CHAPTER EIGHT
SARAH
The sun has barely hit the tops of the trees, and the birds are having their little morning jam session. Meanwhile, I’m throwing up again.
“I’m fine,” I say, lying through my teeth as another wave of nausea nearly knocks me off my feet.
I lurch forward and throw up behind the tree, clinging to the trunk like it’s going to save my life. Behind me, Michael holds my braids back.
“Thanks,” I mumble, straightening up and wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
“Anytime,” he says with that tone that practically screams, You owe me for this.
I sit down on my sleeping bag, completely wiped out. A few steps away, I hear James say to Michael, “Maybe I can find her some meds.”
Michael snorts. “If you find her chocolate, I bet she’ll be miraculously cured.”
They both start cracking up, trying to muffle it, but I’m not deaf.
“I hear that!” I snap from my spot on the ground.
This time, they don’t even try to hold back; they just laugh loudly.
I roll my eyes, but even I can’t help the tiny smile tugging at my lips.
Michael shrugs on his brown hunting jacket, which has about ten pockets, and picks up his rifle, checking the chamber like he’s about to go into battle.
“I’m going hunting. What she needs is a real meal. She can’t bounce back on canned beans alone.”
I glance at the rifle in his hand. It’s a souvenir from Brandon’s gang. Michael and James swiped it after everything went wrong that night in the old library.
The night I almost lost my brother.
The purple bruises Brandon left on Michael’s face have mostly faded, but I still see them.
My stomach turns, not from nausea this time, but from the memory.
I grab a book from beside my pillow and clutch it as if it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. I’ve been reading nonstop all week, trying to keep my mind anywhere but back there. Anywhere but that night. Some days it works. Today? Not so much.
As Michael’s footsteps fade into the woods, James plops down next to me. He’s got a handgun in his holster now, another souvenir from that gang.
I try to ignore him, keeping my eyes glued to my book, but that’s not exactly easy. James isn’t the type of man you can just pretend doesn’t exist.
I’m sick because of him, though. He didn’t even check the label on the can before dumping it into our breakfast. It had cucumbers. The most disgusting food ever invented, and he knows I hate them. Just the smell makes me want to hurl.
I guess that’s what I get for guilt-tripping him into cooking all the time. I don’t cook. I mean, I try sometimes, but everything I touch ends up burned. Don’t ask me how; it’s one of life’s great mysteries. But James? Not only does he cook, but he looks ridiculously good doing it.
He clears his throat, like that’s gonna count as an apology.
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
My head snaps up. “A secret?”
“Kinda.”
Huh. A secret. Yeah… that’ll work as an apology.
I cross my legs and tap my fingertips together like some evil genius from one of those old graphic novels Michael used to collect; my book totally forgotten. “I’m all ears.”
James rubs the back of his neck. “I never told you this, but when I came up from Texas to Colorado, I had a reason. I was looking for a town. A place called Northern Lights.”
“A town? You? But you hate towns.”
“Yeah, I do. But this one’s different. They say it’s like the old days.”
My eyes widen. “Are you serious? Tell me everything! Do they have a bookshop? Streetlights? A gazebo?” I scoot closer and grip his arm. “Oh my God, do they have chocolate?”
James chuckles, shaking his head. “From what I’ve heard, they might. Michael and I talked about heading north to Northern Lights that night in the library… right before Brandon’s gang showed up and I had to…” He trails off, staring at the ground, fingers twitching where they rest on his knee.
I know exactly where his mind went. He’s thinking about the men he killed that night. I don’t blame him. He did it to protect me. To save Michael.
James has killed before, probably more times than I’ll ever know. My dad always said no Outsider survives without spilling blood. But since we’ve been together, he hasn’t killed anyone. At least, I don’t think he has.
“So, what do you think? Should we look for this town?”
“Yes!” I throw my arms around his neck.
He chuckles as he wraps me up in a hug. “Oh, so you’re happy now?”
“Happy? I’m in heaven! We’re actually gonna have a real home?!” I grin so wide my cheeks hurt. “What made you stop looking for this town in the first place?”
“You. I found you. You’re all I want.”
He gently takes my hand and presses his lips to the cut I got the night Brandon’s gang showed up.
The kiss should’ve melted me into a puddle. But instead, as I look down at that scar, everything comes rushing back. The attack. The fear. The choices he made. Choices I’m still not okay with.
I’ve been avoiding this conversation all week, but it’s time.
“James,” I say, locking eyes with him, “promise me you’ll never ask me to leave you two behind again. Whatever happens, I want to be with you. Okay?”
He pretends he didn’t hear me and lets go of my hand, resting his on my thigh. “You feeling better now? Need anything? Water, maybe?”
I frown. “Seriously? You’re not gonna answer me?”
He pulls his hand away, his face hardening. “The answer is no.”
“But—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “Michael could’ve died, Sarah. And I have to do things I never want you to see.”
“I know you’re trying to protect me, James, but this is our world. I live in it too.”
He shoots me a disapproving glare, and all I see is red.
“Fine!” I snap, crossing my arms. “Ignore me all you want, but next time, I’m not running away. You’ll just have to deal with me.”
“Stubborn woman,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to catch it.
He runs a hand through his hair, his go-to move when he’s pissed. But I don’t back down.
“Fine,” he says at last. “But next time, if I tell you not to look, you don’t look. Got it?”
I nod, trying to bite back a stupid grin. It doesn’t work. He sees it anyway, and I swear I catch the faintest smile on his lips too.
“You know, this trip north won’t be easy. You’re gonna have to behave,” he says, giving me his signature glare.
“Behave? Sorry, I don’t know what that word means.”
He doesn’t even blink, just keeps staring me down.
Eventually, I cave.
“Okay, okay. I’ll behave.”
His shoulders drop, and he actually looks relieved. Poor guy, I must cause more chaos than I realize. So I give him about two seconds of peace before I ruin it.
“But,” I add, “if we find a train, I’m walking through every single car. Don’t even think about stopping me.”
He looks annoyed, and I grin.
“And…”
He raises a brow. “And? Wait, there’s more?”
“And… if we find one of those giant water tanks in some random town, we’re both climbing it. No excuses.”
He groans. “Oh boy.”
I tap him on the shoulder. “Glad we got that settled. Now go away. I need my beauty rest.”
I flop onto my stomach in my sleeping bag and wave him off dramatically. He opens his mouth like he’s about to scold me, but the glint of amusement in his eyes gives him away.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” He slaps me on the butt as he stands.
I tilt my head and smirk. “And…?”
He sighs. “And fucking smart.”
◆◆◆
A few hours later, the sky glows pink and orange as the sun dips behind the trees. Our sleeping bags are lined up in the middle of the clearing, like we’re just on some normal camping trip.
Yeah, right. More like extreme camping.
Right on cue, Michael steps out from between the trees with a dead deer slung over his shoulders. Before he even sets it down, I’m already at his side, knife in hand.
It’s the day’s big win. Food’s hard to come by these days, so my dad drilled it into me early: when you get something, nothing goes to waste. Cleaning up after a hunt isn’t exactly glamorous, but it’s gotta be done. And I’m better with my pocketknife than I’ll ever be with a gun. That’s for sure.
James leans against a tree, arms crossed, the axe he uses to chop firewood resting by his side. His eyes stay locked on me as I clean the deer. He’s watched me do this a million times—rabbits, turkeys, even wild pigs. But today, he looks genuinely puzzled.
“I don’t get it,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Cucumbers make you nauseous, but this doesn’t?” He waves a hand at the deer, then at my bloodied knife. “You’re sweet, Sarah, but also very fucking violent.”
I smirk, all fake innocence.
Let’s see if I can shock you, Outsider.
“If I’m violent, maybe you should stop worrying about this”—I flick the knife for effect—“and start worrying about what I can do with you later.”
That wipes the confusion right off his face.
“Fuck, woman.” His eyes darken. “You can do whatever you want to me later, because I plan on doing plenty with you.”
My cheeks are on fire, and I have to remind myself to breathe. He’s staring at me like I’m his next meal, and I wish he’d stop teasing and just touch me already—
“I CAN HEAR YOU BOTH!”
Michael’s voice booms behind me, hitting me like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I turn to see him standing there with a pan in his hand and murder in his eyes.
“I’d like to remind you two idiots that I’m still right here,” he adds. “Not that it matters, since you two never fucking listen anyway.”
I laugh, unable to help myself. Michael’s big brother act is flawless.
His scowl lands squarely on James, who quickly ducks his head like that’ll somehow make him invisible.
It doesn’t. Nice try, though.
“Sorry, man,” James mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
I know he’s not sorry. Not really. He’s just sorry we got caught.
Michael huffs, muttering something about being done with us, and stomps off. The moment he’s out of earshot, James looks back at me, grinning ear to ear.
He leans closer, the heat back in his eyes. “Where were we? Oh, right. Me, making you scream my name tonight.”