tied to.

  It’s only with Costa’s support that I am still standing when Sam reaches me. His hands slam against the wall behind me as he presses his full body against mine and kisses me more powerfully than he ever has. He is soaking wet with ocean water, and while his body should be cold, it’s anything but. I twist my fingers into his hair as I arch my back into him.

  I’m vaguely aware that there are hands on my waist—not Sam’s though.

  Oh, I realize fuzzily, it’s Costa’s.

  His touch is firm as he runs his hands up and down my sides. Sam’s mouth is so tight over mine that I can barely breathe, yet I also can’t get enough. He tastes like salt water and sex. Sam hits the wall hard with a fist and grinds into me. I have to pull my mouth from his to let out the gasp that’s been building. He puts a hand to my throat and tips my head back so that I’m resting it on Costa’s shoulder, and then he starts working his mouth and tongue over my neck.