Regret

regret

Also by Elana Johnson

possession

surrender

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

First Simon Pulse eBook edition April 2012

Copyright © 2012 by Elana Johnson

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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.

Designed by Angela Goddard

The text of this book was set in Berling.

ISBN 978-1-4424-6781-1 (eBook)

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4: six weeks later

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

1.

Jag Barque moved with catlike grace. Even the way he waved away someone with an unnecessary question held a fluidity I admired. I wished I didn’t. My eyes burned because I hadn’t blinked in a while, but I couldn’t stop staring as Jag talked with my brother, Irvine.

Finally, when Jag refused to acknowledge me, I turned away with a muffled scoff. It was for the best, really. I didn’t want to appear obsessive, even if everyone already knew about my continued obsession with Jag, the leader of the Resistance. I reminded myself that
I
had broken up with
him
.

I felt eyes on me and instantly knew I’d find him frowning at me from across the living room. He’d certainly be able to feel my anger and annoyance at him from that far. His
empathic genes really pissed me off sometimes. All the time these days.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his intense, blue-eyed gaze. Instead, I hugged myself and rubbed my hands over my upper arms, pretending to be interested in the conversation taking place next to me.

“Right, Indy?” Lex asked. When I looked at him, I found the glint of knowing in his eyes. I drew a deep breath in a too-late attempt to mask my irritation at Jag.

“Right,” I answered, though I had no clue what he’d said. I didn’t care what Lex Yardley and Winston Luthy were arguing over. They had been selected for the mission into the Goodgrounds, and I had not. Thanks to Jag and the reasons he wouldn’t explain.

But I nodded when they did and even pointed to something on the chart Lex had spread across his lap. He flashed me a quick smile, sweeping his shaggy bangs out of his eyes before focusing back on the task at hand.

His job was to make sure the border guards in the Goodgrounds had somewhere else to be while the Resistance infiltration team crossed into the forest. Lex was amazing at his job, and I liked working with him.

Ignoring Jag fully now, I truly engaged in the discussion with Lex and Winston. I settled on the arm of the couch and
tuned out the hushed conversation around me.

Winston sported a hooked nose, and his voice came out too nasal for my taste. But he could run as fast and quiet as a panther, and he knew how to hot-wire anything. He could probably make a potato explode with a length of copper tech and ten seconds’ time. He was dead useful on missions, and while I envied him for his permanent status on the infiltration team, I couldn’t hate him for it.

So completely had I forced myself into the preparations for a mission I wasn’t participating in, I didn’t realize Jag stood before me until he cleared his throat.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Not interested,” I replied, leaning over to collect a handful of papers Lex had discarded. My hands didn’t even shake. Cramped handwriting filled each page, and I focused on the letters so I wouldn’t have to look at Jag.

Everything about him was big. His stature, his charisma, his ego.
Let him wait,
I thought.

He sighed, a sound that generally meant I’d won. But in this case I knew I hadn’t. Jag didn’t change his mind. Not about missions. Ever.

“Is this about the mission? Or Sloan?”

“The mission,” I said, and then immediately regretted saying it so fast.
Keep it together, Indy.
That definitely meant
my stormy silence was about both. Stupid Sloan Washburn. She’d been after Jag since the day I had gotten together with him last summer at his fifteenth birthday party. Just like she’d petitioned for second-in-command in the Resistance when she found out I wanted the job. Just like she’d stayed up all night studying technological advances so she could score better than me on the test. Even though we were best friends, Sloan had this weird competition with me that I didn’t understand. And there was no prize bigger than Jag Barque.

He’d insisted nothing had happened between him and Sloan eight days ago. But I had seen everything for myself. The loud party music still pounded through my head, and the smell of stale water and rancid body odor still permeated my senses.

Jag had been dancing, drawing more than a few appreciative female glances. He’d snaked one arm around my waist and drawn me close. I remember smiling and breathing in the piney scent of him. Never one for displaying my affections in public, I’d stepped back and made an excuse about needing something to drink.

A true gentleman, he’d offered to get anything I wanted. But I knew how to play the game, and I knew if I left Jag, I’d leave him wanting. I’d felt his eyes on me as I’d walked away.
I may have added a bounce to my step and a sway to my hips for him to admire.
May
have.

Five minutes, I’d told myself. He’d miss me after five minutes, and it would be the perfect time to return to the comfort and strength of his arms. At the refreshment table, I sipped tepid water and idly chatted with Lex. Every second away from Jag felt too long, filled with minimal oxygen and too much noise.

When I’d made my way back to the edge of the party, I’d found Sloan’s hands on his chest and his on her wrists. She looked to be laughing, and he smiled and leaned closer, and that’s when I realized I’d dropped my cup.

Water splashed my ankles and the movement around me blurred. I did not want to witness Jag kissing another girl. Especially not Sloan. Pain warred with fury inside my stomach, which cramped against the sight before me.

Suddenly Jag turned, jerked away from Sloan and her enviable multilength, multicolored hair, and started through the crowd toward me.

Just as quick, I twisted and sprinted away from the party, leaving my cup on the ground. Whenever Jag looked at me, I couldn’t hide how I felt about him, about anything. Better not to give him a chance to pin me with those bright blue eyes.

I hadn’t spoken more than a few words to Jag since then, and even those conversations had revolved around the Resistance. I couldn’t bear to discuss anything else.

“I wasn’t going to kiss her,” he said, bringing me back to the present. I stood and leaned against the wall, noting the quick exit of both Winston and Lex.

“I never said you were,” I replied.

“But that’s what you think.”

I met his eyes for a brief, fury-filled moment. “You have no idea what I think.”

“Nothing happened,” he said. “Not then. Not before. Not ever. I don’t
want
anything to happen with her. I just want—” He cut off, but I refused to look at him so I wouldn’t see the despair on his face. “I just want things to go back to the way they were between us.”

“I want to go on this mission. Sometimes we don’t get what we want.” I placed the papers on the couch in a dangerously controlled manner. I let my gaze slide over Jag’s face, looking at him but making it very clear that I wasn’t looking at him. “Good luck tonight.” I stepped past him, careful to leave a healthy distance between us.

He reached out and put his hand on my arm. I stared at it, wishing I didn’t crave the touch of his skin against mine. Slowly, he drew my chin upward until I had no choice but to
look into the depths of his eyes. My heart thundered, painfully slow and heavy.

“Maybe you’ll feel like talking when I get back,” he said.
Yes, definitely, whatever you want,
I thought, but managed to keep the words silent.

Another moment passed before he released me and left the room. I inhaled a shaky breath and mourned the absence of his presence. I immediately hated myself a little more for feeling so strongly about him. For being so transparent with my emotions. For my inability to listen, and forgive.

Still, Jag hadn’t made it easy on me. He claimed I wore everything too close to the surface, allowing every emotion to skate across my face. And he’d said this mission required absolute iron. His implication: I was too soft.

He’d chosen only those on the permanent infiltration team to enter the Goodgrounds. He wanted Irvine to disperse tech and Winston to set up charges, but he’d been secretive about his own role.