In The Afterlight (The Darkest Minds #3)(76)

“Well—I mean, his name is Charles, right?” Vida said quickly, glaring at me in the mirror’s reflection. “How is Chubs any better?”

“Good point,” I said. “Well...I’ll leave you guys to it....”

“Where’s the fire, boo?” Vida asked, hopping up on the counter next to Zu. “Stay awhile. It seems like we haven’t seen your face around much.”

I hesitated, knowing that I still needed to find Liam, but how could I say no when for the first time in days, Zu looked like her old self? When I’d missed seeing their faces, too?

“All right,” I said, reaching for the bowl of dye. “Let’s see if we can get you the perfect shade of pink....”

13

AFTER LYING AWAKE FOR THREE hours in the dark, counting Chubs’s snores, waiting for Liam to come back, I finally pushed myself up off the stiff mattress and headed for the hallway. I wouldn’t bother him, but I just...needed to make sure he was where I thought he was.

The music flowing down the tunnel to the garage was a pretty good hint I was on the right track. The Rolling Stones. Mick Jagger was crooning about wild horses, the promise in his voice stopping me just outside of the door.

I thought of the CD he’d brought in for me, the note that was still hidden inside, and felt caught between the need to go in, and the need to walk back to the bunk room, slide under a blanket, and disappear.

There were a few kids lingering around the space. One was working at the table along the opposite wall, her back hiding whatever it was she was doing. The others were playing cards on a blanket they’d spread out over the floor. It was strange to me that they were down here instead of using the chairs and tables in the big room upstairs, where it had to be at least twenty degrees warmer.

I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around my center to try to trap some warmth in. There was a sticky pull at the bottom of my shoes. I glanced at the ground and immediately jumped away. A large, white crescent moon. Someone must have painted it there earlier in the night.

Liam had his back to me as he crouched down, working on the motorbike he’d found. Its gray shell of grime had been polished away, and the silver accents and black panels gleamed under his care. It looked like he’d just brought it home from the store.

He stood up suddenly, reaching for a piece of foam, and started to wrap it over the bike’s seat to cover the gashes in the leather.

“I like what you’ve done with the place!” I had to shout over Mick Jagger to be heard. The radio stood a foot away from my feet, and somehow I had the feeling that I didn’t have the right to turn it off. You listened to music this loudly to drown out everyone and everything, letting the rhythm and beats flow around you like a shield.

Liam spun around, startled. His white shirt was spotted with oil and dust, and somehow, clearly without realizing it, he’d managed to wipe some of it across his forehead and cheek. It was disarming how good he looked to me, how much I wanted to go straight toward him, take his face in between my hands and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until that carefree smile was back. It made me forget everything that had happened between the start of this and now. My mind was still on blown-out tires, socks, and the Beach Boys, even as he said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I managed. “I just...I was worried when you didn’t show up for lights out. I wanted to...”

“Make sure I didn’t run away? Really?” He started to turn back to his bike but stopped midway, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Oh, damn. I did do that, didn’t I? That was...not Nashville, right?”

The small bubble of contented memory popped around me. “It was Oklahoma, at the national park.”

“Right. Right. That’s the last foggy part. Right before you...” He waved a hand through the air. “Sorry. We need a clock in here.”

My eyes drifted over his profile, the line of his jaw, and I thought with crushing certainty, I’m not wanted here.

“Okay, well,” I said, forcing a horrible brightness into my voice. “Okay...I’m just going to...get going....”

My throat was aching by the time I finally got the words out, and I had a feeling they didn’t make sense, either. Stupid, so stupid. I’d wanted distance, hadn’t I? I hadn’t wanted to talk to him about everything—and now it was like I’d forgotten how to talk to him entirely.

I got a step away when the music got quieter and he called out, “I’m thinking of calling her Lovely Rita. What do you think?”

In spite of everything, I felt myself smile. “Like the Beatles song?”

He was leaning against the motorbike’s seat, his legs out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. I made a mental amendment—this was the best thing I’d ever seen. This was the first time Liam had looked like Liam in months, from his wild, kept-running-his-hands-through-it hair to the way his jeans were slung low on his hips.

“Fits, right?” he said, offering the smallest, sweetest little smile.

“Isn’t Rita a meter maid?” I asked, walking back over to him, my heart thrumming in my chest. Liam was watching me so intently, I almost tripped over my own careless feet. The warmth that pooled at my center threatened to spark when his arms slid forward, his hands turned up, toward me.

I stepped into the circle of them and leaned against his shoulder.