"Didn't they tell us don't rush into things?
Didn't you flash your green eyes at me?
Haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds?
Ooh, didn't it all seem new and exciting?
I felt your arms twisting around me,
I should've slept with one eye open at night"
- Taylor Swift, "Wonderland"
Chapter Twenty-Five
If the shooter came back, gun to my head, and shouted interrogations on my time with Reed – I think I'd die.
Some things weren't meant to be shared. Others weren't meant to be known.
For example, the answer to which of us pulled away first. The truth fell into one of those two categories, but either way, the answer wasn't mine to share.
I couldn't tell how we'd ended up back on the highway, both of us raw from the day. From the confessions. From the touches.
Other things were lost in a haze. I didn't know what point I'd curled up in the seat, or when exhaustion had outweighed the pain to pull me under the surface. I didn't know when his hand had found its way to the space between us, or when his fingertips brushed against my skin. I didn't know how or when I'd ended up in the hard bed of a small motel.
And the next morning, I woke with more questions than answers.
The sheets were rough. The blanket was itchy on one side, but plasticky on the other, and it taunted my injured skin. I was splayed on my back; someone had taken great care to tuck my aching body between blankets. A lump of a pillow was folded to lift my knee off the bed.
Exhaustion still puffed its smoke in my brain. I slid my hand over the sheets, searching, but I gripped nothing but blanket. A pang of nausea-inducing panic struck with the same accuracy as the pain in my knee. My eyes struggled and blinked as I feared what I wouldn't find.
It was only when my head frantically turned that I could breathe again. The armchair in the corner looked as uncomfortable as any armchair could be, but it was a welcome sight.
Or rather, the sight of him was.
Reed's long frame was collapsed in the chair. His usually strict stance had been replaced by a fatigued slump; one elbow was propped on the armrest as his fist pressed against his forehead, supporting his head as he slept.
I was quiet as I surveyed the scene. His brow was creased ever so slightly. The smallest of frowns graced his lips; they were slightly parted as he breathed slowly. I watched the rise and fall of his chest. I marveled how the sun shoved its way through flimsy curtains to find his cheeks, and tickle his lashes. He was surely exhausted.
My head fell back on the pillow as I wracked my brain for how we'd ended up there. All I could grasp was a vague, fuzzy memory that didn't feel quite real.
How I'd shivered even in the warm summer night when Reed had carefully picked me up, cradling me as he carried me into the motel room. How he'd laid me down so gently, and covered me with the blanket, coaxing me to take pain meds even as I flirted with sleep. How it'd all felt like a dream even then, too deeply entangled in the trenches of exhaustion to fully wake in his arms.
I didn't remember Reed getting the motel room, or how we'd ended up in a room with one bed. I didn't remember Reed sitting in the chair, or putting the pillow under my knee. But I wondered how long he'd slept; if he'd forced himself to sit watch until necessity ordered him to sleep, too.
I didn't know. I also didn't know how I'd get up.
My body felt heavy. An invisible weight kneeled on each of my limbs and my joints rattled with pain. Every muscle felt simultaneously loose and tight; a rubber band pulled past its limit and released to snap back. Having lost too much elasticity on the pull, I'd been left with rubbery, misshaped tissue, still unsure how to revert back. My skin shrieked in disapproval when my scraped wounds pulled taut with movement. I was grateful Reed had insisted on pain meds the night before. I didn't want to think of how much pain I'd be feeling if he hadn't.
I took long, deep breaths. Fatigue still wrapped around me, urging me to lie back down, but I gathered every ounce of stamina I could muster. My wobbly arms shook as they pushed me up, and blood rushed to every purple mark my tumble had left behind. When I finally sat up, I stared ruefully at the useless lump of limb on the pillow before me. Something or other was torn in the mottled knee, twisted and ripped when it'd caught beneath me on the dive. I couldn't remember the exact diagnosis. I was sure Reed knew, but I didn't know if it actually mattered. A bleak-sounding label for the agony did me little good.
With one hand steadying my leg and the other gripping the pillow, I started to pull it out. My teeth groaned under the pressure of my clenched jaw. With a similar resignment as ripping off a Band-Aid, I tugged the pillow out from under my leg.
Next, I tried to keep my muscles relaxed, instead using my arms to slide the leg off the bed. My knee was kept straight. When both feet touched the ground, I was as ready as I was going to get. With another deep breath, I put all my weight on my good leg and heaved myself up.
I stood still. My worn-out muscles whined, but the pain was manageable. A quick peek at the corner told me I'd been successful in more ways than one; Reed was still asleep.
Step one completed. Step two, here we go.
I took a little hop forward. My injured leg was dead weight, it couldn't support me without pain I wished to avoid. My lurches were abrupt and ungraceful, but I forced myself to move across the room, heading away from Reed and towards the bathroom. I focused on staying as silent and relaxed as possible. Eventually, I reached the other side of the bed.
I'm doing it! That's right, I'm a strong, independent woman who don't need no ma-THUMP.
With a muffled yelp, my leg gave out, and I faceplanted onto the ground. My groan was silent, and my pride was destroyed, but I forced myself to lie still. I strained my ears for any sound indicating I'd woken him up. The last thing I wanted was to disrupt him or be seen on the floor.
Oh, you have an order of wants? Where does he fall on that list?
I ignored my snide internal voice as I laid waiting. When I was satisfied he was still sleeping, I placed my palms on the floor to push myself up. I shuddered at the feel of gross carpeting but forced myself to disregard my disgust and roll over.
Reed's face stared down at me.
He towered where he stood at the end of the bed, and I gasped, landing with a thud on my back. I cursed the jolt that reverberated up my knee to my spine.
"What are you doing on the floor?" Reed asked in just woken up bewilderment, blinking down at me.
I pushed myself up with my elbows and quickly took in this new angle. His hair was deliciously tousled. His eyes were snapping into alertness, and his hands rested on his hips. His jaw was shaded with shadow. A bright red mark was pressed onto his forehead from where he'd propped his head up, but it only added a dash of adorableness to the look. His shirt was unbuttoned to show his undershirt, and he was wrinkled and pressed in a way that suggested he'd spent his night very differently than the truth.
Delicious. Looking fresh out of the sheets and he didn't even sleep in them.
Even looking exhausted, he was handsome. It was wholly unfair to every other man in the world.
"I'm... er, looking for something."
His brow rose. "Right. And to find it, you have to fall to the floor like you've been drinking?"
"It's five o'clock somewhere, isn't it?"
Amusement shone in his eyes as he stepped forward and offered his hand.
"You could've asked for help," he said as he pulled me off the floor. His hands went to my waist to steady me as I swayed.
Did we break some barrier and now we can't stop touching each other? Not that I'm complaining. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.
I shrugged, shivering at his firm fingers hugging my sides. I could almost convince myself it was true; that maybe he really couldn't stop touching me now that he had. "You were sleeping."
Even if it's just so I don't injure myself more, I'm going to believe he just can't keep his hands off me. I'm going to enjoy this moment, because it's the only good thing I got going on in my life right now.
He frowned. His brows furrowed harder as he glanced furtively at my knee. "I told you before, you should always wake me if you need to."
"What makes you think I need you?"
"Your meeting with the floor."
I rolled my eyes, but his own lingered on a nasty scrape on my arm. His lips were pursed when he lifted a hand from my waist and gently grasped my wrist. He guided my elbow into view, revealing a mottled yellow and purple bruise.
"Oh, that's new," I murmured.
It was ugly. The kind of bruise that made you wonder what someone's life looked like when sported; what adventures they'd ventured through, what battles they'd fought. Whether they'd won and had the badge to prove it, or if they'd lost and had the marks to show it.
When I looked up again, I was startled at the suppressed anger simmering just below the surface of Reed's expression.
"I can't believe you did that yesterday." He shook his head, gently pushing me down to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Jumping in front of a moving car?" I weakly joked. "Yeah, that makes two of us."
It fell flat; he stared back, unimpressed. "That was such a stupid thing to do."
His fury was starting to become palpable. Now that both of us had slept, the inevitable discussion of my actions yesterday was emerging in full force. His anger had compounded with time, ready to be brought to light now that I was okay. Or at least, now that I wasn't dizzy in his backseat.
He probably wouldn't agree with my assessment of 'okay' at this particular moment.
"I never said it wasn't." I paused, taking a beat to steady my thoughts. "But I'd do it again."
"You are never doing anything like that ever again." The depth of his tone surprised me, and so did the intensity that'd erupted across him. "Do you know what it was like to see that yesterday, Avery? I go outside and you and Rolo just take off running. Next thing I know, you're an inch away from a car bumper and not moving. For a minute, I thought—"
He cut himself off, steeling his expression.
I sat and took his anger. I felt a bubble of regret. I had no idea what'd it felt like to be a witness the day before, but I was grateful it'd turned out the way it had. It was a miracle Rolo and I had both walked, or limped in my case, away from that terrifyingly close call — that too close call. I didn't regret doing it, but I regretted the pain I'd caused.
Not my pain. Not the pain in my knee, not the pain in my head, not the scrapes or the bruises. I'm sorry for the pain I caused him.
"I'm sorry."
He heaved a deep sigh as he sat next to me on the bed. He bent over his spread legs, hands clasped together and head hung as he took purposeful breaths. "I know."
"I had to save Rolo."
"I know." His head lifted, showing the fatigue that remained when anger eventually faded. "And I'm glad he's okay. But never again, Avery."
"Never again," I promised. He nodded, his eyes briefly sliding closed.
He eyed me warily when they opened again. "Where were you going?"
"The bathroom," I assured. He nodded and stood. He helped me to the bathroom and was waiting when I hobbled my way out.
"Any word from Simon?" I asked. I stared at him from where I sat leaned against the headboard of the bed.
Reed gave a half-shrug as he tucked another pillow behind my back. "They made it to Greystone. He told me to tell you Rolo is doing good. He should be meeting Kennedy soon."
I nodded, fiddling with the wool blanket.
"And he also said Rolo is eating him out of house and home." Reed gave a half-smile to match his half-shrug as he stepped away.
I gave a half-laugh. "Oh, I'm sure."
The silence that followed was stale. The anxiety was not.
What do I say? Yesterday was a lot. I don't want it to be awkward. Do I bring up what'd happened in the car?
I balked at bringing up the day before. It was too soon; I wasn't sure I was ready to touch such a loaded topic yet. I opted for the easy option instead. I brought up another conversation we needed to have — a conversation about the future.
"What's the plan now?"
"We'll be back on the road soon. I just need to look at something Beck found."
The file Simon had promised to send.
"Okay. I will... sit here then."
I stared around the motel room. Ugly beige walls stared back. Reed crossed to the nightstand and pulled out a remote.
"Here."
The TV was small with only a few channels. Of the limited options, only the shopping channel worked without crackle. Reed settled in the armchair as novelty items and gaudy jewelry flickered across the screen. He pulled out a laptop I recognized from the safehouse.
I watched him from the corner of my eye, careful not to stare. I found myself rapidly falling down a rabbit hole of thought.
I won't overthink this. I won't think at all. I'll just do it. I'll be spontaneous for once in my life. I won't balk at possibility. Maybe there isn't any possibility, but I'm open to it if there is. For once in my life, I'll be open to 'yes'.
It seemed crazy to me how my life had changed in the past month. I'd been days away from moving to D.C., had almost died, had gone on the run, had almost died again, and now I was here. Here, realizing that for the first time there was something I wanted that I couldn't get through hard work and ambition. Something that ruined any plans I had of 'someday' or 'not right now'. I still wanted my career, but maybe that wasn't all I wanted anymore.
Maybe there were other things I wanted to ask for.
I'd been plagued with fears I'd never get to experience the other half of life. I'd been chased by dishonest doubts if I even wanted to. I'd constantly lied to myself, feeling wrapped in the burden of possibility. I'd been terrified I'd never have the option even if I wanted it, so I'd taken away the possibility altogether; foolishly reasoning it'd hurt less if I made the decision not to, versus never being offered the chance.
I made it so much more complicated than it had to be.
I'd told myself maybe I didn't want it, while still scared out of my mind at the possibility it'd never happen. That I'd be too late.
But that was absurd.
Maybe I've always known what I wanted. I just knew I could achieve one dream through control and discipline, and the other one meant giving up control. The latter was too terrifying to think about.
I wasn't saying I wanted to give up my career, or run out and have kids, or get married. I was admitting maybe I knew it was a possibility. Maybe I could let myself have that possibility; that maybe it was possible to have both a future and a life. I mean, of course I'd known it was possible — but it was only a possibility for others. For me, it'd seemed so unlikely. It still did. But wasn't it possible to try? Wasn't it theoretically possible I could have what others had, as long as I didn't keep running from it?
Maybe I'm ready to live. Maybe I'm ready for the now, instead of a future I don't have any control of.
Because I didn't have control. It'd been made very clear to me I could make every plan in the world, do everything right, and still not end up where I wanted. I needed to stop being a hypocrite. Stop hiding behind my career as an excuse. Stop being afraid I'd never actually get to experience life, feeling fear I'd live but not the way I was supposed to.
Isn't that what life's all about? The risk? Being at the top of the cliff and staring down, wondering if you'll land on your feet? Maybe I won't. Maybe I need to learn that's okay. Either way, I need to stop hiding. I need to stop lying.
I knew this stroke of genius wasn't because of Reed, who I barely knew, or the loneliness — this was from something else. This was from me. Because of me. About me. This was a realization driven by fear of regret, because I'd almost died. Then I'd almost died again. It could've been game over. Both times. And I would've died never having loved, or having been loved, because I was afraid. I still didn't need someone; I was perfectly independent, but I was tired of being afraid of wanting someone.
Maybe Reed didn't like me. It was possible. It was probably true, but it wasn't about him. It was about me sitting pretty under a barrier only I built, and only I could take down. My limits were all my own doing.
My fingers found my necklace, the one I'd cherished since graduation. The one that'd reminded me what I was made of when I'd needed it, and had reminded me how proud my parents were.
Maybe they were talking about more than just my job, my career, my future. Maybe now... I'm willing to accept there's more. There could be more.
"Avery."
The eerily calm voice jolted me out of my thoughts and broke my distracted gaze from the television. Reed stood next to the bed. His face was a mask of stony anger. It looked like he was fighting to remain in control, struggling to keep from showing how he felt.
I looked up at his attempted calm, startled and confused. I'd missed something — something huge, apparently. His harsh expression didn't fit the joy I felt at my breakthrough.
He almost looks... betrayed.
"What the hell is this?" His laptop slid onto my lap. I stared at the screen; I was going to be sick as joy turned to poison in my gut.
My voice was a whisper in a constricting throat. "Where did you get this?"
"Avery," the loud voice demanded. Slowly, unwillingly, I looked up to meet his eyes.
The question soared through the air to pierce my chest.
"What the hell did you do?"
Uh-oh. What's Avery been hiding?
Congratulations, you made it through the angst and now we're back to our regularly scheduled programming of whodunnit mystery!
Sorry it was another week with only one update. My vacation is coming to an end, so I'm expecting to post two chapters next week! Hopefully the past few chapters weren't too much. It was a little nerve-wracking.
Drop your predictions and theories below! I love reading comments. Truly a highlight of my day. Please remember to vote, share, and comment!
- H