Forged (14 page)

I SPEND THE NEXT FEW
hours combing through what Clipper and Harvey refer to as the code's
comments
. They show me how to spot these—they are preceded by certain symbols—but the true giveaway is the fact that what follows is a legible, coherent sentence or two, rather than numbers and symbols and fragments of words. I work on one screen, Clipper and Harvey on another.

I'm not really sure what I'm looking for, but copying down suspicious comments into a notebook seems far more productive than being upstairs in a debriefing meeting.

While I work, Harvey and Clipper see to the code itself—the variables and functions and parameters, as they call them. I'm moving much faster through the endless lines
than the two of them, but only because there are far fewer comments than code.

Much later, Harvey calls it a night. “If you're willing, we'd love some more help tomorrow,” he says to me, and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Of course.”

“Clip! You'll hurt your neck sleeping like that.” The boy jerks upright. The shape of the keyboard is imprinted in his cheek. Harvey points at the couch against the far wall. “Go get a proper night's sleep, won't you?”

I duck upstairs, eager to do the same. Aiden's still asleep on the couch with Rusty, and besides their exhales, the floor is dead silent. I cut through the living room and into the small hall that leads to the bedrooms.

“Where'd you disappear to all night?” Bree is sitting just outside her room, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out in a V. I put a finger to my lips.

“Sammy's downstairs with the team still,” she says. “And even if he wasn't, he sleeps like a deaf man. You could shout if you wanted.”

Which would wake Aiden, who I was worried about disturbing from the beginning, but I don't bother pointing that out. She's in a mood. As though Bree's heard my thoughts, her face morphs into a scowl.

“You can't just disappear, Gray. You have to tell us where you're going.”

“I was helping Harvey and Clipper, which you obviously knew since you told me where to find them.”

She shakes her head. “I don't trust Harvey. It's not right.”

“Look, Bree, I can't just sit around in meetings. If I'm not working toward avenging Blaine, then I'm wasting my time.”

“The Expats and Rebels
do
have a plan. If you hadn't run downstairs, you'd have heard it firsthand from September. She relayed everything she knows from her discussions with Adam.”

“Is this
plan
the one he and Vik have refused to share details about? Something involving coordinated strikes in various domed cities?”

“It's a bit more complicated than that. Bleak says hi, by the way.”

“Bleak?”

“He joined via radio with Heidi to update us on the state of things in Pine Ridge. He asked how you were.”

“If you talk to him tomorrow, tell him I'm—”

“Tell him yourself. I'm not a messenger.”

She stands up. Clumsily. It's been a day since we fled the Compound, the perfect amount of time for muscles to stiffen and aches to set in. Bree rubs her neck and I catch sight of
the bruises roping it. I can make out the exact points where that Order member's fingers tried to cut off her air.

“It's fine,” she says, aware of my gaze.

“No, it's not. Seeing you like this will
never
be fine.” I touch her chin and try to angle it so I can inspect the second bruise along her jaw. She knocks my arm aside.

“I've taken hits before you were around to worry about them.”

“Will you quit being tough for one second and hear what I'm saying?”

She glares at me.

“I'm serious, Bree. If you're allowed to worry when I disappear for a few hours, why am I not allowed to hate seeing you like this? Do you think I don't care? You think I
want
to spot bruises on you? Especially when I'm the only reason you have them? All I want is for you . . . for us . . .”

I falter.

How is it I've lived most of my life without her? She walked into my world—no, dragged me into hers—that day in the forest beyond Crevice Valley, and it was like a new start. Ever since that moment, I've been slowly waking up.

I've lost my father and my twin. The only family I have left is a niece so far away she feels irretrievable. But I look at Bree now and know I can face anything. She makes me want to stand taller. Just being in her presence makes me want to
be more. And even as she leans away from me, everything in her body language closed off and guarded, I want her nearer. I want her and it's still too soon.

“Are you going to stare at me all night, or was there something else?” She's still scowling, arms crossed.

I open my mouth, close it, open it again.

“Bree, I'm in love with you.”

She takes a step away, like the words somehow slapped her. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Her eyes narrow. “Even though I gave you the chance to say this a dozen times over, and you always ignored it? Even though we fight all the time?”

“You said that fire was good.”

She rolls her eyes and looks away.

“The fights are never enough to make me not want you, Bree. Is it easy? No. Do I sometimes want to wipe the smug look off your face and tell you to shove it? Yes. Do you drive me absolutely crazy? All the time. But I know I'm no easier to deal with, and I'd rather be angry with you than with someone else. I'd rather argue occasionally than be content every day. You are the only person who challenges me one moment and steadies me the next, and you're not afraid to stand up to me. Ever. You know what I need—often before I do—and you're always willing to be it.”

She's finally looking at me again. Staring, actually.

“I've been horrible. I pushed you away. I said things I didn't mean. I probably don't deserve you, but you need to know how sorry I am. And how I feel. How I want to be what you need, too. I can't promise to always be good at it, but I swear I will try my hardest. Now and every single day for as long as you let me.”

She shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “Why do you have to do that?”

“Do what?”

She pushes me in the chest. “That! Say everything I want to hear when I made up my mind to forget you.” She pushes me again, looking like she might cry. “Dammit, Gray, you're making it impossible for me to hate you.”

“And that's a problem?”

She smiles and chokes back a sob. A single tear trails down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb.

“Don't tell them I cried.”

“Bree, you are the strongest person I know. Tears won't change that.”

There is a quiet moment when her eyes search mine, and then she lunges at me. Our mouths collide. We kiss once, twice. Deeper, faster, more urgent. I pick her up and she wraps her legs around my waist. Her arms lock behind my neck. She is so tiny in my grasp, but her presence is
enormous, surrounding me, drowning me, making me drunk. I stagger a little. We crash into the wall, her back taking most of the impact, and she gasps.

“Are you okay? I didn't mean—”

She kisses me quiet, more teeth than lips because she's smiling so wide. Then she pulls back, breathless. “When I say I want you, I mean
all
of you. So don't do it again: Don't hold in the hurt or hide the truth or say things you don't mean. Be honest with me, always, or this is the last second chance you'll get.”

And then we're kissing again, even as I carry her into my room and shut out the world.

I lower her onto the bed. Her lips are no longer enough, the clothing between us suddenly thick like armor. I pull off my shirt, tug hers overhead. We shed layer after layer until we're nothing but skin against the sheets, against each other. Her hair is splayed out on the pillow, brilliant and pale. I take in every inch of her. Really, truly look at her. Maybe for the first time ever.

With a hand clasped behind my neck, Bree pulls me nearer.

“You're sure?” I ask against her lips. “Couldn't we . . .”

“I've been taking something Jules gave me since Pike. It's fine.”

“Positive?”

“Yes.”

“But what if—”

“Gray? Quit talking.”

We move closer. And closer. Everything slows. Everything but my pulse. Bree buries her hands in my hair when we're one.

And I stop thinking.

BRIANNA NOX IS IN MY
bed when I wake up.

She looks like she fought a war during the night. Her hair surrounds her head in a tangled halo. Her mouth hangs open. It's comical how widely stretched her limbs are, like she was sprinting somewhere and then dropped dead midstride. But she's wearing my hooded shirt, and while it's on inside out and the cuffs swallow her hands whole, I have never seen anything better. She could wear nothing but that shirt from this day on and I'd be happy.

I kiss her forehead, and she starts awake so violently she nearly head butts me.

“Where—?” Her eyes dart to the bed sheets, soaked in early morning light; the shirt she wears; then finally, me.
“Hey,” she says, smiling so shamelessly my chest aches. “Is anyone else up yet? Should I—”

“No.”

Bree raises an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you're trying to keep me in your bed?”

“Maybe because this is a first and I want to prolong it. You're too good at sneaking out on me.”

“Stealthier than you and always will be.”

She stretches—toes and arms in opposite directions, back rising off the mattress—and I can no longer keep my hands to myself. She fights me halfheartedly, but with a yank, I have her pinned beneath me. I kiss her neck and she laughs, then her chin and she hums, her lips and she's quiet. Not just quiet, but completely still.

“What's wrong?”

She examines me with a heavy sort of gaze, and the fear hits me. She regrets it. Last night, us. She wishes she'd said no.

“Bree?”

She stares at my chest.

“Please say something.”

“I don't want this to change things,” she says, tracing the line of my collarbone with her forefinger. She has no idea how hard this makes it for me to focus.

“I've never needed anyone, Gray. That sounds awful, but
it's true. I've been alone for most of my life. I've taken care of myself. When I met you, you reminded me of someone I was once too willing to change for, and then when I realized I liked you, it scared me. Because we truly
were
a good fit. I didn't have to change around you. Not in the slightest. We were strong individually, and even stronger together, and that was terrifying, because it made me want you more. And if I wanted someone else, did that mean I was reliant on him? Did it mean I'd lost my independence? I want to be me. I only ever want to be me.”

“Bree, there's
us
, but it's not possible without you
and
me. Two independent pieces. And reliance? I think life would be really lonely if we had to face everything on our own.”

She flattens a palm against my chest. “Just promise you won't treat me differently now. I want us to be the same.”

“I told you last night that I was done being a jerk.”

“That's not what I mean.” She bites her bottom lip. Exhales. “Look, if I argue with you and you don't agree with me, please don't fold just because of
this
.” She motions between us. “Or if I'm doing something stupid, don't hold back from calling me out on it because you're afraid of hurting my feelings. Don't treat me like I'm suddenly delicate.”

“That was my plan all along: sleep with you so I could hold the reins, turn our relationship into something completely opposite of what I love about it.”

She punches my shoulder. “I'm serious! It's really hard for me to talk about this stuff, and then you have to go and turn it into a joke.” She winds up again, but I grab her wrists and pin them against the mattress.

“Okay, okay. So it was a lame joke. But it's ridiculous; ninety-five percent of why I love you is everything you just said: how this works two ways, how we're there for each other but don't define each other. I get it. Really.”

She stops wrestling to free herself, and I let go of her arms.

“What's the other five percent?”

“The way you look in my shirt.”

She rolls her eyes. “In that case, I'm taking it off immediately.”

“I'll like that even better.”

I dodge another punch, and end up alongside her, staring at the ceiling.

“So who'd you change for?”

“This guy from Saltwater. I was hopelessly in love with him and he didn't even see me.”

“I didn't see you at first either, Bree. Sometimes people are stupid.”

“But I walked away when I didn't think you appreciated me. I didn't do that with Lock. His ma took me in when mine died. We grew up under the same roof, and I think he thought of me as a sibling of sorts, a best friend. I let him
have everything—and I mean
everything
—thinking that it would change things, that he'd look at me differently, love me the way I loved him. Truth is, if someone doesn't see you before sex, they definitely don't see you any more after.”

She runs a hand over the mattress between us, smoothing out wrinkles in the sheet.

“Lock tried to make a run for it before his eighteenth birthday, and washed up dead on the beach. With the exception of his younger brother, Heath, I was alone and completely lost, just weeks from my sixteenth birthday and a Snatching I wasn't certain was coming. I promised myself then to be all I ever needed. If I opened up to someone again, it would be because the feelings were mutual and it would benefit us both, not just him.”

“Do you regret it? Lock?”

“No. It's not one of my fondest memories, but it made me who I am now. I'm stronger because of it. How could I regret something like that?”

“I regret a lot of things. Like my final words to Blaine, and all those people we left behind in Burg, and the way I treated you.”

“I could have been more upfront. I could have told you exactly why I never spent a night, but instead I made you guess.”

“I should have seen.”

“Maybe.” She rubs the hem of the blanket with her thumb. Outside our room, a door is closed forcefully. The shower turns on. Bree climbs from the bed despite my objections.

“I should probably go see what September has planned for today. Am I right to assume you're going to keep helping Harvey regardless of how much I distrust him?”

I nod.

“Glad to know you're still not afraid to tick me off.”

She retrieves her clothes and changes with her back to me. Moments later she's in her typical boots and cargo pants, top tucked in at the waistband so my eyes can't help but fall there. She bunches up my shirt and throws it at me.

“When you're ready to talk about Blaine, let me know. And it's okay if the answer is never—maybe it's something you have to deal with on your own, maybe I overstepped the other day on the boat—but I'm here if you need me.”

“Bree,” I say as she pulls open the door. “I really do love you.”

She smirks. “You're such a sap.”

The door clicks shut, only to reopen a heartbeat later. Holding on to the frame, she leans into the room.

“I love you, too,” she says. “I'm pretty sure you already know that, but I was worried
sap
might not have translated properly, and wanted to clarify.”

“How very thoughtful of you.” Bree smiles at me a long moment, and when she finally turns to leave, I toss back, “Sap.”

I have a horrible experience while showering. One moment I'm invincible, drunk off the memories of last night, buzzing from Bree's words this morning, and the next I'm crouched and hugging my knees as the water rains down on me, muffling sobs into my fists.

How can I be so happy when my brother is dead? How can I be devastated when Bree's forgiven me? I find my feet and force myself upright. I slap my cheeks. Turn the water cold just to jolt the life back into my veins.

Get downstairs
, I tell myself.
Go back to work. This will all be easier when the fight's finished
.

When I step back into the bedroom, Sammy is sitting on the bed, his arms folded over his chest.

“Why was the door locked when I came up last night?”

“Yeah . . . Sorry about that. Where'd you crash, a couch?”

“September and Aiden took the couches so the team could have beds. Remember?” I don't, since I was downstairs when the team decided how to split up rooms for the duration of our stay. “My only option was Emma's,” he clarifies.

“So you stayed with her? That couldn't have been too terrible for you.”

“She made me sleep on the floor, Gray,” he says very seriously. “And she swore that if I even
tried
to get in the bed, she would knee me so hard between the legs that I'd never be able to produce children.”

I smile. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“Give me a heads-up next time, okay? I need to mentally prepare myself for floorboards when I have my mind set on a mattress.”

“It just sort of happened. It wasn't planned.”

“But it did”—he raises his eyebrows suggestively—
“happen?”
I shrug, and Sammy breaks into the biggest grin I have ever seen grace his features. Then he claps my shoulder like I've done something heroic. “Think she'll be any less uptight now?”

“That's exactly the kind of thing you should never say to her. Not unless you want to lose a limb.”

“Obviously. I'm not suicidal.”