Forged(2)

“I’ll even back you up when the time comes,” Blaine offers. “But give the kid a show for the night—smile, be pleasant if you can manage. Everyone would probably appreciate it, not just Clipper. What do you say?”

I give him a long look, then go back to raking the soil.

“That wasn’t a yes,” Blaine says.

“It wasn’t a no either.”

We work in silence, the clink of tools creating a rhythm for our labors. I watch Bree out of the corner of my eye. She’s stopped to massage her left shoulder.

“Hey, guys!” A voice echoes through the greenhouse. I straighten to see Jules, Adam’s niece, running to meet us. She’s gorgeous and she knows it, and even though I’ve only seen her in a few meetings, scribbling down notes at Adam’s request, she seems to think we’re best friends.

“Hey,” she says again, breathless as she finally reaches us. Her dark hair is sticking to her neck. “You’ve gotta come quick. Adam’s called a meeting.”

This gets everyone’s attention.

“What for?” Sammy asks.

“No clue. It’s something big, though. He told me to get you all fast, everyone on Elijah’s team.”

“Maybe we’re finally going to do something,” I say, gathering up the tools.

Jules laughs like I’ve made a hilarious joke. Throws her head back and everything. She may be eighteen, but I swear she acts ten most days.

“You joining us for drinks later?” Blaine asks her. “Clipper’s a man as of today. We’re all going to celebrate.”

“Poor kid,” Sammy chimes in. “He’s been through more crap than any thirteen-year-old I know. Talk about loss of innocence.”

“How sentimental of you,” Bree deadpans.

“Sentimental? I’m just saying I assume he can handle his alcohol like an old-timer, given all he’s been through. How many rounds do you think he’ll hold down?”

Blaine shoots Sammy a look. “He’s thirteen.”

“And you’re the one who just said thirteen marks manhood. Pardon me for wanting to be sure he gets a drink. Or seven.”

They go on arguing about rites of passage as we stow the tools. After two months of afternoon greenhouse duty, we’re skilled at making everything fit in the exceptionally small storage shed. All Expats are expected to carry some weight in exchange for a room, and not a day goes by that I don’t wish I’d been assigned to a task at the base. Sure, we spend our mornings training—target practice and drills—but working soil every afternoon has left me out of the loop. Apart from the few meetings we’ve been invited to, all I’ve managed to learn is that my leathered hands aren’t so tough that they won’t blister from working a hoe, and that artificial lighting can make a person sweat just as impressively as the sun can.

By the time the tools are stored away, Sammy is taking bets for how many drinks Clipper will hold down tonight. We make for the exit, and Jules nudges me with her elbow. “You joining Clipper’s party?” she asks. She has the longest lashes I have ever seen.

“I haven’t decided.”

“Come on. Live a little.” She grabs my wrist with both hands like it will convince me. She’s sticky from her run. “I’ll buy you a drink. Two even.” She leans in, drops her voice. “Unless you’re after something else altogether.”

I shrug her off. Probably a bit more aggressively than needed. She doesn’t seem to like that.

“I’ll let Adam know you’re on your way,” she announces to the others. Then she turns and sprints out. She reminds me of a deer, all lanky limbs, eager. But with the tenacity of a hawk.

“Way to spook her off, Gray,” Blaine says. I take one look at him and know what he’s implying.

“I’m not interested.” My eyes drift to Bree, but she’s busy smacking dirt from her pants. “Besides, I don’t know why Jules wouldn’t cling to you instead,” I say to Blaine. “We’re identical, and you’re at least nice.”

“I think she likes the brooding ones.”

“All girls like the brooding ones,” Sammy interjects. “I think the only type they like more are the charmers. Humorous. Good-looking. Tall and toned, with green eyes and killer biceps and—”

Bree snorts at Sammy’s description of himself.

“What, you don’t like that?”

“Arrogance is such a becoming trait.”

“Who said anything about arrogance? I was describing physical features, Nox. Attractive features. If anything, that’s vanity.” He flashes a smile. “You can’t really blame me though, right?”

Bree rolls her eyes. “So what do you guys think Adam wants?”

“No idea,” I say. “But I know what I hope this meeting is about.”

“Me, too. I’m sick of sitting around.”

I watch her rub her sore shoulder again and wonder how it is possible for the two of us to want the same things and think the same way, yet not be together. But Bree’s stubborn. She’s kept her word since telling me she was putting herself first. She’s stood at a friendly distance. Said friendly things. Smiled but never flirted. Turned down everything I’ve thrown her way, be it apologies or advances or shameless begging. Even still, I haven’t stopped trying. She forgets I’m as stubborn as she is.