“Excuse me?” she whispered, deathly quiet. Getting one of them killed?
“Just a suspicion.” The attention was short lived, as Wayne’s gaze wandered away. He wouldn’t even give her the decency of direct eye contact as he levied his accusations.
“You’re not smart enough to play cryptic.”Unlike Snow. He was another ghost who had not been seen since Nico’s death. “Shit or get off the pot, Wayne. What are you getting at?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” There was no “doll” at the end, making the statement come across even harsher than his tone. “You don’t exactly have the best track record.”
“I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about.” Her current theory was that grief was making him mad. “Yuusuke? That wasone time. And I messed uponceon the last wish, but otherwise I’ve had a pretty good track record,” she said defensively.
“Like that supposedly good track record means anything whenyourscrew-up ends with one of our team dead.”
Jo’s hand flew like a bullet, striking out for his wrist, but instead her fingers curled around the man’s bicep and she twisted him to face her, gave him a small shake. “Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Cooped up in your room, blaming this onme?”
Wayne opened his mouth to speak, but Jo could tell by the expression on his face that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. So instead, she just continued talking.
“Yeah, all right, Wayne, I messed up. But you know what?We all did. None of us was good enough, not evenyou,” Jo seethed. “Don’t pin this on me to try to make yourself feel better. Don’t make me out to be your scapegoat.” She’d been doing enough of beating herself up on her own. She really didn’t need someone else to do it.
“Fine, yeah, we all messed up.” He jerked away from her, straightening to look as far down on her as he could. “But you know what? This isn’t about making you out as a scapegoat. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past few days, connecting the dots, and everything’s gone to shit since you arrived.” Jo opened her mouth to counter, but it was his turn not to let her speak. “We’ve had more wishes, back to back, than ever before. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got one tomorrow. We used to be able to go a whole decade without one before you got here. And then this last one? We’ve never had one so impossible to grant as a mass evacuation in such a short window of time. I’ve never even seen Snow rewind time up-front for a wish.”
“I want this life at the end of a leash no more than you do. I’d rather see us free of it.” It was the one thing that had resounded in her, over and over until it replaced the silence: destroy everything. Break the cycle they were trapped in. It had been her sole cohesive thought amid her grief. “So you can’t blame all that on me.” A quietness had overtaken her. Jo’s mind was on overdrive, heightened by the confrontation.
“If the shoe fits,” he shot back.
“At least I make an effort.”
“What?” Wayne blinked, startled at the sudden shift.
“You heard me,” Jo pressed. “At least I make an effort. I’m always out there, trying to help, trying to do more, brainstorming, and, yeah, owning up to failures when I make them. Shocker that if you put yourself out there, you mess up now and then. But what do you do with your time? No, don’t answer, I think we already know.”
“In the last wish—”
“In the last wish you made a bet to get people to look at a machine. Anyone could’ve made that happen if we had to. Some smart talking would’ve done it, no magic needed.” She remembered that day. It was the same day he’d rejected her advances and the mere idea of physical intimacy had another avenue unfurling before her—a clarity she’d never seen before about the man. It was a guess, one that she was unnaturally sure she was right about. “You do as little as possible because you’re afraid, Wayne Davis. You’re afraid of doing too much, of stepping too far, and ruining the little stasis you have here.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” He was defensive. She could hear it in his voice. He tried to turn away, but this time Jo managed to wrap a tight grip around his wrist. She should stop now; she could feel the wavering in him.
She should’ve done a lot of things differently in those first few days following Nico’s death though.
“Because you’ll do nothing, and lose someone you love. Again.”
Wayne’s eyes widened so large that she wondered how they didn’t fall from their sockets. “How did you . . .” he whispered. “Who told you?”
Jo didn’t know what chord she’d struck, but it vibrated at such a magical frequency that she knew if she tightened it a little more, it’d snap. So she listened to the note, and twisted. “No one had to tell me—it’ssoblatantly obvious. You’re afraid of having nothing and no one. So whenever you have anything, you make the least amount of effort possible, just enough to keep it, but not enough to really put yourself out there. Because if you put in that much effort, you just might become vulnerable. You just might get hurt. But surprise, Wayne. People need more than your half-assed attempt at connection. So it’s no surprise that she left you for—”
“Stop!” he roared, smacking the mug Jo had set out for coffee and sending it flying across the room.
It shattered, and the sound broke whatever trance had come over her. Jo blinked, startled; she couldn’t figure out how she’d gotten here. What had she even been saying?
Who was the “she” that Jo had been so confident about a moment ago? Jo tried to find the same mental pathways she’d explored, but they were gone, shrouded. She had no idea how she’d jumped to those conclusions.
Wayne panted softly. She felt his pulse racing under her hand, and Jo quickly relinquished him, stepping away. Her eyes dropped to her toes and her shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry, Wayne, I—” she whispered. He said nothing, he barely moved. “ —I don’t know what . . .” Jo buried her face in her hand. How could she have done such a thing? What had come over her?
“I threw the first punch,” he muttered, almost apologetically. “Let’s just forget all about it.” There was a firmness to his voice that drew her eyes back to his face. Jo saw the unspoken words. “It” had nothing to do with the argument, but rather, whatever it was that she had been pursuing.
“Yeah, okay,” Jo whispered. “We can forget about it . . .”
“Good. We’re square, then.” Wayne’s shoulder barely clipped hers as he started for the door.
