Forged(6)

I glance over and sure enough, there’s Riley, a miniature Jules of fourteen, only skinnier and still without curves. Clipper sure seems pleased about the change in partners. I didn’t think it possible, but as Riley shows Clipper a better throwing technique, the dumbstruck expression that was previously only on his lips moves into his eyes.

“See? No need to rush back. In fact, we are perfectly capable of celebrating Clipper’s birthday from here.” Blink, blink, blink. “Or elsewhere.” She touches my forearm.

I pull away.

“What? You honestly don’t want to get out of this place with me?” She gives me the most seductive smile she can muster. She is pretty. “Well?”

I raise one of the mugs in Bree’s direction. “You see that girl, Jules? She’s the only person I want to leave this bar with. She’s the only girl I want, period.”

“And you’ve told her that? Because she doesn’t seem all that interested in you. Actually, I can’t help but notice she doesn’t seem to give you the time of day.”

This, like she knows Bree. Like chatting occasionally at dinner makes them best friends. Like offering Bree special Expat meds for her cramped gardening muscles or whatever they were going on about a few weeks back makes Jules an expert on Bree’s desires.

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s still all I want,” I say.

Jules’s expression hardens. “Maybe you should start thinking about what you want if you can’t have her, Gray. Who are you on your own? Because it looks like you’re going to stay that way.”

She snatches up the drink the bartender delivered and heads back to the group.

I’m glad she didn’t wait for an answer, because I don’t have one. The truth is I never imagined much of my life beyond eighteen. For so long, that marker was a foggy, black void, a milestone draped in unknowns. The only thing I believed for certain was that my Heist would be the end. I’ve lived longer than I ever thought I would, and now that there’s more beyond eighteen—a possibility that we might actually beat Frank and I could carve out the life of my own choosing . . . Well, I don’t know what to do with that sort of prospect.

“Damn, if that’s not a look that scares me.” Sammy is standing beside me, ordering another round.

“Huh?”

He points at my face. “You went all serious.” He scrunches his nose in disgust.

“What do you want to do with your life? After all this is over?”


He rests an elbow on the bar and leans his weight into it. “Be happy. Get old. And maybe fat. But only if I’ve got a girl by my side and a bunch of children running around and no reason to still look like a catch.” He winks a green eye. “I’d probably try to learn a few guitar chords, too. My dad used to play before he . . . Well, you know. What about you?”

“I’d want to settle somewhere quiet,” I say, trying not to overthink things. “I’d want woods nearby so I could still go hunting, and I’d want a small house. I guess something simple like what I grew up in. I wouldn’t mind privacy either, so long as Blaine was around. Oh, and Kale, too. She grew so fast in the two and a half years I knew her.” Sammy is staring at me like I’m a stranger, but I keep right on rambling. “I’d take up whittling, because my father always was fond of it. And I’d try to enjoy it all—every last moment, the highs and lows, even the people who drive me crazy. I’m starting to see life’s too short to hold grudges and judge everyone, you know?”

Sammy glances at the two drinks I’m still clutching. “How many have you had?”

I shake my head. “None, but I must be drunk anyway, because I somehow want you around, too. Even though you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Likewise.” Sammy’s eyes drift back toward the game, where Bree is taking aim at the dartboard. “How come she’s not in your story?”

“I’m still working on those details. Which is probably the same reason Emma wasn’t in yours.”

His face pales. We haven’t talked about Emma recently. Not for at least a week. We both still worry about her, both still love her, even, but in different ways. My feelings for Emma are unconditional and irreplaceable, but they’ve settled in a new territory since escaping Burg. I love her the way I love Blaine, or Kale, or Clipper. Even Sammy. She’s someone I’d die for, but for completely different reasons than why I’d also die for Bree. It’s so obvious now, these feelings, that I’m not quite sure how I was ever confused.

Sammy forces a smile, clinks his glass against one of mine in agreement. “For what it’s worth—and pardon me because I’m about to get painfully serious—I don’t think you should give up on her.”

Bree throws her dart. It strikes a thumb’s width from the bull’s-eye.

“I was never planning on it.”


We toast Clipper and celebrate late into the evening. Everyone has a bit too much to drink. We try not to think about what’s awaiting us tomorrow or what Elijah might find when he reaches Crevice Valley. I wanted a reason to resume forward momentum, but not at this cost. Plus, now that our meeting with Vik looms, I’m starting to worry about what he has planned for us. The last mission I was a part of saw over half our team die.

Sammy has Riley in a fit of giggles from a napkin he’s rolled up and scrunched between his upper lip and nose—a ridiculous white mustache. Bree and Clipper are attempting to re-create the look themselves. The boy looks especially determined to make Riley laugh as Sammy does. Nearby, Jules is sitting on a tall stool at an even taller table, talking with Blaine. They’re laughing about something, their proximity dangerously flirtatious. Blaine brushes the tip of her nose with his knuckle and she bats those eyelashes. Better at him than at me.