17. Echo

17

Echo

B yrd's sister is seriously cock-blocking me.

I thought I'd won the battle when Byrd let me ditch the couch and crawl into his bed, but unfortunately, all we've done in it so far is snuggle.

"I'll be quiet," I promise, throwing a leg across his thigh and trailing my fingers down his happy trail to the waistband of his sleep shorts. We're finally alone after a second full day of following Elke around Mendo while she takes pictures of restored churches and explores every single kitschy tourist shop in town.

"You're incapable of being quiet." His hand finds its way down the back of my briefs and squeezes my ass. When a finger teases my crease, I arch into his touch with a groan. "See? And this house is basically one open room split across three levels." Capturing my wandering hand, he sucks my middle and ring fingers into his mouth and swirls his tongue between them, then bites down when I can't stifle another moan. "I heard everything you ever did in your bed downstairs. "

"Everything?" I swear this man has the self-control of a saint, and he gets off on torturing me.

"Everything. It was torture."

Ha.

"So this is payback, then?" I rock my hips against him, but he only pulls his hand free of my briefs. Stupid saint. "Why couldn't you be a pervy priest with a thing for altar boys instead?" I mutter.

" What ?" He tugs my head back to frown at my face.

"Just cursing your restraint." When I try to lunge for his mouth, the fist in my hair holds me still. "Ow."

For another long second, he considers me, then leans in and traces my lips with his tongue, featherlight and devastating.

"Go to sleep, altar boy." He rolls me over and curls his warm, half-naked body around my back. As if I can sleep with an ignored hard-on and my ass nestled against his dick. "She'll be gone in a few days."

A "few days" turn into a week.

A week of Elke sitting in the grass watching Byrd and I train on the rig. A week of trips to the coast for shopping and taking pictures of buildings and cold windy walks on the beach. One afternoon, we drive to a vineyard in Anderson Valley. She and I get wasted on eighty-dollar-a-bottle wine while Byrd laughs at us, and I pass out in the back of the 4-Runner on the way home. After that, I start letting them go on their adventures without me.

Elke, on the other hand, seems to have no interest in leaving Byrd and me alone. She tracks our interactions with calculating eyes until I find myself pushing the boundaries of appropriate PDA to fuck with her. To my surprised delight, Byrd plays along, returning my kisses with all his usual potency, tugging me into his lap while we watch TV, and reaching up to grip the back of my neck when I slip in behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.

And letting me sleep in his bed every night, for all the good it does me.

"You know I'm in my sexual prime, right?" I throw back the sheet to show him the morning wood tenting my boxers. "It's not healthy for me to go this long without orgasming."

"Go jack off in the shower." But he's not looking at my face.

"Alone?" I give myself a slow, deliberate stroke, and his eyes go molten.

"And quietly." But he rolls toward me, adjusting himself.

Mirroring his position, I move my hand from my cock to his. "What if I send Elke on a beer run?"

"It's eight o'clock in the morning." But he's hard in my grip, and his voice is rough beneath the shape of his smile.

"A coffee run."

"Are we out of coffee?" He thrusts into my hand, and I know I've won.

"We could be if you give me a minute."

"Fine. If Elke goes to the store, I will jack you off in the shower. But you're buying the new coffee."

"Twelve bucks for a hand job? Totally worth it." I lean over to steal a kiss before heading to the kitchen. "You could definitely charge more."

In the evenings, when the three of us eat dinner at Byrd's family-sized farmhouse table, Elke peppers me with questions.

"How many boyfriends have you had?"

"Boyfriends? None."

"Girlfriends?" She snorts at my horrified expression. "Fine. Relationships. More than one-night stands."

"Um…" I glance at Byrd, who's eating homemade Pad Thai and smirking at me over his chopsticks. "One? "

"Oh my god, you're talking about Coen? He's your ‘one'?" Now it's her turn to look horrified. Byrd appears to be trying not to laugh into his noodles, and I shoot him a dirty look.

"The guy you don't fuck on the first date but still go back for more? Yeah." I throw a chopstick at him. "Still waiting for that to pay off."

He snatches the chopstick out of the air and throws it back at me. Elke pokes me in the shoulder with hers.

"So you usually fuck on the first date, then?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Not that I've ever been the kind of guy to go on dates. Byrd is turning out to be a lot of firsts. Elke narrows her eyes.

"Exactly how many guys have you slept with?" she asks.

There's no way I'm answering that, but since I'm already failing whatever test this is, I give her my best degenerate smirk.

"At once? Or in total?"

She gapes at me while Byrd chokes on a bite of chicken.

"Elke," he says when he can breathe again. "How about we extend the whole no dick-talk thing to Echo for the rest of your trip?"

The next time, she asks about my family.

" Tell me about your childhood."

"Are your parents still together?"

"Do they have a good marriage?"

"Do you get along with them?"

She gets as far as " What about siblings? " before Byrd steps in and rescues me.

My favorite nights are when the two of them get drunk and tell stories about growing up in Tilburg—mostly a young Elke getting into scrapes and a flustered teenage Byrd trying to navigate the repercussions. It makes me nostalgic for something I've never even had—not the memories, but the secret language of a shared past, saturated with laughter and stupid jokes. I wonder how long you have to love someone to get like that, and if I'll ever know the answer.

When she convinces Byrd to break out an old-school photo album, I almost forgive her for the rest of it. We sit shoulder to shoulder on the couch while Byrd lies on the floor, a throw pillow over his face, and pore over shiny fragments of his past, trapped in cellophane. Byrd with chubby, scabby knees and no front teeth. Byrd lanky and awkward with braces and a buzz cut. Teenage Byrd in a suit with a Zac Efron shag, leaning against one of those tiny European cars.

I steal the last one while Byrd is brushing his teeth after Elke's gone to bed and slip it behind the case on my phone.

I'm playing Elden Ring on the PS5 when Elke walks into the living room.

"How was Café Beaujolais?" I ask, glancing at her without pausing the game.

"Delicious. Coen brought you the sturgeon and some kind of chocolate torte." She throws herself down on the cushions next to me, and I set the controller aside.

"Is he in the kitchen?" Before I can go look, she stops me with a hand on my wrist .

"He's driving the trash bins down to the road. I wanted to talk to you."

"Okay." What now?

"Did Coen tell you I'm leaving tomorrow? He's driving me to catch the bus in Santa Rosa first thing in the morning."

"Yes." Finally. Even if it means I'll wake up alone on my birthday, it'll be worth it to have Byrd to myself for a few hours before the party at Big Top. My obvious relief brings a wry smile to her lips.

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks." I grin at her, not sorry.

"I know I've been a pain in the ass with all the questions."

"It's fine." That's not why I can't wait for you to leave. "I get what you were trying to do."

"You do?"

As if she isn't about as subtle as a train wreck.

"Sure. Prove to Byrd that I'm a bad idea. But only because you want to protect him, and you don't trust me yet." Even if she drives me crazy, I can appreciate her intentions. Neither of us wants to see Byrd hurt, and it creates a kind of kinship.

"You are a bad idea."

"Ouch." So much for kinship . "And also—not your call." Thank fucking god .

But I don't really want Byrd's sister to hate me, so I try again. "I'm not his ex, you know. I'm not going to ask him to give up his dreams."

"He hasn't had time to figure out his dreams. Not the ones he can have now that he's free of Lara. He's too busy trying to rebuild yours ."

Mine ? All my dreams are sweaty and naked and full of Byrd. Now dreams, obsessive and immediate. But that's not what she means .

Old Echo was so sure of his future, it was more like a movie—already written and released and waiting for the Oscars to start rolling in.

The kind of dreams she's talking about? I'm not sure I have those anymore. Future Echo is too intangible—a promise I'm afraid to look at except out of the corner of my eye.

"Maybe we're making new dreams together?" I like that idea. Naked dreams and future ones, where maybe I'll become solid again.

Real enough to matter.

But Elke shakes her head.

"You understand how much he's risking to give you what you want, right? His job, his friendship with Reggie, his trampled heart? I'm trying to figure out if you're worth it."

Oh.

This whole time, I've been pushing Byrd to be more selfish, but maybe I'm the selfish one, wanting him without considering the cost. Demanding things he keeps trying to convince me he isn't ready to give.

Did I lie when I said I wasn't like Lara?

Elke watches the uncertainty flood me with something like pity in her eyes.

"Has he told you about the guy who broke his heart in college?" she asks, and I shake my head, not trusting my voice. "I don't know that much about him—I was too young and self-absorbed when it happened—but I know Lara wasn't the first. Coen has a history of letting people in when he shouldn't."

I think about the Byrd in my stolen photo, unblemished by the expectations of others, and I want to find the faceless douchebag who took that innocence and fucking bury him. But how many young Byrds have I ruined, without ever caring enough to count ?

"I do think you care about him," Elke continues, a bitter parody of my thoughts. "And I know he cares more about you than he'll admit. It doesn't make you good for each other."

I don't want to believe her. I've given up on finding my way back to my old self, and the only thing that makes it bearable is the nebulous feeling that this new version— Byrd's version —might actually be better.

But what she's really saying is I'm not good for him , and I don't know how to argue with that. Not when I'm just another asshole asking him to glue me back together with pieces of himself.

"I'm sorry, Echo." Maybe she even means it. "For what it's worth, I get what he sees in you. You're funny and charismatic and too gorgeous for your own good." She moves to touch me—to pat my shoulder or ruffle my hair—and I flinch away, shrugging her off.

"Lucky for me, I don't bat for your team." I'm sorry. I can't help it. Please leave me alone.

Her eyes go wide. "You little asshole."

"Don't you mean manwhore ?"

She stares at me for a minute before she bursts out laughing, and even though I hate her right now, I can't help cracking a rueful smile.

"I'd tell him if he asked, you know," I say.

"Tell him what?"

"My body count."

"He'll never ask."

I know. You were the one who wanted to make it important.

"Then I guess it doesn't matter anyway." I shrug and go to unpause my game.

"Goodnight, Echo," she says. "Maybe I'll see you around Tilburg sometime. "

"Goodbye, Elke. Maybe you will."

"You've been dead for five minutes."

I jolt at the sound of his voice, dropping the controller on the rug, and turn around. He's leaning against the wall at the base of the stairs, achingly beautiful in dark bootcut jeans and one of his Henleys. This one is the color of chocolate, making his hair glow warm in the lamplight—dark red and gold like the blurred edge of a flame where it turns to smoke.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, smiling.

I'm wondering if I can still be the new, better Echo on my own, or if I'll fall back to pieces without you holding me together.

"Not really." When did this become so much more than simply wanting you to fuck me?

"Are you coming to bed or taking another run at Godrick the Grafted?"

I wrench my eyes away and bend to pick up the fallen controller, straining to sort through the spiral riot of my thoughts—the things I want and the things I should protect him from. And underneath it all, the immense inevitability of him, and the spaces inside me he's begun to fill.

"I'm…" Too weak to be the better man .

I stand, switching off the TV as I pass, and follow him up the stairs.

In the dark, it's easier to be brave.

"Byrd? Are you going to lose your job because of me?" Fuck. I sound like a child, worried about getting in trouble. Grow the fuck up, Echo.

"This job? Almost certainly. But Reggie's pay is for shit, so I'll survive."

"I meant your real job." I don't want to say it, because he's giving me an out, and I love these rare flashes of his dry sense of humor, but Elke's words are too raw in my mind. And I'm trying to be a responsible adult.

He's quiet for a minute, and even though I also love that he never tries to bullshit me, I kind of wish this once, he would. When I start to pull away, his arm tightens around me.

"I don't think so," he says. "Not unless there's some public scandal, and I doubt we're important enough for that."

You feel important.

"You're not underage," he continues. "You're not auditioning for Cirque. I'm on sabbatical. There's no real reason for them to care unless someone forces them to."

Some of the tension drains from my body.

"What brought this on?" he asks, dragging his knuckles up the back of my arm and sending shivers over my skin.

"I guess twenty-one is the magic age where I finally grow up," I say around the lingering ache in my throat. He chuckles softly.

"Elke get under your skin?"

"She didn't get under yours? I know she's been trying to talk you out of this. Me."

"She tried. I listened. And then I made my own choices."

"Are you sure you made the right ones?"

He lets people in when he shouldn't.

I don't think I could bear to be something he regrets.

"Yes." He says it without hesitation, and my heart gives one of those sudden, swooping throbs. "What about you? Is this still something you want?"

I think I want it forever. I can feel the words taking shape on my tongue, vast and terrifying. But I don't want to scare him, and I don't want him to start talking about August again, and if I open my mouth, I have no idea what might tumble out.

So I roll on top of him and answer with bold hands and languid kisses, and this time, he doesn't tell me to stop.