Amber regains her balance. Ignoring Julio’s pleas to come inside, she cups another spark, stretching it into a hot white fireball as she waits for Doug to get close. Just before he slams into our bumper, she hurls it at the crack in his windshield. The fractured glass shatters. The sports car falls back, the interior lit with flames and billowing black smoke. Doug’s door flies open. He leaps from the car, tumbling into a ditch alongside the road.
We pull Amber into the car as the flames shrink behind us.
I steady us on the road. Julio and Jack steady the storm. Amber lays her head back and breathes, steadying her heart. And this time, when we reach for each other’s hands, it feels like we’re sharing more than energy. More than magic or strength or power. It feels like we’re sharing a promise.
38
Claws and Teeth
JACK
We make it to the outskirts of Phoenix just before midnight. I pay cash for two adjacent rooms in the smallest, crappiest motel I can find and park the sedan around back. We sit in the darkened car, too exhausted to move. Too scared to ask what happens in the morning. For months, Arizona has been the destination, the milestone none of us were entirely sure we would reach alive. Now we’re here, together. But for how long? Where do we all go next?
I clear the dust from my throat. “Tomorrow, when we wake, we’ll take Amber to see her mom. After that, Fleur and I will head north to the Canyon.” No one speaks.
I hand Amber a key to one of the rooms. We all get out of the car. This time, we break into pairs without any awkward preambles. Julio holds their door open, but Amber pauses outside. Her eyes are glassy as she turns to me and says, “Thanks, Jack. For bringing me home.”
She places a cool peck on my cheek. The weight of it lingers as she and Julio disappear into their room.
Fleur unlocks our door and dumps her backpack beside the bed. The peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet are sour with the odor of bodies and tobacco. Yellowing stains creep over the ceiling tiles, the sink, and the bedspread. The lighting in the room is harsh, and the haggard face staring back at me in the cracked mirror above the sink across the room feels almost unrecognizable.
Home. I’m not even sure where that is for me anymore.
The cabin? My old boarding school? My grandfather’s headstone? My mother’s? All Amber’s wanted is to make it here, to Arizona. All Julio’s talked about is going to the coast. But my destination isn’t wrapped up in a city or the place where I came from. All I’ve wanted is to leave everything behind and disappear with Fleur. To keep her alive. I hadn’t stopped to think about who we’d become. Or where we’d go.
She disappears into the bathroom. On the other side of the door, the shower sputters to life and the hooks screech over the curtain rod. I turn on the faucet in the rust-stained sink and let the water run cold. Standing in front of the mirror, I unbutton Julio’s shirt, surprised to find the gauze bandage still taped to my shoulder. The adhesive clings stubbornly around the faded, puckered scar. That night by the campfire feels like it happened years ago, not days ago. We’ve all changed so much since.
I splash handfuls of water over my face, wishing it would wash away all my doubts about tomorrow. The four of us together were unstoppable, the perfect storm. But what happens if we’re not together anymore?
The bathroom door opens with a softclick. The steam billowingfrom it is thick with the scent of lilies and Fleur’s shampoo. I freeze at the sight of her, cold water dripping down my face as I reach mindlessly for the tap.
Fleur’s cheeks are flushed from the heat. Beads of water trail from the wet ends of her hair, over the rise and fall of the towel cinched tightly around her chest. The sight of her knocks me breathless and I force myself to look away.
“I can wait outside.” My voice is strained as I turn for the door.
She reaches for me. “Wait.” The air between us feels charged, like we could electrify the room. “Is that...?” She holds her towel in place. Tucks her wet hair behind her ear. “Is that what you want?”
I shut my eyes. Lick the water from my lips, trying to find the right words to answer that. She smells like wildflowers in moonlight, like forests of night blooms, and if I look at her again, I’m done. Game over.
“No,” I whisper through a thin breath. “That’s not what I want.”
I shiver at her tentative touch, at the heat of her skin as she takes my hand and draws me to her.
“Why won’t you look at me?” She rests her hand in the open collar of my shirt and tenderly traces my scar. I shiver. My nails dig into my palms.
A desperate laugh crawls up my throat. How do I tell her that this crappy motel room suddenly feels sacred? That no matter how many times I’ve fantasized about this moment, how many times I’ve wished for it, suddenly I don’t feel worthy or ready? I’m terrified I’ll screw this up.
“Because you’re beautiful and warm and you smell so...” I swallow hard as she places a fragile kiss on my neck, her breath a soft caress against the ache in my throat. “God, you smell amazing. And if youkeep touching me like this, I don’t think I can trust myself to do the right thing.”
“Itrust you.” Her palm skims down my chest, and the ache spreads everywhere. I sink my teeth into my lip as her hand slips lower, and I take it before she does something we both might regret.
“You were right,” I say, my pulse racing. “Back in Tennessee, you said we should be together for the right reasons. Not because we’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” she whispers. Suddenly, she stops. “Are you?”
My voice breaks. “Yes.”
“Why?” She sounds so surprised. “Have you never...?”
