Chapter Thirty-Two. When There’s a Confession #2
I shrug, not wanting to give away how long I’ve been at this. “Practicing.”
He frowns. “Today didn’t scare you off?”
The opposite actually. “I feel like I have less time to learn.” There’s another reason of course—the bruise I can see from here.
Silence suffocates. “Sorry, I interrupted. Don’t mind me.” James takes another bite of meatloaf. “Practice.”
Don’t mind him? As if my whole body isn’t jolted awake at his presence. When I realize he’s getting up to clean his plate and leave, I start. Or panic, more like. “Could you guide me through it one more time?”
The faucet runs, his plate rinsed. Then wordlessly he steps in front of me. I gulp. Asking for him to come anywhere close to me is a mistake, the best kind. His hands float over mine before he pulls back.
“You can—” I stumble over my permission.
“You know the movement already.”
I keep my eyes firmly on the mug, refusing to indulge in his nearness. Or worse, hurt myself seeing him keeping his semi-distance.
“It’s not about movement anyway. It’s about getting into the metal,” he says.
Not about movement. Not about pushing the silver.
Instead, I push every emotion roiling in my stomach into the concentration needed for crafting.
I take that focus and dive beneath the metal, into the metal.
I am metal. The small silver flakes break further apart.
My fingers circle and twitch over the mug as I will the metal to keep dispersing, shattering until it dissolves. Slowly, the water turns silvery gray.
“Walsh! You did it,” James announces, true excitement etched in his voice.
I home in on my accomplishment. “I did it?” I did it. I made something that could help people. And in this moment help James Murphy.
I thrust the tea forward in offering. “Here.”
“I’m fine.”
“James, please. Who do you think I was making it for?”
His eyes lock on to mine. “I’m fine, Walsh. I’m fine.”
I slam the tea down. “No. You’re not fine.” I can’t take this dancing around each other any longer. “What you did today…” My insides churn recalling the crack of sound as James’s father hit him. “I should never have asked you to do that. That should never have been part of our deal.”
“When did you ask?”
I jerk backward. “What?”
“When did you ask me to lie like that?” he says.
I rack my brain for the conversation, the exact details of our agreement.
In exchange for teaching him about our business he’d cover for me if anyone was suspicious.
Or was it he just promised to teach me to make silver tea?
I’d definitely asked him not to tell anyone about Nity.
Made him promise with the word forever as if I could control anything.
“You’re not the only one who cares about those dragons. I said I’d keep their secret for the rest of my life. Today was one part of that. I’d do anything for…” He glances away from me. “Them. I’d do anything for them.”
I’m tethered to that pause. It’s as if he wanted to say something else. That he did it for me? Or am I delusional, placing an emphasis on what he doesn’t say in hopes it means he doesn’t just like me, but wants more?
He sighs and pulls a hand through his hair. “Now, that was a lie. Or not a lie, but an admission of the truth.” He breathes as I dare not do so. “The truth is I’d do anything for you.”
I balloon with anticipation. “Because you like me?” I whisper my hopefulness, not knowing where I’ve acquired this confidence to ask such things so bluntly.
His dark eyes bore into mine. He feels closer than before. “Farren, I’ve liked you for years.”
I exhale in a huff of shock. He … James likes me. Then my brain snags. For years? “What do you mean, years?”
“I mean, since the moment I met you.”
“But … No. You never even really talked to me before I saved you. I don’t even think you knew I existed.”
He laughs. “Didn’t know you existed? Sometimes it felt like you were the only real thing in my life.
I was so diligent about training every morning in the crafting fields just to catch a glimpse of you.
Tried to start up a conversation more times than you can imagine.
Then you stopped showing up and I’d sometimes just sit there and wait, hoping you’d come.
I used to hate every summer because it meant all the training without you being there.
I’m the one that asked your dad if you’d be interested in being a spotter for races so I could see you. ”
I go still. My dad never mentioned the spotter position idea came from James.
He said … I guess he never said how that came about.
I assumed it was from James’s dad being nice enough to consider me.
But why would I think that? Mr. Murphy is the opposite of considerate.
His son though? He’s everything I could never imagine.
Before I can bring myself to speak, James continues.
“And I tried to talk to you. I tried so many times. But you make me so nervous.”
“I make you nervous?” I try for clarification, but it comes out in disbelief.
“Don’t act like that’s not possible.”
“I will, though.” My face scrunches. I try to remember our first meeting, the years in between so I can dismantle his argument, poke at his hyperbole.
“Are you saying you liked me when we were twelve? I was the weird girl that always talked about dragons.” I still am that girl, but in year six through eight I didn’t quite understand the concept that not everyone liked the same things I did.
That most people ventured home to family and friends, not a pack of creatures who could kill you.