I examined the jumbled collection of books that included everything from local history to crafts to finances. I paused when I reached the meager section on relationships, and I ran my finger over a spine with an image of a couple kissing.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I hadn’t even realized Simon was standing right behind me until then, and I dropped my hand.
“What if he doesn’t come back?” He went on, not waiting for me to admit that I knew exactly who he meant. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but eventually you have to ask yourself: When is enough enough? When do you give up?”
I hugged myself tightly as I turned to face him, wondering why he was bringing this up now. My stomach and my throat clenched painfully.
I’d already asked myself that same question a hundred times: When would I give up? Problem was, there was no good answer.
I took in every detail of Simon’s face, like it might somehow make a difference in the way I answered—his dark lashes, the golden specks that floated in his strange eyes, the curve of his full lips. He watched me with a kind of fascinated intensity that made me hyperaware of the way I held myself, and made me notice the way I pressed my toes against the bottom of my shoes. I traced my tongue back and forth along the roof of my mouth—a nervous habit.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You didn’t know what would happen to him. I should have told you what they did—the DNA replacement—so you could make an informed decision.”
I shuddered, because I wasn’t sure it would have made a difference. Tyler would have died if I hadn’t let him be taken. Could I really have let that happen, even knowing he wouldn’t come back fully human?
“You did what you thought was best.” Simon’s voice was lower, huskier now. “But at some point you have to forgive yourself.” His words were hypnotic.
The moment I licked my lips, I regretted the action. There was something about the way Simon was looking at me, about the way he was watching my mouth a little too closely, his eyes darting back and forth to mine, almost like he was asking—no, begging—me for permission. I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea, and I was afraid I’d just sent out some sort of kiss-me signal. I swallowed super hard, my mouth feeling like it was suddenly stuffed with cotton. “What if I can’t forgive myself?”
“Kyra.” His hand nudged my chin upward and I literally thought my heart would explode like the trophy case at the bowling alley. “You get that the two of you weren’t together for that long, don’t you?” He scowled down at me.
It took several seconds before his words finally penetrated my brain, probably because my feelings were so mixed up. But once they did, I recoiled, shoving away from him. “Wait. What are you trying to say?”
Simon wasn’t nearly as confused, and he repeated, “I said, it’s not like you were together all that long, you and your boyfriend.”
“Are you being serious right now? You think that makes a difference, how long we were together?”
“I’m just saying isn’t it possible your feelings for him . . . how strong you think you feel might have at least something to do with guilt?” His shrug was almost too much, and my mood shifted. “Think about it, Kyra. You almost killed him, and then you had to send him away to aliens to be forever transformed. That would be tough on anyone. It would make anyone see things . . . differently. I can see why you’re having a hard time moving on.” His smile was probably meant to be sympathetic, but it had the exact opposite effect, and I felt myself losing it.
“And by moving on, you mean getting over him, is that it?” I poked Simon in the chest, glad when he winced. “And then what? You think you can just jump in and take his place? What do you want me to say, Simon? That I’d rather be with some bossy jerk who keeps secrets and thinks he knows what’s best for everyone? That if you just give me a few more days, I’ll be over Tyler and you can step in and take his place?” My hair whipped against my cheeks as somewhere in the room I heard something crash to the ground. “Well, I won’t. And you can’t. It’s not that simple. I’ve known Tyler his whole life. His brother and I were best friends way before he was my boyfriend. Not everything is about—”
I was about to explain a hundred different reasons why I’d never get over Tyler, when I saw the book slam into the back of Simon’s head. “Jesus—what the . . . ? Did you see that?” His hand shot up to the base of his skull. And then with an incredulous look, he asked, “Did . . . you . . . did you do that?”
I was about to deny it, because there was no way it was me, when I looked down at my hand. It was still outstretched.
My eyes got huge when I realized what I’d been thinking right before that book had pegged Simon in the head. Because that was almost exactly it, what I’d been wishing for: something to throw at him.
Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been the softball I’d imagined, but I suppose a book was a pretty good substitute.
He stood there watching me, and his eyes moved from my face to my hand and he stopped rubbing the place where the book had smacked him. “You were pissed, weren’t you?” He took a step closer. Too close. “Think about the other times it happened—today at the bowling alley, yesterday in the central lab, that night when Agent Truman had your dad at gunpoint. Were you mad then, too?”
I tried to think back. Mad? Was it really that simple? It made me sound like a Neanderthal, but that didn’t make it untrue.
I was always sort of pissed at Agent Truman.
But what about that first time it had happened? At the minimart, when Tyler had been back at the motel burning up with fever, had I been pissed then, too?