My gaze locks on his and I get the feeling he knows everything I’m thinking.
“I told them it wasn’t a trade I was willing to make.” His mouth shapes a tight, close-lipped smile. “They told me I didn’t get a choice. Consequences of breaking the rules. Their decision, not mine.”
“That must have gone over well. You being such a complacent, easygoing kind of guy.” I pause. “Then what?”
“Then they pushed into my head. I went a little crazy. Pushed them back out. I think that freaked them out. They pushed harder. I pushed back. It wasn’t pretty.”
“I felt it.” I shiver chases through me as I remember his screams.
His eyes widen. “I didn’t know that would happen. I would never want you to go through that, not even secondhand.” He pauses. “I was thinking about you, holding on to an image of you with everything I am, refusing to let them take that away. That must have made me project my thoughts without intending to.”
Thoughts. Emotions. Agony.
He’d done that before when he dreamed of the car accident that he was in with Lizzie, the one that brought him into the game. He somehow projected it to me so I dreamed it right along with him.
I almost tell him about my hallucination, about thinking I saw Lizzie in the game, then decide not to. Later. This moment is about him and me. “You wouldn’t let them take your memories of me, but then in typical Jackson fashion, you decided it would be okay if I sacrificed my memories of you. You didn’t think I might want to have a say?”
“You weren’t available to have that discussion.”
He did what he thought was best. He’s been part of the game, a leader, for so long, it’s become intrinsic to who he is now.
“And I wanted you out of the game,” he continues. “Out, and safe.”
As if any of us will ever be safe until the Drau are gone.
He leans so close I feel his lips against my ear as he whispers, “I would do anything to keep you safe, Miki. Anything. Remember that.”
I do remember. He almost died taking a Drau hit meant for me.
“So you were going to win my freedom by sacrificing yourself and having them make me forget. That wasn’t your call to make, Jackson.” I reach for him, pull back, clench and unclench my fingers. Finally, I lay my palm against his chest, close my eyes, and just let myself feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin. “So what happened after you pushed them out of your head?”
“The Committee tried a different tack. Went all reasonable on me. Tried to coax their way into my brain. Explained that I’m dangerous if I don’t obey the rules, that maybe it’s better for everyone if I’m out. What’s to stop me from draining any one of my teammates to stay alive if my con goes red?”
My breath comes out in a sharp whoosh. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He bares his teeth in a savage smile. “What do you call what I did to you?”
“You didn’t force me. I offered. I gave it to you. And you didn’t drain me. You took just enough to stay alive.”
“If I hadn’t taken it, then all your offering wouldn’t have been worth a damn. And as for taking just enough . . . is that because I was strong enough to stop or because the Committee happened to pull us before I killed you?” he asks in a hard tone. “Face it, Miki. No one on the team would stand a chance against me if I chose to go Drau on them. That’s the Committee’s fear, and it’s justifiable. I’m a potential killer.”
I laugh then, because it’s all so absurd. “A potential killer? Are you kidding? You are a killer.”
His expression goes blank. “Yeah,” he says, and I know he’s thinking of Lizzie. But that’s not what I mean at all.
“You don’t get it, Jackson. We’re all killers. How many Drau have we taken down? And since we’ve all taken down Drau, what’s to say we couldn’t take you down if you decide to drain a teammate?” Before he can answer, I hold up my hand. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t. It’s not even a question.”
“So much faith in me, Miki, despite all you know?”
“Because of all I know.”
“Not smart,” he says, very soft, but the way he’s looking at me takes the sting out of his words.
“Probably not,” I agree, and mean it. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about him. I take a deep breath. “So . . . the Committee tried to get inside your brain, wipe it clean, send you away. Yet here you are. Still in Rochester. Still in the game.”
“Yeah. I reenlisted.”
“Because you thought they’d let me go? After all the effort you went to so I’d be in the game and you’d get to go free?”
“Yeah.”
What a convoluted mess.
“I want you safe, Miki. Alive and safe. And out of the game.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
He rakes his fingers back through his hair in a completely un-Jacksonlike gesture. “Am I supposed to be happy that I did this to you? That I found you and told the Committee about you? Am I supposed to be happy that your life’s still at risk? Because of me. The choices I made.”
“Am I supposed to be happy that your life’s at risk?” I ask.
I glare at him, angry on many levels, for many reasons: His reaction to me being here. The things he’s saying. The way that he’s so angry with himself that he’s putting me in the position of defending him rather than blaming him. The ugly suspicion that this is just him manipulating my emotions, turning my thoughts inside out so that I forgive him. The anger at myself for suspecting him.
“I told them it wasn’t a trade I was willing to make.” His mouth shapes a tight, close-lipped smile. “They told me I didn’t get a choice. Consequences of breaking the rules. Their decision, not mine.”
“That must have gone over well. You being such a complacent, easygoing kind of guy.” I pause. “Then what?”
“Then they pushed into my head. I went a little crazy. Pushed them back out. I think that freaked them out. They pushed harder. I pushed back. It wasn’t pretty.”
“I felt it.” I shiver chases through me as I remember his screams.
His eyes widen. “I didn’t know that would happen. I would never want you to go through that, not even secondhand.” He pauses. “I was thinking about you, holding on to an image of you with everything I am, refusing to let them take that away. That must have made me project my thoughts without intending to.”
Thoughts. Emotions. Agony.
He’d done that before when he dreamed of the car accident that he was in with Lizzie, the one that brought him into the game. He somehow projected it to me so I dreamed it right along with him.
I almost tell him about my hallucination, about thinking I saw Lizzie in the game, then decide not to. Later. This moment is about him and me. “You wouldn’t let them take your memories of me, but then in typical Jackson fashion, you decided it would be okay if I sacrificed my memories of you. You didn’t think I might want to have a say?”
“You weren’t available to have that discussion.”
He did what he thought was best. He’s been part of the game, a leader, for so long, it’s become intrinsic to who he is now.
“And I wanted you out of the game,” he continues. “Out, and safe.”
As if any of us will ever be safe until the Drau are gone.
He leans so close I feel his lips against my ear as he whispers, “I would do anything to keep you safe, Miki. Anything. Remember that.”
I do remember. He almost died taking a Drau hit meant for me.
“So you were going to win my freedom by sacrificing yourself and having them make me forget. That wasn’t your call to make, Jackson.” I reach for him, pull back, clench and unclench my fingers. Finally, I lay my palm against his chest, close my eyes, and just let myself feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin. “So what happened after you pushed them out of your head?”
“The Committee tried a different tack. Went all reasonable on me. Tried to coax their way into my brain. Explained that I’m dangerous if I don’t obey the rules, that maybe it’s better for everyone if I’m out. What’s to stop me from draining any one of my teammates to stay alive if my con goes red?”
My breath comes out in a sharp whoosh. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He bares his teeth in a savage smile. “What do you call what I did to you?”
“You didn’t force me. I offered. I gave it to you. And you didn’t drain me. You took just enough to stay alive.”
“If I hadn’t taken it, then all your offering wouldn’t have been worth a damn. And as for taking just enough . . . is that because I was strong enough to stop or because the Committee happened to pull us before I killed you?” he asks in a hard tone. “Face it, Miki. No one on the team would stand a chance against me if I chose to go Drau on them. That’s the Committee’s fear, and it’s justifiable. I’m a potential killer.”
I laugh then, because it’s all so absurd. “A potential killer? Are you kidding? You are a killer.”
His expression goes blank. “Yeah,” he says, and I know he’s thinking of Lizzie. But that’s not what I mean at all.
“You don’t get it, Jackson. We’re all killers. How many Drau have we taken down? And since we’ve all taken down Drau, what’s to say we couldn’t take you down if you decide to drain a teammate?” Before he can answer, I hold up my hand. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t. It’s not even a question.”
“So much faith in me, Miki, despite all you know?”
“Because of all I know.”
“Not smart,” he says, very soft, but the way he’s looking at me takes the sting out of his words.
“Probably not,” I agree, and mean it. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about him. I take a deep breath. “So . . . the Committee tried to get inside your brain, wipe it clean, send you away. Yet here you are. Still in Rochester. Still in the game.”
“Yeah. I reenlisted.”
“Because you thought they’d let me go? After all the effort you went to so I’d be in the game and you’d get to go free?”
“Yeah.”
What a convoluted mess.
“I want you safe, Miki. Alive and safe. And out of the game.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
He rakes his fingers back through his hair in a completely un-Jacksonlike gesture. “Am I supposed to be happy that I did this to you? That I found you and told the Committee about you? Am I supposed to be happy that your life’s still at risk? Because of me. The choices I made.”
“Am I supposed to be happy that your life’s at risk?” I ask.
I glare at him, angry on many levels, for many reasons: His reaction to me being here. The things he’s saying. The way that he’s so angry with himself that he’s putting me in the position of defending him rather than blaming him. The ugly suspicion that this is just him manipulating my emotions, turning my thoughts inside out so that I forgive him. The anger at myself for suspecting him.
