It’s Ali.
omg r u ok?!?!?!
I’m safe.
ur sure???
Positive.
There’s a slight lag after that, and I know she’s fuming. Then the phone buzzes with a new text: where r u??
I laugh a little. The truth is so bizarre, I don’t think she’d believe it. But it’s not like I can tell her, anyway.
Somewhere safe, I text back.
where?
I can’t say.
tell me dammit!!!
I’m safe. That’s all I can tell you. I wish I could say more, but it could get us both in trouble.
An entire minute passes without a reply from Avery. I start to feel dizzy, and I realize I’m holding my breath. I let it out in a whoosh just as another text comes in: u freaking ran away. without warning me or letting me help. wtf?!
I didn’t have a choice.
There’s another lag. Then, i no. that’s the only reason i’m gonna forgive u.
I bite my lip. Really?
of course really. ur my bestie. i love u 2 much 2 hate u.
I read her text four times, relief spreading through me. I love you too, I text back.
u’d better. now i need an update on ur life. tell me everything u can.
I need to hear about you too. I miss you so freaking much it hurts.
me 2. now spill. what’s going on?
I tell her as much as I can: that I’m traveling somewhere, that I’m protected, and that I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. At first, her responses are short, and I can tell she’s still upset at me for keeping so much from her. But by the time I get to the part about maybe-kinda-sorta falling for a guy, she replies with a bunch of OMGs and smileys. After that, the conversation flows just as easily as normal.
The time stamp on the texts says we talk for three hours, but I swear it’s hardly three minutes. Avery fills me in on the details of the search my dad has launched for me—she says he’s exhausted all the local police resources, but he still has no idea where I might have gone. Relief settles in me as I read that; if my dad’s search has been so useless, hopefully he’ll give up soon.
We’re on the subject of Jace again when I glance at the phone’s clock. It’s already eleven o’clock, and it’s a Saturday. I sigh, realizing what that means.
You have work today, right? I text.
I can practically hear her pain in the reply she sends: uggghhh. yes. damn u 4 reminding me.
I can’t help but laugh a little. I guess that’s one good thing about being on the run—I don’t have to worry about dealing with a crappy summer job, like the one Avery got waitressing at a local café.
TTYL, I text back.
ugh. yeah. bye. A moment later, another text pops up. luv u! b safe! and hug ur mysterious crush 4 me. then remind him i’ll chop his balls off if he hurts u. ;)
I smile and lean back on the couch, closing my eyes. I probably should be going stir-crazy, having been cooped up in this RV for so long, but I’m not anymore. Things might be cramped in here, but everything is comfortable and slightly insane and strangely enjoyable.
Something taps my knee, and I snap my eyes open. Jon stands in front of the couch, his head tilted to the side as he stares down at me. I swallow hard as instinctual fear streaks through my veins, but I push it away with a deep breath. If Jace trusts Jon, then I can, too.
“Hey,” I say. “I didn’t see you come in.”
He nods a greeting. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I can tell by the way his lips move that his voice is almost a whisper. He looks hesitant, his feet shuffling a little, and he backs up a couple of steps.
“No, it’s . . . fine,” I say.
We just stare at each other for an awkward moment, but then Jon backs up and sits on the opposite couch. His muscular frame fills most of it, and as he tosses his arm over the back, I catch another glimpse of his tattoos. They’re beautiful, even if I’m not quite sure what they mean. One is of a panther running up his bicep, another of a blood-red sparrow flying toward his heart. He has at least half a dozen more along his arm, each one as intricate as it is breathtaking.
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I realize I’ve been caught staring. “They’re gorgeous,” I say, gesturing to his arm.
Jon laughs, his pale lips turning up at the corners. “Thanks. It’s not every day I get called gorgeous.”
My cheeks flare with heat, and I shake my head. “The tattoos, I mean. They’re gorgeous. I didn’t mean you’re gorgeous. But I don’t mean you’re not. You’re, like, handsome, and . . .”
I trail off, giving up on my babbling response. His smile grows a little.
“It’s okay, Ali,” he says. “I get what you’re saying. I was just teasing.”