Her sobs turn to shuddering breaths, heavy and broken.
I don’t move. I stay exactly where I am, holding her. The others sit around me, silent.
Eventually her breathing deepens, changes, and I glance down, brushing her damp hair away from her face. “She’s asleep. I’ll put her on the bed.”
I look up, but it’s not Chess who shifts forward.
Buck is pale, his face drawn as he stares at her. And then he looks between Chess and I, his face twisting. “I… please. Let me take her.”
Chess’s lips thin. But he glances at Alyss, nods slowly. “We’ll lift her though. You look as though you’re about to pass out.”
He does. But he lets Hatter and Kayden haul him up before he moves to the bed on shaking, determined legs.
I relinquish Alyss to Chess. He carries her carefully, as though she’s made of nothing but glass and air, before he sets her down in the bed next to Buck. Buck shifts onto his side to make space, curling himself around her.
“Thanks,” Buck murmurs. Carefully, he wraps an arm around her.
“Every man for himself, huh?” Chess settles on the floor beside him, his face clearly stating that he’s not moving.
Buck scoffs, his voice quiet. But we all hear it.
“I never stood a fucking chance.”
My eyes sweep over Alyss’s sleeping form.
I have a feeling I know exactly what he means.
27 – Alyss
The food tastes like ashes in my mouth.
I force it down anyway. My body still aches, courtesy of our fun run last night and then my little public trauma moment.
I glance up, meeting Aiden’s gaze from across the room. He’s been watching me on and off since I woke up with Buck’s arms wrapped around me.
I pick up my water bottle. Frown. It’s fuller than it should be, almost to the brim when it was irritatingly close to empty. My throat is still parched.
“Drink it,” Buck murmurs beside me.
He swapped our bottles. My fingers grip the plastic a little harder, but I don’t say anything. Ifthey’rewatching us – and I’m fairly certain they are, maximizing their entertainment value – I don’t want him to get punished for it.
“You need it too,” I whisper carefully.
The heat of his arm brushes mine as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “I’m fine, Trouble. Don’t you worry about me.”
I turn to him, then.
“No,” I say carefully. “You’re not.”
And I’m worried about him, although I don’t voice it.
He swallows the food. Glances at me, and sighs. We both watch as he stretches out his hand, showing me the shaking. “You’re probably right.”
I want to ask. Find myself wanting to know more and more about these men, about their stories. The snippets I have… it’s not enough. There are pieces missing.
But if they offer me a piece… I have to give one back. It feels only fair. And the pieces I have, my father and Adam… I don’t want to think about that again, not so soon after last night.
So I stay silent, studying the bottle in my hand.
