One Was Lost(62)

“This is almost over,” he says, misreading my fear. “Dawn will come. Mr. Walker will look for us at the road, not here. We’re going home.”

“I know.” And that’s part of why I’m terrified.

He steps close enough to thumb the edges of my dirty hair. He traces the scrape under my eye, a touch that leaves a trail of liquid fire in its wake. His fingers graze the place in my neck where my pulse races.

“Long way from that night on your friend’s back porch, huh?” His voice is rough.

“Yeah.” The word comes out too breathy. I try to force a laugh, pushing lightness into the heavy air. “I really was so screwed up after that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Let’s just call this the beginning if you want.”

I do. Even though it terrifies me, I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

He leans in slow, thumb stroking my chin down to the hollow of my throat. When we kiss, there isn’t darkness or panic to muddy the reality of what I’m doing, the contact I’m craving with him.

Every look he gives me makes me want another. Every brush of his hand spins my world into more pieces.

We scoot back on the narrow floor, shoulder to shoulder and backs against the filthy cabinets. I feel the sigh he lets out, close my eyes at the tickle of his hair against my temple.

“It’s almost over,” he says again.

“Yes.”

With Lucas beside me, I can almost believe it will be different this time. That I’ll be brave enough to be with him and good enough to not turn out like her. That I’ll find some sort of balance in the middle.

But will I? Out here, it’s another world. It’s easy when it’s life and death and he’s laying everything on the line to keep me alive. But at home with my life and my friends and my father? I don’t know.

Maybe I can find a way to be with Lucas without feeding the part of me that is like my mother. Or maybe that part will grow like a cancer, quietly snagging bits and pieces of my organs, taking me over cell by cell until there’s nothing good left.





Chapter 27


“A bacon cheeseburger,” he says.

“Bleh. Too much meat for me.” I wrinkle my nose, checking the window again, willing the sky to grow lighter. It doesn’t. We’re leaned against opposite sides of the camper now, his back to the bench seats, mine to the camper wall. My calves are on his lap, feet dangling off his knees. His legs are everywhere. He’s a praying mantis in a matchbox.

“So, what do you want?” he asks, drumming his fingers on my shin. “Food-wise.”

“Tabbouleh.” I close my eyes at the idea. “Tons of it.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a salad with parsley and mint and lemon—”

“This is your comfort food?” he asks. “It sounds like the contents of a tea bag.”

“It’s not a tea bag. It’s healthy and fresh and way better than the crap granola bars and—” I clutch my growling stomach. “We have to talk about something else. This is torture.”

Something cracks outside. My shoulders jerk back, hit the side of the camper.

Lucas is already up, staring out the broken window, his neck tendons roped tight.

“Raccoon,” he says. “It’s almost time. The stars are fading, so dawn’s close. The second we can see, we’re out of here.”

He’s right. This will be over. And then what?

I watch him through my lashes, trying to sort out what will happen back in the real world. In Marietta. Will I…date him? Is that where this is going?

“You’re thinking about what comes next, aren’t you?”

I tip my head, trying to decide how to answer. “I think I know. But I’m…I might spook. It could be messy dating me.”

“Who said I wanted to date you?” he asks, but he’s grinning, and then I’m grinning too.

Lucas kisses me, quick and hard on the mouth. “I don’t need all the answers. We can feel our way one day at a time.”

My laugh feels good. “Of course you’d say that. So are we getting out of here or what? By the time you get it started, it will be light enough.”

He should get a patent for that grin. “Hell yes. Let’s do this.”

Going back outside is scarier when I stand up. Dread settles heavy in my chest. Lucas joins me, still half hunched over in this too-small space. Outside, the air is cool and damp, and my stomach sinks at the first smell of leaves. I’m checking every tree, every shadow—waiting for something to jump.

Lucas is watching too, but he’s moving toward the quad with steady strides. He’s done hiding, jangling the keys in a way that pricks my hope to attention.

He slides behind the handlebars and tries the key. Once, and the grinding sets my teeth on edge. Again, and it’s trying to turn over, but no go. Lucas hops off and messes with wires. A hawk cries out as it soars overhead, and I think I’m going to come apart. This really has to work. I can’t handle a universe where this doesn’t go right.

He’s crouching now, adjusting this, muttering about that. Then he’s back in the seat, and the engine is grinding with a little phutphutphut before it goes dead again. Lucas isn’t stressed, but I’m so tense, I’m probably going to snap a shoulder blade in two. He blows on something on the side of the engine, knocks something else, and heads back to the key again.