“Feliz Cumpleaños, hermano,” he whispered. “Te amo.” He closed his eyes and sang:
“Qué los cumplas feliz,
qué los cumplas feliz,
qué los cumplas Marcus,
qué los cumplas feliz.”
Never in Flix’s worst nightmares had he dreamed he’d celebrate his sixteenth birthday alone. That he’d be crouched on the edge of a dusty highway in a mean world with no family and Marcus would be buried in a hole in the ground. That they’d never see each other again. Flix wouldn’t even visit Marcus’s grave. Navarro had offered, would have let him stay. Flix had been tempted. How could he leave his brother? But in Purcell, the tug of Marcus was so strong. All Flix remembered was the end: watching Marcus struggle to live through the broken heel, and then the last awful night, watching him get shot. Flix had to leave, had to tie his fate to the living, had to finish what he and Marcus had started when they ran away from Flights of Fantasy, believing New America would give them a better life.
Flix set the candle on the ground and wiped his eyes and nose with his shirt. He leaned over and blew out the flame.
“Happy birthday, Marcus.”
He turned back to the road and walked on.
EIGHTEEN
“Oh!” Joe bit his pleasure into his hand. His hips snapped and stayed. After the last of the tremors died away, he opened his eyes to the black-night stars.
Vaguely aware of being tucked back into his pants and having his shirt straightened, he wiped his hand on the sleeping bag, then slipped it into Devin’s hair and gentled him back up the length of his body so their heads were close together.
“You’re getting really good at that,” Joe whispered to the stars.
Devin’s lips were soft against his jaw. “You always say that.”
Joe smiled, slow and lazy. “It’s truer every time. Give me a sec and I’ll do you.”
Devin nestled against Joe’s chest and flung a heavy arm and leg over him. “I’m ready to sleep.”
Joe frowned. Devin had never turned down a blowjob. “Are you okay?”
Devin pressed his head almost painfully hard into the hollow under Joe’s collarbone. “Little headache. Rub my temple.”
Another headache? Joe circled his fingertips over Devin’s skin, but he also stretched and turned his head to peek around the rock they’d cuddled behind for a little privacy.
Devin bit Joe’s chest lightly. “What’re you doing? Pay attention and rub it right.”
“I want to see if Aria’s awake.”
“I do not need a checkup.”
“It’s been three weeks. Your head shouldn’t still be hurting, even if you had a concussion. And for God’s sake, you should not be blowing me when you have a headache.”
“It’s minor.”
“So minor you don’t want me to reciprocate? You always want it.” Joe nudged Devin off of him and sat up. He rubbed his fingers over Devin’s temples, his cheekbones, the back of his neck where the muscles were bunched and tight.
Devin sighed and leaned into the touch.
Joe took that as permission. “Aria?”
Rustling, a few swears, the beam of a flashlight, then Aria stomped around the rock. “This had better be important. It’s bad enough I have to try to sleep over there with two wide-eyed babies standing guard while we all listen to you dicks get it on. Now I have to come over here and smell it?”
Devin growled. “Do you have to be such a bitch all the time?”
“He’s having headaches,” Joe said. “A lot. Bad ones. Can you take a look? Navarro stocked us with medicines, and I can treat straightforward issues, but this... he needs someone with training.”
“I don’t have training.” But Aria sat in front of Devin anyway.
“You had Navarro,” Joe said. “That’s better.”
A beat. “Yeah, it was. How long has your head been hurting, Incredible Hulk?”
“Since your asshole friends knocked me over the head with a gun and dumped me in a cellar so you could sell me to my former boss. Like a slave whore. Thanks for asking.”
“Tough times. Tough choices.” Aria flashed the light in Devin’s face. “Your pupils are reacting too slowly. During the day, are you wearing your vision shields on the highest setting?”
“Yeah.”
“Any time it’s better or worse?”
“It hurts all the time, but” — Devin glanced at Joe — “it’s been getting worse. Every day. The sunlight kills me.”
Damn it. “Back when we’d just left Austin, he got blinded by a dazzler. It took him way too long to get his vision back. Papi, is your vision messed up again?”
Devin settled back against the rock and leaned his head to the side. “Stuff shifts in and out of focus.”
Joe’s breathing stuttered. “How long?”
“Few days.”
Oh, God. Please let it be nothing. Joe reached for his backpack. “I have all this medicine, Aria. What can we give him?”
Aria shone the flashlight on the bag and dug around until she pulled out a small square patch wrapped in clear packaging. “We can at least treat the pain.” She tore open the package. “Take off your fancy-ass shirt.”
Devin tugged at the tight, silky sil-fab shirt he’d bought at Maze-On. He dragged it over his head and leaned back.
“Damn,” Aria said, smoothing the patch against one of Devin’s thick, muscular shoulders.
“Eyes off,” Joe said. Mine. He beat imaginary hands against his chest. “He’s not a slab of meat.”
“Slab of granite, more like.”
Devin lurched sideways and vomited.
“Joe, get in the backpack and pull out an ondansetron. Small white pill.” Aria patted Devin’s back. “Hey, big guy, were you nauseated before or did it start after I put on the patch?”
“Made it worse.”
“Joe’s going to slide a pill under your tongue. It’ll dissolve and take away the nausea, or at least keep you from actually vomiting. There you go. Breathe deep through your nose. Tell me when the pain starts to fade.”
Joe hated this. Hated seeing his lover hurting. Hated someone else touching him. Hated feeling helpless. He curled up close to Devin and pulled him into an embrace.
Devin melted against him, tremors and goosebumps racing on his skin.
They’d unfastened their sleeping
