Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(65)

“I saw the letters,” I confessed. “The ones I wrote. I saw them in the bag.”

His head jerked up, his eyes pinning me in place, irritation instantly coating his raw exposure. They burned into me with an intensity I didn’t understand.

And then they went out.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

He took a step back. Then another. He shoved his hands in his pockets and swallowed a shallow breath, as though there weren’t enough air in the room.

He was sorry for touching me. He regretted it, even. I felt small and unworthy and mad that he could see me as so insignificant when I cared for him so much.

Well, I wasn’t insignificant. I was important. Maybe not to him, but to someone.

I didn’t immediately know how to respond. My eyes burned with tears, but I wouldn’t let them fall. I lifted my chin as proudly as I could and tried to keep my voice steady.

“You should get some sleep, Chase. You look tired. I’ll stay up and keep watch. You don’t need to worry about that.”

I turned away and sat on the bed, still in my clothes. He didn’t move for a long while. Finally, he laid on the floor, his knife in the palm of his hand. He didn’t even open the sleeping bag.

*



I ROSE up on my elbows, positioning myself on his chest, looking down at his face. His finger grazed my jawline, teasing my hair to the ends.

“You won’t forget me, right?” I tried to play it light so maybe he wouldn’t see just how scared I was for tomorrow.

For a second, the corners of his eyes pinched. Then he sat up, and I backed onto my knees. His hands straightened my T-shirt, tugging it down.

“No,” he said. His face darkened. “I don’t think it’s possible to forget you.”

The slow, heavy weight of his breath, the seriousness of his tone, made everything too real. I didn’t want it to be real. I didn’t want him to leave. And if I opened my mouth, I’d ask him to stay. Ask him and ruin his whole life.

My eyes stung. A great lump had formed in my throat. I turned away and held my breath and tried to stop my shoulders from trembling, but he saw, and when he touched my arm I jerked away because it hurt even more that he wasn’t angry about leaving. That he was being kind to make it easier for me.

I hated the MM. My mother was right: They took away everything good.

There was too much uncertainty. What if I never saw him again? Everything seemed beyond my control. And then I thought, crazily, maybe if I could just make this part go faster, he’d come home again. It would be like ripping off a Band-Aid, but then he’d be back.

“I want to say good-bye now,” I said, my voice finally breaking. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to wait until morning.” I couldn’t look at him. So what if I was a coward.

His touch, this time gently moving aside my hair. His lips, brushing my ear.

“I won’t forget,” he said again, quietly.

I slumped miserably back against his chest. He pulled me closer. His arms crossed over my body; his knees rose on each side of mine. I felt him breathe in, press his lips against the base of my neck.

“I promise I’ll come back. No matter what happens.” Though his voice was only a whisper, there was a fierceness behind it. I believed him completely.

“I’ll wait for you,” I told him.

I turned my head and buried my damp face in his shoulder, and he held me until finally my breathing slowed. After a while, he laid down beside me and said, “Sleep easy, Ember.” And when I woke in the morning, he was gone.

*



CHASE did sleep, silent and dreamless, while I stayed awake with my burning thoughts. The urge to move on was stronger than ever. I began wondering just how likely it would be that an MM cruiser would catch us at night. We could be perfectly fine. We could get all the way to Lewisburg, find the carrier, and be in South Carolina by tomorrow.

If I was being honest with myself, it wasn’t just my mom that had me chomping at the bit to get out. What had passed between Chase and me would surely turn to awkwardness, and I was looking for any way to avoid it. He was obviously still planning on leaving when we got to the safe house, and maybe that was better. If I wasn’t enough to make him stay, I didn’t really want him around anyway.

I chewed my thumbnails and hated that I cared.

After an hour I tiptoed down the hallway, only to find that Patrick’s light was still on. I could hear him shift on the couch, hear him turn the pages of that infuriating book. Why wouldn’t he just go to bed? I had a feeling he was staying up on purpose now, guarding his house to make sure we didn’t steal anything.

I didn’t entirely blame him.

I was on my way back to the room when I heard another creak in the floor, this time from the opposite end of the hallway. I ducked into the guest bathroom and waited. And then I heard the rattle of the basement door.

“Billings here?” I heard Mary Jane whisper. So she was in the basement, probably with the boy. I felt stupid for thinking them so na?ve; they’d been down there since dinner. It was where the family went when there was danger.

Billings. Who was Billings? The answer came to me slowly. Patrick had said his name earlier. He was their buyer. The person who took the cattle to the slaughterhouse.

“Not yet. Should be soon though. Keep the door locked.”