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Is it love or is it madness?
I accept either one.
My climax is a rush of chemicals and light, my body an engine and Adrik the fuel. We burn and burn and burn together.
When it’s over I cling to him for hours, until the sun sinks all the way down, the air cold, my fingers chilly against his warm neck. I curl up against him like a child. All I want is his arms around me forever.
* * *
We drive home slowly,trying to stretch out each moment. I haven’t given him my promise, but I want to. The words are in my throat, waiting to be spoken aloud.
As we near the entrance to the long, winding driveway up to the Petrov house, I see a car parked at the side of the road. Right where the mailbox would be, if it weren’t blocked by the front wing.
My heart stops in my chest.
The street lamps are far apart on this lonely stretch of road. The man stands in shadow, his face indistinguishable. Still, the lean body is all too familiar to me. Even if I could see nothing of him, the vehicle itself is too distinct to mistake.
My father is waiting.
* * *
16
ADRIK
Sabrina’s voice is tight as she orders, “Pull over here.”
It only takes a glance for me to understand what’s happening. In the glare of our headlights I see a spare figure dressed all in black, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the boot of a Hellcat.
We pull up behind him. He stands and ambles toward us, moving slowly, gingerly—old scars, old injuries. His body is as battered as the boots on his feet, his face much the same. Still, you can see the traces of a powerful beauty. Like an aged rockstar, he retains a dark glamour that time can’t erase.
Sabrina steps from the car, her sneakers crunching across gravel. I exit as well, unwilling to lurk in the driver’s seat.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, Sabrina.”
I would give a great deal to be able to smooth down Sabrina’s hair without him noticing, or re-button her shirt the right way.
His eyes pass over the evidence of what I’ve done to his daughter, then fix on my face.
It seems feeble to introduce myself—if Nero is here, he already knows who I am.
Instead, I nod my head toward the Hellcat, its engine long cooled, its black body gleaming in the night.
“Nice car.”
Nero says, “Would you like a drive in it?”
I can feel Sabrina’s tension. If I look at her, she might shake her head.
Nothing will prevent me from accepting the invitation. I’m no coward.
“Sure.”
“Wait in the Mustang,” Nero orders his daughter.
He wants to keep this confrontation out here on the road, away from Ivan’s property.
