Authors: Stacey Nash
“Yeah, thanks, we really enjoyed the train ride.” Sarcasm drips off Jax’s words.
Neither Will nor Lilly answer him. Maybe Will’s learning. I glance his way, and his fingers tug a rogue strand of hair, his eyes glazed, seemingly looking at nothing.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m exhausted. It must be after midnight.” Lilly yawns. “Dibs on the bed.” She runs through a small door by the kitchen, and there’s a soft thwoosh as she jumps on the bed.
“I need a shower,” I say. Despite the cold air, I’m covered in a layer of dried sweat, and the awful smoke and food smell of the subway clings to my hair.
Jax opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut when Lilly pokes her head out of the bedroom and shoots him a glare. I couldn’t be bothered figuring it out. I’m sure when I wake up I’ll understand their exchanged look, but right now I’m too tired to think straight.
I walk into the small bedroom. It smells like my Nan’s house used to: of lavender, moth balls, and old people. There’s also a lingering scent of abandonment, like dust and stale air. I glance around, shaking my head. The small apartment’s so empty, yet there’s so much clutter in the store below. I always imagined Al’s home would be the same jumbled mess of junk. A large bed hogs all the space in the tiny room, extending almost to the walls. It too is covered in layers of hand-knitted blankets of different shades of purple squares all sewn together. Bertie must knit nonstop. A chest of drawers is squeezed between the bed and the door, and small crystal containers filled with jewelry decorate its top.
I glance around looking for the bathroom. Despite my close relationship with Al, Dad and I never really came upstairs. A door on the far side of the room catches my eye, and on inspection it leads into a small bathroom. Perfect. I go in and take a long, hot shower.
I emerge from the bathroom wearing just my shirt and a thick purple towel wrapped around my waist. Carrying the blanket from the couch in my hand, I run my fingers through my damp hair. My newfound warmth feels so pleasant after being cold for so long.
Silence echoes through the apartment in an eerie way. I glance into the living room, suddenly nervous Will’s not actually here, not actually safe, but his legs poke out from the end of the couch, and Jax lies on a mound of blankets on the floor, between the back of the couch and the bedroom. I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. Silly imagination running away in insane thoughts. Jax’s position means he must have drawn the short straw. I can’t imagine him volunteering to sleep in the most uncomfortable spot.
“Better?” Lilly’s voice jolts my gaze to her. She sits cross-legged on the bed in a pink, frilly singlet, the covers pulled up to form a tent between her knees. A white handkerchief in her hand glides over her dagger. Around and over again, polishing the blade. Bedtime and weapons? In any other situation I’d find this amusing. It’s the stuff of bad action movies. She pats the slim pillow beside her, indicating I should sit.
“Just a minute.”
My leg feels fantastic, like I could jump up and down without a hint of pain. I don’t. Instead, I tiptoe out to the couch to grab my jeans.
Will’s flat on his back with his long legs dangling over the armrest of the old couch, his arm hanging over the edge, and his hand brushing the carpeted floor. I lower the blanket in my hands, placing it over him. Eyes closed, face smooth, he looks content.
He’s too hard on himself; he did really well today. Relief he was here makes me want to hug him all over again. He could have been lost today, but thankfully he wasn’t. Settling for a mere touch, I brush his cheek with my thumb and tuck the blanket in around him. I grab my folded jeans from the low table and head back toward the bedroom.
My gaze is drawn to Jax on the way past him. I pause. He lays curled up on his side like a small child. His face is smooth, almost peaceful, and a lock of hair has fallen across his closed eyes. The self-confidence which oozes out of him when he’s awake has gone. He looks so young and innocent and hot. I ache to reach out and push his hair back out of his face, run my fingers along his jaw, over his full lips. Instead, I keep my hands pinned to my sides, warm against the soft towel. He wouldn’t want to be touched. The innocence of his sleeping expression makes me think of him as a child, dumped at the resistance farm. I don’t understand how anyone could abandon a child. For safety, yeah, maybe… but did they intend to come back for him? It’s a safe house, so perhaps. Pulling my gaze away from him, I look to Lilly, who watches me from her position on the bed. I walk over to her and pull my jeans on.
“Why did his parents leave him at the farm?”
She shuffles her legs and shifts her weight, looking uncomfortable while I lower myself onto the edge of the bed.
“I’ve asked him a few times, but he avoids answering,” I say.
“It’s not really my story to tell.” She drops her gaze to the dagger spinning over and around her fingers. “It’s Jax. He doesn’t talk feelings, and that story is full of them.”
My eyes slide closed, and a sigh winds through my nose. Sympathy weighs me to the bed. “Tell me.” I turn back to him, twisting my fingers into the blanket. It’s easy to picture him a few years ago. My heart almost tears at the sad image: a little boy, ruffled chestnut hair, big, lonely green eyes, and a small chiseled face looking so young and alone.
“I’m guessing he told you he was dumped or abandoned?” she asks, her voice soft and full of emotion.
“Um, yeah.”
There’s a long pause, and I almost think she’s not going to tell me.
“That’s not entirely right. He uses the dumped story as a cover. It’s less painful than the truth.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “Six years ago, Dad was on scanner duty. When the alarm went off, he ported to the location that triggered it
—an old, abandoned house by a lake. He found a young boy there wrestling with a Collective agent. The kid was fighting like a rabid dog. There was a woman too. She was lying on the ground with her throat slit. And another child, the poor little soul had been murdered. The woman’s… her… well, her arm was draped over the baby like she’d died protecting it.” She pauses, and both of our gazes linger on Jax.
The haunted look in his eyes when I asked him about his past is fresh in my memory. It makes me ache with longing to curl up beside him and protect him from all the pain of his past. The soft clatter of Lilly’s now-gleaming dagger falling on an antique bedside table draws my attention back to her. She picks up another blade and rubs the handkerchief over it. When she raises her eyes to mine, a sad smile curls her mouth.
“Dad defeated the agent and brought Jax back to the farmhouse. Having a kid my age around was exciting. For months I just wanted to make friends with him, but he barely spoke. I never gave up, though; guess I was persistent even back then. Anyway, when he finally did speak, it was only to talk weapons. He wanted to train all the time. I was disappointed, but starved for friendship, so I listened and even took an interest in learning how to use them. He threw himself into the training. He was only eleven, but he impressed everyone with how well he fought. It took years, but eventually we became friends rather than just sparring partners. Sometimes it still feels one-sided, though, because he keeps so much to himself.”
I nod. The familiar wall’s even there for her. He must never let it down. Not for me, not for Lilly, not for anyone. It should make me feel sad, but a little seed of hope plants itself in my heart that maybe I am different. Maybe he does open a little more for me. “He’s still such a closed book,” I say. “What did the agent want with his family?”
“Dad believes they were on the run from The Collective, but we don’t really know. Jax has never spoken about it.”
She only mentioned a mother and a sibling, so what about the rest of his family? I can’t help wondering where they fit in. Perhaps it’s the basis for his abandonment story. Most lies are founded in truth, after all.
Lilly places the cleaned dagger with its twin on the table beside the bed and yawns so wide I can see her tonsils. “Maybe they’d used some form of tech.” She shrugs. “I still get the feeling he doesn’t really trust anybody. You’re the first person I’ve ever seen him let his guard down around.”
My throat thickens, constricts, but I still try to swallow. The room blurs like looking through water, but I refuse to blink, not letting the tears overflow. No wonder he pushes everyone away. I yawn and rub at my eyes to pretend I’m tired while catching the unshed tears.
“Well, I’d hate to see what he’s like with everybody else,” I say, “because his guard is strong as a brick wall. One I can’t knock down no matter how hard I try.”
“Oh, honey, keep trying. You really are making a difference.”
His hand twitches where it rests on the hilt of his blade while he sleeps.
“What about his father?” I ask.
“Dad only saw the woman and child, but Jax has mentioned an older brother. I don’t know what happened to him or his father though.” Her eyes brim with sympathy.
“They’ve never come for him?” I ask, more to myself than to her.
“No, and he’s never asked to find them. I guess they must have been murdered, as well.”
A wave of emotion washes over me, threatening to pull me under. No wonder he hides behind a wall of sarcasm. The loss of a parent is more than heartbreaking. I step out of the bed and, timid as a mouse, move across the floor. Easing myself down with care not to wake him and, my face toward him, I scoot under the blanket.
His hair skims the long black lashes which fringe the lids of his closed eyes. Dark grey smudges like day-old bruises hang beneath them. The line of his jaw lies lax and soft, and his pink lips are slightly parted with no sign of a smirk. He looks so sweet, so vulnerable that I reach out and cover his hand with mine. Images of my mother waving goodbye and the kind face from his carving flash through my mind as I drift off to sleep.
The ground I’m lying
on vibrates with a series of loud thuds. My sleep-fogged mind grapples to understand where I am and what’s going on. A ringing clatter like crockery carelessly thrown onto a hard surface stirs me from the sleepy haze. Someone’s awake. The smell of food frying springs my eyes open. Green eyes only half opened and puffy with sleep burn into mine, trying to pull me in.
“Morning, cupcake,” Jax says with a thick, raspy voice.
My heart stutters, and my belly flutters. His gaze heats the space between us, drawing me closer. Waking up beside him—oh no, morning breath. I give him a closed-mouth smile and roll onto my back, stretching stiff limbs and keeping my breath away. My arm prickles with pins and needles from laying on it all night. My bad leg feels stiff, but there’s no pain at all. Jax shuffles beside me, blows out a sigh, and rolls onto his back too. Heaving myself up, I climb to my feet and walk, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen.
Will stands in front of an old gas stove, spatula in hand, staring at eggs frying in an iron pan. Heaven only knows where he got eggs. I hope they’re still good.
My mouth waters with the familiar smell of coffee. “Mmm, smells good.”
He looks straight ahead and flips an egg with so much force the yolk smashes. His glare practically smashes the rest of them and takes me back a few years. When he caught Blake Wilder letting down tires on a car parked in our street. Will’s expression darkened, like now, and he told Blake, “If you know what’s good for you, run.” He shouted that Blake should learn respect for other people’s property. Any other guy would’ve just laughed and ignored it, but not Will. Now the poor eggs cop the same look.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“No.”
I cross my arms and level a gaze which says I don’t buy it, but he keeps his eyes averted.
He pulls out a light purple plate with lavender flowers around the edge and drops it onto the counter. Three more clatter onto the surface soon after. “It’s nothing.”
“Fine.”
I lean against the counter. Something’s gotten into him. Surely he’s not still beating himself up about what happened in the Council building, because he did nothing wrong. If anything, I’m the one who did wrong, leaving without him.
My hand moves to cover the hole in my jeans, protecting my leg from the cool breeze licking at my exposed skin. I glance around, looking for where it could be coming from. Thick, braided cords secure the velvet drapes in the living area back, letting them flap in the wind. The double doors are wide open, leading onto the small balcony. I’ve often seen it from the street below. A bright ray of morning sunlight spans across the room, beckoning me onto the balcony and into the fresh morning air.
Doesn’t look like Will’s going to talk about whatever’s bothering him, so I leave him to torture the eggs alone. I walk out onto the small, white-painted balcony and position myself in the corner, resting against the cool metal. Jax leans against the railing, gazing at the street below. His unreadable gaze slides off the cars to rest on my thigh.
“Leg looks good.”
My face warms. I will it away. Surely he didn’t mean it as a compliment. The heat doesn’t fade, so I turn away from him and look at the wound. It’s no longer opened, but rather held together by shiny pink skin. I run my fingers over the new skin. “Wow.” That’s an impressive concoction Lilly used.