Kristen Simmons - Breaking Point

“You’re sorry,” I repeated. I saw him, only him, as a haze of red blocked the others out.

In one quick motion he downed the shot, hissing at the sting. I hadn’t realized I’d dropped mine until Billy bent down to pick up the cup.

“Ember.” I shook Chase’s hand off my shoulder. I was closer to Tucker now, though I hadn’t even felt my feet move.

“You want to apologize ?”

I couldn’t have heard him right. He was incapable of remorse. I’m a good soldier, he told me after he’d admitted his crime. I did what needed to be done.

Tucker stepped back, tapped the empty cup against his leg. His cheeks were flushed.

“You want to drink to her, Tucker? Is that what you were thinking?”

“Easy, girl,” said Cara.

“Say her name,” I demanded. “If you’re so sorry.”

He didn’t.

“You don’t even know it, do you? You don’t even know her name.”

I pushed him hard, and he staggered into the bumper of the truck. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.

“That’s enough.” Chase was between us now, trying to block me from Tucker.

“Her name was Lori Whittman !” I shouted. “That was her name! That was my mother’s name!”

I saw Tucker’s face, sallow and shocked, for one instant before Chase caught me around the waist and hoisted me over his shoulder.

“Let go of me!”

“Cool off,” he said.

I kicked him and punched his back and only when my teeth sunk into his shoulder did he toss me down. We were in the storage room, surrounded by weak metal shelves holding tool boxes and printer paper and boxes of ink. He wheeled around and slammed the door shut.

“If you value your life at all, you’d better turn right back around,” I hissed, fists clenched.

“I’m not leaving.” To make his point, he placed both hands on the shelves on either side of the door. He’d taught me to always keep my exits open, and here he was, blocking them off.

A noise snuck up my throat, halfway between a groan and a growl. I paced around the tight circle, keeping out of reach, so furious at Tucker, at Cara, at everything, I couldn’t even speak.

He blocked out the single overhead bulb, and all that remained were the shadows silhouetting his face.

“You can’t let him get to you,” he said.

I slammed to a halt. “So you’re on his side now?”

A vein on his neck jumped.

“I’m on your side,” he said. “I’m always on your side.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” I regretted it even as I said it, and resumed my pace.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what Tucker’s doing here, but it can’t be an accident. This is what he does. He digs his way in and gets under your skin. And before you know it, he’s ripped your life apart.”

My shoulders jerked back, tall and defiant.

“You think I don’t know that?”

But my voice shook because even though I did, I’d still fallen into the Tucker trap. I’d kissed Chase to hurt him. I’d gotten information about Rebecca in the holding cells, but at his price. He’d been discharged now, but what if this was all part of the plan? What if this —the carriers, the safe house, the soldiers fighting for the resistance—was what he’d wanted?

“I didn’t.” Chase jammed a hand through his hair. “I trusted him once, and it cost me everything. I have to live with that, but you don’t.”

I staggered back, needing to put some distance between us. He never spoke of what he’d witnessed with my mother—not since he’d first told me—but how obvious that burden was now. I hadn’t been there for him because it hurt too much, and in doing so I’d left him alone.

I missed her. But I missed Chase, too, and somehow that was worse, having him here and missing him. Seeing him every day and feeling a world apart.

“You didn’t lose everything,” I said.

He looked up, and moved toward me slowly, and the look of surprise in his face was enough to break my heart.

“Neither did you,” he said quietly.

The tears came at last. Salty and hot, yet somehow cool and cleansing, too. He didn’t wipe them away, but traced them gently with his fingertips.

Someone knocked at the door.

I was jolted back to reality, to the checkpoint, and Tucker Morris, and the things I’d said to him outside. Chase was right; Tucker had gotten under my skin, and it wouldn’t happen again.

When my eyes were dry, Chase opened the door.

Sean was standing outside, looking sheepish.

“So.” He scratched his neck. “I didn’t know it was him—Tucker—that, you know. You believe me, right?”

I nodded.

“You could have said something,” he added, a little injured. He was too far away to have this kind of conversation, which made him feel all the more distant.

“I’m not going to freak out and stab you or anything,” I muttered.

“Oh, good.” As if waiting for permission, he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. I tucked my chin over his shoulder, careful not to touch his burned back. I felt stronger with both Chase and him at my side.

“Notice how my hands are above the waist,” I heard him say to Chase, who snorted in response.

Before pulling away, he said, “Something’s come up.”

“What?” Chase edged beside me.

“It’s weird. Probably nothing, but you’ll want to hear it.”

We moved wordlessly past the printing machines toward the office, not running into Cara or Tucker. Maybe Cara really had left to see her cousin. Maybe Tucker had magically disappeared. That would be fine by me.

Billy was sitting on the desk with Marco and Polo. When he saw me, he jumped off, glancing between us as though one of us might combust. I forced my chin up, but wanted badly to blend in with the walls.

“I can’t believe—”

“What happened?” interrupted Chase. I gave him a small, grateful smile.

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” began Marco. “You say Lori Whittman, and I say to Polo here, ‘Lori Whittman. Sounds familiar, right?’”

“And I say, ‘Yes, Marco, sounds real familiar.’ And so we come back to the office, and I remember. Last week the carrier from Chicago comes through, saying he’s stopped at a new checkpoint on the way.”

My heart was beating hard, anxious to know where this was going.

“And your friend Sean here remembers that you’re from Louisville,” said Marco. “And I say, ‘That’s where the carrier stopped!’”

“How does Lori Whittman tie into it?” Chase asked when I couldn’t find the words.

“She’s the one!” said Billy, picking up a scrap of paper. “She’s the one that set up the checkpoint in Louisville. The Chicago carrier even wrote down the address so Marco and Polo could see if it was being scouted by the Bureau. Fourteen-fifty Ewing Avenue.”

My knees gave way. I barely registered the hard feel of the floor beneath me. Chase was as pale as death itself. He was right to be. He knew that place all too well.

Fourteen-fifty Ewing Avenue was my address.

“THAT’Snot possible,” Chase choked out.

Could it be possible? Who else could it be, in my home? If she had survived, she would have perfect motive to set up a checkpoint. No one would better understand the need for a safe house.

She’s alive. She doesn’t know I’m alive. She’s looking for me. She’s putting herself in danger.

She needs me.

My hands covered my mouth, as though I’d been speaking my stream of panicked thoughts aloud. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t make them real. Hope was a dangerous thing. Too much hope in a time like this could destroy a person. Set up unrealistic expectations. Yes. Best to proceed with caution.