Soundtrack: 'Naked' - Ella Mai.

{Kadee}

She felt like she'd just been plugged in and was slowly glowing with light and heat. Her fingertips tingled—she wanted to touch him again, to mold the pieces of him back together, to give herself to him like medicine, like Bea had said. "Can we...try again? You left before I was finished." She held her breath, her cheeks burning, watching him through her lashes. It took enormous effort not to simply climb onto the bed with him—to wait to be invited into his space. She'd never had to wait before.

He held still, his fingers pressing into his arms, his eyes touching the wall full of drawings beside her. He ducked his head and pushed forward to the edge of the bed, setting his bare feet on the floor.

"How do you want to do this?" His voice was a little rough.

There was only one step between them, and she settled on the edge of the bed next to him. He looked sideways at her and she could see the boy he had been in his face, broken and afraid and angry—and somehow still hoping with all those pieces lying sharp around him.

She knew the word for the feeling that leapt up inside her, displacing all her fear, but it was too soon to say it, even to herself. She dropped her eyes and climbed behind him, smoothing her hands across his shoulders. The T-shirt bunched and wrinkled under her palms. She tugged gently on his sleeve. "Can you take this off? It would be easier for me—"

He ducked and pulled his shirt over his head from the back of his neck. She caught her breath, one hand settling on the bare skin of his shoulder blade, light as air. He was still, his head down and his hands clenched so tightly on the edge of the bed that his knuckles showed white.

"You're so beautiful, Cary Douglas." Her belly was hot and heavy, knotting like a fire dragon. He drew in a breath, turning his head to look at her, his lips trembling.

She glared back. "I'm serious." The shape of him was perfect, his skin peeling and freckled on the top of his shoulders. The rest of his back should have been fair and smooth. She stroked her hands down the length of his spine before she could worry about what it would feel like. The ridges of his scars registered against her palms, and she took a slow breath, feeling the fire dragon bare its teeth in a hard grin. The scars didn't feel gross. They were warm and alive like the rest of his skin. She stroked her hands over him again, like she could unknot those scars with his muscles and return his back to when it had been whole and unmarked.

He curled forward, clasping his neck with his hands, whimpering in his throat. Not a noise of pleasure. Kadee lifted her hands, ready to surrender. She touched him lightly on the wide muscle under his arm, biting her lip as she watched the fine hairs on his skin stand up. It had been a long time since she'd had a first with a guy—this response to her touch was a first. "If you can't," she whispered, "we can stop."

He shifted and she backed up, bumping against the wall in his tiny room. He stretched himself full length on his stomach, clenching his pillow and burying his face in it. "Finish."

Kadee had done backrubs as a prelude to making out before, but this didn't feel sexy at all. It felt like working on a patient in rehab. Cary's skin shivered when she touched him—his muscles flinched and jumped. Her hands and arms started to ache with exertion, but she didn't quit, talking quietly as she worked, telling him what she was doing.

She could hear him trying to take long, slow breaths and push them back out—but sometimes a sound leaked out, so small and frightened it was hard to believe it came out of his broad body. The fire dragon heated her belly, and she stretched her neck and flexed her hands for another round of her versus whatever the hell was happening in his back. She said, "Does this feel okay? Is it helping?" and he didn't say anything, but he didn't sit up either.

Finally his breathing steadied and slowed. All she had strength left to do was run her nails lightly in swirls and patterns on his skin. She sat back against the wall, touching his hair. "You're done."

He gave a deep, shaky sigh and got his knees under him. She slumped onto her side in the bed, closing her eyes, suddenly exhausted. She said, "I'll just sleep here tonight."

She felt a touch on her cheek, a fingertip tracing the side of her face. His voice rumbled low. "Want me to drive you home?"

She held her breath as he touched the dip at the top of her lip, then withdrew his hand. She opened her eyes to watch him unfold from the bed, stretching his lean frame until his fingers brushed the ceiling. He found his shirt on the floor and pulled it back on, spots of pink in his cheeks as he touched her eyes. "Feels really good. Thanks."

She sat up, rubbing her tired eyes and covering a yawn. "I can drive myself." She felt a little deflated. She was pretty sure Cary was not as into her as she was into him, and with what she knew about his body now, she couldn't blame him.

He opened his door a crack, scanning up and down the hall. "We'll have to be quiet. It's a church day tomorrow and Pete's a light sleeper."

"Are you coming? To church?"

He looked back at her, his dark eyes considering.

"I'd like to sit with you."

"I could come," he said, and went into the hall.

In the entryway, she collected her bag and slipped on her shoes, conscious of the length of him leaning against the front door, watching her. When she was finished, he pushed off the door and opened it for her.

The soft hush of rain filled the entryway, and they stood side by side for a moment, looking at the street and sidewalk dappled with water in the light of the street lamps. Cary grabbed a jacket, holding it over his head to make a shelter. "Come on."

She stuck close to his side, giggling as they hurried down the steps and over the sidewalk to her car. Rain pattered against the shelter of the jacket as she unlocked her door, but she didn't lift the handle to get in. Cary was right behind her, arms above his head to make a dry space for her. His eyebrows lifted in a question when she turned. Wind rippled his T-shirt against his body, his back already dark with rain.

Gently, she put her arms around him, drawing the warmth of his body closer. She rested her cheek against the bone in his chest that stood guard over his heart and lungs, spreading her hands over his back. Rain pricked her skin on the back side of her hands, her palms warm against the curve of him. She heard his soft sound of surprise, deep in his chest.

Rain struck her face as his arms went around her shoulders. He curled his body over her like he could still make a shelter to keep her dry, with the jacket in a heap on the wet sidewalk. She couldn't contain her smile, and she rubbed her grinning face against his chest, as if she could burrow in. This hug from Cary felt more precious than anything she'd done with a boy before.

He released her and stepped back, his ears pink and his face open. She blinked up at him in the rain—she couldn't stop smiling. "I better go. If I don't leave now I'm going to climb under your shirt and make you smuggle me back in to stay the night."

She wished he would say something back. She knew him well enough now to know he probably wouldn't. Or couldn't? Those scars went more than skin deep—she was starting to get how they could twist him up and silence him sometimes.

He caught her hand as she turned to go, and she pushed her hair off her face to look at him. He set her hand against his chest, over his left side, and covered it with his own. She felt the thump of his heart beating under her palm as he met her eyes, his lips softly parted, a puff of steam in the air between them.

He let her go quickly, scooped the jacket up off the ground and headed up to the house. She shook rain off her face and dropped into her car, soaking wet. On the steps, he turned to check on her, and she started the car, blinking the lights to reassure him. He went inside.

She didn't go straight home. She went to Cary's house—his other house, the one with the massive rooms and the gate. She parked a little ways down the street and turned off the car, tucking her chilly fingers under her legs as she stared at the hulking shape of the house through the rain. The trees were tossing behind the tall iron fence as the wind picked up, lashing them.

Every scar on his back had happened behind those closed doors and darkened windows. She lived in a big house too—she knew no one would have heard him if he had broken his silence. No one had heard him for years.

She spread her hands over her heart and belly, the slow turning of the fire dragon heating her palms. She took a breath, remembering the lines and ridges raised like braille under her fingers. She barely grasped the edge of the story of those scars—she knew so little of the language. All she knew for sure was she hadn't been joking about staying the night. She missed him already.

{Cary}

He stripped to his skin in the bathroom, towelling off. The smell of rain breathed up from the pile of wet clothes he'd been wearing when Kadee had held him so close he could feel every curve of her body pressed against his. He swore softly, balling the towel in his fists and chucking it on top of the clothes. She was so beautiful. And he—

He took a good look at himself in the mirror. He didn't wear bruises anymore, but the marks of what a piece of shit his father thought he was were all over his body, dividing his skin into ugly shapes. He put his hand over the 'X' on his chest, pink-red now with puckered edges. He'd added to the collection wherever he could reach because apparently, as Jon had put it, he didn't think he'd been hurt enough.

He ran a bath even though he was too big for the Whites' tub now. He was cold down to the pit of his stomach, and it felt like his father was in the room, pressing him small. The moment he'd pulled his shirt over his head, he'd flashed back to the last time he'd bared his back in the basement, shivering hard with his father behind him. Sometimes Conall was so furious he struck blindly, impatiently—Cary preferred that. He could take his father's belt through the layers of his clothes and dodge some of the wild blows.

The last time, his father's anger had been pressed hard and dense as the centre of a planet. He'd gone slow, making Cary strip and spread his hands against the wall where he couldn't do anything except absorb every blow into his bare skin and muscle until his legs gave out.

He reached behind himself to slap on the shower, hot beads of water beating against his back. He sat buried in the water, pinching the skin of his arms while that memory crashed into him. Finally a little space opened for him to just be in the tub, taking one watery breath, then another. He thought of Kadee's hands stroking his bare skin—her arms around his back, pulling him closer.

His eyes stung sharply and he turned the shower off and hauled himself out of the tub to dry off, his skin pink with warmth now. He thought he was through the worst of the trigger and safe to go to bed. He got into the pyjama pants Mel had bought for him, conscious of their soft, light brush against his skin. They reminded him of Mel—of every time Jon's mom had spoken to him gently, hugged him softly, like he was someone she treasured and would keep safe. Kadee touched him like that too.

He carried his wet things downstairs to the laundry room to wash the next day. As he came up the stairs, he thought of one more woman—the one with the flame-red hair, stroking his back as lightly as a butterfly. He leaned against the wall, dizzy a moment on the steps. All three women together made a chorus that overwhelmed the shit he still heard about how much his hurt didn't matter because he deserved it. They said there was something in him worth loving, or why else would they?

///

He didn't see the missed calls until he was setting his alarm to wake up in time for church. He frowned at the unfamiliar number, then on impulse thumbed "dial" to try and call it.

A man's voice answered. "Hope House Youth Addictions Treatment Centre."

Cary's eyebrows raised—Jon. "Um—hi. Is Jon White there?"

There was a pause. "Can I ask who's calling?"

Cary gave the answer most likely to get him through this time of night. "It's his brother."

"Just a minute." There was a clatter and a few minutes of silence. Then someone said hesitantly, "Hello?"

"You tried to call?" Cary asked. There was a pause and he wished he could see Jon's face. "It's Cary. You okay?"

"I'm fine." Jon sounded slow, like his words were stuck in tar. "Just wanted to talk to someone. There's, like, 30 minutes we're allowed to call out." He exhaled, and his voice flattened. "Whatever. I talked to Kurtis. I'm fine."

Cary's stomach was slowly squeezing with worry. He wished he had picked up for Jon's calls. Something was up, and there was no way to guess with just his voice to go on. "You get visiting hours there? Can I come see you?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

He wanted to keep Jon talking, to reach something real. "How's the bugs? The taper dose make those better?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Jon said absently.

"What do you do all day there?"

"Group. Chores. Whatever the staff want us to do."

Cary waited, hoping he would say something more. When he didn't, he offered. "Kadee came over today to help with the girls. We took them for ice cream."

Jon sighed. "She knows, right? About why I'm here?"

"Yeah. She's been worried for a while." He bit the inside of his mouth, remembering that Jon had liked her a couple months back. That felt like it could be a problem now. He didn't want to do anything that set Jon back in his recovery.

"I guess that's better than keeping secrets all the time," Jon said. "I don't fucking have the energy to lie anymore." He sounded heavy.

Cary closed his eyes, saying the thing that opened him. "Miss you, bro."

Jon was silent.

"Get better over there, okay? Everyone wants you back."

Jon cleared his throat. "Sure. I gotta go." And he hung up.

Cary tossed his phone onto the floor beside his bed and knuckled his eyes, asking for help for Jon without even stopping to think what he should do. He was stuck here, too far away to see Jon or give him a hug—but Jesus wasn't stuck. He was over there too, with Jon. He wished he could persuade himself that Jon knew that and was leaning on Jesus to get him through. Given the series of terrible decisions Jon had made to get himself to this point, he doubted it.