Was it really only a year ago that I fell head over heels for Clara?
Back when my biggest problem was thinking my girlfriend was only with me because I got to her first. But it’s not a race. It never was.
She loves me because my passion echoes hers. She needs me as her guide, giving her space to melt into sensation, color, sound, excess. I’m blessed that she trusts me with the part of herself that echoes the fire in her heart.
I miss her so damn much.
“So, how much longer do we sit here to throw off your tail?” Jonah asks.
Tossing back the rest of my drink, I stare at my red and black speckled hands, my paintbrush likely ruined back at home. “I’ll head out. Count to twenty, then make sure the guy in the green coat sitting next to the front door is gone before you leave, too.”
He nods, attempting and failing to shut down his uncontrolled grin.
“Thanks, Jonah,” I say before heading back out into the cold.
When I get back home, the tail left a few houses back, my room is ice cold but fume-free. Only the paint has dried leaving my brushes a mess.
My walls are morphing into swirls of red and black, hints of Clara clear in every swipe of black—the curve of her cheek, the dip of her waist, the strength of her calves or the set of her jaw. But she’s surrounded by blood-red clouds, caught in the net of choices we’ve made.
Choices she’s made, too.
I close my windows, leave my brushes to soak, and knock on RJ’s door.
He’s barely recognizable the longer Clara’s gone, so far lost in his work that what started as negligent stubble is now a full beard, his hair pulled into a low ponytail more often than its free, deep shadows under his eyes from not sleeping as much as he should. “What’s up?” he asks, letting me in.
“We’ve got mail.” I hand over the note, and we sit together, parsing the meaning in low whispers.
Trips locked away. No release known. Mental status unknown. Consequence was me killing my guard Smith and a week of mostly solitary confinement. Trips’ dad is aware we’re up to something. I plan to up my charm. They’re looking for Jansen and Emma; keep them safe. Falk might be trustworthy; I’m testing the waters. If storage is off site, Falk will know where. Glad things are okay there. Miss you. So much. Love you.
I swallow, hard, wanting her here instead of there, her hand in mine instead of this slip of notebook paper. “I hate this,” I whisper.
RJ drops his head in his hands. “Me too. I’ll reach out to Mattie tomorrow, see if she’s picked up on anything that Clara hasn’t.”
“Jansen—”
“I know. He’s moving, he’s healing…”
“But will it be soon enough? Both his body and brain are so busted.”
RJ stands up, his gaze locked on his computer. “All we can do is what we have in front of us. And if we need to cover for him—”
“It’ll be a shitshow.”
“Maybe. At least we practiced, just in case.”
“And Clara was his best stand-in.”
“With the locks, but not with climbing.” RJ rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, I know Jansen usually has the sunshine and blind faith market cornered, but if you could be less negative, we might be able to make a contingency plan. Just in case.”
I slump onto his bed, knowing that my first reaction to stress is to shut down. To keep my heart safe instead of being open to a solution. It’s an issue I know I’m going to keep struggling with and one I’d asked the guys to check me on before we came back. “Sorry.”
“No worries. You’ve been the one keeping us alive. I’m just trying to help lift the burden.”
“Thanks. I guess that means we should climb twice a week from now on, just in case,” I say, staring up at his ceiling.
“And swim. But it’s the locks that worry me,” RJ says.
Flopping back on his mattress makes me wish for a particular warm body to be sprawled next to me. “I’m fine with the picks—not Jansen good, but fine. It’s the safe-breaking that’s scary hard.”
