Don't Let Go (35 page)

Zeke wrinkled his forehead. “What?”

“Nothing, just . . . I guess I’m kind of surprised to be alive.”

“I know how you feel.” Zeke examined his hands. “It takes some getting used to.”

“I’ll bet.”

The silence between them quickly grew awkward. It was weird: They’d been best friends for months, and much more than that at the end. The things he’d said to her, on the beach when he thought he was dying; Noa’s cheeks flamed as she remembered. And now they were supposed to do what? Make small talk?

Zeke cleared his throat and said, “You probably have a lot of questions.”

“Lots,” Noa said, although at the moment she couldn’t come up with any.

“They didn’t cure PEMA, not yet,” he said. “But they took the thymus out of you and put part of it in Amanda, and part in another kid who wasn’t going to make it otherwise. The rest they held back for research. They’ve got teams of people working on all the files you and Peter found.”

“That’s good,” Noa said. It was weird, knowing that something that had been inside her was in another girl now; weirder still that it was Peter’s ex-girlfriend.

Zeke was clasping and unclasping his hands nervously. She was reminded of the first time she saw him, how self-assured he’d been, rushing into danger. But now, sitting beside her in a hospital room, he looked terrified.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“This past week, I’ve just sat here waiting for you to wake up. I was so scared that you wouldn’t.” Zeke shook his head, avoiding her eyes as he continued, “And now you have, and I don’t know what the hell to say to you. I mean, our last talk was kind of intense.”

“You think?” Noa managed a laugh. Tentatively, she extended a hand across the bed. Zeke clasped her fingers and shifted closer. “I still can’t believe you’re actually okay. The past few months, I kept going over and over what happened.” She dropped her eyes, studying their interwoven hands. “I never should have left you there.”

“If you hadn’t, you’d be dead, too,” Zeke said firmly. “So would Teo and Daisy. And I would’ve been angry as hell at you for not listening to me.”

“Sure you would’ve.” Noa rolled her eyes. “Like you said, we’d all be dead.”

“Trust me. I would have made your afterlife total hell.” Zeke grinned.

Noa swallowed hard. The longer she waited, the harder it was going to be to say the things she needed to say. And she didn’t want to just gloss over all this, and go back to the way they’d been. So she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I was an idiot. I felt all these things for you, and I didn’t know what to do about them. And I was scared. Everyone I ever loved ended up dying,” she said in a small voice. “And then, when I heard that shot, and thought you were dead, too . . . it nearly killed me.”

“Noa,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” She blinked back tears. “
I’m
sorry. I should have done something about it. Then all of a sudden, it was too late, and I—”

Zeke leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off. His lips were soft, and tasted slightly of cinnamon. He released her hands, and Noa slipped them into his hair, feeling the silkiness of it against her skin.

The last time they’d kissed, it had set her on fire. This felt different. Deeper, gentler. Like a raft floating her out across a warm lake under the moon, or a soft blanket she could wrap up in.

Zeke drew back and looked at her. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “That was definitely okay.”

“Good.” He ran a hand down her cheek and grinned. “By the way, I think that was pretty much the most I’ve ever heard you say.”

She punched his arm and Zeke drew back, raising both arms in protest. “Hey! I’m serious. You were never exactly known for big speeches.”

“Um, hi? Is this a bad time?”

Noa turned her head. Peter was standing just inside the door, looking wildly uncomfortable. She flashed back to that awkward kiss in Colorado and flushed.

“Come in, dude,” Zeke said. “She was just asking about you.”

Noa noticed that he sounded completely normal; whatever issue the two boys had had with each other, apparently they’d resolved it. Peter shuffled in with his hands jammed in his pockets. His hair had grown out enough that his scalp wasn’t peeking through anymore. “How’s Amanda?” she asked.

Peter’s face brightened. “Really good, actually. She’s awake and everything. The doctors think the thymus should hold her until the cure is ready.”

Zeke was stroking her hand lightly with his thumb, which felt amazing but was incredibly distracting. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, it is.” Peter cleared his throat. “I’m glad they fixed you up, too. Because frankly, I was getting tired of carrying you around.”

Noa snorted. “You and me both.”

A slow smile crept across his face. “We did it, huh?”

Noa nodded. “Yeah.” It seemed impossible, considering all the terrible things they’d been through. She flashed back on their first meeting in Back Bay station, when neither of them had a clue what was happening. It was hard to believe that was less than a year ago.

And now, Charles Pike was dead. And they’d survived.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Peter dug something out of his pocket and held it up. Seeing it, Noa gasped involuntarily. Her hand automatically went to her wrist.

“Is that my bracelet?” she asked, stupefied. “Where did you find it?”

Peter came closer to the bed and handed it to her. Noa held the thin green band up to the light; it was smaller than she remembered. She slipped it over her right hand, and it slid into place. The weight of it brought tears to her eyes.

“That’s the weird thing,” Peter said carefully. “Someone left it for me at the nurse’s station.”

“So how did you know it was mine?”

“There was a note inside,” he said, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here.”

Noa took it. The message was handwritten in a tight, elegant cursive on a standard piece of office paper:

        
Dear Peter,

        
I sincerely hope there are no hard feelings. That being said, it would be best if our paths didn’t cross again, for both of our sakes. I wish Miss Berns a speedy recovery. Please return this bracelet to its rightful owner.

        
—MM

“Who’s MM?” she asked, puzzled. “And how did he get my bracelet?”

“Mason, I think,” Peter said. “Maybe he was there when they kidnapped you.”

“Ugh,” she said. “Glad I never met him.”

“You really are,” Peter agreed. “Honestly, it’s weird to think of him having a first name. Trying to figure out what it is has been driving me crazy.”

“Manson?” Zeke suggested.

Peter laughed. “That was my first guess, too. But I’m kind of hoping it’s something really freaky, like Marjory. Anyway, I should let you rest.” He held out a hand, and Zeke shook it. “Take care of her, man.”

“I will,” Zeke promised.

“See ya, Rain.” Peter winked, then walked out of the room.

Noa stayed silent for a moment after he left, her fingers working the jade bracelet like it was a string of prayer beads. “That sounded an awful lot like good-bye,” she finally said.

“Nah, he’ll be back,” Zeke said. “He’s just got some stuff to handle.”

Noa cocked an eyebrow. “Since when are you two such great friends?”

Zeke shrugged. “We hung out while you were in the coma. He’s not so bad.”

“He’s actually pretty great.”

“For a rich kid.” Zeke flashed a wicked smile, then continued, “It helped that he swears you two never hooked up.”

“He told you that?” Noa exclaimed, pulling herself up on her elbows.

“Oh, Peter told me a lot of things,” he said smugly. “I hear you’re a whiz with a scalpel.”

“I missed you,” Noa blurted, surprising herself. “So much.”

“Me too.” Zeke leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” Noa said weakly.

Hesitantly, she lifted her chin. Their lips met again, and this time there was nothing comforting in the kiss, it was fire and lightning and devouring intensity. It tapped into a hidden reserve, buried deep inside her: all the feelings she’d repressed for so long. Noa couldn’t see again, couldn’t breathe, but that was okay. The whole world condensed into a single moment: his mouth on hers, their shared breath. She’d never felt anything like it, and she never wanted it to end.

Zeke abruptly drew back, and she made a small noise of protest.

Cupping her chin in his hand, he said, “I love you, Noa Torson.”

“I love you, too.” In his eyes, Noa could see everything he felt, all his emotions laid bare. And for once, she wasn’t afraid. She swallowed hard, then said, “So why aren’t we still kissing?”

“Doctor’s orders,” Zeke said gravely. “No serious making out until you’re on your feet.”

“That’s a terrible rule,” Noa grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Peter stood in the foyer of his house—his
parents’
house, he corrected himself. The smell of wood polish and fresh gardenias was cloying. Even though he’d only been gone a few months, it felt surreal, like this was a place he’d only visited in a dream.

The alarm had chimed when he entered, announcing his arrival. While he waited, his mind reflexively wandered through the mansion. Upstairs and to the right: his bedroom. Straight ahead through a set of double doors: the kitchen. And if he walked ten feet and turned left, he’d be in the living room.

His mom unexpectedly appeared in that doorway, as if he’d summoned her by visualizing the room. Priscilla put a hand to her chest and said, “Peter?”

“Hi, Mom.” The urge to run into her arms was almost overwhelming. Peter had to force himself to remember how horribly she’d betrayed him. That steeled him, and he continued, “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s right—”

“Who is it?” His father appeared beside her. Bob looked smaller than Peter remembered; his slacks hung off him, like he’d lost weight, and there were new flaps of skin around his jawline. Bob’s eyes narrowed. “You.”

“Yup.” Peter stood there awkwardly, feeling like a stranger in his own home.

His parents exchanged a glance, and Peter stiffened. He’d almost forgotten about the silent threads of communication that passed between them. It was one of the many ways they’d always shut him out.

“Come in and have a seat, dear,” Priscilla said, gesturing toward the living room. “We should have a chat to clear the air.”

Peter almost laughed; she made it sound like he’d broken curfew or something, and this would be a standard family meeting. “I’m good right here, actually,” he said. “I can only stay for a minute.”

Priscilla’s forehead wrinkled. Hesitantly, she said, “I assumed you’d want to move back in.”

“Live here?” he scoffed. “Seriously?”

“Don’t use that tone with your mother,” Bob snapped.

“Honey.” His mom laid a restraining hand on his father’s arm. Bob had already gone beet red, gearing up for one of his classic rages. “Please. Let’s all just stay calm.”

“Yeah,” Peter retorted. “After all, you don’t want to piss off the terrorist.”

At that, Priscilla had the good grace to look uncomfortable. But Bob squared his jaw and retorted, “What were we supposed to think? You took off to live with those . . . whatever they were. And next thing we hear, you killed someone.”

“I’ve never killed anyone,” Peter retorted. “Unlike you.”

His shoulders were heaving, his fists clenched. Peter chastised himself. He hadn’t come here for a fight. He’d spent twenty minutes outside gearing up for this, lecturing himself about staying cool. But less than a minute into the conversation, they were already at one another’s throats.

“Peter, I understand you’ve heard a lot of things about Charles Pike,” Priscilla said carefully, the lawyer in her automatically coming to the fore. “We all have.”

Bob muttered, “Stupid son of a bitch.”

Peter wondered whether Bob thought Pike was dumb for what he’d done, or because he’d gotten caught. Knowing his dad, probably the latter.

“However,” Priscilla said, raising her voice slightly to underscore the point. “Your father and I had no idea what was happening. Our investment in Project Persephone was strictly that—an investment. We were not privy to how they conducted their research.”

“Bullshit,” Peter snorted.

Bob’s eyes flashed. He was opening his mouth to yell again when Priscilla interjected, “If you’ve seen the files, you know we’re telling the truth.”

Peter shook his head; he’d known it was a long shot. Deep down, he’d really hoped that once everything came to light, his parents would express some sort of regret. Instead, they were being utterly predictable, covering their asses. Again. He drew a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to his mother.

Without looking at it, Priscilla asked, “What’s this?”

The dread in her voice was palpable. “Just read it,” he said quietly.

The grandfather clock marked off the seconds as she scanned the page. Priscilla’s face blanched. Wordlessly, she handed it to his father.

Bob skimmed it quickly, then swore under his breath. “Chuck said he’d gotten rid of this.”

There was panic in his mother’s eyes, and Bob seemed to have shrunk another inch. Peter wished he could relish their reaction; but this was a hollow victory. The evidence of their complicity, how much they’d actually known, had shaken him to the core when he found it. It made him realize that he’d never really known them at all. “That’s the thing about data, Dad. It never really disappears. And I’m pretty handy with file recovery software. Didn’t take much to find it.”

“So the FBI doesn’t have this?” Priscilla asked quickly.

Peter cracked his knuckles one at a time, making his mother wince. “You know, I wanted to believe that you got involved in all this because you didn’t want anyone else losing their kid, the way we lost Jeremy. But the thing is, knowing you, it was probably just about the money.”

Bob’s hands were shaking, making the page tremble. Gruffly, he said, “You can make this go away permanently, right? Isn’t that the sort of thing you do?”