“Okay, like when? You don’t sayshit, Dara. I feel like I barely fucking know you sometimes, and that’s not for lack of trying.”
Dara jabbed one finger at Noam’s chest. “I try to tell you about Lehrer.”
“That’s such bullshit, Dara, and you know it. Just because I don’t agree with you—”
Dara hurled the shirt onto the floor so violently that Noam startled where he sat, knocking back against the headboard. “Shut thefuckup. If I have to listen to you justify your own willful ignorance one more time—you—” He dragged a hand back through his hair too roughly, fingers tugging at the messy curls. “I try to tell you, but Idon’ttell you, do you understand? You think you know everything, but you know nothing, you know absolutely nothing. It’s not about you agreeing with me. Lehrer—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Dara. I swear to god. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Oh, believe me,” Dara snapped, “I know.”
Okay. Okay, fine—fine. Noam shoved the bedsheets aside and got to his feet, heat flooding his whole body in an unexpected wave.
“You wanna talk about some fucked-up shit? All right. Yeah. Let’s talk about that, because you’ve known about Ames’s dad for I don’t even know how long, and you haven’t done shit about it.”
Noam was taller than Dara when they were both standing straight, and right now he needed that. He needed the way Dara took a half step back when Noam crossed his arms over his chest, that brief retreat like a victory, fuel for Noam’s anger.
“You won’t shut up about Lehrer and his hypothetical corruption orwhatever, but there’s somebody in government we both know is corrupt. You made me keep quiet about it. You said you’d handle it. Well? What have you done, Dara? Because as far as I can see, you’re content to let a murderer sit as home secretary and do nothing.”
“I told you I’d handle Gordon Ames, and I will. That’s not the point, Noam!”
“You have a point? Well, thank god for that.”
The noise Dara made was wild, derisive and deranged all at once. He spun on his heel, striding toward the door—but as soon as he reached the other end of the room, he just turned round and paced back again. If Noam weren’t so furious he might be worried, because Dara... Dara didn’t look well. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in a week, manic and fevered.
“You—god, you’re so stubborn, and I—that’s what I love about you, itis, but it’s theworstthing about you, because now I can’t. If I, if you know, and he knows—knows you know—there’re some things I just can’t say, Noam. There—I won’t be the reason you die!” The last part burst out of him like a dam breaking, and Dara pressed both hands to his face, nails digging into his brow.
“Dara...”
Noam moved toward him, carefully this time—like Dara might bolt if he moved too quickly. Dara was shivering. Noam reached out, his hand hovering there, uncertain. When he finally touched him, Dara’s skin was hot and dry.
“It’s okay,” Noam said slowly. He let his hand settle more firmly where it was, palm against the sharp wing of Dara’s collarbone where it met his shoulder.
Dara slapped at his wrist, knocking Noam’s hand away. This time when he looked at Noam, his eyes gleamed with something more than just anger. Dara rubbed the heel of his palm against his damp cheeks, not that it did any good. “It’s not.”
“All right. It’s not. Do you want to... we can talk about it. I promise I’ll listen.”
Dara laughed, low and bitter. “No. It’s fine. I’m going to shower.”
It felt like his chest was caving in, organs crushed, even if Dara hadn’t said anything worse than what he already had. It wasn’t what Dara said, anyway. It was that Dara didn’t think there was anything hecouldsay. That Dara was picking his shirt back up off the floor and walking away. That Noam stood there, naked in the middle of this room, and watched him go and didn’t stop him.
Noam took a shower in the girls’ bathroom with permission from Bethany and Ames, changing into dry clothes and waiting out in the common room for twenty minutes, thirty, just in case Dara needed the time alone.
But when he finally returned to the bedroom, Dara was already gone.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Noam saw the headline before anyone else. He’d been reading the news while he waited for his coffee to brew, print paper in one hand and the other reaching into a box of salted crackers. The front page was taken up by a story about an anti-Sacha attack down south in Charleston, twelve confirmed dead.
A terrorist attack meant the other story was pushed to the second page, as otherwise it would have been the top headline in every paper. A small banner on the first page declared the news:
HOME SECRETARY ASSASSINATED. Turn to p. 2.
Noam tore the paper open so quickly he nearly ripped the corner off.
A color photograph of the man took up half the second page; Gordon Ames wore his military uniform, the medal awarded for bravery pinned to his breast.
Noam put down his half-eaten cracker.
