“Because I am.”
How can she not see that? That I might not be in love with her, but that I still love her, that I’ll always want the best for her. In the same way I never want to see Sammy hurt. In the way I’d have done anything to keep my father or Blaine alive.
“Thank you for everything, Emma. On the roof, in the hospital . . .”
There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude. She suffered a lot at my hands. Then she saved me when I was beaten, and Bree when she was down. She saved everyone, really, and didn’t ask a thing in return.
“I haven’t forgiven you for what happened at the Compound,” she admits. “I don’t know if I ever will. But I still want to see you happy. Does that make any sense at all?”
“So much.”
“Good. Now don’t screw things up.”
She gives me her typical half smile. Unlike the last time she commented on my feelings for Bree, this doesn’t feel like a threat. It doesn’t feel like anything but a comment. I wonder if I misread Emma back in Pine Ridge. I’ve never been able to truly read her, I realize. I can’t look at her and know exactly what she’s thinking. I can’t hear her words before she says them. Not the way I can with Bree.
“I need to get back to the hospital wing,” she says. “Maybe I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah. I hope so.”
It’s a good-bye, but not really.
“How can you leave?” Sammy says that evening. We’re sitting on Union Central’s roof, a drink passing between us as our legs dangle over the edge of the building. “Remember those futures we predicted back in Pike? I’m supposed to be old and fat and living next door to you. I can’t do that if you run off as soon as everything’s settled.”
“That future had me living in some quiet clearing in the woods,” I remind him. “Not to shock you, but Taem doesn’t really fit that description.”
“Do you not see all the grass on that training field?” He points to it. “Green everywhere. It’s a downright jungle.” He takes a long drink. “It’s a shame Harvey’s missing this. He knew all along that he wouldn’t make it, huh?”
“I think so. From the moment he spotted the fail-safe in his code.”
Sammy whistles. “He never quite looked the part: hero, legend.”
“He played it well though.”
“That he did.”
Sammy lets a bit of alcohol free of the bottle. It rains onto the training field below.
“To Harvey Maldoon,” he says.
“And Clipper.” I touch the boy’s twine bracelet on my wrist.
Sammy tips the bottle again. “To Clayton ‘Clipper’ Jones.”
“To . . .” My voice snags.
“To Blaine Weathersby. Brother, friend, father. Gone but never forgotten.”
Sammy continues. With my father, then Adam, and Ryder, and on and on. Back through others we’ve already mourned, and on to those whose names we don’t even know—those who fell throughout the Rally.
The bottle is nearly empty when Bree joins us. She squeezes between us, sitting so her legs hang over the edge like ours, and snatches the bottle from Sammy.
“You’re supposed to send your condolences to the stars. That’s a waste of perfectly good alcohol.”
“Do you have no decency or respect?” Sammy says.
She takes a long swig and cringes at the strength of it. “Bad arm or not, I can still whoop you, Sammy.”
“True story,” I say.
“And to think I was worried I’d miss you guys.” He gazes out over the city. His profile shows a bump in his nose where it didn’t heal right after being broken in Burg. That winter feels like it happened a lifetime ago, and to a different group of people.
We sit in silence for a while, the three of us with our shoulders pressed together. Lights wink off in homes as the hours pass. A couple of fireworks blast off down near the square. Somewhere, music is playing.
Much later, Bree calls it a night. She and Sammy give each other an awkward good-bye—part hug, part good-natured shoving—and I’m hesitant to follow. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss having Sammy around until the very moment we’re about to part ways.
“You’ll stay in town, then?” I ask him.
“I spent so many years wanting justice for my father that I barely know what to do with myself now.” He rubs the back of his neck. “The bulk of the fight might be over, but there’s a long road ahead. I think I should be here, to help Elijah and Vik. Plus, Emma will come around in time, but only if I’m here to come around to.”
“She thinks you’re cocky,” I point out. “And arrogant.”
His face pales.
“But also attractive.”
A flicker of a smile. “Duly noted.”
Sammy grabs my right hand and pulls me into a hug, his other hand clapping my back.
“I never had a sibling, Gray, let alone a brother, so I couldn’t understand your pain. Not until now. Don’t stay away long.”
In the mouth of the stairwell, I pause to glance over my shoulder. Sammy’s standing at the edge of the building, the bottle dangling from his fingers as he gazes skyward.
I’ve lost a twin but gained a brother. Life never ceases to surprise me.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THAT NIGHT MY DREAMS ARE wicked. Shooting Bree, only to find out she isn’t a Forgery. Blaine’s murder, except I’m the one holding the gun. My father, grabbing my ankle as the Catherine goes down, pleading that I not leave him. And blood. Blood and screaming and explosions and an endlessly looping alarm that slowly drives me mad.
I wake sweating. It takes a moment to remember where I am and that Blaine is permanently gone. That my father is at the bottom of the Gulf. That Clipper won’t ever see his fourteenth birthday. I thought sleeping next to Bree would help keep the terrors at bay, but maybe it’s impossible to hide from shadows in the dark.