Stolen (6 page)

“Go on and wake him. If he can stomach it, make sure he stomachs it all.”

She drifted to her weaving, as though busying her hands would cause the rest of her worries to melt. Bree didn’t understand this sort of detachment, the way some people gave up a fight long before it was over. Her mother did so after losing her father. Now Chelsea was doing it with Heath. As though the people left meant nothing. As though losing one meaningful thing meant there was nothing else worth living for.

Bree sat on the edge of Heath’s bed and put a palm to his brow. He was sticky. “Heath?” He stirred, shivered. “Heath, I brought you medicine.”

His eyelids fluttered open. The pain registered on his face almost immediately.

“Try to sit up. You have to drink it all.”

She helped him upright in the bed, the boy coughing and heaving all the while. He was paler than Bree had ever seen him, and he looked almost half his ten years. She placed the bowl in his hands and, with hers cupping them, helped lift it to his lips.

“Drink?”

He sipped cautiously, and instantly gagged.

“It’s bad, I know. But you have to keep drinking.”

Heath muttered and whimpered and some of the rust-red liquid ran down his neck as Bree urged him on. It felt like an entire afternoon had passed by the time the bowl was drained.

“Better? Good?”

He stared at her, looking half dead, then slumped forward in a heap.

“Heath?”

Bree rolled him over. He was out, but breathing—drained by the effort of drinking, or perhaps the medicine was already working through his system.

By tomorrow, the fever should break.

There was nothing to do but wait and hope.

LOCK’S LAST FULL NIGHT UNFOLDED with clear skies and an eerie stillness that spread over the island like the heat wave that refused to break. The loons did not cry as dusk fell. Not even the leaves whispered from their branches; there was no breeze to move them. An exhale could be heard, Bree thought, for the ocean herself seemed quieter tonight.

Heath was recovering. Or maybe just sleeping. Maybe slowly dying. Bree didn’t want to think about it. Lock still didn’t know about the heron blood, and Bree intended to keep it that way. Let him wake on his final morning to find his brother well. Let his last hours be ones of relief and gratitude to learn that Heath would carry on and that Bree had made it possible.

Lock walked through the doorway then, silent as a heron, and sat on the edge of Heath’s bed. Still pretending to be asleep, Bree listened.

“Hey, little man,” Lock said, and Bree imagined him putting a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “Once you get better—and you
will
get better—I need you to take care of Ma and Bree, okay?”

A pause.

“I’m sorry I’m going to miss it all: you getting well, turning thirteen in a few years, becoming a man. Not a little man anymore but a big one. I hope you’ll be better at it than me. It shouldn’t be hard. I’m not much of anything but a liar and a coward, and you already smile twice as much as I do, even with how much unfairness life shook on your plate.”

Bree heard the mattress crinkle as Lock repositioned himself, or maybe stood. Heath’s breathing was a wheeze as he slept.

“I love you, kid. And I hate that I have to leave.”

He still had another morning, though, another full day to say all this in person. Why now, in the quiet of night? Did he think Heath wouldn’t make it through the evening? Were his words about getting well just another lie?

“Bree? Are you awake?” She flinched when his hand met her shoulder.

“I am now,” she said.

“Will you walk with me? I can’t sleep.”

You actually have to lie down and try first,
Bree thought.
Bedside confessions to your brother after rolling around in the weeds with someone doesn’t count
. But she fished her sandals from the floor in silence, and crept after Lock.

He said nothing as he led the way across town and down the sloping rock to the shore. The tide was out, making the climb onto the jetty easy and dry beneath the light of the moon. They sat, Bree keeping a good distance between their shoulders.

“So you couldn’t sleep?” she asked when she could no longer stand the silence.

“Been sitting out here on the jetty, hoping to get tired.”

No girls tonight, then. Bree stared at Lock’s profile, trying to guess what he was thinking. There was a bump on his nose that hadn’t healed properly from a break, and a heaviness to his chin she hadn’t noticed before. Like it weighed too much for him to lift away from his chest.

“Is it Heath, or your birthday?” she asked.

“Both.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

He twisted to face her. “Don’t lie to me, Bree. I can handle everyone else doing it, but not you.”

“It
might
be okay,” she said.

The corner of his lips twitched. “See why it’s better to not say anything?” Lock planted his left hand on the rock behind Bree’s hip and pivoted toward her. The space between them seemed instantly minuscule. He was looking at her lips the way he had the other day at the lake. There were minnows in Bree’s stomach again, but also a hook in her ribs, urging her to lean away. Lock had all but closed the space between them when Bree dropped her chin.

He frowned. “I thought you wanted this. You said you did yesterday, and now . . . ?” He looked so truly confused Bree didn’t know whether she should feel sorry for him or drown him in the shallows. “I’m scared, Bree. For tomorrow night. For what’s waiting for me.”

He leaned toward her again, and Bree shoved him off.

“I don’t care if you’re scared! I don’t even care if you’re sorry. I wanted you, Lock.”

“You had me.”

“And I wanted you to want me back.”

He squinted at her. “I do want you back. Why else would I be trying to kiss you?”

“And Ness? Last night? What am I supposed to think about that?”

“It was just Ness.”

“Just Ness!
Just
. . .” Words bottlenecked in Bree’s throat. “I wanted it to be
just
me. I wanted to be your
only
girl.”

“It was always you, Bree. You’re the one I cared about, and so I never tried to show it. And I certainly didn’t act on it—not until yesterday—because I always knew it would get messed up. I’d ruin it. Saltwater would. That’s just how things are. What guy do you know who lays with only one person?”

“That’s not the point, Lock.”

“Tell me I’m wrong. Give me a name. What guy doesn’t have his girls?”

Bree bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t think of a single example. It was likely that even her father had drifted.

“Just because everyone else does things one way doesn’t mean you have to,” Bree said. “There’s no rule. You could tell them no. Keeva didn’t order you to go roll around with Ness, did she?”

Lock looked away, and Bree honestly considered shoving him off the jetty.

“I’m an idiot, and clearly you’re an even bigger one. It’s a good thing your birthday’s coming, because you’re right, Lock. You did ruin it. You ruined everything, and the thought of you sticking around, of having to share a roof with you for the rest of my life—it’s enough to make me wish I was guaranteed a Snatching, too.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

She didn’t. She hated what he’d done, but she didn’t hate
him
. She might even still love him, and she hated that most of all. How could she love him after everything?

We don’t choose who we love
, her mother had once said.
Love sweeps you off your feet like a riptide, and leaves you blind by the time you find your footing on the shore.

“I’m thinking of chasing the horizon,” Lock said, aiming his words at the waves.

“You can’t be serious.”

When he didn’t respond, Bree noticed his gaze drifting in the direction of his boat. She’d helped him carve it from a trunk several years back, sanding the contours of the hull, perfecting the form and float. He’d won a few friendly races in that boat over the years. It cut through currents like a spear.

“You can’t. It’s a death wish, Lock.”

“Staying is one also.”

“What about Heath?”

“He’s going to lose me either way.”

“You ass!” Bree shoved Lock’s shoulder. He wasn’t expecting that, but at least he was finally looking at her again. “You think Heath wants to see your body wash up on shore? Of course he doesn’t want to lose you, but don’t do this, Lock. Don’t take the easy way out.”

“What easy way? There is no easy, Bree. You wouldn’t understand—how this date has been looming all my life, how I knew I’d never amount to anything but another loss.”

“And running guarantees it. Maybe there’s something else after you’re Snatched. Maybe you’ll end up wherever those birds fly to. Maybe you’ll sprout gills and live with the fish. I don’t care how ridiculous it sounds: The truth is, you have no idea what happens after eighteen.”

“There isn’t an
after
.”

“You don’t know that! That’s what I’m saying. Please, Lock. Just meet it. Greet it like an equal and maybe I’ll end up the same. Maybe in a few months we’ll both be together again, and then Heath will follow another few years down the road.”

“And maybe we’ll all meet in death, too.” He held her gaze. By the dim light of the moon, his green eyes seemed almost storm gray. “You’ll take care of Heath, right? You’ll watch after him for me?”

Bree felt her chin trembling and forbade herself to cry.

“Promise,” Lock insisted.

The best she could do was nod.

Lock studied her a moment, like he was etching a permanent rendition in his mind, then he reached out and tucked a tangled mess of hair behind her ear. His hand paused there, fingers grazing the nape of Bree’s neck. She knew she should pull away, but he looked so resigned and broken, she couldn’t bear it.

“I’m sorry, Bree. And I’m scared. I know I told you I wasn’t, but I’ve been scared my entire life. Especially the last few months. Please just be with me tonight. Here. With the waves and the stars and the whole sky as our blanket. I can’t be alone.” He moved nearer, so close his lips practically brushed hers. “I can’t be alone, and you’re the only girl on this whole island who makes me feel like I’m someone worth having.”

Against her better judgment, Bree kissed him.

It was bittersweet and simple. It was a distraction from the real issue.

She pulled away.

“We should go home. Before the tide comes in.”

“You afraid to get your ankles wet?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to do something stupid.”

“This is stupid?” He kissed her neck. “I thought we were having a good time.”

“I was talking about your boat.”

Lock tensed and drew back, stared out to sea. In the distance it appeared calm enough to be ice, moonlight winking off the surface.

Bree stood. “Are you coming?”

Lock stared at her outstretched palm, then her.

“I’m really sorry, Bree.”

“I know. Let’s go home.”

She extended her hand farther.

He took it in the end.

Walking back to the hut with their fingers threaded, the regret hit Bree. She shouldn’t have kissed him. And even still, she wanted to forgive everything. She wanted to make excuses for him. Lock was watching his life burn out like the last embers of a dying fire. Of course he was desperate to feel something—anything—as often as possible.

She wished she knew how to draw the line between protecting her heart and letting it have what it craved.

BREE WOKE BEFORE THE SUN and instantly knew something was wrong. It weighed on her chest, a suffocating, heavy blanket.
Death
.

She threw off her sheets. Hands shaking, she found a candle and lit it. “Heath?” she whispered. The silence in the hut was sharper than a knife. “Heath?”

The glow of the candle fell on him, pale as a ghost, mouth an open slit. His chest moved, and Bree buckled to her knees. His skin was still clammy, but he was breathing. Bree let out a sigh, but the pressure on her chest did not lessen.

And she knew.

Blood pounding, she held out the candle. At the far end of the room, Chelsea lay still asleep. The mattress between her and Heath was empty. Bree stumbled from the hut. “Lock?” The town was quiet, the world murky in dawn’s first light. Her feet moved faster. Across the town, beyond the empty bonfire pit, and toward shore. Somewhere within the trees she dropped the candle so she could run.

She was yelling his name now. Loud enough that the waves couldn’t swallow her words or the wind whip them away. The air tasted like tears, and when the sea came into view, it was angry; choppy waves and gray surges. The horizon burned as brightly as the fear in Bree’s chest.

Halfway down the sloped rock, she spotted his slumped form facedown in the shallows, the waves lapping over his shoulders. She fell twice on the way to him, cutting open her palm. Then she was on her knees on the froth-slicked rocks, rolling him onto his back. Vacant eyes stared at her, and she lost all composure.

“You stupid idiot!” she screamed, clenching the front of his shirt into her fist. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” She hit his chest, her own tears mixing with the salt the waves threw into her eyes.

The bronze skin she’d run her hands along just days earlier was now tinged a dull silver, like he wore a sheen of the ocean on his limbs. His lips were as cold as the shell of an oyster. Lock looked clumsy and dense, certainly not capable of hauling fish from the ocean or cracking a smile. The thought of dimples appearing on his cheeks seemed ridiculous, but it was his eyes that destroyed Bree most. Those green eyes that used to feel as lively as the ocean itself, as mischievous and scheming and magical. They were nothing now. They were holes. They were an empty, bottomless reminder that Lock was gone. That this was just a pile of bones and flesh and cold, bloated muscle. Her Lock was lost. Drowned hours ago in the water she could never escape.

Fingers grazed Bree’s shoulder and she bolted to her feet.

“You woke half the town,” Keeva said.

Behind the woman, a crowd had gathered. Chelsea and Heath were not present, and Bree felt the tiniest pinch of relief. They didn’t know. Their world had not yet been shattered.