Still Point (25 page)

I laughed. “Shut up, Jax.”

“I think too much beforehand,” he said. “That's my problem. I get all nervous and my hands get clammy. And then I hold my breath.”

I stared at him while he bantered with the ceiling. I felt a wave of jealousy flare up over who he'd been experimenting on. I hated that I felt it.

“And worst off, do I need permission to land? What kind of weather am I dodging?” He shook his head with defeat. “Too many risks.”

I was laughing again. “Go to sleep, Jax,” I said.

My eyelids drooped closed, and I fought to keep them open. Even the thunder wasn't bothering me anymore. It was more of a deep, clamorous lull. I could feel my breaths, long and relaxed and repetitive. I closed my eyes, and the rhythmic tapping of rain flushed out every thought from my mind. A voice buried deep in my head reminded me to move to the bedroom, but the voice grew quieter and my heavy body felt impossible to lift.

The mattress creaked, and I snapped my eyes open when Jax sat up. He was looking out the window in front of us, and his head leaned forward so he could listen. His eyes were concentrating on something.

“What is it? Is Scott here?” I asked, and rubbed my groggy eyes. I started to sit up to get a better look. Car tires squealed against the pavement, and white headlights flashed outside. An engine roared as it sped toward the apartment.

Jax leaned over and wrapped his arms around me. I tried to push him off, but we rolled off the bed and onto the floor just as bullets shot through the window glass. I screamed and covered my ears as a round of shots cascaded across the room, ripping through the doors and walls and shredding the couch. Glass rained down around us, and sheets of plaster and concrete flew through the air. Stuffing from the couch dropped around us like snow. I curled my body tight inside the cave Jax formed with his arms and chest.

When the shooting stopped, Jax rolled off me. He pushed me forward and we crawled along the floor. Jax grabbed his switchblade out of his pocket and swung it free, blade end out, as he opened the apartment door. I followed him into the hallway, my heart jabbing my chest so hard I could feel it all the way to my toes. A man ran around the corner toward us, and before he could react, Jax threw his knife and it caught the man's jacket, nailing his arm to the wall. Jax was on top of him before he could wedge the knife loose.

Jax grabbed the gun out of the man's holster and aimed it into his neck. He was about to fire the tranquilizer bullet.

“It's real,” the man said, gulping.

“What?” Jax asked, his eyes flooded with anger.

The man's small, brown eyes pleaded back. “The bullets. They're all real.” His neck was sweating. I watched a drop of sweat slowly slide down his shaking throat.

“Then why the hell are you using them on us?” Jax insisted.

“It's not for you, it's for her,” he said, and his eyes flickered nervously to me.

Jax's face twisted. We could hear more scuffling around the corner.

“You all have guns?” Jax asked him.

He nodded.

I looked down the hallway. “Call them off us,” I said.

“I can't. I'm not the one in charge,” he told me.

“If you want to live, do it,” Jax said, and pressed the gun against the side of the man's head.

Two men sprang around the corner, and Jax turned and aimed low, shooting at their feet. I winced and watched as they both fell, clutching their legs, blood splattering the walls. I covered my mouth with my hand, looking at the smear of red shining against the white walls like paint.

Jax smashed the butt of the gun against the first man's head, and he toppled to the ground. Jax grabbed my hand and pulled me with him.

“Come on,” he said, but my feet wouldn't cooperate.

“Those guys,” I whispered.

“They'll be all right. I don't think they would have done us the same courtesy,” Jax said. He flipped his knife shut, and I followed him down the hall. We ran through the lobby, and I pulled my hand out of his and pointed to the exit sign.

“The catwalks,” I said, and Jax nodded. We ran to the staircase exit and sprinted up four flights until we reached the catwalk landing.

Jax pushed open the door, and the glass hallway lit up in a bright yellow tunnel made of glass. We raced through the catwalk, and I looked out the window at the maze of buildings. Then headlights glared around the corner. I ran after Jax and a stream of bullets followed us. Glass panes shattered and exploded in our wake. I screamed, but there was nowhere to duck, with glass surrounding us on all sides. We made it to the end of the catwalk, and Jax threw open the door. We both rolled to a stop inside the hallway.

“That idea didn't work,” I said, panting. Jax offered a hand to pull me up. When I let go, I saw that my hand was smeared with blood. I couldn't tell if it was mine or his.

“You all right?” he asked, and I nodded.

Jax brushed glass off his shorts, and pebble-size pieces fell to the floor. I followed him down the hall, and we sprinted down the staircase and onto the street. We could hear police sirens in the distance. It was drizzling out now, and the wind was barely blowing. I followed Jax as he jogged toward the church, across the soggy turf yard, and up to the window.

“Sorry, God,” he said, and smashed his elbow through the glass. He ducked inside and I followed. We walked through the congregation hall, past rows of pews that smelled like fresh-cut wood.

“We need to find their phone,” Jax said.

Just when we swung the back door open, we heard people shouting outside, trying to break through the front door. I stumbled back, almost tripping over Jax. Two men crashed through glass windows behind us, and we ducked down behind a row of benches. Jax pulled out his knife. As he turned to look over his shoulder, the front door flew open and Scott and Riley rushed in, guns in their hands. Bullets shot out and I crouched down as low as I could manage and held my head in my arms until everything was quiet.

“I bet you're happy to see me,” Scott said.

I slowly lifted my head out from my arm cocoon. I looked over my shoulder to see the two men lying motionless on the aisle floor. Jax was breathing next to me, and Riley stood next to Scott.

“You don't listen, do you?” Scott said, as if I were really in the mood for a lecture. “I told you not to scan anything. Your fingerprint is lethal right now.”

“How did you find us?” I asked.

“You gave me your tracker signal. I told Justin I'd keep an eye on you.”

This annoyed me. “You said you would keep an eye on me?” I said. “Where's Justin?” I demanded.

Scott looked surprised. “He's a regional head. He has to be in Portland,” he said in a patronizing voice, as if I was being childish for wanting Justin to care that I almost died
three
times today. I glared at Scott.

“They were using real guns on us,” Jax said as he stood up. He offered me a hand and pulled me up next to him.

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Then it's not the cops,” he said, and walked past us. He bent down and examined one of the bodies lying on the floor.

“It's part of Vaughn's team,” Scott said.

“I thought Vaughn was in custody,” I said.

“He's in jail,” Riley assured us. “Somebody else must be calling the shots.”

I leaned my head against the door. “Great.”

Scott looked over at Jax and his eyes trailed down his chest. “Interesting shirt,” he said.

Jax and I ducked into the back of Riley's car. I clipped the seat belt over my lap and sank into the leather. It was cold, but it warmed quickly against my skin. My eyelids drooped and I fought to keep them open. I watched the rain fall. The window was a blur of moving liquid glass.

“Are we driving to Portland?” I asked Scott.

He shook his head. “In the morning,” he said with a yawn. “We need to grab some stuff from my apartment. We can crash there.”

I was quiet as I listened to Riley and Scott talk about the riot and all the planning there was to do. I closed my eyes and let the moving car jostle my head. I looked over at Jax; his head was leaned back against the seat, but his eyes were open.

“So, you can throw knives?” I asked quietly.

Jax looked over at me. I waited for him to make some sort of joke, but he looked too tired to be sarcastic.

He nodded like it was no big deal. “It's just something I can do,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone needs a party trick,” he said. I kept my eyes on him, my way of telling him I wasn't satisfied.

He leaned a little closer to me and whispered.

“My silence is a nonverbal response for ‘I don't want to talk about it,'” he informed me.

“You don't like serious conversations, do you?” I asked.

“I just don't like worrying,” he said. “I worried for a really long time. I'm done worrying.”

“What happened?” I asked.

He looked away, out the window. “Is
Madeline
a French word for ‘pester'?” he asked me. He sank a little deeper into the seat, trying to get his body comfortable in the cramped space.

“When they arrested me, a few years ago, the cops came to my house,” he said, his voice low so only I could hear him. “My parents refused to let them in, so they broke down the door and shoved their way in. They knocked my mom down. They kicked her when she tried to get up, and when my dad tried to help my mom, they smashed a gun against his face. They shot tranq guns into both of my parents. My little sister saw it all happen. She was screaming the whole time, and then they dragged me off and left her there, alone, screaming because she thought my parents were dead.”

I listened, shocked at his experience. I remembered how calm my dad had been when I was arrested, numb and emotionless, as if he didn't care. Maybe it was his way of trying to keep everyone calm to protect us all.

“I hated that I couldn't fight back against those assholes,” Jax said. “That I was completely powerless. I just stood there and watched it all happen. I thought I was so smart, hacking around government files. But I didn't know anything. It's the worst feeling in the world, when you're defenseless. So, after I was intercepted, I made sure I'd learn how to fight back. That way I can protect people I love.”

“That's how you spent your time in hiding?” I asked.

“And playing video games,” he said.

“And painting,” I added. “And you planted trees.”

He smiled. “That was my dad's idea. He thought it would be good for me, give me something to focus on. Something positive.”

Scott interrupted us. “Justin just sent us a message,” he said. “They're setting up a tent city in Portland.” I looked in the front seat. I had forgotten Scott and Riley were in the car with us.

I waited for more. “That's it?” I asked.

He frowned at me in the rearview mirror. “Were you expecting more?” he asked. “I told him we're all fine. Aren't we fine?”

I looked away and stared out the car window. That question was too loaded to answer. About a hundred things came to mind.

 

My eyes fluttered open and I blinked at a window next to me. The sky was dark gray, still on the edge of morning. I rubbed my eyes and turned over and froze. Jax was lying a few inches away from me. At first I was appalled that he had had the nerve to climb into a bed with me. But then I remembered someone lifting me out of a car the night before and carrying me up a set of stairs. I looked around and recognized Scott's living room. Jax and I were lying on an air mattress. I slapped my hand over my forehead.

Guilt flooded through me. I was lying in bed with another guy. A single, attractive—I had to admit—amazing guy. And we'd talked about kissing. That's more than flirting. That's another word all together, one I didn't want to admit.

I looked over at Jax again. He was sleeping on his stomach, most of his face hidden in the pillow, his hair spread out like black feathers against the white pillowcase. He was lying on top of the covers. Scott must have given him a change of clothes. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. It looked like he'd showered—his hair was curling at the ends like it was damp, and I could smell soap drifting off his skin.

I stared up at the ceiling and justified the situation. Nothing had happened. We were both fully clothed. We didn't so much as accidentally bump each other's feet. But then why did I feel so guilty?

I carefully pulled down the covers and slid out of bed without shifting the mattress. I headed for the kitchen.

There was a coffee machine on the counter, next to a package of Insta-muffins. I stuck the muffin box into the microwave and pressed the timer for two minutes. By the time the kitchen smelled like blueberry muffins and the coffee was poured, Jax's naked feet padded around the corner.

I sat down at a small table and looked up at his bedhead hair, sticking up straight. His eyes were half lidded.

“You are a horrible bed hog,” he informed me. “Did you know you sleep at an angle?” I glared at him, furious that he knew something so intimate about me. He did an impression, bending down slightly and tilting his body to the side. If I wasn't so horrified, I would have laughed. I just chewed my nails instead.

He rummaged through the cupboards looking for something.

“Jax, I feel terrible.”

“Why?” He turned and looked at me, his eyes concerned. “What happened?”

“We slept in a bed together,” I stated, like I was naming the title of a horror movie.

“Correction: You slept. I was shoved to the side and hardly slept at all.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. I looked down at my hands. I had to confess to someone. “I feel really guilty.”

“You should,” he said, and sat down across from me. “I had no room. You stole my sheets, too.”