Chapter 26 #3
“You’re acting like I’ll be attacked as soon as I step onto The Parallax.
It’s not going to be like that. I won’t do anything stupid.
I’ll evaluate the situation once I’m on board and act accordingly.
You once told me you’d do anything to figure out what happened to Bast, the full story, and we’re so close to finally—”
“I don’t care about that,” he bursts. “I don’t care about finding answers, not if it means this. And you shouldn’t, either. You wouldn’t. It doesn’t make sense.”
This is beginning to feel like a cliff. I should back away from the ledge. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think I don’t know how it feels to lose someone you love?
I know, Keller. How the loss eats at you.
How you wish you could just understand, like understanding will make any difference.
But you didn’t only lose your mom—she left you, and you’ve dealt with that for ten years.
You’ve spent most of your life wondering why.
And now here she is, asking for you back, and it’s just so fucked-up, and I worry you’re doing this for her, or because of her, like you think it’ll give you the closure you need, or, I don’t know, the vindication—”
“That’s not the reason,” I say, though his words are turning my lungs to mud.
“Then why?” He stands suddenly from the sofa, eyes big, arms thrown wide. “Why do you have to go? Why won’t you hear reason? You could stay here, with me. You could stay safe.”
“I understand you’re upset,” I say slowly, following him to my feet. My brain is tumbling down a hole. The room is too small, and the air too thick, and I can’t think. “I get it, Lament.”
He presses his mouth into a thin line. He looks—hell, he looks close to tears. “Do you?”
“It’s because you lost Bast.” I take a step closer, putting him within arm’s reach. “He died less than a year ago, and now you’re worried you’ll lose another gunner…”
“Not another gunner,” Lament chokes. “You, Keller. I’m worried about losing you.”
The silence is deafening. Lament is in my space, stealing my air. Words, I think. I need to find some words. But I can’t, because I catch the way Lament is looking at me, like he’s shipwrecked and I’m an island. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Angry and wretched and so, so beautiful.
I make a pleading sound. “Lament—”
“Don’t say it,” he begs. He’s close enough that I can count his eyelashes, see the wetness clinging to them. How did he get so close?
“Say what?” I whisper.
He swallows hard. “Anything.”
So I don’t say anything. I grab the back of his neck and bring his mouth to mine.
He makes a noise, a half gasp that I feel all the way in my bones. For an endless moment, he just freezes like that: surprised, stunned to stillness. I’m halfway to thinking Oh shit oh shit oh shit I fucked up—
Then he fists my shirt and kisses me back.
Lament kisses like I never would have guessed: rough and reckless, a little headlong.
There’s anger in this kiss, and defeat and resentment.
It’s How could you? and After everything?
and Damn you, Hartman, damn you straight to hell.
But there’s relief here, too. Surrender.
Homecoming. Which is to say, the kiss is like us.
Light dances behind my eyes as I deepen the kiss, get my free hand against his spine, pull him so we’re flush together.
I can hardly believe this is happening. That I’m engulfing him and he’s letting me.
His mouth is firm and warm. His fingers dig into my waist. I sweep my tongue over his, and he moans.
Like, actually moans. The sound does something funny to my blood. Sensation—hot, heavy—pools in my gut.
Lament’s hands start to roam, his fingers gripping my arms, my backside. I angle his head, get his mouth where I want it. Bite his bottom lip, drag it between my teeth, feel the rough shudder of his exhale.
The kiss changes, turning looser, languid.
Lament’s fingers skate along my sides. I bring both palms to his face, cup his cheeks, slide my thumbs against his skin.
He pulls back slightly to look into my eyes, and I have to swallow the lump of something in my throat, the tangled knot of too-big feelings struggling through my veins.
“Keller.”
I’m still cupping his face. He’s still letting me.
But there’s something in his voice now, something uncertain, and it has my heart flinching.
Because I know what comes next, don’t I?
This is the part where he tells me we can’t, we shouldn’t have, this was a mistake.
I’ll have to watch him close up and try to act like it doesn’t matter, like his rejection isn’t the one thing that has the power to break me hardest. Already, I feel that old instinct within me.
The urge to reach out, hold on, get on my knees and beg.
Please, I think desperately. Please don’t walk away.
He licks his lips. Takes a breath. “Keller, I—”
A knock at the door startles me out of my skin. Lament and I spring away from each other like we’ve been electrocuted. Avi’s voice sounds through the wood. “Keller, we know you’re in there.”
“Open ’er up,” Caspen chimes.
My face is burning. My clothes are too tight. I clear my throat and try not to sound like I’ve just been caught mauling my partner. “Just a second.”
I glance at Lament and see his emotion. I watch him tuck it away, piece by piece, shutting himself back inside a marble case. No, I want to say, and wait, and not yet. But it’s not fair of me to want that or ask for that. Not when I barged in here uninvited, and made him cry, and kissed him.
I let out a shaky breath.
Why did I kiss him?
I smooth my hair, straighten my clothes. A minute ago, I knew exactly what to do with my hands, where I wanted them and how and with whom. Now my limbs are so awkward they feel like they’ve been tacked on with chewing gum.
When I answer the door, Avi and Caspen are standing in the hallway, looking supremely pleased. “Bit of a holiday morning,” Caspen says.
“That means we have something for you,” Avi translates.
“It’s not,” I ask, looking suspiciously between them, “spiders, is it?”
“Better.” Avi pulls the item out from behind her back.
It’s my ray gun. My ray gun. I have no idea how Caspen and Avi managed to retrieve it, and for a second, I almost don’t believe my eyes. “You didn’t.”
“We did.”
“But how—?”
“Don’t let the turnip go ripe,” Caspen replies, and somehow I understand this to mean, Best if you don’t ask.
I take the gun slowly. Feel its familiar weight.
And it’s the oddest thing, because I know this weapon was part of a larger Determinist plot.
I know it was planted by my mom. Maybe that means I should feel repulsed by the sight, but as soon as the cool metal touches my palm, that old feeling of rightness washes over me.
This gun is mine, like nothing else. I don’t care who gave it to me or what it symbolizes. I’m so glad to have it back.
I look at Avi and Caspen, both of whom are grinning. Saying thank you seems wildly insufficient, but, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Avi replies. Her eyes drift over my shoulder. I follow the line of her gaze toward Lament. See him see the gun.
He picks up his drink and knocks the rest of it back.