“That’s your problem right there.” He licks a bit of mustard off his finger. “Stop listening to Cora.”
We settle on a bench that faces a fountain. Annar has the most beautiful parks and squares that sitting inside, on a day like this where the sun is shining but it’s not too hot, feels criminal. I’m almost done with my lunch when he asks, “Not that it bears any merit, but what made Miss Opinion age you so much?”
I try not to giggle, because she is my friend, after all. “She thinks I don’t live life to the fullest.”
He finishes his hot dog and wipes his fingers on a napkin. “And just what aren’t you doing that’s got you practically in the grave?”
I hesitate, because while Kellan and I are back to being close enough to share a lot with one another, there are still topics that aren’t exactly comfortable. And his extracurricular activities are some of those topics.
Sometimes it feels like Kellan lives two lives—the one he shares with Jonah and me and the one he shares with everyone else. It’s disorienting, especially when people innocently report back to me what they’ve seen him do now that no one is afraid to talk to me about him anymore, because I never see those parts of his life.
I worry about him constantly, but I’ve got a trick up my sleeve. I’ve been meeting with Kopano, the Guard’s lead Hider, over the last few weeks. He’s helped me figure out how to shield my emotions with the twins—although, I never explained it that way to him. I pitched the idea as an exercise to protect myself on missions. It’s difficult to do, seems impossible at times, and I’ve failed more often than not. But I figure it’s a matter of survival that I learn how to do this, especially after what happened in Hawaii. It stresses me out, worrying over how Jonah and Kellan react to my emotions. Like now. At this moment, hearing the concern in his voice, inappropriate urges run through me that want him to hold me in his arms so we can kiss for hours, like we used to. And then I’ll go home to Jonah and my love for him will consume me then, too.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Jonah. It’s not fair to Kellan, either. It’ll be best if I can keep all of those messed-up feelings to myself.
“A good shield should feel like it has always been with you,” Kopano said just last night. “You only need to wake it up.”
So that’s what I do. I gently ease a shield to mask my emotions, crossing my fingers Kellan doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. This is my first time attempting one with him. We’re in a crowded square; there are plenty of distractions for him to focus on if he’s in the mood to emotion hunt. I try feigned amusement to help cover my tracks. “I’m not going out and having the time of my life every single night.”
He’s thoughtful for a moment; there’s no hint that he can feel all that is raging around my heart. “It’s probably a good thing you don’t.” I tilt my head to the side, so he clarifies, “Because then you’d be so tired you’d might as well be ninety.”
I avert my eyes, back over to the hot dog cart. There is a line fifteen deep for those tasty conglomerations of meat. I give into an impulse and ask him something I probably shouldn’t. “What about you? Do you feel ninety?”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m two hundred,” is the answer I get. And I’m glad that my feelings are hidden from him, that I apparently got a shield to work, because the guilt in me flares so brightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t block out the sun.
“Cora’s insisting we go to the Guard party this weekend,” I tell Jonah. The lights are off but the windows are open wide; moonlight spills across the sheets in delicate patterns.
He studies my face for a long moment, tracing parts of it with his index finger. Wave after wave of goose bumps roll over my skin, and I savor them because they’re sublime when they originate from his touch. But I must let too much melancholy show, because he asks, “Want to tell me why that upsets you?”
I scoot up in bed and draw my knees to my chest. I hate talking about this with him, hate reminding either of us about the hell we went through last year. The mistakes we made. This is an anniversary I wish desperately to forget, but can’t. I evade with my response. “I guess Creators are supposed to go?”