30. Willa / Greer
CHAPTER 30
WILLA / GREER
R iver’s silence pushed me to spend last night in my room. He protested, but I could tell he needed some time away from me.
When the alarm on the tablet goes off, I tap it off. Eyes gritty from lack of sleep, I stand in the hot shower and stare at the tan floor and the water flowing down the drain. My power might not be the coolest, but there’s certainly an abundance of it in the world. Quickly finishing, I get out and dry off.
My lip curls when I reach for a clean set of grey sweats, but I force myself to thank the universe for something clean to wear. After all, I could be wearing the same clothes day in and day out. Jordan had very few clothes. Barely enough to fill a backpack. Ready to run, right?
Not wanting to see River, I rush through the breakfast hall, grabbing toast and juice, then head out the door to the bench I’ve claimed as my own. Set between two trees, the iron bench provides a peaceful place to sit in the sun.
Nibbling on my toast, I stare out into the field in front of me, waiting for the sun to show its bright face. I’m cold in places I didn’t know were a part of me. Hollow alcoves inside my body where the darkness and sadness reside. I need the rays to reach those spots and shine their brightest light.
Two men come into my line of sight, running side-by-side near the fence, muscular legs in sync, chests out, as if they’ve done this a million times. Oliver and Quaid. Phoenix’s fearless leaders. I stare at them, wondering what makes them take on such a role. Did the Army force them, or perhaps Oliver’s father, Senator Jack Harrison? Or is it some sense of obligation to those of us with powers?
Their commitment to the people in this compound is undeniable. They work hard to prepare them for the outside world. A reality check on how to evade and survive. But is that enough? Based on what I overheard in Oliver’s office, Raven’s out of control, capturing more of us every day. The few soldiers I’ve seen here aren’t enough to fight the enemy. At some point, Raven will turn its eyes toward Phoenix. Who will save them?
Their heads swivel at the same time to look at me, and the burn of their stares across the expanse of dirt and grass is enough to make me squirm. What will they do if they find out my secret? Kick me out? Maybe that would be for the best. At some point, Hightower will find me. Everyone around me is in danger.
My second alarm goes off. Ten minutes until class. The two turn in my direction. Tanned skin glistens in the morning sun, and I lick my lips, admiring the muscles flexing hard as they push their bodies to the max. Older but still hot. These are men in every sense of the word. Not wanting them to see me staring, I lift my face to the sun’s warmth, but I don’t need it anymore. All my hollow spaces are filled with heat.
“Is everything okay?” Oliver asks in a slightly breathless voice.
I open my eyes to find them both standing in front of me, their Army green shorts and tanks leaving little to the imagination, and I straighten under their scrutiny. I’m sure they’re used to women drooling, but not me.
Oliver’s unusual eyes are more blue than grey this morning. Intense, they drill into me, searching and assessing. Of course, Quaid’s brows are pulled together in his usual scowl. His amber eyes are sweeping me from head to toe. He’s either looking for a weapon or gauging my physical state. The two of them are quite a pair.
“Just enjoying the sun and my breakfast,” I tell them, holding up my glass of juice. “Do you run every morning?” If so, I might have to find another bench to sit on. For my peace of mind.
Oliver’s head tilts. “We do.” He glances at his watch. “If I’m going to make your session with Beckett this morning, I need to grab a shower. You’re good with me attending, right?”
Uneasy, I stare at him. “I didn’t realize you were joining us.” It makes sense, though. If he’s going to help me with my powers, he’ll need to know the best way to approach it. Me. “It’s fine.” Fine is such a fucked-up word. It’s like these grey sweatpants, which are not fine.
Oliver must agree because a flash of concern sweeps across his face but instead of probing me further, his eyes dart to Quaid, who nods. “Right. I’ll see you in ten.” He takes off jogging toward the facility.
Quaid props his foot up on the bench beside me to stretch one of his long legs. Seriously? Is that really necessary?
“Are you doing okay this morning?” His tone is gruff, as if he’s not sure how to proceed.
Don’t look. Don’t look. My eyes slide to the leg beside me and the muscles on display. Instead of hair, tattoos cover his thick, muscular thighs and one of his calves. I almost whimper. You were almost a damn physical therapist! I mentally yell at myself. You’ve seen skin. Muscles. Nothing new.
“All good,” I reply, surging to my feet. “I’m fine.” There’s that damn word again. Now, I’m scowling. “See you later.”
River’s leaving. I’m trapped. I don’t know how to get to point B or even where point B is. Will I ever be safe again? Can someone give me a manual for using my damn powers? And why the hell does Mr. Surly look so damn good? All that is the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
He grunts like he doesn’t like my answer but doesn’t stop me, which sort of pisses me off further. I dump the empty juice bottle on my way to Beckett’s office.
Beckett’s waiting for me when I arrive at his office, leaning against the doorframe, looking cool, calm, and collected, and it freaking irks me. His gaze narrows, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. He’s probably evaluating my mental state, which, to be honest, is kind of shit this morning. Straightening, he motions for me to join him. I grab the same seat on the couch like last time, but this time, he sits next to me.
“I’m sorry. I pushed too hard on our first visit,” he says, looking at me. His light grey eyes stare at me, waiting for an answer. They remind me of Oliver’s when he’s irritated, but Beckett’s eyes don’t have any blue in them. His are sort of silvery grey. “I mean it. I should have realized it was too much.”
It was, but denial is my best friend. I open my mouth, but the only word that comes to mind is fine, so I close it. It’s rude, but honestly, I’m not sure I care this morning.
Oliver arrives, dressed in a solid navy suit with a light blue shirt that brings out the blue in his eyes. Beckett moves to the chair across from me. The second he settles into it; a cloak of professionalism falls over him. That must be his usual spot. He motions to the seat beside me, but Oliver takes the chair on my right.
“Greer. Oliver wants to use his mental ability to help you discover the pathway to your powers. He’s explained your reservations, though, which I completely understand. Having someone in your head is unnerving,” Beckett begins. Oliver clears his throat, but Beckett ignores him.
“We also need to develop your control mechanism, correct?” he asks, tapping his pen on the notepad in front of him.
I nod. Quaid probably told them both what happened.
“This is your decision, not ours. What do you want?” he asks, flicking a glance at Oliver. “Do you want to use your powers?
Oliver immediately leans back in his chair, giving me space.
I look from him to Beckett. In the Army together for a long time, it’s clear they all speak some second language. One the rest of us can’t hear. Another aggravating point.
“I want to be normal, but since that doesn’t seem to be on the table, I guess I need to find a way to use and control my abilities,” I concede, knowing the choice was made that day by the waterfall. It just took me this long to realize it. “But I don’t want to have to keep reliving that day in order to use my powers.”
“Quaid said David’s hands around your throat threw you into the past?” Beckett’s question is light but probing.
“Someone tried to kill me,” I admit, feeling a tightness around my throat. “The water came to my aid and shared its secrets with me. It told me I could use it as a weapon, so I did.”
Both Oliver and Beckett sit up straighter. “What did you do?”
My lips tremble, but I spit out the truth. “I killed him. And his friend.” Silence descends in the room, but I can’t tell what they’re thinking. Will they kick me out?
Oliver leans forward and takes my hand in his. Is he going to take control of my mind? Fear rises. Beckett reaches out, but with one look from Oliver, his hand drops to his lap.
Oliver gently squeezes my hand. “Does anyone else know? Do I need to send a clean-up crew to get rid of the evidence?”
I blink. Did he really offer to help me hide the bodies?
“We have a crew on stand-by,” he assures me. “The last thing you need is to be looking over your shoulder.”
If he sends a crew, they’ll know I killed Trent Hightower. The son of our enemy. I shake my head several times. “No, it’s f… good.” Not fine. Definitely not fine. “Lionel helped me.” Sort of true. He hid the truck, but not the bodies.
The corners of Oliver’s eyes narrow, as if he knows I’m not telling the whole truth, but his gaze remains steady. “If you change your mind, let me know. The last thing we need is Hightower and his men using this against you. Or us.”
I stare back at him, then force a smile. “Yep. Now that’s settled, how do we begin?”
That was close. It’s obvious I won’t be able to stay here for long, though. If I do, this could end badly for them, which brings me back to the point of today. If I’m going to be on my own, I need to learn how to wield water.
Beckett stands. “I’d like to start with the same scenario that triggered you yesterday.” He motions for me to follow him to the center of the room. “You, too, Oliver.”
Oliver joins us and gives Beckett an uneasy look. “I can use my mind to do this.”
Beckett looks at me. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Oliver is either going to wrap his hands around your neck, or he’s going to use his mind to make it feel like he’s choking you. The second you’re triggered, and your powers rise, I’m going to calm you. Distance you from the pain and emotions. Then I want you to try to use your powers.”
Although I hate the choking part, I get why he’s starting with it. Normally, I’d protest Beckett’s mental influence on my emotions, but after yesterday’s more explosive reaction, I know I’ll need it.
He raises an eyebrow, silently asking if I’m good with his plan. “I want to start disassociating your powers from the event. What do you think? Remember, you’re calling the shots. If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”
I nod my agreement. “I want to.”
Oliver shifts from one foot to the other. I wonder which one makes him more uneasy.
“His hands. Not his mind.” The idea of mind control is terrifying. I like my mind the way it is. Without influence.
He stiffens, then dips his chin and moves in closer. “Ready?” Five inches taller than me, he’s around the same height as Trent. He places his hands on my neck. Unlike Trent’s cold fingers, Oliver’s are warm, but the second they wrap around my throat, my pulse skyrockets.
I take a deep breath in and smell the soap he used in the shower. The clean scent isn’t remotely close to the luxury cologne Trent wore, and it helps center me. “Yes.”
“Close your eyes,” Beckett tells me. “It will help you fall into the past faster.”
I let my eyes drift closed.
“Squeeze,” Beckett orders him. “She has to break through this barrier.”
His fingers tighten, and my airway narrows. I try to take a deep breath but can’t. My vision darkens, and I claw at the hands on my throat. Trent appears. His intent clear. My hands slacken as I almost give up, but then that smirk appears. My fury rises. The power inside me with it.
A hand slides across my shoulder, and the fury dies. But I still can’t breathe. I inhale, but there’s little air. Then wavering power finds its strength. To resist. To fight. Hands loosen around my neck. I inhale deeply, drawing in as much air as possible, then open my eyes.
Anger simmers in the blue-grey depths in front of me.
In reaction, I step back, automatically raising my hand against him. Water from the glass on the table arcs in his direction. He steps to the side at the last minute, and it falls harmlessly to the floor. I stare at my hand. A defensive reaction but nothing out of control like yesterday, and I was aware of it happening.
“I did it,” I say, looking at my hand before I drop it back to my side. “I wasn’t exactly calm, but I stayed in control.”
“Good job,” Beckett praises me. “I think this is going to work. We’ll use this tactic until you can call it forth without a trigger. It shouldn’t take long to map the neuropathways. Maybe a couple of sessions.”
Oliver’s fingers glide gently over my throat, and his mouth compresses. “I have to go.” With one last look at my neck, he storms out of Beckett’s office.
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, hoping he’s not angry with me.
Beckett looks at the door and tilts his head. “Eventually.” His gaze slides to me. “We’ll get you some cream for your neck. More importantly, how are you doing?”
“I’m good. Really good,” I say, to my astonishment. My shitty emotions dissipating under a ray of hope. “Thank you.”