“Say what?” I whisper.
He swallows hard. “Anything.”
So I don’t say anything. I grab the back of his neck and bring his mouth to mine.
He makes a noise, a half gasp that I feel all the way in my bones. For an endless moment, he just freezes like that: surprised, stunned to stillness. I’m halfway to thinkingOh shit oh shit oh shit I fucked up—
Then he fists my shirt and kisses me back.
Lament kisses like I never would have guessed: rough and reckless, a little headlong. There’s anger in this kiss, and defeat and resentment. It’sHow could you?andAfter everything?andDamn you, Hartman, damn you straight to hell.But there’s relief here, too. Surrender. Homecoming. Which is to say, the kiss is like us.
Light dances behind my eyes as I deepen the kiss, get my free hand against his spine, pull him so we’re flush together. I can hardly believe thisis happening. That I’m engulfing him and he’s letting me. His mouth is firm and warm. His fingers dig into my waist. I sweep my tongue over his, and he moans. Like, actually moans. The sound does something funny to my blood. Sensation—hot, heavy—pools in my gut.
Lament’s hands start to roam, his fingers gripping my arms, my backside. I angle his head, get his mouth where I want it. Bite his bottom lip, drag it between my teeth, feel the rough shudder of his exhale.
The kiss changes, turning looser, languid. Lament’s fingers skate along my sides. I bring both palms to his face, cup his cheeks, slide my thumbs against his skin. He pulls back slightly to look into my eyes, and I have to swallow the lump ofsomethingin my throat, the tangled knot of too-big feelings struggling through my veins.
“Keller.”
I’m still cupping his face. He’s still letting me. But there’s something in his voice now, something uncertain, and it has my heart flinching. Because I know what comes next, don’t I? This is the part where he tells me we can’t, we shouldn’t have, this was a mistake. I’ll have to watch him close up and try to act like it doesn’t matter, like his rejection isn’t the one thing that has the power to break me hardest. Already, I feel that old instinct within me. The urge to reach out, hold on, get on my knees and beg.Please, I think desperately.Please don’t walk away.
He licks his lips. Takes a breath. “Keller, I—”
A knock at the door startles me out of my skin. Lament and I spring away from each other like we’ve been electrocuted. Avi’s voice sounds through the wood. “Keller, we know you’re in there.”
“Open ’er up,” Caspen chimes.
My face is burning. My clothes are too tight. I clear my throat and try not to sound like I’ve just been caught mauling my partner. “Just a second.”
I glance at Lament and see his emotion. I watch him tuck it away, piece by piece, shutting himself back inside a marble case.No, I want to say, andwait, andnot yet. But it’s not fair of me to want that or ask for that. Not when I barged in here uninvited, and made him cry, and kissed him.
I let out a shaky breath.
Why did I kiss him?
I smooth my hair, straighten my clothes. A minute ago, I knew exactly what to do with my hands, where I wanted them and how and with whom. Now my limbs are so awkward they feel like they’ve been tacked on with chewing gum.
When I answer the door, Avi and Caspen are standing in the hallway, looking supremely pleased. “Bit of a holiday morning,” Caspen says.
“That means we have something for you,” Avi translates.
“It’s not,” I ask, looking suspiciously between them, “spiders, is it?”
“Better.” Avi pulls the item out from behind her back.
It’s my ray gun.Myray gun. I have no idea how Caspen and Avi managed to retrieve it, and for a second, I almost don’t believe my eyes. “You didn’t.”
“We did.”
“But how—?”
“Don’t let the turnip go ripe,” Caspen replies, and somehow I understand this to mean,Best if you don’t ask.
I take the gun slowly. Feel its familiar weight. And it’s the oddest thing, because I know this weapon was part of a larger Determinist plot. I know it was planted by my mom. Maybe that means I should feel repulsed by the sight, but as soon as the cool metal touches my palm, that old feeling of rightness washes over me. This gun is mine, like nothing else. I don’t care who gave it to me or what it symbolizes. I’m so glad to have it back.
I look at Avi and Caspen, both of whom are grinning. Sayingthank youseems wildly insufficient, but, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Avi replies. Her eyes drift over my shoulder. I follow the line of her gaze toward Lament. See him see the gun.
