Unafraid

to sound as shocked as he was.

Turning away, Morgandy stared at some trees that swayed in an unexpected breeze. He stared so intently, it appeared as if the trees, bowing to the wind, held more interest to him than the handsome boy he was sitting next to. When he spoke, the intensity of his words proved otherwise. “Wouldn’t it feel supreme to get lost forever in the waves of my emotions? Hold on to me for dear life because you’re afraid I might make you drown?”

This was another first. No one had ever spoken to Ronan like this before, so simply, so poetically.

Ronan had no idea what Morgandy was talking about, but he knew right then that he would risk drowning to find out, to get closer to this boy, hear more of his words, feel more of his touch. He was just about to say that yes, yes, yes, it would be perfection to swim inside his emotions when he heard a noise that ruined everything: he heard Morgandy’s laugh.

The sound was so deep and hearty it didn’t seem to belong to the boy; his delicate features should produce a more refined sound, not the noise Ronan was hearing. “I’m just fooling with you,” Morgandy confessed, his hazel eyes blazing in the hot sun.

“I knew that,” Ronan lied, abruptly looking away toward the trees that were now hanging lifeless in the stagnant air.

Morgandy leaned forward until his face was practically in front of Ronan’s, until Ronan had no choice but to look at him once again. “You can’t lie to me,” Morgandy corrected. “You thought I was serious.”

Ronan wasn’t sure if it was the steely look behind Morgandy’s smile or his own desire not to conceal his emotions that prompted him to tell the truth. “Yes, I did.”

Satisfied, Morgandy sat back and pressed his palms into the dirt, extending his legs. He was wearing loose- fitting cargo shorts, and they rode up to the middle of his thigh. Ronan liked how Morgandy’s blond hair looked almost white against his golden skin and how his muscles converged to create a curvy terrain that continued up and over his knee and down and under to his calves.

“You’re beautiful.” Ronan forgot all about Morgandy’s body and concentrated on his words; it was the first time anyone had ever told him that. “Now I’m being serious,” Morgandy added, just so there would be no confusion.

Speechless, Ronan didn’t know how to respond. A few seconds ago he had been determined to speak honestly, and now he was about to change the rules to cover up the barrage of emotions and sensations that were being released inside of his brain and his body. Whoever this Morgandy was, he was whittling away at his confidence, altering the way he thought.

“You can tell me I’m beautiful too,” Morgandy said. “I’ve heard it many times before.”

The spell half-broken, Ronan wasn’t sure if he should laugh or comply. Honesty was attractive; vanity less so.

“But never from someone who actually meant it,” Morgandy added.

The sadness in Morgandy’s voice touched Ronan deeply. In one sweeping rush, he understood everything he needed to know. He knew that Morgandy’s bravado was a cover-up to mask his loneliness; he knew that Morgandy ached to have a companion, a boyfriend, a soul mate, just as much as Ronan did and that despite his obvious beauty an even more beautiful spirit existed underneath his flesh. “You are beautiful,” Ronan replied.

Morgandy’s eyes looked almost as sad as his voice sounded. “Thank you.” But then the sadness evaporated like sweat that burrowed deep into skin. A trace of its residue lingered, but it was unseen, transformed, and even though Morgandy still looked like he might cry, it was in response to overwhelming joy, not sorrow.

Thrown by the unsettling encounter, Ronan needed confirmation. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sitting up, Morgandy shifted his legs so his bare knee rested upon Ronan’s. “Because I’ve finally come face to face with my destiny.”

Ronan crumpled up the memory and buried it deep within his mind. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Morgandy, looking exactly the same as he had the last time Ronan had seen him, right here in St.

Sebastian’s. He never thought he would see him again, even when he was telling Michael about their relationship, divulging the details of their past; he didn’t think the mere mention of his name would conjure up his appearance. He saw that Ciaran and Nakano were both equally stunned, so he knew that it wasn’t a hallucination. Somehow—and definitely for some specific reason—Morgandy had returned.

“Mr. van der Poole has transferred here from Sigtuna, one of the best schools in Stockholm, because his parents found an even finer academic institution,” David announced.

Despite David’s officious tone, Ronan knew he was lying; there was much more behind Morgandy’s arrival. “Did you know about this?” Ronan whispered so both Nakano and Ciaran could hear him.

Slightly amused, Kano shook his head. “Not me.”

A bit more concerned, Ciaran replied, “I didn’t think he was still alive after what happened.”

“Morgandy could not have joined us at a more propitious moment in Archangel Academy’s history,” David continued. “Just in time to help us celebrate our Tri-Centennial and help us win the National Swim Team Competition!”

Once again the mention of the upcoming contest caused mild pandemonium. The students cheered, applauded, Diego went so far as to rush up to a startled Morgandy and shake his hand furiously. He, like a few others in the gym, seemed thrilled to have Morgandy as a teammate, taking David’s endorsement as gospel. Michael wasn’t one of them. He was finding it hard to ignore the pangs of jealousy that were hacking into his brain. Sure Ronan had told him about Morgandy, but he hadn’t told him everything. He left out the part about how incredibly handsome he was. And how he kind of resembled Michael. Or was that the other way around?

Standing at the edge of the pool, the sunlight from the windows fanning out behind him like a golden, windblown cape, Morgandy looked like he could be Michael’s older brother. They shared many of the same physical traits, except that on Morgandy they were more pronounced, grown up, manlier. His hair was same color but curlier. His eyes had a green hue to them, but other colors as well, making them more complex. His red lips were just as full, but in a mouth-watering shade that looked exactly like blood diluted with water. And then there was his body.

Standing next to a fully dressed David, Morgandy looked practically naked even though he was wearing the same attire as every other guy in the gym. What was disconcerting was how poised he stood, almost defiant despite the fact that he knew he was being scrutinized by an unfamiliar pack. He definitely didn’t lack any confidence, and as Michael inspected him a bit further it was easy to see why. Morgandy was an inch or two taller than he was, more muscular, hairier (although the hair running along his forearms, legs, and stomach was gossamer thin and translucent), and his bathing suit barely concealed the rest of him. Despite his recent mini- growth spurt, Michael felt ganglier and less attractive than ever. Ronan’s expression didn’t help matters.

No, his boyfriend wasn’t looking at his ex-boyfriend with lust or desire, but he also wasn’t looking at him with disgust. What was he thinking? It took Michael a few seconds to remember that he could simply ask him without anyone else hearing his question.

“What the hell is going on?”

Ronan didn’t look in Michael’s direction; his eyes were transfixed on the ghost from his past. “I have no idea, love,” Ronan replied. “But stay alert because this cannot be good.”

And it was about to get worse.

“Swedish champion, eh?” Blakeley said, his tone dripping skepticism. “Why don’t we put those credentials to the test?”

Prickled by the insinuation that he had exaggerated Morgandy’s talent, but never one to cower from a challenge, David walked toward Blakeley. He made sure his heels hit the gym floor harder than usual so each step sounded more like the approach of an enemy. “What exactly do you have in mind, Coach Blakeley?” David asked, the vein in his neck pulsating slightly despite his overall look of calm.

Perhaps it was because Blakeley was in his comfort zone or perhaps it was because, after MacCleery’s death, fear and panic were no longer a luxury or perhaps it was simply because he disliked the headmaster. Whatever the reason, he didn’t back down even when he had to raise his head to look David in the eye. “Let’s see how brilliant he is against our best man,” he replied. “Two lap race, Morgandy versus Ronan.”