Friday. April 21, 2017
?One more piece of advice -- figure out a different way to explain it all to Aoife or you'll make her cry. And I'll be pretty damn pissed if you make my girl cry.?
His parting words for Sabine echoed in his head all night; he?d gotten very little sleep.
The next morning, he and Salvador spoke nothing of the previous night?s conversation with Sabine. Curled up together on the hammock that was strung up in the lanai, they drank their coffee in companionable silence with their backs to the ocean and watched the sun come up.
You?ll make her cry.
The truth of it haunted Cane. He knew it was true because Sabine?s secret had wounded him. He?d always known that expectation was the root of all heartache, but it didn?t occur to him until everything unfolded that he?d obviously been expecting too much from her. Since when had the truth become too much?
After finishing his coffee, Canaan watched Salvador. The man was a taut wire; tense and still, but he knew that just one pluck of the string would create explosive vibrations. He left the Spaniard on the breezeway alone with his thoughts to put their mugs in the sink.
His lover was the type of man who preferred to consider problems on his own, to work through his anger in silence until he managed to dismantle and pack it away into neat boxes he could then address logically, individually. The process often took days to work through. Sometimes weeks.
But Salvador wasn?t just angry. He was hurt, too; likely more than he?d ever admit. Cane didn?t blame him. Anger was always easier. It was a coping mechanism with which he was intimately familiar.
Aoife was another person Cane knew would be hurt by all of this. While washing the mugs, he recalled the songbird?s reaction from the week earlier. The way she?d quietly retreated into herself. The heartrendingly forlorn confession to him that she hadn?t meant to be a bad friend.
?What are you feeling on the inside?? Aoife asked.
?Disappointed.?
And he had been. Last week the disappointment struck a chord. He thought it would go away with Sabine?s explanation, but after hearing everything she laid out on the table, disappointment felt more like a knife between the ribs. Now, the sucking wound of betrayal was a bothersome thorn in Cane?s side. Sal was suffering the same. He?d be damned if he left Aoife without recourse.
?I?m going to see Aoife.?
Salvador stirred from his thoughts long enough to process and then acknowledge him.
?Good. Yes. You should,? he agreed.
Canaan?s smile was warm, if small. He leaned down to where Salvador was still sprawled in the hammock, their skulls thumping gently together as though they were a pair of cats smearing their scents on one another. He tucked a calloused hand around the back of Sal?s neck before kissing him soundly. Sal?s grip on his wrist was tight.
When Cane withdrew, he waited until Sal looked him in the eye before saying, ?I?m not going anywhere.?
To anyone else it would have sounded as though he?d contradicted himself. But those words meant something different, however, and that something different sharpened the focus of Salvador?s eyes. The Spaniard reeled him in for another kiss, this one quicker than the last.
?Go,? Sal directed. And Cane did.
--
When Cane woke up several hours later, his nostrils were filled with the sickly sweet scent of lilac and honeysuckle. He was in no way surprised to find that Aoife had taken the opportunity to weave flowers into his beard while he slept. The care and attention she paid him was more than enough to put a smile on his face.
The Cajun sat up and stretched, shaking the dregs of exhaustion from his bones. The short nap had done wonders to refresh his mind, but as he looked around the expansive, verdant garden that surrounded him, Cane remembered the reason for his visit. A small knot of tension reformed in his stomach.
When he found Aoife, he couldn?t help but stop to watch her from a distance for a while. The cardamom she tended, with its thick stalks and leafy, yellow-green fronds waving in the breeze, towered over her. He couldn?t be sure from so far away, but they might have been taller than him, too. Nearly a year ago the plants had only reached as high as her hip. Between her green thumb prowess and the help of her dryad youngling, the fire scorched landscape from four years earlier was nothing but a memory. Now, everything was alive. Green upon green upon green with bursts of color splashed across the canvas now that everything was beginning to bloom.
Aoife was more flower than songbird just then: the hemline of a long, flowing, yellow dress sporting grass stains, her muddy, laceless All-Stars more brown than red, Lilac and Honeysuckle stitched into the braid that hung down her back. She was all dirt smudged cheeks and sun-kissed skin. The promise of summer to come.
Strix gave him away. The Great Horned Owl screamed when he spotted Cane and leapt from the tree in which he?d been perched. Cane held up an arm, braced for impact. The raptor?s gaping clawed feet snatched at his skin, landing heavily. Strix beat his wings in a display of dominance, but Cane bared his teeth and made a guttural growling noise at the creature. The owl cowed, immediately folding up the great width of his wings and ducked his head, chittering his beak as he bowed.
Pleased, Cane pet the great bird for a moment, and then looked up to find Aoife watching him. Their eyes met. She lifted her chin defiantly.
?You don?t scare me,? she challenged.
He thought that might have something to do with the flowers in his beard. Grinning, he plucked a sprig of Honeysuckle from his face and gave it to Strix, who promptly destroyed it. ?Your decorations remind me that I need a shave.? Cane continued to pet the owl, asking, ?Feel like helping me tackle the beard?
?One more piece of advice -- figure out a different way to explain it all to Aoife or you'll make her cry. And I'll be pretty damn pissed if you make my girl cry.?
His parting words for Sabine echoed in his head all night; he?d gotten very little sleep.
The next morning, he and Salvador spoke nothing of the previous night?s conversation with Sabine. Curled up together on the hammock that was strung up in the lanai, they drank their coffee in companionable silence with their backs to the ocean and watched the sun come up.
You?ll make her cry.
The truth of it haunted Cane. He knew it was true because Sabine?s secret had wounded him. He?d always known that expectation was the root of all heartache, but it didn?t occur to him until everything unfolded that he?d obviously been expecting too much from her. Since when had the truth become too much?
After finishing his coffee, Canaan watched Salvador. The man was a taut wire; tense and still, but he knew that just one pluck of the string would create explosive vibrations. He left the Spaniard on the breezeway alone with his thoughts to put their mugs in the sink.
His lover was the type of man who preferred to consider problems on his own, to work through his anger in silence until he managed to dismantle and pack it away into neat boxes he could then address logically, individually. The process often took days to work through. Sometimes weeks.
But Salvador wasn?t just angry. He was hurt, too; likely more than he?d ever admit. Cane didn?t blame him. Anger was always easier. It was a coping mechanism with which he was intimately familiar.
Aoife was another person Cane knew would be hurt by all of this. While washing the mugs, he recalled the songbird?s reaction from the week earlier. The way she?d quietly retreated into herself. The heartrendingly forlorn confession to him that she hadn?t meant to be a bad friend.
?What are you feeling on the inside?? Aoife asked.
?Disappointed.?
And he had been. Last week the disappointment struck a chord. He thought it would go away with Sabine?s explanation, but after hearing everything she laid out on the table, disappointment felt more like a knife between the ribs. Now, the sucking wound of betrayal was a bothersome thorn in Cane?s side. Sal was suffering the same. He?d be damned if he left Aoife without recourse.
?I?m going to see Aoife.?
Salvador stirred from his thoughts long enough to process and then acknowledge him.
?Good. Yes. You should,? he agreed.
Canaan?s smile was warm, if small. He leaned down to where Salvador was still sprawled in the hammock, their skulls thumping gently together as though they were a pair of cats smearing their scents on one another. He tucked a calloused hand around the back of Sal?s neck before kissing him soundly. Sal?s grip on his wrist was tight.
When Cane withdrew, he waited until Sal looked him in the eye before saying, ?I?m not going anywhere.?
To anyone else it would have sounded as though he?d contradicted himself. But those words meant something different, however, and that something different sharpened the focus of Salvador?s eyes. The Spaniard reeled him in for another kiss, this one quicker than the last.
?Go,? Sal directed. And Cane did.
--
When Cane woke up several hours later, his nostrils were filled with the sickly sweet scent of lilac and honeysuckle. He was in no way surprised to find that Aoife had taken the opportunity to weave flowers into his beard while he slept. The care and attention she paid him was more than enough to put a smile on his face.
The Cajun sat up and stretched, shaking the dregs of exhaustion from his bones. The short nap had done wonders to refresh his mind, but as he looked around the expansive, verdant garden that surrounded him, Cane remembered the reason for his visit. A small knot of tension reformed in his stomach.
When he found Aoife, he couldn?t help but stop to watch her from a distance for a while. The cardamom she tended, with its thick stalks and leafy, yellow-green fronds waving in the breeze, towered over her. He couldn?t be sure from so far away, but they might have been taller than him, too. Nearly a year ago the plants had only reached as high as her hip. Between her green thumb prowess and the help of her dryad youngling, the fire scorched landscape from four years earlier was nothing but a memory. Now, everything was alive. Green upon green upon green with bursts of color splashed across the canvas now that everything was beginning to bloom.
Aoife was more flower than songbird just then: the hemline of a long, flowing, yellow dress sporting grass stains, her muddy, laceless All-Stars more brown than red, Lilac and Honeysuckle stitched into the braid that hung down her back. She was all dirt smudged cheeks and sun-kissed skin. The promise of summer to come.
Strix gave him away. The Great Horned Owl screamed when he spotted Cane and leapt from the tree in which he?d been perched. Cane held up an arm, braced for impact. The raptor?s gaping clawed feet snatched at his skin, landing heavily. Strix beat his wings in a display of dominance, but Cane bared his teeth and made a guttural growling noise at the creature. The owl cowed, immediately folding up the great width of his wings and ducked his head, chittering his beak as he bowed.
Pleased, Cane pet the great bird for a moment, and then looked up to find Aoife watching him. Their eyes met. She lifted her chin defiantly.
?You don?t scare me,? she challenged.
He thought that might have something to do with the flowers in his beard. Grinning, he plucked a sprig of Honeysuckle from his face and gave it to Strix, who promptly destroyed it. ?Your decorations remind me that I need a shave.? Cane continued to pet the owl, asking, ?Feel like helping me tackle the beard?