Made of Stars (17 page)

He doesn’t turn around.

“Fifteen. Where did you and Ash find me that summer?”

I brace myself against the bedpost, resisting the urge to sit down. Near Harper’s Beach. The cliffs overlooking the island where Chance stood, too close to the ledge, staring at the water and sky and everything in between.

“I was imagining what it was like to fly,” he says dreamily. “I was going to jump. No one would have found me. Even if I managed to fuck it up by surviving the fall, I’d be hurt too badly to climb back up. The tide would’ve swept me away, and no one ever would have known.”

I remember.

I remember Ash and me being late to get here that summer. Riding our bikes the achingly long trip to the beach without telling Dad because it was the only place besides the creek we knew to search for Chance.

And, God, I want to say he’s lying again, but the pieces fit too well. Ash spotted Chance off the bike path, catching sight of his bright yellow T-shirt through the trees. We dropped our bikes to the ground and ran to him, calling his name. Chance, who stood on the edge of the cliffs with his arms spread wide, slowly let his hands drop to his sides as he turned to face us.

“You have great timing,” he’d said.

I remember the haunted look in his eyes, the way I thought he’d slip right off that ledge if I so much as breathed his name. I think back to New Year’s, watching him on the edge of the rooftop and feeling so sick to my stomach because he was
too damn close
and I wanted to pull him back.

Chance is right. He could have jumped, and no one ever would have known unless his body washed up on shore weeks, months later.

“At that point,” Chance says, “I was sure I’d be okay as long as I held onto the knowledge you would always come back. You and Ash and Mr. J… You’re the only good memories I have, Hunter. Then you were gone for those few years and although I knew in my head why—there was this nagging feeling you had left me and you were never coming back.”

I wanted honesty. If this is honesty, though, I’m not sure how much of it I can take. My legs are weak with the weight of it all. I sink onto the bed. “What happened to you?”

Chance holds up one finger with a shake of his head. “I got the dragon because it reminded me of you. A reminder that the guy I loved would always come home to me, and he’d always have my back.” He smiles a tired smile and rolls his gaze to the ceiling. To the stars. “How’s that for ridiculously sentimental?”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. Except— “You don’t love me.”

His smile fades. “Sorry. Forgot you know my feelings better than I do.”

“No,” I say sharply. “You don’t, Chance. If you did, there wouldn’t be all these secrets. You wouldn’t have hidden so much. You wouldn’t be avoiding telling me
what happened
.”

Chance turns full-circle once, a distressed look pulling at his bruised features. “When I was little, really little, Mom told me she and I would get away from him. She had these hand-me-downs from a relative who died. Barbies. Collector’s editions, I guess; they were worth some good money because they were in such great shape.

“For three months, all I thought about was her selling those stupid dolls and getting us the hell out of there. Then…for whatever reason, she told my dad. I overheard them talking about what they would do with the cash. What
they
would do.”

Realization dawns. “The day we met you…the dolls you were playing with…”

He got rid of them. Because he refused to let his dad have any part of the money that was supposed to rescue him.

Chance crawls onto the bed beside me, his skin cold now but not as bad as it was. “And it’s not like Dad has a shortage of money. He’s a fucking mechanic. But he blows it all gambling, or on drugs, or whatever else catches his eye. Because of him, we lost our nice house, we lost our car, and whenever something goes wrong, he blames Mom and me. It’s why I could never leave. Someone had to be there to protect her. She’s the only family I’ve got, and I let her down.”

I seek out his hand, fingers wrapping around his thin wrist, one finger at a time. “You haven’t let her down. She should’ve been protecting
you
, Chance. Not the other way around. She’s as much to blame as he is.”

Chance’s shoulders sag, like a weight bearing down on him has been lifted. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m so tired, Hunter. I’ve been so
desperate
for something to change.”

There is so much I can say. So many things I’ve thought to say the last few weeks. Comforting words and reassuring statements…but nothing comes to mind right now. Just, “It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you. Let us help.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile. Slowly, his arms slip around my shoulders, his mouth finds its way right beside my ear. “Do you love me?”

A shiver courses down my spine. The moment of truth, isn’t it? I think back to Rachael on the way to the airport, to the night on the phone when I accidentally told her I loved her when I didn’t mean it because all my thoughts, all my attention, were focused on Chance looking so beautiful in the snow. My mouth tingles at the memory of him kissing me, the kisses from Rachael after that, and how I couldn’t stop comparing the two.

Chance is so still, but I can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest pressed against me; I can’t see his face because we’re cheek-to-cheek, and I think that might be a good thing, not being able to see him. I don’t know that I could speak otherwise.

Because it’s the simplest of questions, really. One I’m over-thinking when there’s nothing to think about. It’s that I don’t like the truth of it, because it’s terrifying, because it opens myself up to being the one person in the world who can save Chance Harvey, and what do you do with that kind of pressure? That sort of expectation? How do you open yourself so completely to a person you don’t trust?

He isn’t asking if it’s a good idea, though, or if I want to do anything about it. He’s only asking if I
do
, and I owe him that much. Maybe in a way I owe it to Ashlin, too, for encouraging me even when it had to have broken her heart.

“Yes,” I whisper, the words splintering in my throat. “I love you.”

Chance draws back with eyes wide, lips parted.
Startled
, almost. Like he expected anything but that. I search his gaze, grappling for something to say to make me feel less naked and vulnerable. I don’t get the opportunity before Chance leans in and kisses me.

It’s no different than last time on New Year’s Eve. The simultaneous thrill and fear that snakes through every nerve in my body, kick-starting my adrenaline. Only now there is the absence of guilt over Rachael, just the worry and unease of not having any idea what I’m doing, kissing the boy I’ve thought about kissing for years.

Chance cups my face in his hands, and my arms go around him, itching to pull him closer. It occurs to me I could be hurting him, triggering every bruise, but if I am, Chance doesn’t tell me, so instead I’ll focus on kissing him the way he deserves to be kissed. There’s a stark contrast between the heat of his mouth and the chill of his lips.

My hands clutch at his hips, adjusting to how different this is. How different it is from kissing someone like Rachael. Different. Better. Because it’s
Chance
and why wouldn’t it be? I’m aware of everything about him. Every breath he takes. Every beat of his heart, lost somewhere in time with mine. Aware of his mouth and the way it sends heat and light like stars to every nerve in my body.

I don’t know what we’re doing. If we should be doing it.

If I even care about all that anymore.

All that matters is Chance. The solid, angular feel of his body, the taste of him, the way he sighs against my mouth when we lay back and I lean over him on the mattress. And no matter my level of worry or uncertainty, despite it all, this feels good. Right. Chance-and-me. Two people derived from the same star billions of years ago, searching for each other in a vast universe and only now really finding each other.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I mumble into his mouth. “I’ll protect you. I can. I promise.”

Chance’s lips curve into a sad smile. His hands smooth up and over my ribs, my shoulders, into my hair. Like he’s mapping out every part of me. I’m content to do the same to him—until he winces, and I know I’ve hit a bruise.

Immediately, I draw back, the rest of the world coming into focus. “Sorry, I’m—”

“Shut up.” He chuckles and drags me down to lay beside him, my head against his shoulder. Strange, yes, in the sense we don’t fit like some magical puzzle pieces. He doesn’t mold to my body like Rachael would have. But it’s still perfect, and I won’t question it.

Chance stares up at the stars on the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, absently stroking my hair. “Look how bright Draco is,” he says.

They’re just plastic stars
, I think to remind him again. But if it makes him happy, I hardly see a reason to argue with him. I close my eyes, though sleep is the last thing on my mind, and I’m not even sure I’ll be able to now with the way my blood is still thrumming with electricity. “You’ll stay, right? We’ll talk to Dad tomorrow?”

The noise he makes is a noncommittal one. But he says, “Maybe,” and that’s likely the most I’m going to get out of him. He buries his face in my hair and breathes in deep. “Say it again.”

“Say…?”

“That you love me.”

I grope blindly around by our legs to drag the blankets up and around us. Going to take some getting used to, hearing things like that. “I do love you.”

“No matter what?”

“Yeah, Chance. No matter what.”

…

Chance is gone in the morning.

His side of the bed is still warm, so it hasn’t been long since he left. I roll onto my back with a groan, running my hands over my face, halfway convinced last night was a dream. If so, it was a really vivid one.

Except the clothes Chance borrowed from me are still gone, as are the ones he was wearing when he got here. I swear I must have lost a fourth of all my clothes to him over the years. Now I wonder whether it was out of necessity, because he needed them and never would’ve asked, or because he liked feeling closer to me. Maybe a little from column A, a little from column B.

I shuffle around in a dazed state between awake and what-the-hell-happened-last-night. And what happens
now
? Maybe that’s the more important question. Did Chance go back home? If so, I’ll get dressed, go over there, and retrieve him. Once and for all.

Ash is still sleeping. She growls dangerously at me when I ease into her room and say her name, but all it takes is, “Chance stopped by last night,” and she’s sitting up, trying to make sense of her hair while shoving aside blankets, speaking with all the slurredness of someone pretending she’s more awake than she is.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“He didn’t want anyone to see him.” Which is half a lie, because he wanted
me
to see him, obviously. But if he’d wanted Ash woken up, he would’ve said as much. That’s how Chance works. “Come on. We’re going over to his place and bringing him back home, even if we have to break down the door.”

“That doesn’t sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” she mutters, but she shoves me at the door to leave so she can get dressed.

Ten minutes later, we head downstairs with every intention of skipping breakfast and getting out of there. Halfway down the steps, I make out Dad’s voice, and from the living room we see him at the front door, talking to two men in uniform. I vaguely recognize one of them as Roger, an old friend and partner of Dad’s from the force. The other guy is several years younger. Well-groomed. Likely a new cop, I’d bet.

They look past Dad and catch sight of us, and their somber expressions tell me this isn’t a social visit. Dad twists around, and his expression is tight and worried. Fear clutches at my heart, making every beat a struggle.

“Dad?” Ash says. “What’s going on?”

He glances at Roger, who says, “We’re looking for Chance Harvey.”

I let out a strangled breath. They’re looking for him. That’s a step above
we found him in a ditch last night
. Not great, but better. I think. Before I can respond, Ash shakes her head. “We haven’t seen him in a bunch of days. We’ve been trying to get ahold of him. Did something happen? Is he okay?”

She’s better at this whole lying thing than I am. I simply stare at the two officers and Dad, unblinking, trying to keep myself calm. Logical. What in the world could have possibly happened?

Dad takes a deep breath. “Chance’s mother was murdered.”

Ashlin

The words hit me like a bag of bricks. Immediately, Hunter collapses onto the couch, head bowed, hands running through his hair again and again. I sit slowly beside him and reach for his hand, letting him squeeze mine as tight as he needs to. For my own comfort as well as his.

“His mom,” I repeat. “That doesn’t…make any sense.”

Dad lets the officers farther into the house and shuts the door. He sits on the other side of Hunter, keeping close to us. Roger takes a seat in Dad’s armchair while his partner remains standing. No more sitting room.

“Kids,” Roger says gently. “Anything you can tell us would really, really help.”

Oh, there are plenty of things we could tell him. Now I wonder if we shouldn’t have lied about Chance being here last night. Could we have been his alibi? Does he
need
an alibi? “We haven’t seen him in a few days,” I repeat. “We were sort of… He was… There was some stuff going on at home and we figured he was dealing with it.”

“What sort of stuff?”

My brother and I exchange glances. “Is he a suspect?” I ask.

“It’s a possibility,” the younger officer says. “First things first, we’d like to know if he’s all right. Judging by the state of the house, it looked like there was a struggle, and Zeke Harvey is also missing.”

Roger shoots his partner a look, like he’s said more than Roger wanted him to say, then adds, “Chance needs to come in for questioning. We can’t rule anything out.”