So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) (26 page)

“So I guess that’s all I wanted to say.” He glances down, shy again. “That I want to know you. If you’ll let me.”

I look over at the dance floor, where Mary rests against her new partner, and I feel my heart sink. “Lucas, I can’t …”

He shakes his head. “Don’t say anything right now. Just dance with me. Please.”

“I—”

“Please, Lydia.”

He looks so fragile in that moment that I nod reluctantly and let him pull me onto the dance floor. Another slow song is starting, and the singer’s smooth voice pours thickly over the trumpets, low and mournful. Lucas draws me into his arms.

My body is rigid against his, but he doesn’t notice. I can’t stop thinking about what he just said. He and Mary are meant to be together. If I never came to the past, they’d probably be falling in love right now. Am I screwing up their destinies just by being here?

“Can I cut in?”

Lucas suddenly pulls away and my head jerks up.

It’s Wes.

“What are you doing here?” I breathe the words as I smile at him. His black hair gleams in the soft candlelight; an army-issued shirt is snug over his shoulders. He meets my eyes. He has that uncertain look about him again, and I find myself stepping toward him automatically.

“Do you know him?” Lucas asks. His voice is strange, stripped of its usual warmth.

“This is Wes. I mean, Private Wesley Smith.” I glance between the two of them. Wes is taller than Lucas, and leaner. His face is sharper too, his features more defined. Lucas, though older than us, suddenly seems younger.

Lucas drops my arms. “What division are you with, GI?”

Wes doesn’t look away from me as he answers. “I’m with the Seventy-seventh Infantry Division, sir.”

Lucas crosses his arms. “The Seventy-seventh is in the Pacific right now, Private. They shipped out from Hero in March.”

Wes finally turns to Lucas. “I was injured while training in Hawaii and sent back to Hero not long after. Lydia and I met in the hospital the other night. Sir.”

“Wes, this is Lucas Clarke,” I cut in.

“
Sergeant
Clarke,” Lucas interjects, one eyebrow raised.

Wes stands straighter, saluting Lucas with his right hand tight to his forehead.

“At ease,” Lucas drawls. He seems to savor the words.

“Lydia.” Wes holds out his hand, and I immediately take it. He pulls me close, and I sink into him. Lucas stares at us for a moment, then turns and walks off the dance floor.

Wes draws my entire body to him and I forget all about Lucas. We’re closer than we ever have been, so close that I can feel him take a long breath. I place one hand near his neck, almost touching his bare skin. He pulls my other hand between our bodies and holds it pressed to both our chests. We spin in a lazy circle. The candles above me seem to move closer together, tiny flickering bursts that blend into one long stream of light.

“What are you doing here?” I ask again.

“I—” He pauses, and for a second I think he won’t answer me. “I wanted to see you.” His voice sounds raw, unused.

I pull back so that I can see his face. “Really?”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand tightens against my back.

“I thought …” I stop and clear my throat. “I thought you just wanted me to go home.”

He shakes his head. It’s an abrupt movement, without his usual deliberate care, and I smile. A rush of warmth spreads through me. Wes came here for
me
, not because he wants to force me to leave things alone.

The last thing I said to him was that he didn’t have to help me, but that I needed him to accept my decision. If he’s here tonight, then he’s willing to stand aside while I try to fix my family’s future. He’s going to support me.

My hesitant smile grows.

He peers down into my face and then his mouth draws into a thin line. “Have you been drinking?”

I blink.

“You have.” His tone is accusing. “You’re drunk.”

“Wes, I had two cups of rum punch.” I roll my eyes. “I’m hardly drunk.”

“Your eyes are unfocused. I don’t like it.”

I shrug. “This is my night of fun. Get over it.”

“Your night of fun?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Everything could change tomorrow. I want one night where I can be free from all this conspiracy stuff. I want to do something fun.”

“Like what?” Wes smiles, and I see the dimple flash in his cheek.

“Like dance.”

He immediately spins me faster and I start to laugh.

“What else?” He sounds amused.

“Drink punch.”

“I think you’ve succeeded there. Anything else?”

I look up at him, and my smile fades. I bite my lower lip, and then I press my body closer to his. I feel him tense and watch the laughter vanish from his eyes. In its place is something dark and consuming.

We freeze in the middle of the dance floor, our eyes locked. The music changes to a fast song, but neither of us moves.

Suddenly Wes releases me, grabs my hand, and guides me out of the crush of people. Lights and faces blur around me. I briefly see Mary waving as Wes and I half walk, half run together across the lawn and into the shadow of trees.

We don’t stop until we’re out of sight of the party. Then Wes drops my hand and turns to me.

He steps close. His expression hasn’t changed. Still intense. Still overpowering. A little unnerved, I retreat until my back hits a tree trunk. He follows me.

“Lydia.” His hands come up to my face and linger just above my skin. My eyelids flicker.

“I’m not … I don’t know how …” He sounds lost. I look up at him. His mouth parts, his eyes are searching.

I reach up and press his hands until they cup the sides of my face. His palms are cool against my skin.

“It’s okay,” I whisper.

He leans down until our faces are only a breath apart. His eyes are open and watchful. We breathe the same air for a minute, and then he closes the distance and gently presses his lips against mine.

My eyes shut. He tilts his head and opens his mouth and then I can’t think of anything anymore, not how soft his lips are, not how this feels like the only real kiss I’ve ever had, nothing but Wes.

What started as soft and sweet suddenly becomes demanding and urgent, lips meeting quickly over and over. Wes pulls me closer to him, one hand cupping the side of my face, the other pressing hard on my back. I slide into him, letting his body support my weight, overwhelmed by his mouth on mine. My fingers catch in his hair.

He pulls back. My breath is short and I look up at him, hands still locked behind his head. He gently pushes my bangs back.

“Wes.” I sigh his name and he smiles. I fight the urge to trace the dimple at the corner of his mouth.

He leans down again and I close my eyes, tilting my face toward his.

His voice is a whisper against my lips. “Now will you come back with me?”

My eyes snap open. “What did you just say?”

He pulls back slightly, still watching me. I can’t read his expression. “Will you come with me to Camp Hero?”

My body tenses. All of my fears about Wes twist together in my head. He didn’t come here for me. He doesn’t feel the same way I do. He’s just trying to get me to go back to 2012.

I push at his chest. He drops his arms and I wrench away, stumbling across the forest floor.

I turn to glare at him. “Did you kiss me so that I would agree to leave with you?”

His face goes blank. “No.”

But I shake my head, almost choking on the bile that rises in my chest.

“Did you dance with me and tell me you came here to see me and
manipulate
me just to get me into the TM?” I press my fingers to my mouth, still feeling him against my lips. The kiss felt so perfect. I thought it meant something.

“No.” There’s a little more force behind the word this time, though his face is still expressionless. He’s so different from the Wes of only a few moments ago.

“How could you do this? I thought you felt …” My voice breaks on the words.

He steps forward, the movement slow and careful. “I would never hurt you.”

I put my hand out to stop him from getting any closer. “What do you think you’re doing right now, Wes?”

He turns his head away and when he looks back, the mask over his features is gone. His eyes are soft and uncertain. He looks almost—confused, like he doesn’t understand what’s happening, or why.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Lydia,” he says, low and soothing. “I didn’t … I just want to keep you safe.”

I cross my arms over my chest and look away from him, back toward the bright lights of the dance. I see the couples moving slowly, the tiny lights flickering through the trees.

“Last night in the Facility I discovered that Dean is going on a mission to kill Hitler.” I keep my tone deliberately even, though I feel like I’m breaking apart inside. “If Dean survives the TM then he’ll be stuck in the twenties forever. I’m going to stop that from happening because I want to help the people I care about. Because I have to.”

My voice gets louder. “I thought you were starting to understand.” I press both hands to my forehead. “I’m such an idiot.”

I feel his gaze on me, but I refuse to look up.

“Lydia …” He trails off.

I lower my hands and finally turn to him. He’s standing perfectly still, his arms loose at his sides. “What?” I prompt. “What do you want to say?”

He reaches up and rubs at his chin, then takes a step away from me. He doesn’t say a word.

“Right. Good night, Wes,” I say coldly.

I leave him and walk back toward the dance. I so badly wanted to believe that he felt the same way about me. Now I just feel used, and a little embarrassed that I kissed him like that.

I’m almost out of the tree line when I pause. I can’t help it. I look back at him. He hasn’t moved at all—a black silhouette against the forest.

I turn away.

I
get
dressed in the late morning as the sun starts to pour through my window. I walk downstairs and into the kitchen, picking up an apple from a bowl on the counter. The Bentleys’ kitchen is modern for 1944, with a red, diner-style table, a refrigerator with round sides, and white and red tiled counters.

Feeling restless, I walk through the ground floor of the house until I come to the only place I haven’t been in yet. Dr. Bentley’s study. I knock on the door, and it swings open into an empty room. I notice floor to ceiling bookshelves and a heavy wooden desk with piles of paper spilling over it. The dark green wallpaper, framed medical degrees, and blackout curtains make it feel serious and grown-up.

I take a bite of the apple and move toward the shelves to study the rows of books lining the walls. When I’m home I like to read for hours. I touch the stiff spines with my fingers, wishing I had time to do that now. But I stop. Thinking of relaxing with a book makes me think of my ruined night of fun, which makes me think of Wes. And I really don’t want to think about Wes right now.

“There you are,” Dr. Bentley says from behind me.

I jump, turning toward him.

“Were you looking for a particular book?” He walks into the room and places some papers on the desk.

“Not really. I was just curious.”

“You’re welcome to read anything on these shelves. The fiction is to the right. You’ll want to stay away from that one.” He gestures to the bookshelf closest to the window. “All medical journals.”

“Thanks.” I take a step closer to the shelves of fiction, still clutching the half-eaten apple. “I love to read.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He leans against the desk and smiles at me above his salt-and-pepper beard. My dad hasn’t gone gray yet, but I imagine he’ll look like Dr. Bentley when he does: distinguished but approachable. “You’d be one of the only readers in this house. Mrs. Bentley and Mary don’t seem to have the patience for novels. They’d rather be out having their own adventures than reading about someone else’s.”