Chapter 11

For a long moment, Mick wavers and CJ just

knowshe’ll say something, he has to, he’ll ruin everything

with a flippant remark. I’m not the one who sucks here… CJ’s

heard it before. But then Mick surprises him. “Can you do a

handstand?” he asks.

CJ laughs. “Hell, yeah.”

* * * *

At 1:15 Brendan asks, “When’s your friend

supposed to show?”

With a shrug, CJ admits, “I don’t know.”

Richard will get here when he does—he said he might run a little

late, didn’t he? Something about a meeting, CJ doesn’t really

remember exactly what. Besides, right now he’s too busy to worry

about it too much. He and Mick are taking turns at the curb, doing

heel flips, kick jumps, handstands, anything to outdo each other.

CJ thinks he’s winning, if anyone’s keeping score. He’s only fallen

once, when he lost his balance and his board flew out from under

him, sending him down on one knee while pain as thick and oily as

smoke sizzled through his thigh. Mick though, the kid can’t seem to

stay upright. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?” CJ jokes.

Mick jumps off his board just before it

launches out across the parking lot and gives CJ a hard stare that

he’s grown used to by now. “Let me use your board,” he says.

“Like that’ll help you much,” Brendan

laughs. He still stands against the wall, watching them, and CJ’s

begun to think maybe he can’t skate at all. He wouldn’t be the

first poser to buy a deck and wheels and hang with boarders like he

knows what he’s doing. Nodding at CJ, Brendan asks, “You think

using his board’s going to make you any better?”

“It can’t hurt.” Before CJ can protest,

Mick snatches his board from his hands and spins it around,

admiring the artwork. “Just ‘til your friend gets here. Could you

do up a deck for me like this?”

“You pay me for it,” CJ says. He

glances over at Mick’s skateboard, resting negligently beside the

grassy median directly across the lot from them, and sighs. Where’s

Richard? He wants his own board back. He’s not coming back here to

skate again, not with these kids. Sure, they haven’t ragged on him

about his guy, but he doesn’t think he can take much more of this

Mick character. Brendan’s right, like he really thinks CJ’s board

will instantly transform him into some kind of super skater or

something. It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a board to do

that,he thinks, bitter. With a quick look around to make sure

he’s not going to get hit crossing the lot, he jogs over to Mick’s

beat-up board. As he picks it up, he knows it’s crap—one of the

wheels is a little wobbly, the truck’s probably fractured, and the

grip tape’s worn through in places, there’s no traction on the damn

thing. “This is a piece of shit,” CJ mutters. He can’t skate on it.

No wonder Mick sucks so bad.

Dropping the board to the ground, CJ steps up

on it and swears he feels the wood buckle beneath his weight.

Cautiously, he starts across the lot, ignoring a car horn that

blats as the board shudders under his sneakers. He’s never had to

push a board so hard to get it moving, this is ridiculous. Brendan

thinks so too—even from this distance CJ can hear his silly laugh.

“Shut up,” he growls, though Brendan either doesn’t hear him or

doesn’t care because he sure as hell doesn’t listen. No wonder

Mick’s so surly all the time. CJ would be too if this damn plank

was his. Halfway back to the sidewalk, he hits a spot of cracked

tarmac and the board shudders like he’s trying to skate an

earthquake. “Holy—”

That’s about as far as he gets before the

board shifts and throws him off balance. He pinwheels his arms but

he’s going to get snapped, he knows it, he can almost feel

the kiss of concrete on his backside. Another horn tears through

the quiet afternoon, a car whooshes behind him, someone shouts for

him to watch out but there isn’t much he can do about it now. He’s

going to fall. The board flips out from under him to ram into a

nearby shopping cart and he takes a step backward, he hears an

engine roar, he can’t stop himself in time, he’s going down—

Strong hands catch him before he hits the

ground. His shoulders scream in pain as tight fingers dig into his

armpits and the familiar scent of expensive cologne wafts around

him like a dream. He knows these arms he’s in, this body he leans

back against. And he knows this stern voice that wants to know,

“What the hell are you trying to do out here, Ceej? Get yourself

killed?”

He grins over his shoulder at Richard, but

his lover is scowling at the car that almost hit him and doesn’t

look his way. “Rich,” CJ sighs. He tries to stand but Richard won’t

let him go. “Babe, I’m fine. We’re blocking the road.”

Richard’s grip tightens almost painfully and

CJ tries to shake free. He can’t. “Richard, I’m fine—”

“Can’t you have a safe hobby?” his

lover asks, angry.