had with his father and took it as a sign of good things to come.
Once he completed walking through his class schedule, getting lost only once, he headed back to St. Peter’s. Before he checked in for the night, however, he was once again drawn to the cathedral. It dazzled just as it did during the day. The moonlight, like the earlier sunshine, bounced off the yellow stained glass, creating a mesmerizing display of silvery moonbeams. He was so engrossed with the exhibition of light, he didn’t notice one drop, two drops, three drops, more as the rain began to fall. He also didn’t notice the boy staring at him. But once he did, he couldn’t turn away.
A few yards from him was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. The boy was a student, maybe a year older. He couldn’t tell. But despite the distance, he could tell he had a manliness about him that Michael had yet to possess. As the raindrops started to fall with increased speed, Michael blinked the wetness from his eyes so he could see more clearly. The boy’s face was extremely masculine, with a strong jaw and high, sculpted cheekbones, no longer a boy’s face but not entirely a man’s. Regardless of his age, the boy’s face was rugged, fierce, but with blue eyes so shimmery, almost the color of the silver moonbeams that danced above his head, that it gave him a much softer glow. Who in the world was this?
Thunder roared overhead as if to announce the introduction of one to the other and the rain fell down harder, but neither boy moved. Michael lowered his gaze and saw that the body too looked strong. Underneath his wet T-shirt, his chest and biceps curved and his skin looked so pale, it was like white marble. Without touching the skin, Michael knew how it would feel, like cool water over rock-hard stone. Michael blinked again and when he opened his eyes he saw that the boy was looking directly at him, unsmiling but inviting. It was unnerving, though not in a frightening way, and Michael was completely calm and fascinated by every detail of this boy, his arms hanging loose, easily, at his side, his hair, jet black, thick, and straight, lifted slightly by the wind. But when he noticed that this boy, this apparition, this miracle, was still staring back at him through the raindrops, Michael could feel his heart pound within his chest. This is it, Michael thought, this is the thing I’ve been waiting for, something good. And then things got better still as Michael watched the boy start to move toward him.
Even if Michael wanted to run away from him or run toward him, he couldn’t; he was incapable. He wasn’t going anywhere. He watched as this handsome stranger walked, walked, walked over to him in a few relaxed strides and stopped to stand directly in front of him. How could someone who looked so strong and, yes, brutal move with such a fluid grace? Michael had no answers. He was just grateful that this stranger, bathed in moonlight, washed in rain, allowed the first few seconds of their meeting to play out in silence so he could catch his breath.
“My name is Ronan,” the stranger said, in an accent much less refined than Ciaran’s. Michael could feel breath escape from his lips, but not words. It was only when he remembered something else from his mother’s letter could he speak. No matter where you go, you can’t run from who you truly are.
“I’m Michael.”
Neither one of them extended a hand to the other and yet they both felt completely connected. It was as if they both understood that a handshake was not for them; they were destined for a different kind of connection, something more intense, better.
“I’ve never seen you before,” Ronan whispered gruffly.
“I’m new,” Michael told him. “Just arrived today.”
“Well, then,” Ronan said, pausing to stare deeper into Michael’s eyes, “this is my lucky day.”
Michael had no response. This was the stuff of dreams, the kind of stuff that he made up as he was falling asleep or seconds after waking. Wait, could it be? This boy looked just like the boy from his dreams, from the ocean. No, that wasn’t possible. This was real, this was better than any dream because in spite of what he dreamt in the past, he never fully allowed himself to believe that another teenage boy would speak to him like this; no matter how much he wanted it to happen, he always felt it was wrong. But make no mistake, Ronan was speaking to Michael in the way he dreamed someone would, softly, romantically, and with heartfelt interest. Yes, Ronan had spoken only a few words to him, but he sensed that he wanted to say so much more. As did Michael. But further conversation would have to wait for another time.
“It’s getting late,” Ronan said, not taking his eyes off of Michael. “I should be getting back to my dorm.”
“I’m here at St. Peter’s,” Michael offered, not really knowing why.
“I’m in St. Florian’s.” That’s why. Now Michael knew where Ronan lived.
Michael pushed his feet into the ground a bit more firmly and resisted the urge to run. “It was very nice meeting you, Ronan.”
“You too.” But Michael almost missed his reply; he was too busy staring at the raindrops falling from Ronan’s nose, onto his lips, his chin. Regaining his focus, Michael replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Ronan answered, his mouth forming a wet smile. “You will.”
And that, Michael thought as he closed the door to St. Peter’s, was how it began. Before the door completely closed, he stole one more glance but couldn’t find Ronan anywhere. Was he an apparition? No, no, that was absurd; he was real even though the encounter had an air of the unreal to it. Ronan was flesh and blood and, best of all, perfect.
Dried, dressed, and ready for bed, his first night in his new home, Michael’s head swam with images of the day. It was a whirlwind. The rain was still pounding the earth outside, hitting the window next to his bed, reminding him of Ronan. He looked across the room and saw Ciaran about to get into his own bed and he could no longer keep this stranger to himself.
“Ciaran?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know someone named Ronan?”
Did Ciaran’s body stiffen? It was dark in the room, so Michael couldn’t tell, but he was certain that his body language meant he recognized the name. “Why do you ask?”
“I met him in front of the cathedral. He seems …” Michael couldn’t finish the sentence because he really didn’t know how to put his feelings into words. This was all very new to him, and Ronan seemed unlike every other boy, man, person he had ever met. Even though he had been in his presence only for a few minutes—they hadn’t even touched—the impression Ronan made, like his beautiful face, was incredibly strong.
“Yes, he does make … quite an impact.”
So Ciaran does know him. I knew it. Not that that meant anything. Double A wasn’t that large a school. “So I wasn’t just imagining things,” Michael said, hoping it didn’t sound as dumb to Ciaran as it did to him.
“No, you didn’t imagine a thing.” Ciaran rolled over onto his side, his face turned away from Michael’s. “His name is Ronan Glynn-Rowley,” Ciaran said quietly. “He’s my half brother.”
chapter 6
When Michael woke up, Ciaran was already gone. Sitting up in bed, the room half-lit by the morning sun, he could see that Ciaran’s bed was made, his backpack, which had been propped up against his dresser the night before, no longer there. He leaned forward and saw that the bathroom door was open, the room dark. He was certain he was alone.
Michael threw the covers off to the side, and when his feet hit the floor, he saw the note next to the lamp on his dresser. I had an early lab. Meet me at ten in front of St. Joshua’s. C. Michael wasn’t sure what this meeting would be about, but he hoped it would have something to do with Ronan.
He couldn’t believe the boy he met last night in the rain was his dorm mate’s half brother. How incredibly perfect. Michael had wanted to question Ciaran further about their relationship; in fact, he wanted to hear every single detail Ciaran could offer about Ronan, but he got the sense that, at least for the time being, Ciaran had said all he wished to on the matter. Just because they were related didn’t mean they were close or that they even liked each other. Michael should understand that better than anyone. So instead of pursuing the topic, Michael lay awake in bed most of the night and made up his own stories. He imagined that Ronan and Ciaran had the same father but different mothers and grew up in separate parts of Great Britain and were reunited only when they attended the same school. Then he imagined they had the same mother, who raised them side by side on a rambling estate or who brought them with her while she traveled the world. No matter what the scenario, each
