Take It On The Run

Chapter 35

POV: Sloan

Dad said no to galavanting around the island, of course. No big surprise there.

Dursey wasn't a particularly substantial landmass, so we'd get spotted easily by tourists and villagers. Even if that weren't the case, part of my father's arrangement with the locals included remaining largely invisible, with the exception of travel to and from the mainland.

Thankfully, Dad compromised, allowing me and Avery to take his fancy boat out on the water, so long as we promised to stay close to the shore and out of sight of the mainland and cable cars.

It was weird to have someone set boundaries for me after being on my own for so long. Weird but also nice. That didn't mean I was going to listen to him though.

I looked up at the glass windows as we pulled away from the dramatic cliffs. Unless you searched hard for them, they were basically camouflaged. How my father had managed to find this place and build a secret hideout was beyond me. One thing was for certain—he had money to burn. It made me wonder if he'd stolen funds from The Collectors before disappearing.

I stared longingly at the island as it grew smaller. There were no shops, pubs, or restaurants on Dursey, but the guys had told me there were a few holiday homes for rent. Dimly, I wondered if the five of us could sneak off to one for an epic fuckathon. Somehow I doubted we'd get past my father's security team and cameras.

I tugged the wool blanket tighter around my shoulders. I had to borrow a long, oversized coat from one of the large bodyguards, and it wasn't all that effective against the harsh wind on the open water.

"Man, this sucks," I griped. "I wanted to see the standing stones." They were like a baby version of Stonehenge, and there were other prehistoric sites on the island I would've loved to explore.

"I thought you wanted to fuck in a pasture, babe." Avery was grinning from ear to ear as he increased our speed.

"Well...fucking on rocks would've been cool too."

He chuckled, winking at me. "I'm sure we'll still find a way to make memories at sea, angel."

His words made my toes curl, but I decided that distracting Avery with another blowie while he was driving was a bad idea.

"That book you lent me..." I trailed off, racking my brain for the name. The title was a weird word I hadn't recognized. Although I read a lot, I was sorely lacking in the formal education department.

"Kintsugi," he provided. "Thomas Meyer wrote it as an elegy for his partner of forty years who passed away."

"Yeah, that. The poems are incredibly moving. But I have to ask, what does kintsugi mean?" I felt painfully aware of my lack of schooling now, but I trusted Avery not to shame me for asking questions.

"Kintsugi is a centuries-old Japanese artform in which broken pottery is repaired with a lacquer mixed with gold or silver to draw attention to the cracks in the ceramic, essentially embracing the damage."

"Wow. That's...such a beautiful concept. I kinda love it." I wished then that I was an artist or a writer like Avery so I could fashion my wounds into something splendid.

"I hoped you would."

I side-eyed him then. "So I'm guessing you didn't choose that book at random?"

He found and held my gaze. "You know I didn't, angel."

Avery was so goddamn brilliant and thoughtful. He always had been. More than that, though, he always managed to find beauty in everything, even in the darkest of times.