AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He’s led me all the way here. Shared more than secret pools and old goal posts with me. Now it’s my turn to be as open with him.
“Do I want to spend every fucking minute I can with you?”
He nods, a smile starting. He also hesitates like he can’t let himself have fun without double-checking. “Unless you need to get started?—”
“Drawing everything you showed me today?”
He nods.
“Fuck, no.” I grab his hand. “There’s tons of time for that.” I stand up so fast that water swirls around us. “I’ve got days and days left. Weeks. Maybe even longer, depending on what the publishers make of the first images I send my agent.”
That deadline might as well be forever away as I pull Hayden out of the water.
He emerges, wet and laughing, and…
I want even longer.
15
RAE
Hayden ignores the bag of clothes Marc left for us, only dragging on a pair of runners like I do before he takes off sprinting into the dusk. The man has legs for miles, and I don’t know if footy or farm work built his stamina, but he has plenty. So much that he doesn’t show any sign of slowing, not even when the school padre calls out from the chapel doorway.
“Lovely evening for a jog, boys!”
I can’t keep in a cackle. There’s no way to keep that happy sound in when part of me is still tumbling downriver, still slipping and sliding, carried away by rapids and by the need to catch him. And when I do?
I’m gonna bang his brains out.
Or he can bang mine.
I don’t care which.
I just want him.
That’s what rings in my ears now, and not only because I want to get between those endless legs of his. After everything he’s shown and told me today, I’ve got enough ideas to fill a whole sketchbook. More than that, Ifinallyhave direction, andthat relief at finally knowing where I’m headed means I’m still riding a wave of gratitude.
For him.
It’s the second time he’s unlocked my inspiration, slicing straight through whatever blocked it, and hasn’t needed a bramble cutter to do it. Today he’s done it by being honest.
I wish I could go back. I can’t. But I can remember.
Those long, strong legs carry him through the woods way faster than I can hope to keep up with, but here’s the thing about growing up with a parent who owed cash to every local dealer—I know how to look for gaps to dart through.
If I sketched this sprint from the river to the stables, I’d slash bright zigzags behind me and add a speech bubble to contain Hayden’s laughter at me crashing ahead of him. I’d also draw the flush that rises when we pass a group of boarding students. We both slow to a walk, then stop to field theirwhy are you wearing wetsuitsquestions, but I can see that he’s vibrating—all of him, not only his hands. Tense, until the kids head off for their supper.
Then we’re off again, running side by side this time, and fuck it, I’d sketch wings on our heels if it got us back to the stables any faster.
My chest is heaving when we finally get there, and he slams the door closed behind us. He locks it, then stands in evening shadows, that broad chest of his heaving as well. His hair is a wreck, complete with strands of weed from the river, and he’s both wild and magic like this.
That’s how I’ll draw him—as a king of the dryads this time, rising from a pool of silver water.
I can picture that pool with him in it. And I can still see those chimneys in the background. They belong to a school that shares its name with a much bigger project than mine. Glynn Harbermeans something like safe harbour in Cornish, and that’s what Hayden is when his arms open for me.
We crash together, and I’m not the only one with mouth-to-mouth skills. His kiss is a reminder of being pummelled by a current that wouldn’t stop tumbling downhill. Ours tumbles us down a hallway. Against a wall. Into a tiled shower room where his voice echoes. “You’re cold.”
I am fucking not.
