Breaking Sky(67)

“Your hair,” she said.

“My hair?”

“Ilikeit.SometimesIwanttotouchit.” Chase snuck a look and found his smile.

“It reminds my mom of her brother,” Tristan explained. “He died before I was born. I’m named after him.”

“And here I was thinking you were named for that ancient love triangle.” She paused. “Pippin told me about Tristan and Iseult. Inescapable, cursed love. Stolen hearts. Depressing stuff. Pippin seemed to think it was unrelentingly romantic. He’s that way about most fictional relationships.”

“I’ve never read it.” Tristan’s expression was cool, sure of itself, and unyielding. She already liked it ten times better than his polite look. “I don’t believe that fate can be malicious. Bad things happen, sure, but they’re not deliberately aimed at certain people. That’s just the great love story lie.”

He made her laugh, and Chase felt surprisingly light. Happy almost. “Tell me something from your sky.” She wondered if he’d ask what she meant. He didn’t.

“In the name of even trade, I will say: your hair.”

“What about it?”

“How does it stand up like that? You must put a pound of stuff in it to make it so gravity defying.”

“Nope. Nothing. It’s all in the cowlicks. I couldn’t get it to lay flat even if I wanted it to. Touch it if you don’t believe me.” She leaned way over the back of the pew, making the wood creak.

He poked her hair, which quickly turned into a lingering moment by her temple, before tracing her cheek and jaw. When he got too close to her mouth, she snapped her teeth playfully. “Very friendly,” he said. “You better sit back or you’re going to fall.”

Too late, she thought wildly.

Chase swung her body over the pew and sat beside him. Their proximity was a creature. She felt it, wanted to touch it, but at the same time, it frightened her. What if she hurt Tristan like Tanner? She’d never forgive herself.

She grabbed another leaf from her sky. Held it out fast so she wouldn’t be able to change her mind. “Pippin lectured me about stealing hearts today.” She had to look down to keep talking. She wanted to tell him that Pippin thought she’d stolen Tristan’s heart, but instead she muttered, “He says I keep them in a basket.”

“You don’t look like the Red Riding Hood type to me,” Tristan said. “And ignore Pippin. That’s just the other love story myth. Hearts don’t get stolen. They’re given away.”

He took her hand and played with her fingers, opening and closing them. Chase marveled at how such a simple move could make her feel like she was already stranded in the myth.

When he looked at her this close, she could read the pressure of the trials in the tightness of his skin. In the hard set of his eyes. “Feels like the whole weight of the Second Cold War is on our shoulders. My commander wrote me a note about ‘righting the world order.’”

She leaned back, sliding her hand out of Tristan’s. “The shrink told me that if the Streaker project fails, the cold war will drag on. People will suffer. She said it like it’s my fault if it fails.”

“It’s not our fault,” he said. She looked up to hold back some sudden tears, tracing the lines of stained glass as they outlined endless triangles.

“I’m terrified,” she admitted.

“Me too.” Tristan pulled her to her feet.

She rubbed at her eyes. Forced a laugh. “Oh, I see what you did. You got me talking about hair so we could hash out the pressure of the trials. Nicely done. You deserve a medal in this kind of thing.”

He shook his head. “Nope. I failed. I was trying to get you to talk about something small so I could work up the courage to kiss you again.”

His eyes were as clear as the colored panes, his hands on her hips. Tristan’s hold was like his flying, tilted in, unabashed. Chase touched his wrists and slid her hands to his shoulders. Not for the first time, Chase felt something fly open between them like a door. It revealed a wide abysslike sky that she could fall into and never be seen from again.

He was so close that his breath tugged.

Chase pulled back from the edge. “Let’s not ruin this.”

“Ruin?”

“You saw what I did to Riot.”

“Riot did that to Riot.”

“What about Tanner?” She watched Tristan catch on, realize she was pushing him away. He gave her a few inches. “I have this track record. I like someone until I don’t. Until I’m sick of them. I’d say you and I are at optimum liking range on my part. Everything else is downhill.”

“I don’t believe you.”


“Can’t fight the pattern.” She walked toward the door, shelving her feelings for Tristan with her past hookups. He stuck out like a novel among magazines—but she couldn’t take it back. “Having a crush on you is the best thing to look forward to right now.” Yes, that made sense. “I’d like to keep it.”

“A crush? That’s what you think this is?” He crossed the space between them and put a hand on the door. “This might sound crazy, but hear me out. Have you ever been in love?”

She wanted to know what Tristan looked like when he talked about love, but she couldn’t risk checking. Instead she studied the spread of his fingers across the oak. He had nice boy hands. Chase wanted them testing all her curves—but even as she felt herself crest toward him, she brought herself back down. She was going to play it safe this time.