“I’ll sleep after.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
He ignores it, his fingers drifting up my spine and settling at the nape of my neck. The gentle pressure makes my eyelids heavy.
“Still mad at me?” he asks, voice so low I almost miss it.
“Not mad.” I snuggle closer.
“Hurt then.”
I don’t say it, but he probably knows the answer.
I am hurt. Of course, I’m hurt.
I feel a jagged, gaping hole where my dignity used to be.
TheYeshe dropped earlier when I asked if I slowed him down. No hesitation. No polite lie to spare my feelings. Just the brutal, unvarnished truth: I am dead weight.
I’m the luggage he’s too honorable to dump on the side of the road.
And why wouldn’t he have a backup plan that doesn’t include me? I’m not his family. I’m just the girl whose father blackmailed his family, the sister of the woman he actually cares about.
And that’s okay.
It is fine.
I shouldn’t want more. I shouldn’t want to be the exception. Even if… I want to be the blue he talked about. It’s pathetic, really. Maybe that’s all I am—desperate for any scraps I can grasp.
I burrow even closer, hating how good he feels. Hating that his heartbeat is the most steady thing in my world right now. I’m leeching off his warmth like a parasite while knowing that the second we get to Pine Lake, the second he hands me off to the others, his job is done, and we’ll go back to how we were before.
“No.” My voice is muffled against the rough fabric of his shirt. “Just tired.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he rumbles, his chest vibrating against my cheek.
“Julien—”
“Get some sleep.” He tucks me closer, his chin resting on the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”
For how long?
TWENTY-TWO
JULIEN
My left arm is gone. Just a slab of dead meat pinned under her weight. Pins and needles shoot up my shoulder, a thousand tiny knives waking me up.
Dakota’s head is tucked under my chin, her breath hot against my collarbone. She’s clinging to my shirt. Even in her sleep, she’s holding on for dear life. But I’m okay with her never letting go.
Sunlight blades through the cracks in the treehouse walls, cutting through the gloom. I shift my legs, grimacing as they protest. Yesterday’s sprint wrecked me more than I’d like to admit.
Dakota stirs. Her grip on my shirt tightens before her eyes flutter open. She blinks, disorientation written all over her face until her gaze lands on my jaw. Then the wall comes up. The shutter drops behind her eyes, dimming them to a muted gray-blue.
“Sorry.” She scrambles back, putting three feet of floorboard between us in a heartbeat. Her hand flies to her hair, smoothingit down like appearance matters when we haven’t brushed our teeth in twenty-four hours. “I didn’t mean to crowd you.”
I flex my hand, trying to get the blood flowing again. “You drooled on me.”
Her eyes widen, hand jumping to her mouth. “I did not.”
