The Countdown (The Taking #3)(87)

And what had Grant meant about my dad? Why was he acting so weird?

I looked around, at the plastic stars and the purple walls. At the stuffed animals and the trophies. Why was my room back the way it had been before I’d been taken all those years ago?

Then, on my nightstand, I saw the program from a memorial service, and I knew whose it was before I even picked it up.

In Loving Memory the heading read, and below that my dad’s face stared back at me. Not the way I’d last seen him, with his soft gray beard and bloated cheeks. In the picture, he was clean-shaven and clear-eyed, as if someone had decided an image from the past would better represent him.

But I knew better. I missed my messy dad. The one who’d waited five years for me to come back and then hugged me so hard he’d almost choked me. The dad who’d gone on the run just to keep Tyler and me safe. The dad who’d sacrificed his own life to make amends for what he’d done all those years ago.

I bolted upright. Tyler.

If I was here . . . back from . . . wherever, was it possible Tyler was too?

Yanking on a pair of sweatpants I found on the floor, I decided to find out. I didn’t want to risk another share-your-feelings moment with Grant, so I climbed over my window ledge and bolted across the street to a house I’d once spent as much time in as my own.

The house was dark, but I went straight around the back to Tyler’s bedroom window and tapped on it. The entire time my heart was going a hundred miles a minute in my chest. I had no idea what I’d do if he wasn’t in there, if I had to go through this . . . whatever was happening to me, all alone.

When the bedroom light turned on, I closed my eyes and whispered a silent prayer, and with each footstep that came closer my stomach did a little flip.

Please don’t be his mom . . . please don’t be his mom . . .

Then, on the other side of the glass, Tyler’s face appeared. I waited a second to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, and then gave a little wave to say, It’s me.

His eyebrows squeezed together as his green eyes took me in. It hadn’t occurred to me until this very second that the two of us might be back at square one. That he might not remember anything . . . not just about the ISA and the Returned. But about us.

My heart plummeted, I wasn’t sure I could do this again.

“Hey,” I said, when he opened his window, not sure how to go about testing the waters.

“Hey. What are you doing here so . . .” He leaned back and looked at something—his clock probably. “So early?”

“Jeez, Tyler.” Suddenly I felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry.” I bit my lip. “I . . .” I sighed. “I don’t even know what I wanted. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

I turned around and started to cross the street, deciding I had to be the most embarrassing person who ever lived. Behind me, I heard his feet land in the gravel. I hesitated.

“I’ll remember you always.” I almost missed it, he said it so quietly. Less than a whisper.

I closed my eyes, begging myself not to completely lose my shit, before I trusted myself enough to turn around again.

Tyler started grinning, that dimple making an appearance at last when he saw the tears gushing down my cheeks. “I’ve been waiting almost a week, but I knew you’d eventually figure it out,” he told me, sounding even more relieved than I felt. “I knew if I gave you enough time, it’d all come back to you too.”

“Shut up,” I told him, right before I ran and jumped in his arms and forced him to kiss me.

It took another two days for me to sort it all out.

There were so many details to get straight, like why our parents—my mom and stepdad, who I was now officially calling Grant, and Tyler’s folks—had different memories from our own.

“It was the fireflies,” Tyler insisted, every time I challenged him on something that didn’t make sense, most importantly why we’d survived the explosion at all. “You didn’t feel them? You don’t remember?”

Except, that’s the thing. I sort of did. My memory was still coming together in pieces, but it was coming.

In those last seconds, right before we were completely surrounded by smoke, right before the heat from the flames became too much, I’d felt something on me. Something swarming over me.

I remembered that sensation from before . . . from Devil’s Hole when Tyler had been taken. That creepy-crawly feeling of all those fireflies on my arms and legs. In my nose and hair.

I thought the flashes of light I’d seen had been explosions, but the more I thought about it, I was pretty sure Tyler was right. It had been the fireflies after all. The M’alue had rescued us . . . given us an eleventh hour reprieve.

It was the only explanation that made sense, considering we were still alive and all.

And trust me, I wasn’t complaining. Things were good for the most part. Tyler and I were back together, and as weird as it was being home again, I didn’t mind being with my mom either. She was different now too, but not in a bad way. She was definitely trying.

Simon and the others had made it out in time, and were living in whatever strange alternate reality we’d been thrust into. Agent Truman was still NSA—still Daylighter—although now, considering what we knew, we weren’t even sure the Daylighters had a purpose. I definitely no longer lived in fear they’d land on my doorstep. None of us did.