8. Distant Dreams
Distant Dreams
Jude
The porch was ensconced in darkness when I saw her headlights turn into the drive.
I swung gently back and forth, watching the beam cut across the lawn, as her dad’s old Ranger rolled over the gravel.
The engine cut out, and Solace stepped out, slamming her door shut.
She was in her work clothes, curls fanned around her in a fuzzy halo.
I watched her come up the steps, tip-toeing as if she didn’t want to wake anyone even though she’d probably already done that with the car door.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she chirped, stopping in front of me for a half second.
I reached for her waist and tugged her down on top of me, where she slithered off the side of my lap with a huff. The chains rattled as the swing shifted. “You didn’t text.”
“I had to work late and then my phone died.”
I figured as much. Solace’s phone was always dead. “I leave at four tomorrow morning.”
“I know.”
The swing moved slowly, back and forth, Solace’s shoulder brushing mine as I slid my hand over her jean clad thigh.
“You could change your mind.” Her voice was quiet, but it didn’t match her words.
She’d doubled down on working to convince me to forget the military entirely. So much for always supporting me.
“You don’t have to serve to get into NASA. You’d get accepted anywhere and you could get the same degree.”
I let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. “Sol.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” My own voice was harsher than I’d meant it.
There were things I couldn’t tell her, things I probably wasn’t supposed to know if it hadn’t been for SOL.
Nothing was what they said it was. When they’d asked about the potential of atmospheric monitoring—I naively thought it meant: hey, let’s install SOL into a bunch of satellites and send them up to space to monitor closer than we already are.
Except there was a lot of hidden meaning between what they said, and what actually came across my encrypted email.
When I designed SOL I’d pictured it becoming a tool in climate change.
A useful contrivance that might one day detect cancer faster than any MRI or CT Scan.
The options were endless. So when I opened the briefings, radiation mapping caught me off-guard.
The questions were changing and becoming more specific, and to put it bluntly, a lot less like science and a whole lot more like preparation.
What happens to radiation dispersion if the magnetosphere continues to destabilize?
How quickly can SOL read the levels? What regions might become uninhabitable first—and how fast?
Solace shifted away from me; I mourned the space immediately. “There’s a lot going on right now.” She twirled a curl, fingers frantic as her voice took on that wary edge. “You watch the news. The protests. The—everything.”
Everything meant panic dressed up as news. Government statements that contradicted themselves depending on the day. Evacuation rumors, that if I was being honest… weren’t really rumors anymore.
Her voice tightened. “Jude, there’s so many better ways—”
“I’m not deploying,” I added quickly. Not yet at least.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” My jaw locked. I know because I’ve already proven to be a valuable asset to the government. I wasn’t going to be sent racing onto a battlefield. They’d send me to space, like they were already sending so many of my acquaintances. But I couldn’t tell her that.
“I’ll finish cadet training and then go to the Academy. I’ll be in Colorado the whole time.” And after that—I didn’t say it, because again, my hands were tied. It wasn’t really up to me.
Silence stretched between us.
My voice dropped even lower. “You act as if I’m shipping off to die.”
Her hands tucked under her thighs, but I saw their tremor anyway.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Neither did I, but I didn’t say that part. I swallowed thickly.
“And I’m telling you because I’m scared,” she finally said.
That admission landed harder than anything else had, because I was too.
We had a good summer. We’d spent almost every day together since I arrived a few weeks ago.
We spent it swimming at the lake, attending midday movies, and having bonfires with Bridget, Luca, and the others.
Shitty chocolate chip pancakes at the diner.
Gaming with Milo. Late night drives on the beach to listen to the waves crash against the shore as we laid in the bed of her truck.
I wrapped my arm around her and tugged her body until she was firmly pressed against me. Kissing her head, I buried my face into her hair. She smelled of cinnamon and honey. Fresh and warm. She was sunshine on your skin and a melody that held no dissonance.
“I am scared too,” I admitted in a whisper, planting my feet to bring us to a stop.
My grip tightened, fingers digging into the scant of flesh exposed beneath her cropped shirt and the top of her jeans.
With my other hand I nudged her chin, tilting her face up toward mine until I could study the rosy hue of her cheeks and match it to the blushed shade of her full lips.
Her eyes fluttered close as I leaned in, swallowing the distance.
I’d thought about this moment way too many times. More than I’d ever care to admit out loud. We were friends. “Just friends,” we said until we were blue in the face.
Jokes on us.
Friends don’t kiss.
Friends don’t feel as if the world is falling out from under them when the other leaves the room.
Friends don’t…
I pressed my mouth against hers, wanting nothing more than to forget our impossible situation.
A tear slipped down her cheek as I deepened the kiss, mouth moving gently against hers.
She wound her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, holding on as if the tether between us could abscond drowning or death.
We were definitely sinking.
I wasn’t sure I was interested in pretending anymore. This might be the last time I saw her—we were on the brink of inescapable change.
It was a dismal thought, but partly true.
We may have only been nineteen, but whoever said you can’t fall in love at nineteen was fucking stupid.
Or perhaps jaded. What we shared, it was more than that.
It was friendship. She was my person and it suddenly dawned on me that nothing would ever be the same.
Why would we ever leave here on purpose?
Something between us cracked.
My breath caught against her mouth and for one whole minute the world narrowed to the hammer of her heart and the pulse in mine. When I peeled away, I set my forehead against hers. “Don’t forget, we share the same sky.”
We sat like that forever. It could have been seconds, or minutes, or hours.
I wouldn’t know, because I couldn’t see past the press of her skin to mine.
Of that hitch in her breath and the way our bodies fit perfectly.
With stars overhead, tragic was such a useless word to describe our situation.
The thing is, Solace knew what she wanted, even if she’d decided to go about it in a round about way and I was already on my path.
And as much as I wanted her, it wasn’t enough.
My thoughts took a dark turn. My mom used to wait up for hours on the few occasions Adam said he was coming home.
She’d wait and wait and wait, with no call from him.
Weeks later, he’d pop up with some lame excuse about a discovery on Neptune’s moon.
Which was probably code for whatever girl he’d found to stick his dick in—but what about the times he’d missed my soccer games because of late meetings?
Or when he’d disappear for months on some mission. I didn’t want that for Solace.
“You have to get home,” I said rougher than I’d meant. “I need to get a bit of sleep.” Instead of waiting for her to argue, I stood with her still in my lap and set her on her feet.
“Yeah, okay. I don’t want you to be exhausted.”
The night was quiet around us as I guided her down the steps and towards her car.
Frogs humming somewhere in the trees. When we reached the truck, I opened the door and Solace climbed in.
Leaning across her, I took the seatbelt and pulled it across her chest, metal buckle clicking into place even as my fingers shook.
Fuck. My arms strained with the effort; of holding back, that is.
For a moment all I could do was stare at her. Commit her to memory.
She gave me a sheepish half-smile, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I managed. More. So much fucking more.
“See you in a few months?”
“I hope so.” I kissed her again, but this time I wasn’t careful, or coaxing. It wasn’t a question between us, it was the answer. My lips moved, and I tried to memorize the shape of her mouth, until something salty reached my tongue.
I froze and she pulled back abruptly. I was crying. My chest rose once, as I pushed myself away from the truck and slammed her door shut. “Go,” I said hoarsely, fists pressed against my eyes. “Go, Solace.”
The truck lurched backward, but her lights weren’t on. She’d almost gotten into a car crash a few months ago because she’d forgotten to turn on her headlights. My fist exploded against the hood and Solace jumped, mouthing a curse.
I stood in front of the truck, palms flat against the metal. “Get your headlights on!” My chest heaved as the tears ran down my cheeks. “Be safe, goddamn it.” I stepped back, dragging my hands over my head before turning away from her.
Headlights flared to life as I spun around; for a second only standing there—shoulders tight. Neither of us moved, and then Solace turned the wheel and backed the truck down the drive where I was left to shrink in her rearview mirror. Even though she’d only grown larger in my heart.