Breaking Sky(40)

“Stop.” He hadn’t yelled, but he might as well have. She could see him fighting with dark thoughts. She knew that battle intimately. Maybe he wanted to fight; it always helped her.

“Well, I feel guilty,” she baited.

His face was red. “Like your dad feels guilty about the Philippines?”

She stood up. “Should he? He was doing his job. He had to do it!” Her words snagged on her conversation with Pippin. Apparently “had to” moments were genetic. She sat as suddenly as she had stood, but Tristan wasn’t done.

He jingled her dog tags. “Why do you wear these all the time? I bet you sleep in them. At JAFA we only had to wear them in the air.”

Chase elbowed his hand away. “We wear them because we’re a few heartbeats from enemy territory. Any day the drones could show up with a thousand missiles. I don’t know about you, but I’d like for Kale to be able to ID my body when it’s a blackened brick.”

She’d gone too far.

Tristan fell into that damned place. Shock slid over him like cement. Sweat spotted his temples. He didn’t seem like he was breathing. Maybe he saw JAFA burning. The explosions. The screams. Whatever it was, it had him by the soul and was twisting…

Chase shook his shoulder and tried his name. Nothing.

She wasn’t good with boys, not in any real sense, but she knew what worked on Tanner and Riot. On all their predecessors. Chase turned Tristan’s face and pressed her lips to his.

He pulled away instantly, stood, and pushed his forehead into a locker, making the metal wobble and bend. His breath was a mess, but he was moving. He was back. She called it a win.

Chase stood, swinging her shirt over her shoulder and trying to act cooler than she felt. In truth, she felt warm and crazy, like crying and kissing—which was an unsettling combo. It brought more feelings to her surface, and she let them out.

“I don’t know how my dad feels about the Philippines. I never had the guts to ask.” Tristan looked at her for too long. Pain seemed to puddle in both of them, between them. Then it lapsed into a sort of relief that was so strange that it made her want to lean on him.

He dug his hands into his pocket, but his sudden smile reached for her.

Voices skipped around the tiled room as Riot and Romeo entered.

“Nyx!” Riot took in Chase’s shirtlessness.

“Relax. I was just getting some things straight.”

Riot’s face pinched with about six different emotions before he charged toward the back of the locker room. Romeo’s eyes dove from her neck to her belly button. Chase winked and headed out, but not before seeing Tristan touch his lips with the back of his hand.

“I love this school,” Romeo said. “Girls. Girls everywhere.”

Chase stopped short of the door. The sound of smashing glass filled the tiled room, along with the howl of pain that couldn’t be coming from anyone other than Riot.

? ? ?

The plastic pterodactyl was perched on the soap dish, judging her. Chase turned the faucet on hot. It scalded her knuckles and stole Riot’s blood down the drain in a muddy-pink swirl.

“I could’ve used your help, Pip. It was nuts,” Chase called through the bathroom door. “Riot kept yelling, and there was a piece of glass stuck in his middle finger. Romeo and Tristan had to hold him down so I could rip it out. He’s getting stitches now.” She dried her hands and stepped back into their room. “Sylph is going to murder me.”


“You know I don’t like the locker room,” Pippin said. “Too much testosterone.” He didn’t look up from his notebook. “Only you could inspire a boy to punch a mirror, Chase.”

“Yeah. That’s hilarious.”

“I’m not laughing.” Pippin was in a weird mood, but what else was new?

Maybe it was time to talk about their feelings or whatever Pippin had tried to make her agree to a few days ago. She sat on the edge of his bunk. “Out with it. What’s bugging you? It’s the Phoenix team, isn’t it? Everything has felt off since they got here.”

“You’re projecting.”

“You’re dodging,” she snapped.

He shut his notebook and shoved it in the only drawer that locked. Chase heard it bolt when it closed. She reached deep for something to tell him, something that might make him open up. There was so much to choose from. Chase hoarded truth like it was jet fuel.

“I’m sorry I killed you in the simulation,” she tried.

“You killed both of us,” he corrected. “But it was just a game. That wouldn’t happen in the air. I’d tell you before we hit the limit.” Pippin was tying his bootlaces. The bow turned into a knot that fell apart as his fingers took a few wrong turns. Chase slipped to the floor and tied them for him. Pippin might have been able to speak four languages and draw the exact shape of every river in the world, but menial tasks sometimes stumped him. It was something she loved about him.

“Tristan knows about my father,” she finally said.

He held his hands up, palms out. “I didn’t say anything.”

“He overheard me and Kale talking after the debriefing.” Chase finished tying his boots, and he used her forearm to pull her up. They were standing close, and although Pippin had looked moody and sad for days, he now wore a smirk.