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Richard Gansey III had forgotten how many times he had been told he was destined for greatness.
Depending on where you began the story, it was a story about the women of 300 Fox Way.
Gansey asked, “Do you have time to run an errand with us? Do you have work? Homework?” “No homework. I got suspended,” Blue replied. “Get the fuck out,” Ronan said, but with admiration. “Sargent, you asshole.” Blue reluctantly allowed him to bump fists with her as Gansey eyed her meaningfully in the rearview mirror.
Making Ronan Lynch smile felt as charged as making a bargain with Cabeswater. These weren’t forces to play with.
But because Gansey was too cowardly to tell Adam about falling in love with her, she had to stand there with her sadness by herself.
He could not see him, but Noah stood on the edge of the pool and watched. He had been a swimmer himself, once.
Ronan, before, regarded Ronan, after.
Adam lived in an apartment located above the office of St. Agnes Catholic Church, a fortuitous combination that focused most of the objects of Ronan’s worship into one downtown block.
His feelings for Adam were an oil spill; he’d let them overflow and now there wasn’t a damn place in the ocean that wouldn’t catch fire if he dropped a match.
The ocean burned.
It was this: this moment and no other moment, and for the first time that Gansey could remember, he knew what it would feel like to be present in his own life.
Adam smiled cheerily. Ronan would start wars and burn cities for that true smile, elastic and amiable.
On the inside, the Lynch brothers were remarkably similar: They all loved cars, themselves, and each other.
Ronan let out a breath, put the model down on the bed beside him, and kissed Adam.
when he saw the spacious longing in Declan’s face, he realized how much Declan had missed by growing up neither dreamer nor dreamt. This had never been his home. The Lynches had never tried to make it Declan’s home.
But it wasn’t that Henry was less of himself in English. He was less of himself out loud. His native language was thought.
When Adam kissed him, it was every mile per hour Ronan had ever gone over the speed limit. It was every window-down, goose-bumps-on-skin, teeth-chattering-cold night drive. It was Adam’s ribs under Ronan’s hands and Adam’s mouth on his mouth, again and again and again. It was stubble on lips and Ronan having to stop, to get his breath, to restart his heart. They were both hungry animals, but Adam had been starving for longer.
He couldn’t catch his breath. He was so afraid. If you can’t be unafraid, Henry said, be afraid and happy.
Gansey had forgotten how many times he had been told he was destined for greatness. Was this all there was?
So much of Ronan was bravado, and there was none left.
“Safe as life,”
“It’ll be okay. I’m ready. Blue, kiss me.”
Depending on where you began the story, it was about Noah Czerny.
“Don’t throw it away.”
Depending on where you began the story, it was about Cabeswater.
