“Not as much as it should be,” I mutter, looking up and down the street. It’s empty. For now. “Are you still going home?”
He hesitates, watching me. “I probably should.”
I grin. “Shoulda, woulda, coulda. What are you actually going to do?”
He kisses me. It’s light and lingering. Surprising. His lips are the only part of him touching me and they’re barely doing that. I feel exposed, open to the cold air while his heat is hovering nearby. It’s amazing, breathless and free, like I want to be kissed like this by him for the rest of my life. I know he’s done it on purpose. That he’s keeping his distant, giving me space. That he’s adapting to my own crazy, setting his watch to my cuckoo clock and it’s incredible how that makes me feel. How it changes the kiss into more than skin against skin. It makes it a promise. An understanding. It doesn’t feel closed in, doesn’t feel confining. It feels light as air, heavy as sunshine.
He breathes warm across my mouth, making me shiver and smile. When he pulls away, he puts two steps between us.
“Now I know I should go home,” he says, his voice deep.
I lift a skeptical eyebrow. “But are you going to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come watch a movie with me,” I blurt out. “We can watch Pretty in Pink.”
“Why that one?” he asks, already closing the space between us again.
He’s so easy.
“Because I don’t like it.”
“Then why would we watch it?” he laughs.
The sound of his voice echoing up and down the deserted street makes me smile. I should be cringing. I should be telling him to shush it or he’ll get us killed. But I like the sound of his laughter all around me, the way it is in the loft when I feel the space shrink around him, becoming warmer. Brighter. Somehow more mine by his being there.
“You’ve seen what I like. Why wouldn’t I show you what I don’t like?”
He grins down at me, his eyes happy and full. “That’s a really good point.”
“Is that what people do?”
“I don’t know. But it’s what we do. When do I get to show you what I don’t like?”
I roll my eyes, turning my back on him to head toward the building. “I already know what you don’t like.”
“Really? Hit me with it.”
“You don’t like when I’m mean. When I’m too harsh.”
“True, but I just told you that.”
“You don’t like it when I pull away from you.”
He’s silent behind me, no sound other than his footfalls in time with mine.
“You don’t like it when you think I don’t trust you,” I continue.
“No, I don’t like it when you absolutely, positively do not trust me.”
I stop two steps up from him on the stairs, turning to look down at him.
“I do trust you. Probably more than I trust myself sometimes and that’s scary. I don’t like it, but I’m working on it. You’ve gotta give me time. It took me six years to be this way, it will take more than six weeks to change me.”
“I don’t want to change you, Joss.”
I grin at his lie. “Yes, you do. At least a little.” I shrug, continuing up the stairs. “And maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. Maybe it will do me good to let my guard down a little.”
Famous last friggin’ words.
When we open the door to my loft, I nearly scream. That’s where I’m at on the threat level. Screaming. Let me make something crystal clear here; I. Do. Not. Scream. Ever. Not when they ate my parents, not when I ran into the street to find a world gone crazy, not even when they pounded on the outside of the car all day and all night as I lay shivering on the floorboards soaked in urine, sweat and fear. I never made a sound.
But now, finding Trent parked in the darkness in the middle of my loft, his eerie eyes fixed on my face like a hungry lion, I choke on a shriek.
“I will freakin’ kill you,” I breathe, begging my heart to stop pounding in my chest. It aches from the pressure.
“Good to see you too,” he drones.
“Come on, Trent, a little warning. We could have killed you, man,” Ryan complains behind me.
Trent smirks. “Not on your best day.”
“What do you want, psycho?” I demand.
“It’s not what I want. It’s what The Hive wants.”
Ryan curses behind me. I second that. Trent just nods.
“They want to see me,” Ryan eventually mumbles.
“They want to know why you’re fighting again. And who it is you’re fighting for.”
“When?”
“Hours ago would have been best.”
I glare at him. “You obviously knew we were downstairs. Why didn’t you come tell us this? It’s kind of important.”
“And interrupt your magic moment? There are so few joys in this world anymore, why would I steal that from you two?”
I look at Ryan. “Is he messing with me or is he being serious? I can’t read him.”
“No one can,” Ryan says. “He’s written in backwards brail.”
I glare at Trent again. “It’d be easier just to kill him.”
“You’re welcome to try.”
Trent smiles.
“Alright, let’s not waste time.” I turn to Ryan, holding up my arm. “Take the splint off. Let’s go.”
He stares down at me for a long time, just looking. I wait patiently, my arm still held out to him.
“Would it to any good at all,” he asks quietly, his eyes imploring, “to ask you to stay here. Not tell you, but ask you nicely to stay here and wait for me?”
I take a deep breath, reminding myself I’m mending fences here. “I appreciate that you’re not trying to tell me what to do. Consider your effort acknowledged.”
“I’m marking it in the minutes of this conversation,” Trent tells us.
“Not helping,” Ryan mutters, glaring at him over my shoulder.
“But,” I say firmly, shaking my arm to get Ryan’s attention, “it doesn’t change the fact that I’m coming with you. I’m the one with Vin’s ring—“
“You could give it to me.”
“And I’m the one who was sent in his place.”
“They don’t know that.”
“I’m the one who knows about the Colony.”
“You’ve told me what you know.”
“I’m the one who was kidnapped, held prisoner, watched her friend nearly killed and murdered a woman in cold blood to get out!” I shout, deciding fences are overrated anyway. “I’m going!”
“Alright,” Ryan says softly. Too softly. He steps closer, pushing my arm down out of the way. “Then what about this? They didn’t ask to see you. They want to see me about the Underground. It has nothing to do with you and I can tell them that at the door if you try to go with me. You’ll be locked out, treated like a girl from the stables.”
“You wouldn’t,” I growl, fully believing the look in his eyes that says yes, he would.
He nods slowly. “Oh yeah, I would. If it means keeping you from going there, I would.”
“I promised them, Ryan.”
“And we’ll keep your promise. I’ll help you. We’ll go to the Vashons. We don’t need The Hive.”
“What’s a Vashon?” Trent asks.
I bristle, hating the interruption, but I bite my tongue because I’ve already shouted at one of them in the last few minutes. I’m not looking to lash out at everyone. Not yet.
“A group Crenshaw mentioned. We were just with him asking his advice,” Ryan tells him, still standing in my space.
He’s towering over me, probably to intimidate me, but what he doesn’t know (what I’ll never tell him) is that it’s comforting. Eye level with his chest, seeing his shoulders go on for miles, knowing the strength lying in wait inside; it’s comforting. He has my back and he’s strong enough to rely on. I can let a little bit of the weight of the world pass on to him and he can take it. That’s terrifyingly wonderful. It’s why I don’t step away. Not because I don’t want to retreat. Don’t want to show weakness. Okay, that’s part of it, but mostly it’s because I just like it. I like him.