More Than We Can Tell

There’s a meeting at the church tonight, so the lights are on, the parking lot crowded. A few people mill around by the front entrance. I wasn’t sure if Rev wanted to meet on the benches again, but we don’t have that option unless we want to share with a man wrangling two toddlers.

I go around the other side, Texy trotting along dutifully beside me. I can’t let her off the leash with this many people here, and I want to prevent some do-gooder from yelling about how I can’t let my dog crap on the lawn.

Then I drop in the grass, fish out my phone, and wait.

I have a little surprise for you.

So far, nothing more from Nightmare. And every passing minute feeds tension into my muscles. Outside of the game, his messages are full of subtext, but they contain nothing directly threatening. I don’t even have a way to prove they’re coming from the same person.

I wish I could turn my thoughts off.

Rev must have Declan’s car, because I recognize the vehicle that slows and parks along the curb.

When he gets out of the driver’s side, I watch him pull on a sweatshirt, then muss up his hair to shake the static out of it.

He wasn’t wearing a sweatshirt. Interesting.

Texy is excited to see him, and I drop the leash so she can greet him properly. She practically tackles him.

He rubs her face and neck, wrestling her a little. I can see his grin from here. It lights up his whole face. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile like that before. He looks more … relaxed than he’s been. I wonder what’s changed.

Also, I’m jealous.

“Hey,” Rev says. “I didn’t know this place would be busy.”

“Me either.”

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

Allow me to fall over. I glance behind him at the car. “Your friend wouldn’t mind dog hair in the car? And where could we go with Texy?”

He shrugs. “I meant we could walk for a bit. Dec is asleep in the passenger seat.”

“Really? It’s eight o’clock.”

“He’s had … a long day.”

“We can walk. Is it okay to leave him?”

“We’re not really leaving him.” He points. “We can walk up to the dead end.”

“Okay.”

So we walk. The grass surrounding the church has been mowed recently, and the scents of cut grass and pollen are thick in the air. The few days of rain have brought colder temperatures, and the breeze bites at my cheeks.

I have no idea what to say.

He must not either, because he walks in silence. Texy’s dog tags jingle as she jogs along.

“I’m sorry,” Rev says. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you in the car when you were asking about my parents.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“No. I do. It’s okay to ask. You know that saying about how there are no bad questions, only bad answers? Dad says that all the time. He loves that people ask questions. He loves when people ask questions, especially about race or politics or religion. He says the Internet makes too many people loud, and too many people silent, but the loud people are all we hear. We have to ask questions to hear the silent people.”

“I think I’d like your dad,” I say.

Rev smiles, and there’s genuine warmth there. “I didn’t mean to get too serious. But you apologized, and I felt like I needed to.”

He didn’t need to. Or maybe he did, because he’s removed the wedge between us so simply, with just a few words. “I liked the quote in your note. About one person sharpening another.”

He nods. “It’s one of my favorites.”

A car slides down the street, and Rev glances behind us, to make sure it goes past his friend, and then he turns his gaze forward again.

“I actually looked for a lot of quotes about divorce first,” I say. I frown and push a strand of hair out of my face. “They were all … terrible.”

“Sometimes I have to remind myself that the world was different when those words were written down. And even though they’re supposedly inspired by God, they’re still being interpreted by humans—and humans can be wrong. When you zoom out and look at everything, any belief system can seem a little crazy. Especially when you look at what people do in the name of religion.”

“Are you talking about wars?”

“I could be, but no. I’m talking about people.”

“What kind of people?”

We’ve reached the end of the road, where there’s a guardrail backed by woods. Road grit and debris sits thick in the street, because we’re half a block from the intersection, and the only house here has a For Sale sign, and looks deserted. The overhead light has burned out.

Rev turns and sits on the guardrail. We can see the church from here, Declan’s car sitting quietly in the street. The stained glass windows of the church are stunning with the light from within, the crucifixion images blurred into masses of color that don’t depict suffering from here, only beauty.

“All kinds of people,” Rev says quietly.

And then I realize he’s talking about his father.

I sit down on the guardrail beside him, then drop Texy’s leash to let her nose around.

“You weren’t wearing your sweatshirt in the car,” I say.

He’s quiet for a moment. “We went to visit Declan’s father. They wouldn’t let me wear it inside.”

My eyebrows go up. “Jeez. Where’s his father? In prison?”

I’m joking, but Rev nods. “Dec hasn’t seen him in five years. Like I said. Long day. I think he’s wiped out.”

Five years. I try to imagine going five years without seeing my father.

Right now, I welcome the idea.

I glance over at Rev. Every time I’m with him, I want to stare. Some of that is because he keeps so much hidden. All I ever see is the edge of his jaw, the sculpted arch of his lips, the line of his nose. His eyes, always in shadow.

I think of gaming, where I’m in control and no one sees the real me. I wonder if the computer is my version of the hoodie.

Our hands are side by side on the guardrail, but tonight is different from Saturday. I don’t have the nerve to take his hand.

“Why’d you put it back on?” I ask him.

“I don’t know.”

“Liar. You do know.”

He goes still, but then he shakes his head and gives a little laugh. “You’re fearless.”

I must be dreaming this conversation. “I’m what? No, I’m not.”

“Yes. You are. You never hesitate.” He turns his head to look at me fully. “I think it’s what I like best about you. It’s why I thought of the verse about iron sharpening iron. Every time I’m around you, I want to be braver.”

My head spins. And here I thought that Ethan calling me a badass couldn’t be improved.

Rev turns and looks back at the road. His foot kicks at the grit there. “I put the sweatshirt back on because I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Rev.” I’m shaking my head. “I could never—”

He takes his sweatshirt off.

All the breath leaves my lungs in a rush. I was wrong before. Now I’m dreaming.

He drapes the sweatshirt beside him. He’s not looking at me.

“If I have a stroke, call my parents,” he says.

I can’t help staring. The black T-shirt clings to his frame, and we’re sitting at the dark end of the street, but the scars on white skin are obvious. So is the black, spidery writing that stretches down each arm from wrist to sleeve, making for unusual tattoos.

Though honestly, I can’t look away from his biceps. “Okay. If I have one, you call mine.”

He laughs, softly, and glances at me. “That’s the second time I’ve done that today. Each time, I expect it to be horrible—and then it’s not.”

“Horrible how?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I think is going to happen. Isn’t that strange?”

“No.”

“Before this afternoon, I would have said there are only a handful of people who’ve seen me in short sleeves.”

“I can’t believe you’re sitting here like this, but you called me fearless.” I pause. “And you’ve never gone to school like this?”

“No.” He pauses. “Don’t you know? They call me the Grim Reaper.”

“I do know. I didn’t know that you did.”

He gives me a look. “Come on. I’m weird, but I’m not stupid.”

I think it’s funny that he calls himself weird. He’s the most self-aware teenager I’ve ever met. “Does it bother you?”

“In middle school, it used to bother me a lot.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I sat in the back of the classroom and ignored it, and eventually they got bored and found a new target.” He shrugs, like this is nothing. “This is so strange,” he says. “I forgot what air felt like.” He stretches his hands out over his head, then lets them fall into his lap. “I feel like a little kid.”

If he doesn’t stop stretching his arms around, I’m going to start swooning. I lean closer. “What does your tattoo say?”

“It’s not a tattoo.” He pauses. “I mean, it is, but—my father did it himself. It goes all the way across my shoulders. From one arm down the other.”

Every time he tells me something about his father, I don’t think it can get worse, and then it does. I swallow. “He did it himself ?” I stop myself before asking if it hurt. Of course it hurt.

“Yes.”

I begin to make out the words. “ ‘… so shalt thou put evil away from among you—’ ”

He slaps a hand over his forearm. “Don’t read it out loud.”

I jerk back and straighten, horrified. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” His voice is tight. After a moment he very deliberately pulls his hand away, then braces both hands on the guardrail. “I’m sorry. It’s a verse about how a disobedient child should be put to death.” He pauses. “He sent it to me in an e-mail this afternoon, too.”

Wow. I don’t know what to say.

“I hate it,” he says, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard venom in his voice.

“Do you want to put your sweatshirt back on?” I whisper.

“Yes. And no.” He makes no move to grab it.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” I hold mine out.

He looks over in surprise.

Then he takes a slow breath and laces his fingers through mine.

His palm is warm against my own, his fingers sure and strong. This is what’s missing from my online friendship. The warmth of a human connection. The sound of his breath and the feel of his skin. For a moment, I want to close my eyes and revel in it.

“Are you going to leave the sweatshirt off for school tomorrow?” I eventually ask him.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t want—I’m not ready.”

I glance over and let my gaze travel over his arms again, the muscled planes of his chest. My cheeks are going to catch on fire, but I’m also honored he trusts me this much. “I guarantee you, no one would be looking at your scars.”

Now he’s blushing. He looks away. “You’re funny.”

“I’m not even kidding. If I punch you, would you even feel it?”

His eyebrow goes up. “You think you could make contact?”

It’s the closest thing to flirting that he’s ever done. It makes me want to punch him, just to see what he’d do. I look into his eyes and see stars there. “Want to find out?”

He laughs. “See? Fearless.” Then he sobers. “Go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

“What if I knock you over the guardrail?”

“I’ll ask you to show me how you did it.”

I love how there’s no arrogance in his voice. Especially since he could probably knock me over the guardrail with one finger.

Maybe that’s what gives me the courage to make a fist, draw back an arm, and swing.

He moves like lightning. I expect him to knock my arm away, but he doesn’t. Not really. He moves inside the circle of my motion, and suddenly I’m wrapped up in his arms, his face against my shoulder.

He’s so warm against me. I’m breathless and giddy. “I should have tried to hit you a long time ago.”

“You weren’t really trying to hit me.” He lets me go, and honestly, that’s a real shame.

He’s standing now, and I stare up at him. “You stop a punch with a hug? I totally pegged jiu-jitsu wrong.”

He laughs, full out. “The point is to stay close.” He pauses. “Distance gives someone room to hurt you.”

“Can you do it again?”

“Sure.”

I swing again. He catches me again.

“I think I’m going to need about a hundred more demonstrations,” I say.

He laughs again, and I can feel it through his body. Saturday night I was ramped up over the feel of his back against mine. This is a billion times better.

He’s slower to let me go this time.

“So that’s really how to stop a punch?” I say to him. “I feel like TV has lied to me.”

“Technically I should bring you to the ground, but—”

“That sounds promising.”

Clearly my brain has disconnected from my mouth. My face catches on fire.

His eyebrows go up. Way up. He gives a choked laugh. “… but I didn’t think you’d appreciate that on the pavement.”

I take his hand. “Okay. Come on.”

He follows readily, and I lead him into the yard of the vacant house. My heart skips along in my chest. The grass is lush, and the ground is soft from the recent rain. Texy trots around the yard, dragging her leash behind her.

“Show me for real,” I say.

Rev hesitates. He looks like he’s deliberating.

“Scared?” I tease, but my voice is breathy.

“No.” He pauses, and a blush finds his cheeks again. “Maybe. Are you?”

“I’m fearless, remember?” I close my fist and swing.

He catches my upper body, but I’m not ready for the foot that hooks my leg. I’m on my back in the grass before I even realize I’m going down.

His weight is heavy against me, his face close to mine. I can feel his breath against my neck.

I would totally be okay with staying right here for the next hour.

Texy chooses this moment to start licking my forehead. I giggle. “Texy—go away. Go, dog!”

She licks my forehead again and trots off.

Rev has drawn back. He’s looking down at me, his hands braced on the ground beside my shoulders. It’s doing amazing things to his biceps. “Was it everything you thought it would be?”

I laugh. “All that and more.” I pause. “What happens next?”

His eyes glitter in the darkness. “You tell me.”

“You’re the jiu-jitsu expert.”

“Well.” His voice is rough. “In jiu-jitsu, you wouldn’t let me get this distance.”

“Distance is bad?”

He nods. “Distance is bad.”

My hands find his shoulders, just the bare brush of fingertips against his warmth, tracing down the length of his sleeve until I find bare skin.

He goes completely still. The smile is gone.

I let my fingers go still, too. “Is this okay?” I whisper.

He nods—the movement small and barely perceptible, like he doesn’t trust his voice.

I trace a few more inches of skin with my fingers, and he shivers.

“Still okay?” I whisper.

He nods again. One arm goes down to an elbow, and he’s closer now, a bit of his weight against me. His chest expands against mine as he breathes.

“Okay?” he whispers.

Now it’s my turn to nod.

His fingers trace the line of my face, lingering like he wants to memorize the feel. The arch of my eyebrow, the slope of my cheek, the curve of my jaw.

My hands have gone still on his arms. Every brush of his fingers fills me with warm honey. I reach up to find his face, his jaw just a little rough under my palm. I want him closer, all at once.

Distance is bad, indeed.

His eyes fall closed, and he turns his face to kiss the inside of my wrist. I exhale.

“Okay?” he says softly.

I nod vigorously, and he smiles.

Then his lips brush mine, and I gasp. My fingers lace through his hair.

Another brush of his lips, but this time he lingers a bit longer. His mouth moves against mine, and my lips part in response. He tastes like cinnamon and smells like vanilla and I am drowning in the moment.

His hand finds my waist, the sliver of skin where rolling in the grass has pulled my shirt away from my jeans. My own fingers have slipped under his sleeve, and I’m gripping his shoulder, holding him against me.

Then his tongue brushes mine, and it draws a low sound from my throat. His hand slides below the hem of my shirt, his palm hot against the skin of my waist. My world zeroes in on this moment, the warmth and the sweetness and the feel of his body against mine.

Then Rev draws back. His breathing is a little quick, his eyes dark and intense. “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I feel like I should slow down.”

I’m almost panting. “I have no idea what you’re doing either, but I feel like you’re really good at it.”

He smiles and draws back farther.

“No,” I say. “Distance is bad.”

His smile turns into a grin—but he rolls to the side to lie next to me. “Hold on. I’m having an existential moment.” His fingers wind through mine.

“Is that a euphemism for something else?”

He laughs. “No comment.”

I cannot believe what’s coming out of my mouth.

God, I’ve played online too long. Now that feels like a euphemism. Thank god I didn’t say it out loud.

I roll up on my side and look down at him. The shadows almost hide his scars, and the moonlight makes his eyes sparkle. His face is open, his expression unguarded. This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him.

“Wherever you take jiu-jitsu,” I say, “they should put this in the brochures. I feel like more people would do it.”

He picks up our joined hands and draws my knuckles to his mouth, dropping a kiss there. “I’ll put it in the suggestion box.”

I shift closer to him, putting a hand against his chest to support my weight. “What else can you teach me?”

He grins. I love how it lights up his whole face. This is a Rev no one sees. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”