Tangled Thoughts (6 page)

“I'd take that bet.” I knew they didn't. I hadn't stayed with any of them for very long. I hadn't loved any of them either. They
all
knew that. Some of them had wanted me to. “And don't be crass.”

“See?”

“What?”

“‘Don't be crass'—who says that except
good
boys? Listen, I know you're good because
I'm
not.
You
are just like your aunt.”

“
You
are not bad either.”

“Ha!”

I pulled her snug against me. “You're not. I wouldn't be here otherwise.”

“I think,” she said, “you bring it out in me. The good.” There was a softness in her voice, the sometimes sharp edge of it dulled by sincerity. I skimmed my fingers across her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled, a small curving of her lips that was the shyest thing she ever did.

“Maybe,” I said, and kissed that smile. “But see? It's already
in
you. You don't need me.”

With one hand on my chest, she leaned close and whispered, “Don't bet on it.”

She kissed me back, a good one, her tongue searching for mine, and for a while I forgot all about the conversation in the coffee shop. My hands fixed on her waist to keep her balanced, but the longer we kissed, the more they wanted to stray. Alexis arched her back, pushing the table even further away with a screech, and wrapped her legs around my waist.

She pressed against me once and that was it. My brain switched off in favor of other things. I stood, bringing her with me, cinched tight. Without a second to consider it, I Thought the table back toward us and set her right there. Alexis's eyes popped open as it made the same awful screech as before.

“Oh!” She jerked her chin in surprise and caught me right in the swollen eye.

Hissing, I fell back into my chair.

Lex sat up on the table, rubbing her chin. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head to clear the stars.

“Sorry. That was weird. Like the table moved itself.”

I froze, one hand over the throbbing half of my face, and cursed myself for being such a fool. Only five people in the world knew the secret of my Thought Moving ability and Alexis wasn't one of them.
Fool
, I thought again, gritting my teeth. “I—moved it with my foot,” I lied.

“Oh. Duh. Sorry,” she repeated, gentler this time. She kissed my cheek, then the hand still covering my eye before tugging it away. I squinted at her and she laughed. “I wonder what your uncle's going to say when he sees you?”

“W
HAT
'
S
H
APPENED
TO
your face, son?!” Uncle Dan and a guest had just stepped into my cube. There was a moment where my uncle opened his mouth, ostensibly to introduce his companion, before he actually looked at me. It was almost funny.

Self-consciously, I touched it. It was better, but the skin around my eye was still blue and yellow. I could have lied, said anything. But I hated lying when I didn't have to, so instead I smiled. “Let's just say there's nothing I won't do to support you, sir.”

Uncle Dan laughed, though I could see he was still curious. “I've certainly never doubted your dedication. I hope you were equally convincing?”

“More thoroughly, actually.”

His companion laughed then too, and I wondered who he was. His suit wasn't nice enough to make him a likely donor, and something about him reminded me of Uncle Jeff. They looked nothing alike, as this guy was a good half a foot shorter than Jeff and some part Pacific Islander. Or did they? It was how he stood, a readiness, and his eyes. They missed nothing.
Military
, I thought.

Uncle Dan, still chuckling, clapped me on the shoulder as I came around my desk. “Carter, this is Manuel,” he said as we shook hands. “Manny, my nephew Carter.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, though I still didn't really know who he was.

“Likewise,” Manny replied.

“Join us for a minute, would you?” my uncle asked and I followed them around the corner to his office.

Once inside, Manny closed the door and stayed by it as if that was his station. Uncle Dan nodded toward his seating area, and I took one of the wingback chairs. “Manny,” he said to me, “if you haven't guessed it yet, is an agent with the Secret Service.”

That certainly made sense. I glanced at him again, then back at my uncle. “Is he
your
agent?”

“He is. There'll be a few others on rotation, but Manny is my detail leader. There may occasionally be private security as well.”

“But…why?” It wasn't common for senators to have assigned security, and it was still early for presidential candidates.

Uncle Dan rubbed his eyes and I realized he looked tired. I always thought of my uncle as indefatigable. “There have been some…threats,” he said. He met my eyes and I sat up straighter.

“What kind of threats?”

“The not very nice kind.” He chuckled again, but it lacked the humor from before. “It seems,” he continued, “some people take umbrage with, well, many things about me. My ‘unconventional' family, for one.” He meant Jill, I realized, his daughter-out-of-wedlock. And possibly the fact that he wasn't, had never been, married. “My wealth. My voting record. Also, we believe, my father.”

I sucked in a breath. Other Sententia wouldn't
threaten
him, would they? “Are they—?” I cut another glance at Manny, who wasn't obviously listening but surely heard every word.

“You may speak freely,” Uncle Dan said, nodding in Manny's direction. “Manuel is discreet in all manner of my activities. In fact, I think you have much in common.”

Manny grinned at me, a flash of white teeth. “Never forget a face,” he said, tapping his temple.

A
Lumen
then, and a handy skill for a security agent. I should have suspected he was one of us. “I never forget anything,” I told him and he chuckled.

“I won't forget
that
,” he said. We all laughed, and I liked Manny already. If Uncle needed protection, I was glad it was someone like him. Like us.

Uncle Dan cleared his throat. “To answer your question, it's unlikely fellow Sententia. But—” He shrugged. “It's not impossible. You don't carry my last name or responsibilities without picking up a few enemies along the way.”

“Sir, I—” I didn't know what to say. I hadn't realized I should be worried about my uncle. “I had no idea.”

“Nor should you have.” Uncle crossed his legs, the way only a man steeped in old money could. “We've kept it quiet—and intend to. For now. Publicity will only fan the flames. But,” he said, sitting straight and leaning forward, “I want you to know this—we believe the danger is only to me. If there was even a
hint
you or any of the family were a target, I'd have the entire Service on your detail. Please believe me.”

“Of course,” I said automatically. “Of course I do. I'm not worried about myself.” I squeezed my hands against my thighs to keep from rubbing my hair, a habit I was desperately trying to quit. “Can I do anything?”

Uncle Dan stood, which meant I stood too. He touched my shoulder again. “Just your being here helps,” he said and I looked at my feet. I hated him to see how much comments liked that pleased me. “It's time for me to go. Sorry to leave you with such…uncomfor
table news, but really, you shouldn't worry. Especially now with Manuel here.”

I glanced over at Manny again, and he inclined his chin minutely in acknowledgment. “I'll…try not to,” I promised. “Have a safe trip.” I said it so frequently, the same way Aunt Mel always told me to
drive safely
whenever I picked up my car keys, I knew he hardly heard the words anymore.

Uncle Dan nodded like always and I knew I was dismissed. I'd completely forgotten to ask why he was going to Arizona. Just before I was out his door, he called, “Cartwright?”

I turned. “Yes, sir?”

“Thank you.” So maybe he did hear.

“And Cartwright? I love you, son. I know I don't tell you that very often, but never doubt it.”

“I won't, sir,” I said softly. I never had.

Lainey

A
my rolled out of the guest room the next day looking not like something the cat dragged in, but something the cat had dragged behind a car and then run over for good measure. I, on the other hand, looked like someone who'd been up all night worrying her not-so-best friend would make it to and from the bathroom without puking on the carpet or dying because:

“I'm thinking about killing you,” I told her. “Also, good morning.”

She fell into a chair at the table, peering at me through eyes red as fire and still smudged with last night's makeup. Her skin was approximately the color of the Wicked Witch of the West. “I'm not sure you'll have to,” she rasped. “I'm dying. And have I mentioned before that this kitchen is far too
bright
.” She propped her elbow on the table and dropped her face into it, covering her eyes. “Seriously, let's get you some lower wattage light bulbs or something.”

Only Amy would still say words like
wattage
when epically hungover. I tapped my fingers on the table because I knew it would
annoy her. “The wattage of my light bulbs is not going to matter once I've killed you. Or let the alcohol do it for me.”

She sighed. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sure you are.” I tapped my fingers some more. She peeked at me but said nothing. After a few moments, I got up to pop a frozen waffle in the toaster and retrieve a cup of coffee and some aspirin for her. Despite the green tint to her complexion, I didn't think she'd throw up again. She'd already done so much of it, what could possibly be left?

She thanked me and downed some of both, rolling her head back and forth before taking another sip. When the waffle popped up, I brought it to her dry. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Think you can make me forget last night?” She held out her wrist, which looked clammy and limp.

“Even if I could, it wouldn't cure the hangover.”

“Shit.”

“Pretty much.”

“What good are mental superpowers if they can't even make us forget our mistakes?” She took a bite and chewed slowly.

I went back to tapping my fingers on the table, louder, until she narrowed her eyes at me. “If I
could
erase what you did last night, you'd just do it again.”

Muffled by waffle, Amy grumbled, “So you're saying this is all to teach me a lesson, right? Thanks, Mom. I won't do it again.” She held up one of her fingers, and I laughed.

“Were you trying to tell me ‘Scout's Honor'? The Boy Scout Salute involves a few more fingers.”

She waved her finger at me. “No, I think I got this one right.”

“All I'm saying is now it will be awhile before you do it again—because you know you will—and by then I'll be feeling charitable again.”

She sighed and I made myself another cup of coffee. While I was mixing in my sugar, she finally said, “You know it's going to be your turn one of these days. I promise not to gloat. Much.”

“I'll hold you to that. Besides, I've had hangovers.”

“A little headache after two glasses of wine where you go jogging or some shit to feel better does
not
qualify.” She rose from the table as if in slow motion, taking special care not to move her head at all. “Excuse me while I go die on the couch.”

“Just be warned, my group partner will be here soon. No more talk of mental superpowers.”

Her head snapped in my direction and she groaned, slapping a limp hand to her forehead. I resisted the urge to laugh at her. “Ugh. But, what? You mean someone's coming here? To your apartment?”

I shrugged. “I had no way of knowing when, or if, you'd wake up. So yeah, I invited her here. She's cool.” Usually I kept college and my home separate. It was important to me for reasons I had trouble explaining, even to myself, but Amy seemed to understand.

“Okay. I—I'm sorry.” She really meant it this time. “And, just real quick, a little more superpower stuff. Have you talked to Jack?”

“No! And
we're
not going to talk about it either.” She opened her mouth to say something and I sighed. “So much for hoping you wouldn't remember.”

A laugh popped out of her, followed by a groan. “Oh, crap, that was painful. Don't make me laugh, Lane. I may have been drunk, but I wasn't oblivious. Like I'd forget
that
. He's—” The look on my face must have really been something, because she actually quit talking. “Okay. Later,” she said and changed her trajectory toward the shower.

Serena arrived while I was still
in
the shower, which is how I found her and Amy sprawled in the living room, becoming fast friends. Amy was stretched out on the couch and I pushed her feet out of the way so I could sit down.

“I like your friend,” Amy said without opening her eyes.

Serena propped her feet up on the ottoman. “So, let me get this straight.
You
live here, like you, by yourself. This is
your
place—and you spend all your time in that crappy dorm why?”

“See?” Amy said. She kicked me with her foot. “I like her.”

“My dorm is pretty nice,” I countered.

Serena nodded. “Yeah, actually, it is. But it's not
here
.” She looked around and I wondered what she was thinking. I felt strange, exposing this side of my life to new people.

“I—” I started to explain, but Serena grinned and waved her hand.

“I get it. You got problems but money ain't one. It doesn't bother me.”

“Thank you.” It was an odd sentiment, but I couldn't stop myself from saying it. I shouldn't feel like I had to apologize for my inheritance. I hadn't stolen it. Serena and Amy shared a look and if I hadn't already been regretting coming here for the day, I immediately regretted introducing them. They were too much alike and together were sure to cause me trouble.