19. Byrd

19

Byrd

H e's too quiet on the drive to the tent, turning his new keychain over in his fingers and staring out the window. I've grown so used to his eyes on me as I drive—the scorching look that makes me want to unbutton my pants and press his head into my lap.

I keep seeing his face when I gave him the key—confusion, surprise, hurt. Too much . I should have taken it back. Let him keep the keychain without the symbol of future obligation.

But he was wearing my shirt, mutilated into something so sublimely Echo that I couldn't think straight. And his cock in my mouth was as eager as ever, his incandescent skin pliant under my hands, and all the familiar, delectable little noises coming from his throat letting me believe I'd done something right.

What twenty-one-year-old guy doesn't like having his dick sucked, idiot?

He likes having his dick sucked by me .

Then why is he so quiet now?

I don't know.

Something's wrong. Ask him.

Something's wrong. I'm afraid .

I pull into the lot without saying a word.

Only a week until they leave for tour, and the Big Top clearing is packed with trucks and trailers, the full crew ready to roll out. They've left tearing down the tent until the last minute for rehearsals, but also for Echo's party, and tonight they've done it up with its crown of Edison bulbs, and someone—probably Milla—is blasting pop music from the sound system.

Josha greets us, leaning on an overturned barrel by the door.

"Are you the bouncer?" Echo teases. "Need to check my ID?"

Josha grins and punches Echo's shoulder, but his eyes stray to the steps of the ticket wagon, where a dark-haired young man in a leather jacket is smoking a joint with one of the hand balancers.

"Gem's home?" I ask, surprised. "I thought he was staying in Montreal this summer."

"He was," Josha says, "but Shilo talked him into coming back for opening week. He's only here until Sunday."

"She still hoping to coax him back to Big Top after all this time?"

"She keeps trying."

"Talking about me and my wayward prodigal?" Shilo appears, joining us in a wash of light and noise as she steps through the tent flap. "One year, that's all I'm asking. One year with my whole family together in this thing we built. Then Gem can go off and join Cirque if that's still what he wants."

"You can't keep him from following his own path, Shi," I admonish. No matter how much it hurts to let them go. "You know what it did to me."

She scowls and opens her mouth, but Echo, sensing the old argument, interrupts.

"Do I get to meet this prodigal son of yours, or are you worried I'll corrupt him? "

"Ha. Good luck with that." She waves Gem over, calling his name.

Josha grabs his ever-present flannel from the barrel and ducks inside the tent as Gem approaches.

"Hon," Shilo says, beaming up at her son. "This is Echo. He's the one working with Byrd on his NCC evaluation. Echo, this is my oldest, Gemiah."

The two give each other a classic alpha-pup once-over, and I can't hide my smile. Echo may have met his cocky match with this one. Another rock star accustomed to being adored and getting his own way. Whatever insecurities were birthed by the trauma of Echo's accident, I've yet to see them temper his brash mouth.

"Josha told me about you," Gemiah says by way of greeting, something curious and not quite friendly in his smile.

"He likes having another hot young gay guy on the lot." Here we go. "Byrd's too old, and anyway, he's terrible at flirting." He gives me a sidelong smirk, but I refuse to take the bait.

"And you're a master, I'm guessing?" Gem arches a brow, and Echo shrugs.

"Always happy to share my skills with a twink in need."

"Is that what you're doing now?" Gem asks. "Flirting?"

"Do you want me to be?" There's no mistaking the challenge in Echo's voice, but Gem shakes his head.

"Sorry, man," he says. "I like tits and ass."

Shilo smacks him. "Don't be crude."

Echo stares him down a second longer, then slides a hand down the back of my jeans and leans in. "Ass is the gateway drug," he says to me in a mock whisper, giving mine a squeeze.

"Brat," I reply in an actual whisper, tugging his hand free and swatting him with it. The man is shameless .

Shilo groans. "Play nice, children." Who she's talking to at this point is anyone's guess.

Unconcerned that it was recently shoved down my pants, Echo offers his hand. "Nice to meet you, Gemiah the prodigal." He grins. "I like your ink."

"Nice to meet you, Echo the flirt." He turns Echo's wrist over to study his broken wings. "Yours too." Despite the apparent sincerity, my hackles rise when his gaze lingers on the long scar beneath the black lines. Ignoring the unspoken question, Echo casually retrieves his hand before turning to Shilo.

"So where's my birthday shot?"

"Waiting for you inside. Ready for the gauntlet?"

"The what?"

"You didn't tell him?" She shoots me an accusing look as we move into the tent.

"You wanted him to come, didn't you?"

"Should I be worried?" Echo asks. His fingers find mine, and I give them a reassuring squeeze.

"It's a Big Top birthday tradition," Shilo explains. "You get one drink, and then you have to do a battle on your primary apparatus before you're allowed to let loose. It's a chance to show off and let us celebrate you."

"Who am I supposed to be battling?"

"Byrd, of course." Shilo pokes him in the ribs. "He's the only one who might actually give you a run for your money."

"And you knew about this?" he asks me. I can feel the nervous energy radiating from him, but there's an undercurrent of excitement running through it, and I relax a little.

"I did. I told them it would be okay."

It was a risk, letting Shilo go through with it and not warning Echo. But I'm hoping this might be the catalyst he needs to break through the last of his reservations. I want all these people to see him, and to give him a chance to bask in the recognition of his peers.

"You're ready," I murmur, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and hugging him close. And then, because I know it will push the right buttons, I bite down on his ear and whisper, "I'll go easy on you."

"Easy on me?" He tips his head back to look at my face and grinds his hips against mine, letting me feel his cock thicken against my thigh. "I think you should be worried about keeping up with me. Mr. Baardwijk ." The last is a whisper full of dark promise that has my own dick twitching in response.

There he is.

The spark flaring to life, lambent blue fire in his eyes.

He got his haircut. It's no longer shaggy on the sides but is still long on top and freshly dyed to fall vivid along the sharp slope of his cheekbones. He's lost some of the anime/JRPG look—now a little older, more dangerous.

Still breathtaking.

Mine aren't the only eyes that follow him as he strips off his shirt and climbs the stage to the first of the two ropes. Shilo hands him his shot of whiskey, and he raises it to me in invitation.

"You coming, old man?"

Shilo arches an eyebrow at me and passes over my own shot. I knock it back and vault onto the stage, skipping the stairs. Adrenaline kindles at the base of my spine, eager as an old friend returning. Passing Echo, I peel off my own shirt and lean over to whisper "don't get distracted" as I pull the elastic from my topknot and shake my hair free with a wink.

"Totally cheating," he grumbles, but his eyes are dancing, and he sucks on his lower lip as he watches me take my place at the second rope .

"Your move, birthday boy. Gonna start us out slow?"

He should. One shot of whiskey is not a warm-up, and although Echo probably won't feel it, my body will punish me tomorrow if I hit it hard right off the bat. But I still hope he goes for it.

We stare at each other, surrounded by the chatter and occasional catcall from the gathered cast and crew. Milla is arguing loudly with someone—probably her brother—about the music, and Hals is asking anyone who will listen if they know where the tap for the keg ended up.

Under the lights, it's just us.

I'm thinking words I'll never say, and it's okay. His eyes are soft now, and when he says "unlocked dive," I let it mean the same thing.

On my turn, I choose ninja rolls, and even though he's too far for me to reach this time, it doesn't matter, because I'll never forget the taste of his elation.

After that, it devolves quickly as the audience gets into the game, calling out tricks—some of which aren't even possible on the rope and some of which have everyone arguing about what they mean. Circus is a wonderland, and although most of the moves are universal, every school has its own naming system, and not everything overlaps.

We do straddle-key roll ups and Crane rolls, saltos and wheel ups and bombs, and Echo never falters. We've had three shots apiece now, and we need to be done before it gets dangerous, but his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wild, and he's so high, I never want to bring him down.

"Pirouettes." It's Milla who brings it all to a halt. I realize we've been lucky no one's called for them before now and wonder if Shilo laid some ground rules. But if she did, Milla never got the message .

Echo smiles at the girl, but when he looks at me, his face is tight with rising panic, and I know I should call it. If I forfeit now, we can end the battle and let the party move on.

But he's been fearless tonight, and if he crumbles at this last hurdle, it will taint the triumph of the last hour, and I might never get him to try again.

I hold his gaze and pour all my faith into the thread that stretches taut between us.

He's mine tonight. My Echo . And for another few hours, I'll protect him from the power of fear.

I see the moment he catches it— feel the shiver that ripples over his skin—as his head comes up and his shoulders settle and his phoenix will ignites in his eyes.

But he still doesn't reach for the rope.

"Do you want me to go first?" I ask, low enough to keep the crowd from hearing. I haven't done a pirouette in years. I'll probably blow it, and I don't know what it will do to him to watch me fall.

He shakes his head a fraction and blows out a heavy breath.

My heart pounds in time with his movements as he climbs. Three inverted straddles, and he's well past the midpoint—high enough to catch the trick without throwing off the swing. I'm expecting him to hesitate, bracing myself for the too-long pause and rising tension, but he beats right out of the third climb. Once to the right for momentum and then straight back into the release on the left.

It's perfect.

Effortless. And before I can start to breathe, he beats over and does it again on the right, exactly like the Echo in my dreams.

Shilo, who knows his whole story by now, lets out a piercing wolf whistle, and he descends amid whoops and laughter and cheers, straight into my arms .

I catch him up and kiss him under the lights in front of everyone.

He tastes like salt. And redemption. And wild things, once caged, set free.