Boundless

“Are you coming or what?” I call.

He grins, then lifts off the top of the rock in two powerful beats of his wings. My breath catches. We’ve never flown together before, not like this, not in the light of day, unimpeded, without there being something terrible we were flying away from or something scary we were flying toward. We’ve never flown for fun.

He zips by me, so fast all I see is a streak against the blue of the sky. He’s a better flier than I am, more gifted at it, more practiced. He hardly has to flap his wings to stay aloft. He simply flies, like Superman, cutting through the air.

Come on, slowpoke, he says. Get the lead out.

I laugh and start after him.

Today it’s just us and the wind.





4


THE LABYRINTH


That night I dream of Tucker and me, riding Midas on a forest trail. I’m sitting behind him, my legs pressed against his as the horse shifts under us, my arms draped loosely around his chest. My head is filled with the smell of pine and horse and Tucker. I’m completely relaxed, enjoying the sun on my shoulders, the breeze in my hair, the feel of his body against mine. He is all things warm, and good, and strong. He is mine. I lean into him, press a kiss to his shoulder through his blue plaid shirt.

He turns to say something, and the brim of his Stetson hits me in the face. I’m surprised; I lose my balance and nearly slide off the horse, but he steadies me. He takes the hat off, looks at me with his golden-brown hair all askew, eyes impossibly blue, and laughs his husky laugh, which makes goose bumps jump up all along my arms.

“This isn’t working.” He reaches up and transfers the hat to my head, grins. “There. Much better on you.” He angles his face to kiss me. His lips slightly chapped but gentle, tender on mine. His mind full of love.

In this moment I know I’m dreaming. I know it isn’t real. Already I can feel myself waking up. I don’t want to wake up, I think. Not yet.

I open my eyes. It’s still dark, a lamp outside spilling a watery silver light through our open window, a crack of gold under the door, soft shadows cast by the furniture. I’m filled with a strange feeling, almost like déjà vu. The building is eerily quiet, so I know without looking at my clock that it must be pretty late, or early, however you want to look at it. I glance over at Wan Chen. She sighs in her sleep, turns over.

The dream is unfair, I think. Especially since I had such a good time with Christian this morning. I felt connected with him, like I was finally where I was supposed to be. I felt right.

Dumb dream. My stupid subconscious is refusing to face facts: Tucker and I are over. Done.

Dumb brain of mine. Dumb heart.

There’s a light tapping sound, so faint I think I might have imagined it. I sit up, listening. It comes again. All at once I realize that it was the knocking that woke me.

I throw on my sweatshirt and tiptoe to the door. I unlatch it and open it a crack, squint into the brightness of the hall.

My brother is standing outside my door.

“Jeffrey!” I gasp.

I probably should play it cool, but I can’t. I throw my arms around him. He stiffens in surprise, the muscles in his shoulders tense as I hang on to him, but then finally he puts his hands on my back and relaxes. It’s so good to be able to hug him, to know that he is solid and safe and unharmed, that I almost laugh.

“What are you doing here?” I ask after a minute. “How did you find me?”

“What, you think I couldn’t track you down if I wanted to?” he says. “I thought I saw you today, and I guess I missed you.”

I pull back and look at him. He seems bigger, somehow. Taller, but leaner. Older.

I grab him by the arm and haul him downstairs into the laundry room, where we can talk without waking everybody up.

“Where have you been?” I demand after the door closes behind us.

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