Lucy glares at him. “As part of Aevum’s safety protocol, you are suspended from using our travel chambers for the next seven days, effective immediately. Once your suspension is complete, you may attempt today’s excursion again. If the trans-temporal chamber finds that you are in stable condition, your excursion will proceed as planned.”
His heart pounds against his ribs. “And if it doesn’t?”
Lucy hesitates. “Aevum has a strict safety policy, Mr. Rhodes. If you are denied access by the chamber again, the rest of your contract with us will be terminated.”
His heart plummets to his guts. Oliver has known the day he dies for months, has built the rest of his short life around it as if it is the only date that matters. He was wrong. The only date he cares about now is the one he fears has already passed him by. The last time he sees Beatrix.
“This is for your own good, Mr. Rhodes.”
It doesn’t feel that way.
“Go home and rest,” Lucy says, an order more than a suggestion. “I’ll reschedule your excursion for next week.”
Oliver leaves Lucy typing away at her station, probably writing a reportabout how the trans-temporal chamber is the only one willing to face the facts.
He’s getting worse.
He’s running out of time.
He’s not ready to go.
It’s pouring when Oliver gets off the T, and the cool rain has soaked him through by the time he’s walked the fifteen minutes to Theo’s house. He rings the bell and watches the lightning as it streaks across the cloud-darkened sky overhead.
Theo answers the door. His eyes grow wide at the sight of his brother, either because Oliver hasn’t set foot on his steps in six years or because he looks like a drowned rat. Maybe both. “Oli? What are you doing here?”
“I—”Shit. What is he doing here? He got on the T three blocks from Aevum—like he always did after an excursion—but this time, he didn’t get off when it reached his stop. He came here, to his brother.
Theo opens the door wide. “Come on, get out of the rain.”
Oliver steps over the threshold and into the warm foyer that has smelled of fake cinnamon since he was a child. His chest tightens.
“Let me get you a towel.” Theo jogs up the wide carpeted staircase and disappears down the hall where their bedrooms used to be, leaving Oliver dripping a puddle on the polished hardwood floor. He clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, the cold from the rain seeping through his clothes to his skin, to his bones.
Theo returns and hands Oliver a plush white towel. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“I’m—”Fine. Except he’s clearly not. His usual stretched-truth reply transforms into a blatant lie that sticks in his throat when Theo looks at him. “I don’t know what to do,” Oliver admits. He scrubs his hair with the towel.
Theo’s gaze softens. “About?”
“Anything?” Oliver says. His brother doesn’t laugh.
Oliver wraps the towel around his shoulders. “I met this woman—” He stops himself. It sounds so trite. How could Theo ever understand? “Forget it.” He steps toward the door.
“Wait,” Theo says. “At least stay until the rain stops.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Oliver concedes, shivering in his wet clothes.
Theo leads the way through the wide archway into the bright white kitchen, even though Oliver knows the layout by heart. “You might have some clothes upstairs if you want to change,” he says. “If not, you can borrow some of mine.”
Oliver takes Theo up on the offer. There are only empty drawers and a bare closet in his own room. He took everything with him when he left for college, intent on giving Theo a fresh start. But as he climbs the stairs and walks down the dark hallway toward their old bedrooms, he realizes it’s not only the cinnamon scent in the foyer that hasn’t changed. The house looks just like it did the day he left, six years ago.
Oliver returns to the kitchen in Theo’s gray hooded sweatshirt and dark jeans. He slides onto a stool at the end of the counter, but not before Theo eyes him critically. He’s obviously lost weight since the last time his brother saw him.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I can make you a sandwich or something.”
Oliver shakes his head, and for a moment there are two Theos watching him with worried, weary gazes, neither of them quite solid. He pulls the glasses off his face and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to chase away the fog of fatigue.
Theo sets an open bottle of beer in front of Oliver, then opens his own. He takes a sip and leans against the counter behind him.
