Thank you to everyone for the lovely reviews. I do enjoy reading them so please feel free to become a serial reviewer, haha. I got this chapter written up as soon as I could and included some lemony goodness in this chapter. Writing from a boys point of view in that regard was a little difficult but I've done my best. I also kept the continuity by including all the flashback scenes from Throwing Fire. Thank you again everybody and enjoy.

"I hope you're ready for today, my boy," Alex said as they sat on top of the out of service Ferris wheel. "This is a big deal."
"Oh, you know I'm ready," Patrick replied excitedly. Today was the big pay out he father kept going on about. All Patrick had to do was convince some mark that a crystal they had was some sort of valuable Ancient Egyptian heirloom with magic healing powers. It sounded too easy and not enough of a big deal to Patrick but his father's excitement had him interested.

"How did last night go, ey?" his father asked bumping him.
"What?"
"How did it go with the girl?"
Patrick lowered the binoculars. "Fine..."
More than fine. It was the best night of my life. So far. Not that he would tell his father that. They'd never had the kind of father-son relationship where feelings were a topic of discussion.

He wasn't sure why his father cared all that much. He had been with many girls.
"Just fine?" he prodded. "I know you can do better than that, boy. It'll be good for you son if you can hang on to this one."
"Okay…" he said uncertainly.
"Ah there!" his father exclaimed snatching the binoculars off him and looking down at the fairground. He was looking at an expensive sleek black town car parked next to the swing ride. "I spent three days at that crummy hospital. Finding the mark….setting up the play….and now it's time to get paid."
He handed the binoculars to Patrick. He looked down at where his father was looking. There was an elderly lady helping a young girl into a wheelchair and Patrick got an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

000

"We've tried everything," the old lady told them as they sat in Patrick's psychic tent. "She finished her fourth course of chemo last week but they, ah, tumours in her lungs are growing…"
"Cool shirt," the sick girl piped up weakly to Patrick who smiled at her.
"Thank you."
She tried to smile back but was interrupted by a shocking bout of coughing and gasping for air.
Her grandmother put an oxygen mask up to the girls mouth and Patrick noticed the rich old lady had a cheap watch on. The tan lines on her fingers indicated that she had sold a lot of her jewellery. Probably chasing after expensive medications and healing voodoo. He got a sinking feeling in his heart when he realised what his father had set up.

"The doctors say there is nothing they can do just…make her comfortable."
"I know it must be difficult," Alex said sitting next to his perfectly healthy child he cared nothing for.
"So when I heard about the crystal…" she started.
"Ah yes!" Alex said dramatically. "The crystal!"

Patrick removed the red velvet cloth from the grand box that held a worthless amethyst that they had several of in their trailer. He showed it to them with the appropriate amount of flourish and grandeur. They had done this play before. Selling magic crystals with various ancient powers across the Midwest. Patrick tried to get rid of his guilt but justifying himself…even if he didn't truly believe it. Lung cancer sufferers that smelt of cigarettes didn't care enough about their health. Old people suffering from nothing but age had already had their day. Greedy people wanting to buy crystals with magical financial powers were no better than himself. They needed the money and it couldn't be that bad to give people hope.

But this one was different.

He picked it up and the old lady looked at it longingly with desperation.
The young girl, still gasping for breath in her oxygen mask looked at him with big curious eyes with so much innocence and faith and trust.

Patrick put the crystal back into the back. "I'm sorry."
He quickly left the tent before he could be sick. He heard his dad tell them something as he left.
Patrick sat down on a bale of hay and put his head in his hands. This was wrong. There was no other way to look at it. She wasn't a mark or a sucker. She was just an innocent girl who had done nothing to deserve this. The grandmother was rich, true, but it didn't seem relevant in this situation like it usually did. She was doing what was necessary for the person she loved most in the world and that meant spending all of her wealth.

Maybe some time ago Patrick would be able to do this with ease without understanding the feelings and the desperation associated with love. If the person he loved most in the world became sick and was going to die he knew he wouldn't accept that or allow it. He would travel to the ends of the world and back, go to every hospital, get every medicine, try and drain every inch of his life to give to her and, yes, he would even buy a stupid rock with supposed healing powers if it were the last thing.

"Get back in there!" his dad said coming out angrily.
"I can't. I can't do it."
"Get up now," his dad growled grabbing his arm harshly and pulling him up. Patrick shrugged him off.
"What part?" Alex asked madly. "What part can't you do?! The gag? That part's easy. I did the hard part…"

His dad continued his angry rant and Patrick got more uncomfortable and upset with him.
"She's dying! We are stealing from a dying girl!" Surely, his father had a conscience Patrick could reason with.
"We're all dying kid, we're all dying.." It was nothing more than Patrick expected. His father managed to justify this disgrace and Patrick knew he lost this one.
"I can't do it."

His father stared at him. "You're either with the show. Or you're not," he recited the carnie code. "You're a loser…or you play the losers. And you cant just back out when you feel like it! When it's morally convenient. When you don't have the guts! I've never backed out! I've been carrying you for a long time and it's not getting any easier, son. No one likes an aging boy psychic. Short pants don't look so good on a boy that needs to shave. You're going to need a new act. Are you gonna…work that out all by yourself? You going solo? Yes or no, boy? Are you with it? Are you with me? Right now? You gotta say! Right now!"

000

Patrick pocketed the $50 note of the $10,000 he had made his father. He felt sick to his stomach at what he had done. What he had to do. Carnival life was binding. You're with it or you're not with it. You have a part to play and you have to play it perfectly, unwavering. If you no longer had a purpose, you no longer had a place in the carnival. You only had immunity from uselessness if you were part of the Ruskin family who started this whole circuit decades ago.

Patrick went back to the trailer which was empty as his father had gone to blow their earnings on poker and booze. He hated himself for what he had done. What he did for a living. He kicked the wall and threw everything off the tiny table before sliding down the wall and gripping his hair.

Aaron was right. He was a no good, worthless carnie who tricked and stole and lied and cheated with a bad reputation and slept around with the worse kind of women.
His dad had given him a thought to ponder though tonight. He did need a new act. Could he go solo? Could he survive without his father? It seemed difficult but not impossible. If he could, he would run far away from this poisonous life and never come back.

But there was something tying him down here. Something infuriating. Angela Ruskin. How he wanted to hate her for doing this to him. Making him care. Life would be so much easier if he didn't care. He could lie and cheat without guilt, without fear of disappointing, he could run away if he wished with his heart still intact, he could speed down a windy road in a car and ending this nightmare by smashing into a tree without the agony of putting her in pain.

Now he had so much to worry about. All of those things plus he had her to worry about too. What if he did go solo and his act was horrible and he had to leave the carnival and never see her again? She could marry into an equally successful carnival family and move to their circuit. Or so horrific he couldn't comprehend it, she could get a horrible disease like that poor girl and be taken from him while he stood their helpless. She had done this to him. He punched the door before slamming it and storming off across the grass.

000

"Patrick, what are you doing here?" Angela whispered sleepily opening the window as quietly as she could. He slid through the tiny window with her help.

"I needed to see you," he said putting his hands on her fragile shoulders. It was warm in her room and she was wearing nothing but her underwear and a threadbare singlet. The open window let in a cold breeze and he felt her shiver slightly under his touch. He removed his jacket and threw it around her shoulders.

"It's freezing out, Angela," he said zipping it up. "You should be wearing more. You could get sick."
"Yes mum," she joked but his grim expression didn't change. She frowned slightly not wanting his mysterious bad mood to ruin the high she was on.

"I'm glad you came," she said quietly, pushing back the too-long sleeves of his jacket and pulling him away from the window. "I missed you today."
He ignored her sweet words he sorely wished to return and paced angrily across her room. "I…I did something bad Angel," he ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't stop doing bad things! I taint everything."

She touched his arm but he moved away.
"My whole life is deceiving and lying and cheating," he turned to her and gripped her arms. "You're the only good, pure thing I have and I'm going to hurt you too."
"No you won't," she smiled and it made him more hyped up.
"You silly little girl," he said shaking her slightly. "Don't you understand how bad I am? There is nothing good or special about me, Angela. I am a bad person."

Angela slapped him across the face and he stumbled back in shock. It was relatively painless, she was quite small and didn't have much force behind her but she wasn't usually violent.

They stared at each other with mutual anger and frustration now. Patrick stepped forward, grabbed her face and kissed her fiercely. He wanted her to pull away or hit him or something but she put her arms around his neck and returned all the passion and emotion that he was giving her. It felt like fire and it was amazing and his thoughts were turn into a hopeless muddle. Patrick wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up. It was quite dark and he slipped on one of her open books and they both fell onto her bed where he rested on his elbows and climbed over the top of her. His brain was going into overdrive and he forgot the reason he came over in the first place or the reason he was upset. His whole world at that moment was this kiss and Angela.

Still continuing the kiss, Angela clumsily worked at the buttons on his shirt while his hands unzipped the jacket he'd just put on her moments before. Angela's hands were warm and soft against his chest and stomach on the inside of his unbuttoned shirt and his hands slid down her back, gripping tightly at the flimsy singlet. Patrick pulled her up in a sitting position with him and she pushed his shirt off of him while he hurriedly pulled the top off her before laying her back down again.

They were the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen and he took a moment to admire them which Angela took the wrong way as she blushed furiously and moved her arms down to cover them.
"No, you're beautiful," Patrick said catching her wrists and pressing a kiss to the creases of them before returning to her lips.

Very soft and exactly the right size for his hands to cup and without thinking, he did exactly that as he went back to kissing her with all the passion in the world. He felt her heart accelerate and he broke away briefly to make sure she was okay. He ran his thumb across her hard nipples and she breathed out loudly in response.

Patrick moved from her lips to kiss her neck, allowing her to catch her breath. He kissed her collarbone down to her breasts then left a trail of kisses down her stomach. Angela grew frustrated and leaned up to pull him down and furiously kisses him. Their naked chests were pressed together and he could feel just how much she wants this. How much they both want this and need this.

"Patrick," she moaned against his mouth and he roped his hands in her hair. She reached down to his pants zipper and undid them before sliding them down and he realised that he needed to set boundaries. They couldn't have sex now. It wasn't planned and it wasn't romantic and he didn't have a condom and her family were sleeping down the hall.

He gripped her hands and pulled them over her hand, hoping to deter her.
Patrick left one last lingering kiss upon her lips and slid down between her legs, briefly noticing the modest yellow cotton panties she was wearing.

He pressed a finger into her through her underwear and she arched her back and moaned in response. "Shhh, baby," he hushed her, reminding her that her father and brother slept only a few doors away.

Angela bit down on her lip to keep quiet and even through her underwear, Patrick could tell how wet and ready she was. He slid them down her thighs and she helped by lifting her hips so he could lower them down her legs and throw them next to his discarded pants. Patrick returned to kissing and licking and gently sucking the delicate, creamy skin of her inner thighs, right above her knees. One of his hands found the small mat of curly brown hair that rose onto her pelvic bone and he began rocking the heel of his hand, mimicking the rhythm they had both found while kissing a few moments ago. His other hand reached around and under her hips to better bring her toward him.

She was moist and hot and her body wanted him. Her heart was beating louder and her breath was laboured as he moved closer to the place she wanted him, she needed him, to be.

He leant forward and gently stroked his tongue up her glistening folds and she sighed his name and knotted her hands in his hair. His tongue seemed to bring his name to her lips and he enjoyed that most of all.

Patrick rubbed his thumb against her clitoris which makes Angela whimper and writhe underneath him as he worked his fingers on her bundle of nerves.

"Patrick," she whimpered quietly as she arched up again. "So…uh…good.."
She was right. It was good. Because she tasted amazing. Sweet and amazing and Angela. No one had ever touched her in this way.

"Patr…uh….I…I'm…"she gasped out incoherently, while thrashing around on the bed. He held her down by her thighs and she came. He gently kissed her sweet spot before returning to her beautiful face.

"Oh gosh," Angela gasped her face flushed and breathless. He has never been more aroused in his life and he cannot control himself when her fingertips graze over his erection pressing painfully against his boxer shorts which are quickly discarded and he could not recall whose doing it was.

His tip brushed against her entrance and she gasped. A shock coursed through Patrick's body, every nerve ending alive. All his senses were heightened and he was deliciously consumed by everything; the sight of Angela beneath him, the sweetness of her breath, the lingering taste of her and the invigorating smell of her orgasm.

Just as he prepared to penetrate her for the first time, she whispered his name, "Patrick."
He froze. She sounded comfortable but uncertain. All of a sudden his mind decided to work again and he remembered Angela and how much he loved her. How lovely and quirky and frustrating she was and how annoyingly obsessed she was with those silly old books filled with romance and gentlemen and frilly dresses.

Patrick wanted her so badly but he needed to make love to her properly. Not spontaneous and fuelled by frustration. Though there was no turning back for him at this point.

He laid his hardness on her pelvic bone and reached down to passionately kiss her and she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. Patrick was intoxicated and drowned in the sensation of being engulfed by her limbs. Slowly, but with increasing pressure and speed, he rubbed himself against her. Her hips rocked against him intensifying the sensation that was growing within him.

Angela released his mouth and reached for his ear, gently nibbling at his earlobe and whispering sweet things inaudibly. He heard her quickened breath and it felt warm on his neck. His senses were on overload.

She moaned quietly; "Oh. Patrick."

That is all he needed to hear. His eruption was complete and devoured all of his self control. Patrick convulsed and shuddered and his hands clawed into her pillow and buried his face into her hair, muffling his noise.

The heat that had been building and pooling in his body was released over her stomach and pelvis and thighs. There was a flash like an electrical current that fired his every nerve ending simultaneously. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut yet there was a light like bursting fireworks in his vision. His nose was filled with Angela's scent and the smell of his own ejaculation to combine to become one of complete satisfaction. Her fingers were tangled in his hair and her heartbeat against his chest felt lovely.

Suddenly shocked back to reality, he weakly raised himself on his arms, certain that in him getting carried away, he had frightened or hurt Angela. His eyes struggled to focus on her gorgeous face.

"Did I hurt you?" Patrick asked hurriedly stroking the sides of her face.
"Mhm?" Angela mumbled sleepily. Her face was still pink and hot.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm great, how are you?" she said deliriously but she sounded content.
"I'm great too," he said relieved taking in her swollen plump lips, her messy hair and flustered cheeks.

He moved and swung his legs off her bed.
"Where are you going," she asked heartbreakingly suddenly taking his hand.
"I just have to, urh, clean us up a little."
"Okay," she said sleepily resting her eyes.

Patrick got some tissues from the box on her desk and cleaned himself up before cleaning up the mess he made over her stomach and legs. She would have to wash her bed sheets tomorrow.

He pulled on his boxer shorts and pants and was buttoning up his shirt next to her when she touched his arm softly with her eyes closed.
"Patrick?"
"Yeah, Angela?"
"I'm sorry I hit you."
"And I'm sorry I was a jerk," he said putting his jacket over her and covering her with her quilt.

"I don't think you're a bad person, Patrick," she yawned snuggling and burying her face into his jacket and fell asleep.
Patrick sat beside her for a while, stroking her hair, her face.
"I'm in love with you," he told her as she slept soundly. "I properly love you and I can't give you what you deserve."

"Goodnight Evangeline," he whispered to her after an hour or so. Patrick kissed her forehead and nose and made sure she was properly tucked in before climbing out her window and disappearing into the night.