The Host (The Host #1)(25)

No, I don’t think that’s it. He really is beautiful.

“What are you thinking, Mel?” he asks. “You seem to be concentrating on something very important.” He laughs.

I shrug, and my stomach flutters. “It’s beautiful here.”

He looks around us. “Yes. But then, isn’t home always beautiful?”

“Home.” I repeat the word quietly. “Home.”

“Your home, too, if you want it.”

“I want it.” It seems like every mile I’ve walked in the past three years has been toward this place. I never want to leave, though I know we’ll have to. Food doesn’t grow on trees. Not in the desert, at least.

He squeezes my hand, and my heart punches against my ribs. It’s just like pain, this pleasure.

There was a blurring sensation as Melanie skipped ahead, her thoughts dancing through the hot day until hours after the sun had fallen behind the red canyon walls. I went along, almost hypnotized by the endless road stretching ahead of me, the skeletal bushes flying by with mind-numbing sameness.

I peek into the one narrow little bedroom. The full-size mattress is only inches away from the rough stone walls on either side.

It gives me a deep, rich sense of joy to see Jamie asleep on a real bed, his head on a soft pillow. His lanky arms and legs sprawl out, leaving little room for me where I am meant to sleep. He is so much bigger in reality than the way I see him in my head. Almost ten—soon he won’t be a child at all. Except that he will always be a child to me.

Jamie breathes evenly, sleeping sound. There is no fear in his dream, for this moment at least.

I shut the door quietly and go back to the small couch where Jared waits.

“Thank you,” I whisper, though I know shouting the words wouldn’t wake Jamie now. “I feel bad. This couch is much too short for you. Maybe you should take the bed with Jamie.”

Jared chuckles. “Mel, you’re only a few inches shorter than I am. Sleep comfortably, for once. Next time I’m out, I’ll steal myself a cot or something.”

I don’t like this, for lots of reasons. Will he be leaving soon? Will he take us with him when he goes? Does he see this room assignment as a permanent thing?

He drops his arm around my shoulders and tucks me against his side. I scoot closer, though the heat of touching him has my heart aching again.

“Why the frown?” he asks.

“When will you… when will we have to leave again?”

He shrugs. “We scavenged enough on our way up that we’re set for a few months. I can do a few short raids if you want to stay in one place for a while. I’m sure you’re tired of running.”

“Yes, I am,” I agree. I take a deep breath to make me brave. “But if you go, I go.”

He hugs me tighter. “I’ll admit, I prefer it that way. The thought of being separated from you…” He laughs quietly. “Does it sound crazy to say that I’d rather die? Too melodramatic?”

“No, I know what you mean.”

He must feel the same way I do. Would he say these things if he thought of me as just another human, and not as a woman?

I realize that this is the first time we’ve ever been really alone since the night we met—the first time there’s been a door to close between a sleeping Jamie and the two of us. So many nights we’ve stayed awake, talking in whispers, telling all of our stories, the happy stories and the horror stories, always with Jamie’s head cradled on my lap. It makes my breath come faster, that simple closed door.

“I don’t think you need to find a cot, not yet.”

I feel his eyes on me, questioning, but I can’t meet them. I’m embarrassed now, too late. The words are out.

“We’ll stay here until the food is gone, don’t worry. I’ve slept on worse things than this couch.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I say, still looking down.

“You get the bed, Mel. I’m not budging on that.”

“That’s not what I mean, either.” It’s barely a whisper. “I meant the couch is plenty big for Jamie. He won’t outgrow it for a long time. I could share the bed with… you.”

There is a pause. I want to look up, to read the expression on his face, but I’m too mortified. What if he is disgusted? How will I stand it? Will he make me go away?

His warm, callused fingers tug my chin up. My heart throbs when our eyes meet.

“Mel, I…” His face, for once, has no smile.

I try to look away, but he holds my chin so that my gaze can’t escape his. Does he not feel the fire between his body and mine? Is that all me? How can it all be me? It feels like a flat sun trapped between us—pressed like a flower between the pages of a thick book, burning the paper. Does it feel like something else to him? Something bad?

After a moment, his head turns; he’s the one looking away now, still keeping his grip on my chin. His voice is quiet. “You don’t owe me that, Melanie. You don’t owe me anything at all.”

It’s hard for me to swallow. “I’m not saying… I didn’t mean that I felt obligated. And… you shouldn’t, either. Forget I said anything.”

“Not likely, Mel.”

He sighs, and I want to disappear. Give up—lose my mind to the invaders if that’s what it takes to erase this huge blunder. Trade the future to blot out the last two minutes of the past. Anything.