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You see, the problem about Michael is simple. David likes the guy.
David is not supposed to like Michael. Before Max set his sights on the Emersons, Michael was a means to an end, that night at the pier—a little lamb for Star to sink her teeth into. But of course, Star couldn’t follow through. She’s not one for commitment, it seems. Maybe David should tell Michael about that. If Star can’t agree to immortality, will she ever agree to a steady relationship? Best to get that out in the open now, before she breaks his heart.
Of course, David can’t actually tell Michael how he knows this about Star. Not without getting into the truth of what they are. As far as Michael is concerned, they’re just a gang of motorcycle-riding thugs, prowling the boardwalk for a good time.
All this trouble with Michael started when he punched David. David had seen the truth of Michael then—down to the bottom of his bitter, aching, yearning heart. It was like looking into a mirror.
That’s why he hasn’t hurt Michael since leading him to the bluff. Instead, he has been doing something far more dangerous.
He is trying to be Michael’s friend.
They’re all wandering the boardwalk when the boys run off to the arcade, leaving Michael and David alone. David elbows Michael in the side. “What do you say we hit the carousel, Michael?”
Michael gives him a look. “The carousel you’re banned from?”
David shrugs. “Just looking to have some fun. I’d never cause trouble for all those families taking a ride. Would you?”
Michael is silent for a moment, regarding him with narrowed eyes. Then, he says, “Fine. Let’s go.”
David grins. “Atta boy.”
Michael rolls his eyes, but his mouth curls in a smirk.
The carousel starts to take off when they’re still several feet away. Using a little inhuman speed, David crosses the distance to the platform in only a few strides, hopping onto it with ease. He turns back to Michael, mocking grin in place—
—only to watch as Michael jumps up beside him, trips, and smacks his face directly into the nearest horse.
David curses, loudly, earning him offended looks from the nearest parents. He grabs Michael’s arm and pulls him away from the edge of the platform.
“I’m fine,” Michael says, voice muffled by his hand, which is covering both his mouth and nose.
David raises a brow. “Are you?”
With great reluctance, Michael lowers his hand.
David curses again, albeit quieter this time. Michael is bleeding. He must’ve hit himself hard enough to get a bloody nose. David’s throat immediately starts to burn with vicious thirst. It takes every ounce of control he has to hold himself still, to keep from lunging toward him and—
No. Michael is his friend. Michael is his friend. He just has to focus on that, and he will survive this. Michael will survive this.
Maybe.
Michael uses the side of his hand to wipe below his nose—like that’s going to help; now the blood is smeared across him in two places—and David watches the motion the way a hawk watches a mouse. Without taking his eyes off the blood, he pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to him. “Here, Michael.”
He takes it, pressing it to his nose. He sounds embarrassed, almost sheepish, when he replies, “Thanks.”
David nods. He clenches his fists, shoving them into the pockets of his coat, and forces himself to breathe as little as possible. The less he smells Michael’s blood, the better. “We should get out of here.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
They move back to the edge of the platform, waiting for the carousel to slow down before stepping off. They find an empty bench not far from the arcade and sit there, Michael still holding the cloth to his face, his head tipped back to stop the bleeding. A rollercoaster roars by, carrying the screams of its occupants with it. David pulls a cigarette from his pocket, hoping the smoke will distract him from what he’s really craving.
It does the trick. For now, at least.
Now he just has to distract Michael from his own embarrassment.
“You wanna go home?” he asks.
Michael scoffs, just like David knew he would. “Come on, man. I’m not a baby.”
“Sure you’re not.”
“I’m serious, David.”
David lifts his hands in a placating manner, answering around the cigarette. “Do I look like I joke around, Michael?”
Michael gives him a sideways glance, not daring to move his head. “No. You actually seem dead-serious to me.”
Now that’s funny. David laughs, hard, forgetting for a moment just how careful he has been around the blood. “That’s me. Dead-serious. All day, all night.”
He catches sight of Michael’s grin below the handkerchief. “Good to know.”
David shrugs, still smiling. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t go running into your house without an invitation, anyway.”
Michael groans. “Not you, too. What, is there some kind of Santa Carla tradition that says dudes can’t go into each other’s houses without asking first?”
David’s brows shoot up. “Who else are you inviting into your house, Michael?”
“The video store owner. Max.”
At the sound of his father’s name, rage flares in David’s chest, sudden and all-consuming. “Max has been in your house?”
“Yeah.” Michael makes a face. “He’s dating my mom.”
What is Max doing? Him being invited into the Emerson home isn’t part of the plan. It’s supposed to be David pulling the strings, David convincing Michael to become his brother. Max agreed—
David grits his teeth. There’s the problem, right? He never should have trusted Max.
So Max thinks he can go back on their deal? I don’t think so.
Turning to face Michael, David puts a hand on his shoulder, the smell of his friend’s blood all but forgotten in the face of his anger. “Michael, I need you to do something for me.”
His brow furrows. “Okay.”
“Next time Max comes around, don’t let him in.”
“I can’t just…”
David lowers his voice, each word precise. “Don’t. Let. Him. In. Got it?”
Michael must see something in his eyes, because he agrees with a quiet, “All right.” He slowly lowers his hand, pulling the white handkerchief away from his face; the bleeding has stopped.
Sitting here—united in purpose, dried blood on Michael’s face—is all that David wants for the future. His lonely, dead heart longs for the day when Michael will choose to become his brother for eternity. And Michael will choose that path; David is certain of it. He just has to be patient.
Star once accused him of collecting broken people the way children collect strange rocks. It is an apt comparison, he thinks.
David releases Michael’s shoulder. Using his cigarette as a pointer, he gestures to the nearest bathroom. “You should clean up.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Michael stands. “Be right back.”
David watches him go, releasing a long breath of smoke into the night air. When Michael is far enough away, he replies, “Don’t worry, Michael. I’ll be waiting.”