Reed’s pale-green eyes went far away. He scratched his eyebrow and released a quick breath. “After I left the pleasure house, I took up with a gang. Not a gang of scavengers like us. Runners. They weren’t bad kids, just rough.”
“You ran chem?” Nate asked, as surprised by that as he’d be if Reed told him he’d grown wings.
Reed nodded tightly. “I wasn’t much older than Pix. I dropped packages at a public den once in a while. To nice people. They gave me sweet gum and food. I liked them.”
Nate clenched his teeth. They must have liked him too.
“When I was there bringing a package upstairs, someone cooking chem dropped a gaslight on a blanket,” Reed said. “The whole place went up. I got out. A few others did too, but most of them were so. . .they watched the flames like it was something beautiful. I saw—I saw a girl with her hand on fire, watching it go black.”
Nate thought he knew everything about chem and how it could ravage someone, slowly twist them inside out. But Reed’s gaze had gone hollow and haunted. He carried things Nate couldn’t see and would never know.
“Wishes,” Nate said. “You first.”
Reed’s voice went thick for a moment. “Home.”
“What kind?”
“One we don’t have to leave. Somewhere Pixel won’t have to be scared. Somewhere she can stay.”
Nate fought through a wheezing breath. “How about a tree house?”
“I’ve never seen a tree big enough to hold a house,” Reed said.
“I’ve seen them in drawings.”
“Your turn.”
Nate hesitated. Pixel didn’t know that Alden’s supply of Remedy was running out. So Reed wouldn’t know either. “I already told you.” His vision fuzzed around the edges. “A tree house.”
“That’s cheating.”
“You,” Nate said.
“I’m not a cheater.”
“No.” Nate squirmed, already wishing he hadn’t said it. But he had to say it now. “I meant my wish. It’s you.”
“I sent you away.” Reed’s voice thickened with anguish. “I made you go when you were sick.”
“I told you. I know what I want.”
A shudder ran through Reed when he took Nate’s hand in both of his and drew it to his lips, his lashes wet, and his eyes closed gently. He kissed Nate’s palm, and Nate recognized something in the bend of his neck. The same need for forgiveness that chased Nate like a shadow.
“Reed,” he whispered, knowing he’d have to say it again and again for Reed to ever believe him. Knowing he didn’t have time to do that. “You’re my wish.”
Reed dropped Nate’s hand and closed the distance between them with a soft kiss. Heat blossomed through Nate, and he tugged at Reed, made it more than soft, undone by the sweetness of Reed’s mouth. He made a low sound—a bittersweet wish, pain and longing. They touched as much as Nate could bear to. Reed’s palms were warm, gentling him when the shivers of quiet kisses became tremors of pain.
As Nate caught his breath, Reed nosed at him and pressed quick, easy kisses at his jaw. His cheeks were wet. “I’m here.”
“Stay.” Nate began to cry again. It was nothing more than a dry, anguished sound.
“Shh,” Reed whispered. “Nate. Rest. I won’t go.”
Nate heard voices, but they were far away. His breath didn’t fill him up all the way. So he held very still, and that helped a little.
“Why isn’t he getting better?” Reed’s fingers stroked Nate’s bare foot with restless twitches.
“I had to start rationing.” That was Alden, slow and tired. “If I give him what I have left, he’ll feel good for a few hours, maybe more, and then he’ll. . .At least this way. . .Tiny doses. I can keep him comfortable.”
