I grinned into my candyfloss. Although Coney Island had far more sunshine at this time of year than England did, there was still that same feeling in the air. That feeling of optimism, like this was the land of permanent holidays and happiness.
“Maybe a little,” I said.
“Am I forgiven for being a jerk about Ralf?” He squinted down at me through the sun.
“I’ll let you know.”
Elliot and I strolled down the boardwalk in silence, savoring our sweet treats and the sunshine on our faces. Every so often, his arm would brush mine or I’d catch him glancing down at me from his great height.
“So. Boxing,” I said eventually.
“Yeah.” He licked sticky strands of floss off his thumb.
How did he manage to make eating candyfloss look sexy? I asked a different question instead. “How did you get into that?”
“My dad,” he said. “We spar together a lot. But it’s the best way to clear your mind, you know? If you box, you need to be present in the moment. You can’t think about anything else. I like that. Plus, it’s a great way to keep in shape.”
“I’ll say.” My appreciative reaction slipped out before I could catch it and he glanced down at me in amusement. My cheeks burned. “I mean, I’ve heard that!” A target-practice stand caught my eye. It was your basic fairground attraction, five dollars to get ten shots at various targets to win a variety of prizes. “I bet I’m a better shot than you,” I said quickly, eager to turn attention away from my blatant ogling of his body.
“I bet you’re not,” he said as he shoveled his last piece of candyfloss into his mouth.
“I’m going to make you regret saying that,” I yelled as I charged over to the stand.
“You do realize this is America, right?” he called after me. “Some of us count our guns as an additional limb?”
“Oh, you scared?” I was already handing over my money.
He met my eye. “Absolutely fucking not.”
The proprietor handed over the rifles with a wry grin and pointed at a target positioned higher and further back than the others. “That’s the one to hit, kids.”
“What’s the big prize?” Elliot said, cockily.
The proprietor winked at him, gestured at me. “Don’t you already have it?”
To my surprise, Elliot didn’t correct the man; he simply slid his rifle onto his shoulder and took aim. Not to be outdone, I followed suit. Despite our best efforts at shit-talking, two minutes later, we were out of ammunition with no prizes in hand. As we handed our rifles back to the owner, I saw Elliot give a sad little smile and a shake of the head.
“What is it?” I asked him as we continued our stroll down the boardwalk.
“Target practice was always my mom’s favorite,” he said.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay.” He lifted his shirtsleeve back to reveal the old tin bangle. “The last time we vacationed here was probably the last time Mom was sober. We did the target practice game and I crapped out, but she won this godawful jewelry set that was meant for, like, five-year-old girls. I was bummed I didn’t win anything, so to make me laugh, she put all the jewelry she’d won on herself, right here on the boardwalk. All these gaudy clips in her hair, plastic bead necklaces and bangles up to her elbow. She looked crazy. And then she gave me this.” He nudged the bangle with his finger. “Told me it was a consolation prize. We laughed so much.”
My heart hurt. That cheap tin bangle was one of the first things I’d noticed about him – after his unbelievable hotness that is – and I’d not once imagined that this was the story behind it. “Elliot,” was all I could say.
“Do you know why I still wear it?” He stopped walking and looked me in the eye. “It’s because it reminds me of a time when Mom wasMom. Not an invalid, not a drunk. It makes me … It’s the hope that maybe she’ll come back to me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d never had a proper relationship with my mother, so I didn’t know what I was missing out on with her. But Elliot did. He’d experienced the sort of relationship every mother and son should have and then addictionhad stolen it. For him, there was a possibility he could have it once again and it stared him in the face every time he went home. I couldn’t imagine the torture.
He smiled nervously. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
I was touched. “Thanks for trusting me with it.”
His eyes lingered on mine, and it sucked the breath out of me. But then he’d had that effect on me from the moment we’d met. It was like every cell in my body came alive around him, something that I instinctively knew meant more than a casual, endorphin-boosting hookup.
You’re leaving the country in a matter of weeks, a voice in my head cut in.Don’t start something you can’t finish.
