After the Ending (39 page)

What Zoe am I now
? Shaking the inconsequential
question from my mind, I searched the shelves of books lining the walls. I
studied the bindings, looking for stories that seemed interesting enough to
read to Jake.

How They Work: A
guide to mechanical engines…Boring.

The Ultimate Man’s
Survival Guide: Recovering the Lost Art of Manhood…I’ll snag that one for
later.

Julius Caesar…Too
difficult.

Sense and
Sensibility…Jake would kill me.

Journey to the
Center of the Earth…Hmmm…

That’s when I found it—Alexander Dumas’s
The Count of
Monte Cristo,
broken into two volumes,
stood beside its classical
companions. Removing the first volume from its resting place among other aged
texts, I inspected its worn, navy-blue binding before opening its cover. I
gently fingered the brittle, age-stained pages to find the date I was looking
for—1846.
Why am I not surprised they have a first edition?

I pushed an oversized leather armchair to Jake’s bedside,
settled in, and began reading aloud. The antique pages turned quickly, and the
more I read, the more engrossed I became with Edmond’s story.

Before I knew it, days had passed, and I’d read the
entire book nearly three times. Every time Edmond escaped from Chateau
d’If
and reclaimed his freedom, I hoped Jake would break
free from the mental purgatory his injuries had trapped him within. When he
woke, would he tell me my translations of the French names had improved or that
my commentary was rubbish? He would probably tell me I was horrible at reading
aloud since I didn’t change my intonation for the different characters. But I
continued reading anyway.

When my voice grew hoarse from overuse, I sketched,
trying to capture the sunsets that reached above the lake each day, and when I
grew frustrated with drawing, I talked to Jake. I told him how strange it was
sleeping in such a large house and that I felt like Scarlet O’Hara in
Gone
With the Wind
as I made my grand entrance down the staircase every morning.
Except, instead of a hoop-skirted gown, I wore sweats or jeans. I told him that
he didn’t have to make Cooper sleep outside my door anymore because the dog
slept with me every night and followed me everywhere I went anyway.

Some nights I drank too much and blubbered on about my
dreams and my family. I told Jake about Dani and how she was the only person
who’d ever cared enough to look out for
me.
I explained that she was
more than a friend, more than a sister…that she was part of me. “
That’s
why I have to get to her,” I told him, desperately wanting him to understand.

As the days passed and I ran out of activities to keep my
mind occupied, panic resurfaced. On our fourth day at Sarah’s house, Harper
decided to check the burns beneath Jake’s bandages. “I should’ve done it
sooner, but I didn’t want to disturb any healing.” He sighed. “There was no
bleed-through…I’m hoping that’s a good sign.”

Mindfully, Sanchez and I helped Harper snip the gauze at
Jake’s fingers. We started gently peeling it away from his skin, so Harper
could clean Jake’s wounds.

My eyes became glassy as we freed his perfect thumb from
its stained sheath of bandages. I carefully continued uncovering Jake’s entire
hand, trying to control my anticipation, and moved up his exceptionally
sculpted arm. I exhaled with relief. It was working; his body was regenerating.
He appeared flawless…but he still wasn’t awake.

Unable to resist, I slid the backs of my fingers down his
forearm to his cupped hand, letting them rest on his palm. Heat flooded my neck
and cheeks, and I wasn’t sure if I was blushing out of excitement from feeling
his skin against mine, or because I was embarrassed about caressing him while
he was unconscious…in front of Harper and Sanchez. I looked up to find them
both watching me closely.

“Uh, Zoe, let’s give Harper some…uh, privacy to work,”
Sanchez said, escorting me out of the room. She passed me off to Sarah.

Stunned by Jake’s recovery, I let Sarah lead me down the
hall. I was vaguely aware that we’d left the house and were heading down the
path to the lake—all I could think about was Jake.

We walked to the end of the dock and sat down across from
one another, each leaning our back against a piling.

“So, this is good, right?” Sarah said, apparently baffled
by my quietness. She pulled her hood up over her head and readjusted her
bug-like sunglasses.

“Yeah,” I agreed, still shocked that Jake’s body was
healing so well. “He’s gonna be okay,” I told her, and for the first time I
actually believed it.

“Yep,” she said, a smug look on her face. “Shall we
celebrate?” she asked with a naughty grin, pulling something out of her
sweatshirt pocket—a black flask with a marijuana leaf etched on it.

Laughter exploded from me—a genuine, happy sound I hadn’t
heard in a while. “How can I say no to
that
?”

A toothy grin spread across Sarah’s face. “You can’t.
That’s the point.” Unscrewing the top, she took a swig of its liquid contents,
made a sour face, and passed the flask to me with a wink. “Aged to perfection.”

Taking a drink, I cringed as what tasted like rum burned
going down, warming my empty stomach. “Where did you get this thing?” I asked,
holding up the flask.

Leaning back on the dock, Sarah ignored a heavy breeze
and basked in the rays of the sun. She looked like a movie star—elegant,
confident, and comfortable. “I bought it when I was in high school…to freak out
my mom.”

Laughing, we told each other stories about how we
terrorized our parents until the flask was empty. When it was too cold to
resist the warmth indoors, we headed back into the house, feeling buoyant as
the liquor coursed through our veins. We had a few more shots before Sarah
disappeared with Biggs in tow.

The night passed in a blur, and when everyone went to
bed, I found myself sitting at Jake’s bedside. He was sleeping soundly,
completely free of bandages. Utterly fascinated, I studied every inch of him.

In the candle’s flickering light, stubble barely obscured
the clean lines of his jaw. I had to sit on my hands to keep from reaching out
and running my fingers over the soft curves of his slightly parted lips. His
hair had grown back, short and silky, and occasionally his brown lashes
fluttered as he dreamt. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was
mesmerizing.
He just looks like he’s sleeping…

Eventually, I lost myself in “what-ifs” and “I wonders,”
and began to doze. I dreamt of seagulls flying above me, screeching through
damp sea air. I dreamt of wet sand beneath my feet, molding to the shape of my
toes, and the briny smell of the wind as it whipped my hair around my face and
stung my eyes.

But my dreams were interrupted by a muffled sound, and my
consciousness stirred. A throaty rumble soothed me as I drifted in a state of
partial awareness. I felt like I was floating, and a sudden blanket of warmth
lulled me back into restful sleep.

The next morning, the click-
clack
-click
of Cooper pacing on the hardwood floor woke me. It took me only a moment to
realize I wasn’t in the chair, but was instead nestled in a bed. As I took a
deep breath, the smell of rubbing alcohol filled my nose.

My hair was splayed over my face, partially blocking my
view of the room, and I felt the pressure of a warm body behind me, and quiet
breathing tickled my ear. My heart fluttered as I realized where I was. Slowly
brushing my hair out of my face, I was astonished to find Jake’s arm wrapped
around me.
I’m in his bed. Oh. My. God. How the…

“
Zoe, what are you doing?
” Sanchez said
disapprovingly in my mind. I raised my head to find her standing in the doorway
to the foyer, her face a mixture of both horror and skepticism.

Carefully removing the covers, I snuck out of Jake’s bed.
I tiptoed out of the room, trying not to wake him, and gently closed the door
behind me.

“I don’t know what happened,” I said, shrugging
defensively.
Did I climb into his bed?
I hadn’t drank
that
much…had
I?

“Biggs is making breakfast. Be back down here in ten.”
Sanchez’s voice followed me as I headed up the staircase to brush my teeth and
get dressed for the day.

“Yes, Mother,” I muttered. I felt like I was seventeen
again and had just been grounded for sneaking a boy in through my bedroom
window.

 As I opened the door, I wished I had time to sneak
under the bed’s plush down comforter for a quick nap. My mind was still fuzzy
from sleep…or maybe from the shots I’d taken with Sarah after we’d returned to
the house. Unfortunately, Sanchez’s disapproving expression had promised she
would retrieve me if I took too long.

After combing out my tangled hair, I brushed my teeth and
washed my face, trying to quantify how much I had drank. Pulling on a clean, purple
V-neck and a fresh pair of jeans, I stepped back to appraise myself in the
standing, full-length mirror beside the desk.
At least I don’t
look
hungover.
I shrugged and headed for the door. As I turned the curved,
bronze door handle, I heard my name echo in the grand entryway.

“Zoe!” Harper yelled again, and I flung open the door.

“I know, I know, I’m coming. Jesus. You’ve eaten without
me before.” I hurried to the nearest stairway and headed down to Harper.

Halfway down the stairs, I froze. Jake, wearing a white
t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, stood in the foyer. Everyone else was crowded
around him, but he was staring at me.

“You should sit down, Jake.” Sarah gestured back toward
the library.

“I’d rather stand.”

“I need to ask you some questions—make sure you’re
alright,” Harper said.

I could barely hear their demands over my thudding
heartbeat. Seeing Jake out of bed, I felt weightless, and the constant worry
that had been taunting me all week fizzled away.

“Morning,” Jake said, his voice rough. He stood near the
doorway to the library with attentive eyes, waiting for a response, but I could
only stare at him in astonishment.

After a few rapid heartbeats, I finally whispered,
“Morning.” My voice was trapped in between excessive excitement and disbelief.

“You were gone when I woke up,” he said coolly, but a wry
grin followed. It melted every part of me, weakening my knees until I almost
fell down the stairs. I barely noticed Sarah and Harper whispering something to
the right of Jake, and Sanchez watching us from his left. I couldn’t look away
from Jake’s all-consuming eyes.

“You read Dumas,” he added in my silence, and I instantly
knew he’d heard everything—what I’d told him about my family and Dani, about
Clara, and about how infuriated I was with him for running back into the fire.

Nodding dumbly, I felt my chin quiver, and a tear
streaked down my cheek. Another followed, and before I could stop myself, I was
running down the stairs. Running to him. I leapt into his arms, and wrapped my
limbs around him, squeezing desperately. I was afraid he would disappear.

“You’re awake,” was all I could think to say as he held
me snugly against him. His chest moved with mine, and I clutched his sleeves in
my hands—he was real, and being wrapped in his arms was even more comforting
than I’d imagined it would be.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his lips brushing my ear.

“I can’t believe you heard me,” I choked. “I can’t
believe you’re awake.” I suddenly realized I’d launched myself at a man who’d
nearly died only days before. I leaned away from him and searched his face. “Am
I hurting you?”

He shook his head.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks with one hand.
Of
course I’d fall apart in front of him…again
. “I was doing so good,” I whimpered.

Jake chuckled and looked deep into my eyes, searching for
something. “You were in my dreams.”

“Was I blubbering like an idiot?” I asked sarcastically.
Suddenly conscious of the scene I was making, I unwrapped my legs and lowered
my feet to the cold marble floor.

“Come on, Jake,” Harper called from the library. “Let’s
check your vitals.” But Jake said nothing, his gaze holding mine as he backed
away, one step at a time.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” Harper said, ushering Jake
into the room.

Before turning away, Jake smiled at me. “Alright, Doc.”

Date: January 6, 9:35 PM

From: Zoe Cartwright

To: Danielle O’Connor

Subject: Sorry!!!!!

Hey D,

I’m SO SORRY I’ve been MIA for so long. You have no idea how
crazy it’s been over here.  Before I get into the soap opera of my life
(thanks for passing
that
torch to me BTW), I want to say one thing...I
miss you SO much. Seriously. I could really use some Dani time right about now.

A lot’s happened in the last week. To start with, we’re no longer
at Fort Knox. There was a fire, and some of our group didn’t survive. Dave
didn’t make it, D. Stacey and Tanya didn’t either, but there’s more…You know
how Clara was supposed to be locked away someplace so she couldn’t hurt anyone?
Well, somehow she weaseled her way into Tanya’s head, and Tanya ended up
helping her escape. When Clara got out, she tried to kill us all. At least
that’s what we’ve concluded from Tanya’s confession to Jake when he ran in to
try and save her and the others. Jake was badly burned, and no one knows where
the hell Clara is. We had to get out of Fort Knox as fast as we could. It was
so bad, D. Like you, I wish I could be teleported to where you are. It would
make everything so much easier.

Since the possibility of teleportation isn’t likely, we’re
staying at Sarah’s house outside of St. Louis. We needed a place to go where
Jake could recover. I have no idea how long we’ll be here, but I think it’s
best to plan on meeting outside of Colorado Springs, like you said. Now that Jake’s
awake and okay, we can start figuring out what to do next. I’m sure he’ll have
a suggestion for where to meet up. I’ll let you know next time I write.