I watch in silence as Gideon tries to work the strap free. His back is impressively cut. Sculpted with muscle. Tapering to a narrow waist. I could lie here and appreciate it for an hour if sadness didn’t find me, bringing a dull ache to the back of my throat. He’s struggling with the straps.
All the times I’ve seen him casually slip his prosthetic hand into his pocket, or cross his arms to hide it from me, pass before my eyes.
He thinks I don’t notice. But I do.
Under some power that’s beyond me, my hand moves to his forearm.
He freezes. Sharply, like I startled him. Then he turns slightly to me, sliding the harness from beneath his arm as he looks over his shoulder. He’s hidden all evidence of this thing we haven’t talked about.
“Did I wake you?” he asks, his voice pitched low.
“No.”
“I know I did.”
He’s right. And this already isn’t going well. What I want is more honesty between us, not less. “You did wake me. But I’m glad.”
“Daryn, I’m going to go.” He rises to his feet but I hold his arm. Stopping him. “Daryn…”
“Do you hate me because of it?” I whisper the question, though Maia’s still snoring steadily in the bedroom. In the low light, all I see is the line of his jaw and sweep of his eyelashes.
“That’s not even possible.”
“Do you blame me, then?”
“I think I tried to in the beginning. For like a minute.”
“I’d never have let it happen if I’d known. I’d have done anything to keep you safe.”
“I know.”
“Then why…?”
“Why am I weird about it around you?” His head eases to the side and the muscles in his neck roll as he swallows. “Good question.”
We fall into silence, tension making this tiny space feel even smaller. I know he’s miserable. I can feel how much he wants to leave.
“Don’t go, Gideon.”
“I’m here.”
“I want you more here.” I pull him back by the arm. He resists at first, but then he relents and lies beside me on the mattress.
His prosthetic thumps to the floor.
He stares up at the low ceiling, his chest rising and falling, his stomach rising and falling. As out of breath as I am. “Are you trying to ruin me?”
“No.” I don’t know what the opposite of ruin is—the word won’t come to me—but that’s what I want for him. The opposite of ruin. “Just let me.”
“Let you what?” he asks.
But both he and I know the answer.
I run my hand down his right arm, over the tattoo of the cross. Then over Bas’s name. Three letters but they’re cursive, surprisingly fluid and beautiful.
Gideon balls his hand into a fist, the veins in his forearm standing out.
He shuts his eyes and I know I have his permission.
I look at his other arm. At how it ends at his wrist.
There’s nothing odd about it. It’s instantly normal—but normal how he is to me. Which isn’t normal at all.
He’s the furthest thing from that.
He’s extraordinary. Strong. Beautiful.
“Are we done?”
“No.”
His eyes part slightly and he looks at me through his lashes. “Does this—” He swallows. “Change anything? If you think it’s gross—”
“It does, Gideon. It changes things.”
His brow furrows, hurt digging in. But as I pull myself over him, planting my knees on either side of his hips, the hurt is replaced by surprise.
I tug my hair over one shoulder and tell my heart to stay put, to not break out of my chest quite yet. Then I bend and kiss him on the lips, once, softly.
As I draw away, the emotion in his blue eyes is the most vulnerable and human thing I’ve ever seen.
I keep moving, or I’ll lose my nerve. I move down to his shoulder and kiss it, then his biceps, making a trail along warm skin and muscles that tense under my lips. All the way to the wrist that’s resting on his stomach.
When I get there, I look up. He’s holding his breath. His eyes are closed again. It makes me want to cry to see how hard this is for him. How hard it’s been.
I haven’t gone through what he has, but I understand what it’s like to miss part of yourself. I’ve struggled so much without the Sight. Without my family. I know what it’s like to be without something you depended on, and even took for granted. Incomplete in some critical way.
“Gideon.”
He shakes his head.
“Yes,” I say. “Let me.” I plant a long kiss on the strong bone of his wrist, feeling his breath stutter. I don’t know if he can sense what I’m thinking, but I hope so. You are perfect to me. Believe it.
Then I retrace my path, kissing my way back up, stopping when I reach his mouth.
My plan is to spend some time here, but first things first. “I have a question.”
“Ask.” He looks at me intensely, ardently. “Anything.”
“These.” I tap my bottom lip. “In terms of power, how are they? Limitless?”
He yanks me against his chest, clamping his arms around me. “God, Daryn…” He kisses the top of my head. “Yes.”
*
When Maia starts to stir, Gideon leaves. If his goal was to make a secret exit, it doesn’t work.
Soraya and Sophia show up as he’s stepping out. I hear him talking to them outside.
“We don’t know what to do,” Soraya says.
“Or where to be,” Sophia says.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think there’s going to be a lot of that today.”
They talk for a little while, sharing medical updates on everyone. Then he leaves and they come inside, joining Maia and me.
We talk at the kitchen table. Then we sit and don’t talk. We’re all emotionally and physically wrecked. And aimless.
We move in a small pack the rest of the morning, pretending to eat breakfast. Wandering from the medical station to the RV and back as we wait for news of Ben, who was flown to a regional hospital.
I don’t see Gideon again. He stays in his trailer with Jode and Marcus.
I wonder where things stand between us. We’ve had so many starts and stops—but he’s right. That’s on me. I’ve been the one slamming on the brakes. I’ve been so stupid. So determined to protect myself. Why have I been protecting myself from him?
Back at the RV, news arrives at eleven that Ben is stable. He lost a spleen, but spleens are optional. He’s going to have a long road ahead, but the doctors think he’ll make a full recovery.
Soraya and Sophia fly into a hug and dissolve into tears of relief.
Maia exhales a long breath through her teeth. “Okay. Good boy, Ben,” she says, like he’s right here. Then she looks at me. “I’m gonna go shoot. Wanna come?”
“Yes.” I want to do anything that’s not sitting around and worrying.
She commandeers a Jeep, and we spend an hour at the shooting range on the adjacent base. Maia gives me a lesson. Pointers on breathing, stance, technique. Much as I try, holding the weapon feels wrong, like I’m holding a chair instead of a rifle, whereas it looks like a natural extension of her body. Even with her leg stitched up beneath her cargos, she stands and shoots like a pro. It’s impressive to watch her.
We head back when other people at the range start to notice how good she is.