Chapter Six
The lights of the gas station in Liberty, Missouri, buzzed faintly overhead, casting everything in a too-bright, slightly washed-out glow. This town marked the halfway point on the journey from Alienn, Arkansas, to Suspicion, Minnesota.
Seraphina had acquired a rental car for Madelaine with a special hybrid bauxite fueled engine, since her friend knew she would have to travel to Suspicion. Seraphina, at least, hadn’t forgotten there would be no flying to her destination. Madelaine was grateful for the other woman’s forethought.
Madelaine pulled the car up to a pump and cut the engine, the sudden silence pressing in after hours of road noise.
“We should stretch,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
Jack nodded. “Yeah.”
They stepped out at the same time. The night air was cooler than she expected when it touched her skin. It wrapped around her like a quiet reset—sharp, clean, carrying the faint scent of gasoline and distant rain.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Jack reached for the gas nozzle.
“I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said, swiping his payment card against the reader. “It’s fine.”
Madelaine watched him for a second longer than necessary before turning away, hugging her arms lightly around herself as she walked a few steps toward the edge of the lot.
Liberty. The name felt rather ironic. Madelaine hadn’t felt free in five years.
“You okay?” Jack’s voice came from behind her, closer than she expected.
She turned slightly. “Just needed some air.”
He nodded, leaning one hip against the car, the pump clicking steadily as it filled the tank.
“You’ve been doing that,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Drifting off.” His gaze held hers. “Like you’re somewhere else half the time.”
Madelaine exhaled slowly. “Occupational hazard.”
“That mysterious, can’t-talk-about-it job again?”
She almost smiled. “Something like that.”
Jack studied her, then pushed off the car and stepped closer.
Not too close. But closer. “You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself,” he said. “I can be trusted.”
The words were simple. Too simple. Because if she let herself believe them, even for a second… Everything in her very regulated world would unravel.
“I do trust you, Jack,” she said. “But I can’t tell you about my life.”
Jack’s jaw tightened just slightly. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Or because it’s easier than letting someone in?”
That hit. He was the only one she would ever want to let in, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t do that to him. She told herself keeping silent about the past five years was more for his protection than because she’d get in trouble for telling him anything.
Madelaine looked away, her gaze catching on the flickering neon sign of the convenience store. “You think I wanted this?” she asked quietly.
“I think you clearly chose it.”
“I didn’t. Not really.”
“Then what happened, Madelaine?” His voice wasn’t sharp—it was worse.
Steady. Hurt. “Because one day you were there, and the next you were gone, supposedly for a two-year ‘opportunity’ provided by a distant relative that you felt obligated to indulge. One letter and then nothing. No official goodbye. Just nothing.”
Her chest tightened.
“I couldn’t say goodbye.”
“Why not?”
Because if I had been allowed to send messages to you, I would have left Alpha-Prime and damned all the consequences. Probably the reason communication was the first rule out of lots of rules that disallowed pretty much everything warm, comforting or filled with any speck of emotion.
The truth rose up, fierce and aching—but she swallowed it down.
“I just…couldn’t. I wish I could explain, but I can’t.”
Jack stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, even in the cool night air.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
The pump clicked behind them, signaling it was done, but neither of them moved. The world narrowed. To this. To him.
“You know what the worst part was?” Jack said quietly.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she shook her head.
“Even after you’d been gone for years, I kept thinking maybe you’d come back. Especially at the two-year mark, I thought maybe you’d return.”
Her breath caught.
“Every time my phone rang…every time I heard a car pull up outside my house…” He let out a soft, humorless huff. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and had finally found your way back to me.”
Madelaine’s vision blurred.
“I almost did,” she whispered, remembering a particularly dark training day when she’d wanted to give up, go back to Earth and forget all the consequences of her actions. But then reality smacked her back in line after she’d been reminded of her impossible choices. She stayed.
Jack stilled. “What?”
Madelaine winced. She hadn’t meant to admit that. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. But it was out now, hanging between them, fragile and undeniable.
“I almost came back,” she repeated, voice barely above a breath. “More than once.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Because they would have taken you, too. Because loving me would have destroyed your life. Because I still don’t know whether telling you too much could put your whole world at risk.
Think about what you had to do to get here…and what happens if you say too much.
“I just—” she stopped talking abruptly, pausing her thought. “I just couldn’t risk it,” she concluded.
Jack searched her face, frustration and something softer warring in his expression.
“You keep talking like this thing—whatever it is—owns you.”
“It doesn’t own me,” she said quickly. Lie. Lie. Lie.
“Then why does it get to decide who you love?”
The question landed like a blow. Madelaine looked up at him. He was so close. Close enough that she could see a faint scar along his jaw that she didn’t recognize. Close enough that she could remember exactly how it felt to lean in.
To close that last inch.
“Jack…” His name came out softer than she intended. Almost a plea.
His gaze dropped—just for a second—to her mouth.
That was all it took. The air shifted. Something unspoken snapped tight between them. Madelaine’s heart pounded, loud enough she was sure he could hear it.
Don’t. You should not do this.
But she didn’t step back. And neither did he.
“Tell me to stop,” Jack said quietly.
She should have. She needed to.
Instead, she said, “I don’t want to.”
The words hung there, fragile and dangerous.
Jack’s hand lifted—slowly, like he was giving her time to pull away—and brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face.
His fingers lingered. Warm. Familiar. Everything inside her unraveled at once. Five years of distance collapsed into nothing. She leaned in before she could stop herself.
Just a fraction. Just enough to feel his breath.
Jack’s hand shifted, cupping her jaw gently, like he remembered exactly how.
“Madelaine…” Her name was a warning. Or a promise. Or both.
She didn’t know which.
She closed the distance.
Almost.
So close she could feel it—
She wanted it. And then—
A car horn blared somewhere in the lot.
Sharp. Jarring. And the moment shattered like a fragile glass dropped to an unforgiving tile floor.
Madelaine jerked back like she’d been burned, breath coming fast, heart racing out of control.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t—I can’t do this.” So much was at stake.
Jack dropped his hand immediately, stepping back, giving her space.
Too much space.
“Okay,” he said, though it clearly wasn’t.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t apologize for something we both wanted.”
That made it worse.
Madelaine wrapped her arms around herself, putting distance where there had been none seconds before.
“This was a mistake,” she said. “Stopping. We should just—go.”
Jack nodded once, jaw tight. “Yeah. Probably.”
He turned, pulling the nozzle from the car and replacing it in the pump’s cradle with more force than necessary.
Madelaine climbed back into the driver’s seat, hands shaking just enough that she had to steady them on the wheel.
When Jack got in, the silence between them was different.
Not empty.
Not awkward.
Charged.
Alive.
And infinitely more dangerous.
Madelaine stared straight ahead as she started the engine.
Sixteen hours together had never felt so short.
Or so long.
The engine hummed back to life, low and steady, like nothing had just happened. Like the world hadn’t tilted sideways in a gas station parking lot in Liberty, Missouri.
Jack leaned his head back against the seat, eyes forward, arms folded tight across his chest. He didn’t trust himself to look at her. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.
Madelaine pulled the sedan back onto the highway, her movements precise. Controlled. Too controlled. She was clearly focused.
They drove in silence for a few miles. Ten. Maybe more. Jack lost count somewhere between trying to slow his heartbeat and trying not to replay the exact moment her lips had almost met his. Almost.
That word was going to haunt him.
“You okay?” she asked. Her voice was careful. Neutral. Like she was testing the air between them.
Jack let out a breath through his nose. “Define ‘okay.’”
A pause.
“That bad, huh?”
He turned his head then, looking at her.
She kept her eyes on the road.
Of course she did.
“That didn’t feel like nothing,” he said.
“No,” she admitted. “It didn’t.”
“Then why are we acting like it was?”
Her hands tightened on the wheel.
“Because that’s just the way it has to be.” Her tone suggested that she didn’t like it but she didn’t plan to do anything to change it.
Jack let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That’s not how that works.”
“It is for me.”
“Why?” he pressed. “Because of this job? This…thing that started out as a two-year opportunity that sounds more like a lifetime obligation?”
She flinched. So he’d hit something.
“Jack—”
“No,” he said, sitting up, turning toward her fully. “You don’t get to almost kiss me and then shut it down like it meant nothing.”
“I didn’t say it meant nothing.”
“Then what did it mean?”
She didn’t answer.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “You know what? Forget it.”
“I can’t,” she said, then pressed her lips together as if to keep from saying anything more.
That caught him.
“What?”
“I can’t forget it,” she said. “That’s the problem.”
Jack stared at her, something shifting in his chest.
“Then stop pretending you can.”
“I’m not pretending,” she said, voice tightening. “I’m choosing.”
“Choosing what?” he shot back. “To be miserable?”
“To keep you safe.” As soon as the words exited her lips, she looked pained, like she wished she hadn’t said them. Not at all.
The words hit like a stone.
Jack blinked. “Safe from what?”
She didn’t answer.
“Madelaine.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yeah, I’m getting really tired of hearing that,” he snapped.
“I know,” she said, and that was worse. No defensiveness. No fight. Just quiet acceptance.
He exhaled sharply, leaning back again, running both hands through his hair.
“You don’t get it,” he muttered.
“Then help me understand,” she said, echoing his words from earlier.
Jack let out a humorless huff. “You want to understand? Fine.”
He turned toward her again.
“Once I accepted you weren’t coming back, I spent more than four years trying to get over you.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I dated,” he continued. “Tried to move on. Told myself whatever we had, it wasn’t real, or it wasn’t enough, or you didn’t feel it the same way I did.”
His jaw tightened.
“Because that was easier than thinking you just…walked away like I meant nothing to you. Like I wasn’t worth the effort.”
Madelaine’s grip on the wheel went white-knuckled.
“I didn’t walk away. You were not nothing to me.”
“You left without a word for literally years,” he said flatly. “That’s the same thing.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
She pondered his question before she said, “A sacrifice.”
The word hung there.
Jack stared at her. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“That’s what it was.”
“For who?” he demanded. “Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it was for me.”
“It was for you—” She stopped talking suddenly. Her voice broke just enough to make him pause.
Just enough to crack through the anger.
Jack studied her.
She looked wrecked. Like holding all of this in was costing her something.
“Then why does it feel like I’m the one who got left behind?” he asked.
Madelaine blinked rapidly, her composure slipping.
“Because I couldn’t take you with me.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. “Jack…”
“Don’t,” he said, holding up a hand. “Don’t shut me out again. Not now. Not after—” He broke off, exhaling hard. “Not after that.”
The near-kiss hung between them again, unspoken but undeniable.
Madelaine swallowed.
“I wanted you with me,” she said at last. “More than anything.”
Jack’s chest tightened.
“But?”
“But the life I was thrust into…it’s not one you can just walk away from. And it’s not one I could drag you into, no matter how much I missed you.”
“So you decided for me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty of it stunned him.
“You don’t get to do that,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “But I did it anyway.”
Silence fell again, but it was different.
Less sharp.
More…fragile.
Jack leaned his head back, staring up at the dark ceiling of the sedan.
“You ever think maybe I would’ve chosen you anyway?” he asked.
Madelaine’s breath hitched.
“I did,” she admitted. “That’s why I stayed away.”
That landed deeper than anything else she’d said.
Jack closed his eyes briefly.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That tracks.”
They drove like that for a while, the hum of tires against asphalt filling the gaps between everything they weren’t saying.
After a few minutes, Madelaine said, “I didn’t stop loving you.”
Jack’s eyes snapped open. He turned his head slowly.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low.
“It’s true.”
“Don’t say things like that if you’re just going to push me away again.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She flinched.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?” he demanded. “From you?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate. Certain. And completely devastating.
Jack let out a slow breath.
“That’s the problem, Madelaine,” he said. “You don’t get to decide what I’m willing to risk.”
She tightened her grip on the wheel.
“And you don’t get to decide what I’m willing to lose.”
That silenced him.
Because there it was.
The truth of it.
They weren’t fighting each other.
They were fighting the choices that had already been made.
Jack realized this wasn’t just about getting to Suspicion, Minnesota.
It was about whether they’d survive this journey…
With anything left between them at all.