Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I (25 page)

“So I’m a freak?” I ask, almost laughing because I think of Willow.

“Quite the contrary. This anomaly makes you an excellent blocker—one of the best we’ve seen in many, many years. Certainly you can see how this talent makes you an asset to our team.”

I want to argue that he’s wrong, that I don’t belong here, but know it would be a pointless fight. So instead, I get right to it. “Have there ever been two Satellites who knew each other in life?”

“Ah. You’re speaking of Elliott.”

Duh.
I bite my tongue to keep from saying it aloud.

“No. This is a first for all of us.” He pauses like he’s waiting for another question, but I stay silent. “Is that all?”

I nod.

“Until tomorrow evening, then.” He stands and crosses the room, stopping at the door. “Grant, in regard to your extracurricular activities…”

Oh no, here it comes.

“I do know everything that goes on around here. I understand your internal struggle quite well. I am allowing you a…well, let’s just call it a free pass.”

What?
“What?”

Jonathan continues facing the door. “It is time to say good-bye. I am giving you the opportunity.”

“What about the Schedulers?”
What the heck is wrong with me? Who cares about the Schedulers! I’ve never listened to them before.

“I’ll worry about them. But Grant”—he turns now—“just one time. That’s it.”

The door clicks closed. Did that really just happen? He wants me to see Tate?

No. He wants me say good-bye.

I’m torn when my calimeter buzzes, but I end up grabbing my bag and displacing back to the Ryder because I know I’m not ready or able to say good-bye to Tate yet.

I hang out, leaning on the wall in Ryder’s bedroom for what could be the final time. Hannah lounges on his bed, messing with his iPod despite the fact that she’s here to, quote, help him pack. Ryder balances on his crutches and stuffs his duffel bag with bulky clothes for the upcoming spring weekend getaway in the mountains with Hannah and Mya’s family.

“I can’t wait to see Lennon,” Hannah says.

“I know. He’s growing like a weed.”

“Your face lights up every time you talk about him. It’s super cute.” She leans up and kisses his cheek.

“You want kids, right?” he asks.

“Absolutely. You?”

“Definitely.”

“So you’ve thought about it?”

Ryder shoves two more pairs of socks in the bag. “Yeah, sure.”

“Have you thought about it with me?”

“Maybe.” He leans his crutches against his dresser and falls on Hannah, playfully tackling her on the bed.

“How much have you thought about it?” she muffles from under him.

“Enough.” His mouth skims across her cheek to kiss her ear. I turn away, preferring the eye candy of my dingy boots instead of the lovebirds.

“Well, if it’s a boy, we’re naming him Simon.”

“Oh?” Ryder challenges.

“Yes. That was my grandfather’s name,” Hannah adds matter-of-factly.

“Fine, I can live with Simon. But if it’s a girl, we’re naming her Willow.”

“I can live with Willow. I hope you’re planning on making an honest woman out of me before we have all these babies.”

“I’m thinking about it. Ouch!” he groans, and I lift my head.

Hannah apologizes, shifting carefully under him. Then, because saying sorry must not have been enough, she elaborates with a kiss that includes lots of tongue.

Tired of the make-out session, I’m about to leave the room, but then Ryder awkwardly gets up and resumes packing. Hannah pulls her phone out of her back pocket and turns her attention to marathon texting.

Ryder pulls a small velvet box out of his top dresser drawer and hides it in his bag while Hannah’s attention is on her phone. A second later, I’m in the narrow hallway, gasping. I claw at the collar of my hoodie, desperately trying to release its hold on my throat.
Breathe, breathe, breathe,
I think, crashing against the wall.

I want so desperately for that to be Tate and me, but—unfairly—that’s not the future we were destined for. Ryder’s life is finally coming together while my own is unraveling, thread by thread. Our common tie of losing our fathers seems so far away now, making me feel even more alone. I catch my breath and slide down the wall.

I need to let Tate go, for her sake. She needs to move on—to build a life of her own—but how will I live without her? What am I saying? I’m not even
alive
. She is, though. If she tries to take her own life again…I can’t even let my mind go there. If she died, knowing it was my fault would destroy me, no question. The guilt I felt from my mistake with Ryder was nearly unbearable, and he lived.

I stare at a dark knot in the narrow hallway floor, willing myself to come to terms with the BS hand I’ve been dealt. I hardly notice Ryder and Hannah walking past me or his voice carrying from the kitchen downstairs. What I do notice is the air turning to ice and blackness swallowing me.

When I stumble into the kitchen, Ryder’s putting a plate in the sink and Hannah’s finishing off the last bite of a sandwich. Apparently, I’ve been passed out awhile. I scour the house for my bag, find it in the living room, and displace. My flight to Tate’s is a blur.

“What happened?” I yell, bursting through her bedroom door.

Liam jumps three feet in the air. “Dude, a little warning next time!”

“Sorry.” I check on Tate, who’s in the big button chair using her laptop (or staring blankly at the screen, anyway). “What happened?”

He nods toward three CDs on her desk, and there’s zero enthusiasm in his voice. “I saved those.”

I walk over dozens of broken discs, my boots not disturbing a single one, and squat down to look at one of the square booklets.

“Mean anything?” Liam asks.

Like I even need to answer. I don’t bother looking at the other booklets or the mirrored shards scattered across the carpet. Instead, I tick through the cases on her desk. “Christmas. Just because. Birthday,” I say, listing the occasions when I gave these to Tate.

“You’ve got a good memory.”

“Until she destroys it.” I point to the Van Morrison case. “She danced around like a fool to Brown Eyed Girl when I gave her this one.” In any other time and place, and under very different circumstances, I’d laugh at the memory.

“What’s with all the CDs?”

I watch Tate zone out behind her computer. “She loves music.”

“Couldn’t come up with anything more original to give her, huh?” Liam jabs.

I’m thankful that he’s not trying to kick me out. “I mean, she
really
loves music.” My boots pace soundlessly over the broken discs. “I swear she was more excited about getting these CDs than she was when I gave her the ring.”

“Maybe you should have given her a better ring.” Liam reads my somber expression. “Kidding!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, realizing this is my free pass.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t salvage more. I was distracted by one of Fischer’s outbursts. Listen, you need to get out of here. I mean it, man. She’s plummeting downhill and it’s because of you!”

“Is Fischer getting worse?” I ask, ignoring his not-so-subtle request to leave and parking myself on the floor close to Tate.

Liam stares at me for a full minute, fuming. Eventually, he gives up and finds his own spot across the room. “He’s averaging about two episodes a day, plus he has the recurring nightmares.”

After a long time I break the silence, saying the words before I can stop myself. “I’m going to let her go.” I have to let her go. My fingers twist together. Can I tell her good-bye? And mean it?

Liam’s lifted expression is enough to tell me he’s relieved. “Look, mate, I know it’s going to be brutal for you, but it’s got to be better for her. She’s veering away from her book again.”

“Can I see her book?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “Come on, man—this is my last visit, I swear. I just want to see what her life has been like without me.”

At first, he looks like he’s going to say no frigging way. Then, surprisingly, he gets up, walks past me, and reaches across the bed. He looks down at the red book and pulls it close to him like he’s not quite sure this is a great idea. Eventually, he surrenders.

“Why not? Nothing from the past few days is relevant at this point, anyway.” He drops the book onto my lap and resuming his position on the floor. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll have your neck.

I want to question him, but my stupid mouth won’t form any words.
Nothing from the past few days is relevant?

I open the book, still shocked that he gave it to me, and skip over the hand outline. “You saw her past.”

“Yeah.”

“No smart comments you want to throw out?” I can’t help but grin.

“Oh, I have plenty, but I figure I’ll cut you some slack because you looked like such rubbish there at the end. Even worse than you look now.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“Not bad on the engagement, though.”

Liam, laying on his back now, stops juggling the silver something-or-other so he can turn his head toward me. “I’m serious! It was quite brilliant. She never saw it coming. Still, I can’t believe she said yes to a nancy like you.”

“Whatever.”

“Her dad was brutal, mate.”

Amen to that. The man strung me along for a full ten minutes before giving me his blessing. Whenever he announced our engagement to someone, he’d share the story, commenting on his great acting skills and talking up how nervous I was. I have no doubt he had planned to tell his tale at our wedding.

The night I proposed, I took Tate to some cheese-ball restaurant where a carpenter had no business being. The whole setup (which is embarrassing now) was a total cliché. Not that it mattered. Tate, in true form, killed my plans. She didn’t even notice how nice the place was because she spent the entire dinner talking about Fischer getting bullied at school. She was hot when she got worked up. Her flushed face, though red in anger, drove me even more crazy. I reached into my pocket at least two dozen times, but the right opportunity never presented itself.

When we got back to her house, Fischer begged Elliott and us to play a game, and then he begged me to be on his team. Like Tate (until recently, anyway), I could never say no to that kid.

“What is the most common last name in the world?” Tate asked, reading from the little red card.

“Chang!” Fischer shouted.

“No way, Fish, it’s gotta be Smith,” I correct him, trying not to be offended that this nine-year-old was looking at me like I was a moron. “All right,” I finally agreed. “Chang.”

“Chang, it is,” Elliott said.

“Oh, buuurrrn!” Fischer yelled to Elliott. He was on a path to be as cocky as his older brother, which was comical.

I bumped his small fist. “Good job, Fish. I got this one,” I told him when it was our turn to read. I picked up a blue card and looked directly at Tate. “This is a tough one. You sure you’re ready?”

Tate snorted. “Whatever. Just read the question. You two are so going down!”

“You asked for it.” After a theatrical deep breath, I said, “Will you marry me?”

Tate’s laughter stopped. She stared at me with her jaw unhinged. I set the card down and stood, reaching into my pocket.

Fischer snatched the card off the table. Before Elliott could shush him, he shouted, “Hey, it doesn’t say that!”

When I got down on my knee, I completely blanked on the perfect speech I had memorized. So, in a very inarticulate way, I spewed out the worst proposal ever. “Tate, you could do so much better. Every day I wonder why you’re with me.”
(If that’s not romantic…)
“Even though I’ll never be able to give you the life you deserve, as long as any part of me exists I will love you. So much more than you’ll ever know.”

My hands were soaking hers with sweat and my heart was pounding. “Tate?” I finally asked when she didn’t answer, thinking (a) I just made a complete fool of myself, and (b) she finally did realize she was too good for me.

She laughed at me through her tears. “What was the question?”

I smiled bigger than I ever had before. “You’re impossible! Marry me!”

I’m brought back from the past by a voice in the present.