Unleashed
Page 47
Jealous? My gaze snaps back to his. His eyes are like amber lit from the sun, blazing down on me. I flinch—but not in fear—as he brushes the hair back off my forehead.
“You can stay here, Davy. Join us. Join me.”
My nerves snap then, bloom into full-scale panic at the mere suggestion. His eyes are too warm, too compelling. I have to look away, but even then I can still see them. They still pull me to look back at him. When I do, he’s somehow moved closer. Our lips are a hairbreadth away.
Him. His words. The temptation hits me strong. My throat constricts, making the air impossible to flow.
“I—I have to go.” Squeezing past him, I stumble from the room.
Breathing heavily, I hurry down the hall, one hand pressing to my thundering heart. It’s not right. The way he makes my heart beat. I feel wrong, panicky. Guilty.
I’m leaving this place. I’m going to find Sean and Gil and Sabine. I don’t need to be falling for this guy who’s committed to an impossible cause. Who will likely end up getting killed on his next mission. Who makes me wonder if there isn’t a little bit of something special . . . something other than tainted blood . . . still inside me.
* * *
Dear Mom and Ashlee,
I know you expect me to come home. Nothing is keeping me here. Dad’s gone. It’s still such a shock. We all thought it would be something else. That nothing short of a bullet would take him from this world. Who knew he even had a heart problem? Maybe if he hadn’t been forced into early retirement, they would have caught it in time. Maybe. I think that word a lot lately. Maybe. And if.
I thought I could come home. I planned to. I told myself there’s no need for me to be here anymore. Except there is.
They do need me here. More than ever now. I have to stay. For Dad. For everyone. Even for you and Ashlee. I can’t stand by and do nothing while this happens. I hope you understand. I hope you can forgive me.
Love,
Caden
—Email sent from Caden Anderson following the death of Colonel Anderson
SIXTEEN
THERE ARE TEN OF US DEPARTING FOR MEXICO, including myself and Tabatha, and five men, one woman, and two children. I’m not sure if the children are carriers or just there because of their parents. I don’t know. I don’t ask questions. No names. No life stories. If I don’t ask theirs, they won’t ask mine. Maybe I can still have some distance.
Still, I find myself staring at the little girl. She’s maybe ten with carrot-red hair. Her nose and cheeks are heavily freckled, her skin mottled shades of white, brown, and pink from a past sunburn. She stays close to her mother. Does the mother have HTS? Or the girl?
Whatever the case, I think of my own mother. Try to imagine her here, running across the border with me. It’s impossible. I can only see her with her manicured nails and silk blouses.
Tabatha is our appointed scout. I had hoped Junie would be leading us, but apparently not. Junie joins me in the main room, near the stairs leading up to the exit. My stomach churns and twists the way it used to right before a roller-coaster drop.
“Don’t get killed out there.” She jerks her head to where Tabatha talks to Caden. I’ve been avoiding looking at him. It makes me think about his offer for me to stay. An offer I can’t take. And for some reason that makes my stomach churn even tighter.
Junie shakes her head, and the action tosses twin pigtails over her shoulders. “And don’t expect that one to look after you. Keep up or she’ll leave you behind. Or worse.” Worse? It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what’s worse than that.
I scan Tabatha. Dressed head to toe in fatigues, dark hair pulled back beneath a hat worn low on her head, she’s practically sexless. For some reason I see her in my mind, plastered against Caden. Far from sexless.
“Don’t worry. I don’t expect her to stick her neck out for me.” I don’t expect that of anyone.
Junie flings her arms around me and hugs me then. I pat her arm awkwardly, the most I can bring myself to do. “Take care of yourself,” she says.
“You too,” I murmur, wondering if she’ll even be alive a year from now. A carrier scout, she’ll probably be shot or captured. Suddenly I’m hugging her harder, forgetting my issues about getting close to another person. For a brief moment, I let myself feel. A swift squeeze and then I’m stepping back, arms falling at my sides.
She grins at me brightly like we’re not two people stuck in the middle of a war. Like we might run into each other at the mall. “Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”
“Maybe,” I allow, but I doubt it. Not unless she intends to leave her work here for a refuge in Mexico.
“Let’s go,” Tabatha announces. Taking the lead, she starts up the stairs. I fall in last. At least I think I’m last, but then I hear a deep voice behind me.
“Can you manage the steps?”
I turn. Caden stands with one boot on the bottom step, his hands gripping the railing on either side of us. The others move ahead. I can hear the thunk of their shoes on the grate steps, but I don’t look up. I train my gaze on him.
“I think I can handle a set of stairs. I hurt my shoulder, not my legs.” My tone escapes more biting than I intended. My stomach is all knotted up, and it’s impossible to talk in a way that makes me sound . . . better. Nice.
His eyes move to my arm, and I know he’s measuring me. I took the sling off last night. It hurts when I move my arm too much. I can’t rotate my shoulder at all. Even without the sling, I hold my arm close to my side, the elbow partially bent. With his eyes focused there, I force it straight down, fixing my expression so it reveals none of the discomfort the simple action causes me.
“You can stay here, Davy. Join us. Join me.”
My nerves snap then, bloom into full-scale panic at the mere suggestion. His eyes are too warm, too compelling. I have to look away, but even then I can still see them. They still pull me to look back at him. When I do, he’s somehow moved closer. Our lips are a hairbreadth away.
Him. His words. The temptation hits me strong. My throat constricts, making the air impossible to flow.
“I—I have to go.” Squeezing past him, I stumble from the room.
Breathing heavily, I hurry down the hall, one hand pressing to my thundering heart. It’s not right. The way he makes my heart beat. I feel wrong, panicky. Guilty.
I’m leaving this place. I’m going to find Sean and Gil and Sabine. I don’t need to be falling for this guy who’s committed to an impossible cause. Who will likely end up getting killed on his next mission. Who makes me wonder if there isn’t a little bit of something special . . . something other than tainted blood . . . still inside me.
* * *
Dear Mom and Ashlee,
I know you expect me to come home. Nothing is keeping me here. Dad’s gone. It’s still such a shock. We all thought it would be something else. That nothing short of a bullet would take him from this world. Who knew he even had a heart problem? Maybe if he hadn’t been forced into early retirement, they would have caught it in time. Maybe. I think that word a lot lately. Maybe. And if.
I thought I could come home. I planned to. I told myself there’s no need for me to be here anymore. Except there is.
They do need me here. More than ever now. I have to stay. For Dad. For everyone. Even for you and Ashlee. I can’t stand by and do nothing while this happens. I hope you understand. I hope you can forgive me.
Love,
Caden
—Email sent from Caden Anderson following the death of Colonel Anderson
SIXTEEN
THERE ARE TEN OF US DEPARTING FOR MEXICO, including myself and Tabatha, and five men, one woman, and two children. I’m not sure if the children are carriers or just there because of their parents. I don’t know. I don’t ask questions. No names. No life stories. If I don’t ask theirs, they won’t ask mine. Maybe I can still have some distance.
Still, I find myself staring at the little girl. She’s maybe ten with carrot-red hair. Her nose and cheeks are heavily freckled, her skin mottled shades of white, brown, and pink from a past sunburn. She stays close to her mother. Does the mother have HTS? Or the girl?
Whatever the case, I think of my own mother. Try to imagine her here, running across the border with me. It’s impossible. I can only see her with her manicured nails and silk blouses.
Tabatha is our appointed scout. I had hoped Junie would be leading us, but apparently not. Junie joins me in the main room, near the stairs leading up to the exit. My stomach churns and twists the way it used to right before a roller-coaster drop.
“Don’t get killed out there.” She jerks her head to where Tabatha talks to Caden. I’ve been avoiding looking at him. It makes me think about his offer for me to stay. An offer I can’t take. And for some reason that makes my stomach churn even tighter.
Junie shakes her head, and the action tosses twin pigtails over her shoulders. “And don’t expect that one to look after you. Keep up or she’ll leave you behind. Or worse.” Worse? It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what’s worse than that.
I scan Tabatha. Dressed head to toe in fatigues, dark hair pulled back beneath a hat worn low on her head, she’s practically sexless. For some reason I see her in my mind, plastered against Caden. Far from sexless.
“Don’t worry. I don’t expect her to stick her neck out for me.” I don’t expect that of anyone.
Junie flings her arms around me and hugs me then. I pat her arm awkwardly, the most I can bring myself to do. “Take care of yourself,” she says.
“You too,” I murmur, wondering if she’ll even be alive a year from now. A carrier scout, she’ll probably be shot or captured. Suddenly I’m hugging her harder, forgetting my issues about getting close to another person. For a brief moment, I let myself feel. A swift squeeze and then I’m stepping back, arms falling at my sides.
She grins at me brightly like we’re not two people stuck in the middle of a war. Like we might run into each other at the mall. “Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”
“Maybe,” I allow, but I doubt it. Not unless she intends to leave her work here for a refuge in Mexico.
“Let’s go,” Tabatha announces. Taking the lead, she starts up the stairs. I fall in last. At least I think I’m last, but then I hear a deep voice behind me.
“Can you manage the steps?”
I turn. Caden stands with one boot on the bottom step, his hands gripping the railing on either side of us. The others move ahead. I can hear the thunk of their shoes on the grate steps, but I don’t look up. I train my gaze on him.
“I think I can handle a set of stairs. I hurt my shoulder, not my legs.” My tone escapes more biting than I intended. My stomach is all knotted up, and it’s impossible to talk in a way that makes me sound . . . better. Nice.
His eyes move to my arm, and I know he’s measuring me. I took the sling off last night. It hurts when I move my arm too much. I can’t rotate my shoulder at all. Even without the sling, I hold my arm close to my side, the elbow partially bent. With his eyes focused there, I force it straight down, fixing my expression so it reveals none of the discomfort the simple action causes me.
