Chapter 12 #2
On foot? I turned the words over in my mind, my brow furrowing as I tried to picture the journey. Then it hit me—what should have been glaringly obvious from the start. His ship was a spaceship, not a boat.
"You…." I swallowed hard, the reality of it crashing over me like a rogue wave.
"You want me to come on your spaceship." My heart kicked into overdrive, hammering against my ribs like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. Fear?
Excitement? Some dizzying cocktail of both that made my head spin?
"Harper." His voice cut through the spiral of panic, grounding me. Anchoring me. "You're safe here, for now. But if the people looking for you are human...." He trailed off, his expression darkening like storm clouds. "I can't protect you here. Not the way I need to. Not against your own kind."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry despite the Coke. "What are you saying?"
"Come with me. To the Historia." His eyes locked onto mine, and there was something raw and exposed in them, something vulnerable that made my chest ache. Like he was offering me not just safety, but a piece of himself. Something precious. "I can keep you safe there."
Safe. On a spaceship. Hurtling through the infinite darkness of space, surrounded by technology I couldn't begin to comprehend.
It should have sounded insane. Like something out of a fever dream or a bad science fiction novel.
It should have terrified me, sent me running back to the familiar comfort of my ordinary life: second graders with sticky fingers, Wednesday night margaritas with April, and dodging her constant attempts to fix me up with every single man in a fifty-mile radius.
But all I could think about was how nothing had felt right since Seth died. How I'd been going through the motions3, existing in the spaces between heartbeats but not really living. Just surviving. On autopilot. A ghost haunting my own life.
Until Xabat crashed into it.
Even here, surrounded by destruction and debris, he'd awakened something I'd thought was dead.
Something new and exciting and terrifying that pulsed deep in my soul.
Something that recognized him on a level deeper than logic or reason, that felt right and whole and complete when I was near him.
Like a key finally finding its lock after years of trying wrong doors.
"Okay," I heard myself say, the words escaping before I could second-guess them into oblivion. "I'll go with you."
The smile that broke across his face stole whatever breath I had left. Relief, happiness, pure unfiltered joy. It radiated from him like sunlight breaking through clouds, transforming his features into something so beautiful my heart physically ached.
Then reality crashed back in with all the subtlety of a freight train.
"I'll need to text my friends and send a message to my boss, though," I added, my voice dropping back to Earth. "I can't just vanish without a word. I don't want anyone to worry about me, thinking the hurricane swept me out to sea."
Xabat nodded, understanding flickering across his face. "I can arrange communication when we get to the shuttle."
"I have my cell phone." I dug my backpack out from under a pile of towels. "I turned it off when the storm started to conserve power. It should have some battery left."
I pulled out the phone, still encased in its cheerful pink daisy case—a birthday gift from April that I'd never had the heart to replace despite how ridiculously girly it was.
I waved it at him like a trophy. Xabat raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his features, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
The screen lit up when I pressed the power button. About half the battery remained, and surprisingly, I had two bars of service—good for after a hurricane, when cell towers were usually down or overloaded.
I shot off an email to my boss first, keeping it professional but warm.
I tendered my resignation, apologized for the short notice, and explained that I was moving back to the beach permanently—couching the decision as a long-held desire rather than a sudden one.
I mentioned how the threat of the hurricane had clarified how much the beach house meant to me. Hopefully it made sense.
Next came a group text to my friends—my former college roommate, a few teachers from school I occasionally grabbed drinks with.
I told them I'd be staying at the beach for a while, fixing up the house from hurricane damage.
I made it sound like a temporary sabbatical that might turn permanent.
Vague enough to be believable, specific enough to forestall worry.
The last text went to April. My fingers hesitated over the keys before I committed to the lie.
I told her the same basic story but added that I'd met someone during the hurricane.
That there were sparks and I would be staying at the beach for a while to explore it further.
If April thought I'd met a guy, she wouldn't ask too many questions about my motives.
She'd been trying to set me up for the past year, convinced that what I needed was to get back out there, to open my heart again. She'd be thrilled, not suspicious.
With my past settled—or at least temporarily placated—I turned my attention to the future stretching before me. A future that involved leaving Earth entirely.
"So, when we get to the Historia," I started, catching my bottom lip between my teeth as I tried to figure out how to phrase what I wanted to ask. "What's it like living on a spaceship? I mean, day to day. Do you have... I don't know, quarters? A mess hall? Is it like Star Trek or…?"
"Not much different from living anywhere else," Xabat interrupted with a snort of amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made my stomach flip every single time.
"You still wash the dishes, do laundry, stub your toe on furniture in the dark.
Some things are universal, no matter what planet you're from. "
I laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest, releasing some of the tension that had been coiling there since I'd started thinking about the reality of leaving.
Of course, alien spaceships would have dirty dishes.
Of course, there would be mundane chores and everyday annoyances.
Somehow that made it all feel more real, more possible—less like a fantasy I'd wake up from.
Then something occurred to me, and I looked up at him, letting a teasing glint spark in my gaze. "Will my room be near yours?"
His dark purple eyes locked onto my face, holding so much raw desire that my breath caught in my throat.
His hand reached out, fingers brushing my cheek with feather-light pressure, then traced a slow, deliberate line down the side of my neck, following the curve where it met my shoulder. My skin tingled everywhere he touched.
"If that is what you want," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent shivers cascading down my spine.
"What if I don't want my room to be next door?" I asked, my own voice growing breathless. Each word required more effort than the last as his fingers continued their exploration, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
"You don't?" Xabat frowned, confusion flickering across his features. I watched his expression shift, vulnerability making him look younger somehow, almost uncertain.
"What if I wanted my room to be the same as yours?" I clarified, watching his face carefully, my heart hammering against my ribs as I waited for his reaction. I'd never been this forward with anyone before, but with Xabat, it felt natural. Right.
The concern on his face evaporated instantly, giving way to a wide smile that transformed his entire countenance, lighting him up from within. "You would want to stay with me? Share my quarters?"
I nodded, suddenly beyond words, my throat tight with an emotion I couldn't name—or maybe I didn't want to name it yet, because naming it would make it real and terrifying and wonderful all at once.
His mouth was on mine before I could draw another breath, and I melted into him with a soft moan. His hands slid down my sides, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him. I could feel every hard plane of his body, the heat of him seeping through our clothes.
"Harper," he breathed against my lips, my name a prayer and a curse all at once. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," I gasped, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. "God, yes."
He helped me pull the fabric over his head, and I ran my hands over the expanse of his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, the tiny scales on his skin that made him so beautifully different. His breath hitched when my fingers found a particularly sensitive spot just below his collarbone.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his hands sliding under my sweatshirt, callused palms rough against my bare skin. "I have wanted this—wanted you—since the moment I saw you."
My sweatshirt joined his shirt on the floor, and then his mouth was on my neck, my collarbone, trailing lower. I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his hair as pleasure sparked through every nerve ending.
He lifted me easily, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me back to our makeshift bed. The plastic floats rustled beneath us as he laid me down, his body covering mine, his weight a delicious pressure.
"Tell me what you like," he whispered against my ear, his voice thicker now, roughened by desire. "I want to make this good for you."
"You already are," I managed, reaching for the waistband of his pants.
We fumbled with the rest of our clothes, laughing breathlessly when fabric caught or tangled, the urgency tempered by tenderness. When we were finally skin to skin, he paused, his eyes searching mine in the dim light.
"I am yours, Harper," he said softly, reverently. "If you will have me."