We reached a row of reporters standing near the gangplank, their pens furiously recording everything. I shoved through the men . . . and then felt a hand on mine. I didn’t have to look to know it was Cassidy’s, trusting me to get her through the crowds.
I pushed onward until at last we reached the steamer. But when I tried to release her hand and kick up the gangplank, she yanked me back.
“I can sneak you into the engine room,” she said, her voice soft and urgent. “We can pretend you were there all along, and maybe Father won’t realize—”
“Don’t bother, Cass.” I wrenched my arm free. “It won’t make a difference.”
“Oh.” Hurt flashed through her eyes. “I’m . . . I’m sorry for caring.”
My stomach sank. “It ain’t like that, Cass. There’s something you don’t know. . . .”
She wasn’t listening. She was shoving past me and striding up the gangplank. A groan burned up my throat. I shouldn’t tell her this—I should just leave tomorrow and make a clean break from this life.
Then why did you kiss her? my conscience demanded—and dammit, I knew it was right.
“I’m leaving!” I shouted after her. “After the race. I’m leaving.”
She froze midstride, halfway up the gangplank. Her face swiveled toward me, all the blood gone.
I stalked up to her. Deckhands were waiting to get down the plank, so rather than have it out with her right there, I towed her up the remaining length. She didn’t resist as I guided her toward the main stairwell that split down the ship’s center and led to the Passenger Deck.
“I knew you weren’t happy as a striker,” she mumbled, “but do you hate it this much?”
We reached the stairs, and I pulled her behind—into the hallway to the engine room.
“Is it Murry?” Cass asked, still stumbling along. “Is it my father? The boring food? The same scenery every day?”
“What is this?” I muttered. “Do you keep a catalog of all my complaints too?”
“Is it . . . is it me, then?” Her voice cracked. It was the first time I’d ever heard anything but iron and grit on her words.
It damn-near killed me.
“Hush,” I whispered, pulling her to a stop before the clerk’s tiny office. I eased the door open and peeked inside—but it was empty, of course. The clerk had quit two months ago along with all the other crew. There was just enough space for us both to stand, so after a quick glance for observers—there were none—I pushed Cass inside and yanked the door shut. Only a few slivers of light shone through a dust-covered porthole on the door.
“Your pa is cutting me loose,” I said bluntly. “That’s why I’m leaving. And that’s why I’ve been acting strange.”
“That’s not funny,” she said sharply.
“And I ain’t joking.” I squinted, trying to see her face. “Your pa told me a week ago. As soon as we win this race, I’m gone.”
“Wh-why?”
I swallowed, trying to find the right words—but there were no right words. There was only the truth . . . or part of the truth. “He thinks I’m no good for you,” I said. “He . . . thinks there’s something between us. Murry claimed he saw us kissin’.”
Her breath whooshed out, and for a moment she was silent. Then I saw the shape of her arm rise. Before I could stop her, her fingers brushed along the side of my face. “He did this to you, didn’t he? My father gave you the black eye.”
I held my breath.
“I wish you’d told me.” She ran her fingers down my jaw, toward my chin . . . toward my lips. “I could have spoken to him.”
I caught her wrist. “It’s no use. The captain’s right. I am no good for you.”
“I decide who’s good for me.” She jerked back her hand. “Not you and not him.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. A lot from my past that I can’t . . . I can’t escape.”
“We all have secrets.”
“Mine are worse than most.”
“And I don’t care.” She brought her face closer to mine. “Did you even mean what you said last night? Are we a team?”
“I meant it.” My gaze flicked from her mouth to her eyes . . . and back to her mouth. “But even if I’m your other half, that won’t keep me on the ship. Your pa said he’d kill me if I didn’t leave. If I . . .”
“If you what?” Her voice was a whisper. I could barely hear it over my thumping heart.
“If I . . . kissed you again.”
“Then he’ll have to kill me too,” she said matter-of-factly.
I wet my lips. “What are you sayin’ right now, Cass? Do you feel something for me?”
“Like what?” She leaned closer.
I pressed my forehead to hers. Just say it. “Like . . . something more. More than friendship.”
Her hands slid up my chest. I didn’t move—didn’t breathe. Not even when she hooked her fingers behind my head. Not even when she rolled onto her toes and brought her lips to mine.
Not until I heard her whisper, “Yes, Danny. I feel something more,” did I let myself kiss her back.
But once I heard those words—once my heart had surged into my skull and then down to my gut—I backed her against the wall and I kissed her with every ounce of need and fury that was inside me.