Falling Star: Book 2 of The Orion Series

Legal Chess

I take up Orion's left hand that has the black band on it, the one that has Tristan engraved on the inside. He wears it on his left thumb, because that's the hand he strums his guitar with--his dominant hand--while I wear mine on my right index finger.

"Orion," I whisper to him, crying and kissing the ring. "You have to be okay. I want to marry you one day. You can't leave me, I still need you."

~

"So," Orion says quietly during dinner one night.

I look up from my food. His fork is sitting besides him, and he's spinning the ring on his thumb over and over. It's a nervous habit he's taken up in the weeks since we got the rings. He's also not looking at me. I put down my own fork and knife, ready to have a serious conversation.

We're sitting at the far end of the granite counter in the kitchen. The lights are turned off, candles lit for light. I love how Orion likes candles. He has them scattered all around his house. They're nothing special, simple white and unscented, but more and more he's been lighting them for ambient light instead of using electricity.

The entire thing makes me nervous admittedly, though I'd never tell him that. I'm always afraid that he's going to forget to blow one out and unintentionally burn down his mansion. If I ever voiced that concern I know he'd simply laugh and call me silly, and nothing would change. Besides, I've noticed he's really good about having only one room lit at a time, and he blows them all out before he leaves.

I love the way he looks in the candlelight. I love how the shadows play on his face. I don't know how often he lights candles around other people--I know he does it as some sort of comfort thing. It relaxes him, brings him peace. I know that much because when he writes music he always retreats to the basement, playing by candlelight.

Three candles illuminate his face now. I'm not sure what is with Orion and the number three. I'm not even sure he's consciously aware that this number is a re-occurring constant in his life. I know he's been diagnosed with OCD, but I don't know if this number three thing is part of that. If I had to guess though, it is.

All candles are grouped in three. He writes most of his music in ¾ time. His favorite type of dances are waltzes. When he knocks, he knocks in a succession of three. Assuming the food isn't larger, like steak or something, he eats everything in sums of three. I've noticed he even takes things in groups of three--he tears off paper towels three sheets at a time, he uses three pumps of soap, never just one.

And maybe this last one is a stretch, but it even applies to his social life. His core group consisted of three people forever--Jake, Ben, and himself. And even now that I'm in the picture, if he doesn't count himself as part of that equation, he still has the number three--Jake, Ben and myself. It's... strange.

One day I might bring it up to him, but as of right now it doesn't really seem to be hindering him. Besides, for all I know it's already been addressed in his therapy. It's just a curiosity I have, one that I'll eventually ask him about.

"Yes, Orio?"

He rubs his hands on his pants, another nervous tick he's had since I've known him. My brow furrows.

"What's wrong, love?"

He glanced at me. "Nothing's wrong, I just--I wanted your opinion on something." He lowers his head. "I haven't even asked Jake or Ben for their input yet."

Yikes. This is serious. "Go on."

"Er, do you remember that PI I hired a couple years ago to find my birth mom?"

Oh Lord. "Yeah."

"Well, I've had her periodically keep tabs on my adoptive parents."

"And?"