Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

He turns his hand so we’re palm to palm, fingers curling tight. “And who are we?”

“I don’t know.” My throat’s tight, clogging with tears. “But I think we both need time to figure that out for ourselves before we can think about us again.” The hand around mine squeezes tighter. “A part of me died in that trailer, Wyatt, in Thackery’s lab, and I’m not entirely sure who’s still left. I’ve been free less than two days, and now everything I thought was true isn’t. I don’t know where I go from here.”

“I know the feeling.” His voice is low, raspy with emotion. “Before this morning, I was ready to turn my back on the Triads and everything I’d help build. On the people who used to count on me and call me a friend. We’d learned all of these things about the Fey, and then the Assembly and the Families came together, and I needed what they were offering me. I wanted a fresh start. Everything about the Triads reminded me of you.

“But then I heard about Boot Camp being attacked and … I can’t even explain how I felt. It was beyond personal. And then I got there and saw those kids fighting. They were so brave, and then Gina told me you were alive, and I didn’t believe her. Even when I saw you fighting that wolf, I didn’t believe it. But you were real. Everything I’d abandoned was real. The people I hurt were real, and they needed me more than ever.”

“Wyatt,” I say, drawing out his name, unsure if I even want to ask this. “If the attack hadn’t happened this morning, would Astrid and Isleen still have invited the Triads into this little task force?”

He flinches. “Not this soon, no. I’ve brought it up, but we had no way of exposing the brass and no guarantee that anyone, even Gina, would listen to me. But now—”

“Now we don’t really have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Evy, but I do think that joining us is the lesser of many evils. And we’ll be five times stronger than we ever were before. Not only in numbers, but in abilities and knowledge and political power. Instead of bullying the Families and Clans, we’ll be working with them. Cooperating instead of ordering around. And if Amalie really is trying to instigate some sort of surface civil war, we’ll have a much stronger position from which to fight back.”

“You’re right.”

“But?”

“No buts.” I poke him in the shoulder. “I can’t say you’re right without adding a but?”

“You can. You just rarely do.”

We smile, and it feels so normal. So much like us—here, alone in the woods, with the problems of the world seeming so far away, as if the last three weeks never happened. Only they did, and we’ll remember that as soon as we rejoin the others. So many things still need to be said before either of us can heal.

“I’m not sorry I went with Thackery.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind. I don’t think I can ever tell Wyatt that I asked Thackery to kill me, but I can tell him about this.

He flinches. “I know. It was the right decision.”

“The right decision for everyone else.”

“Well, it was a Bigger Picture kind of moment.”

“It always is, and that’s okay. This is the life we chose.” Dusky shadows lengthen on the ground as twilight wanes. “Do you ever think about how different things would have turned out if you’d gotten Tybalt instead of me four years ago?”

Wyatt arches both eyebrows, expression going thoughtful. “Well, for one thing, I wouldn’t have kissed him that night I came over to your place drunk off my ass.”

“You remember that?”

“Parts of it.”

“You never said anything.”

“I was embarrassed, Evy. I never should have gone over there, much less kissed you.”

“Well, now that I know more about the anniversary in question, I’m glad you did.” My thoughts jump back to Rufus and his part in the reason behind that particular anniversary. It isn’t my secret to tell, and yet I feel like I’m lying to Wyatt simply by keeping my mouth shut.

“You’ve been part of my life, blonde or brunette, for the last four years, Evy Stone,” he says. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it. And for a while you weren’t, and I hated it. I hated the guy I was, and I hated you for leaving me.” He seems to realize just how tightly he’s been squeezing my hand and relaxes his grip. “You said that a part of you died in that trailer, and you aren’t sure what’s left.”

I nod, positive I know what’s coming.

“Part of me died with you,” he says, voice tight. Near the breaking point. “Died when I accepted you were gone. And I don’t know who’s left, either.”

“Maybe, um.” I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Maybe we both need time to figure that out. Time to just … make sense of the world again.”

“Apart.” It isn’t a question.

I laugh, and it’s a hollow sound. “Well, we’re going to be working together, I think, so ‘apart’ is a relative term.”

“Right.”

“We’re not going anywhere, Wyatt, but no pressure, no expectations. For a while. I think we both need this.” I tell myself it’s for him as much as me, but I’m being selfish. Incredibly selfish with the two hardest secrets I’ve ever kept from him.

“For a while,” he says. His voice cracks.

He opens his arms and I fall against his chest, clinging to his warmth despite the heat of the evening. I rest my cheek against his heart and listen to it beat for a while, as his free hand strokes my back, his chin a comfortable weight on the top of my head.

We’re still sitting like that a while later when Kismet finds us and delivers good news: our three-way alliance among humans, Therians, and vampires is a go.

Saturday, July 26

4:20 A.M.

Watchtower

Funny how it’s possible to both feel better and feel like utter crap at the exact same time. My nose was stuffed, my eyes were swollen, and my head felt twenty pounds heavier, but all in all I was okay. The minor breakdown over the Therian abductions and Thackery’s involvement was over. I leaned against Wyatt’s chest, comfortable there on the floor of the gym, content to be held until I had collected myself enough to ask a coherent question.

“What are you doing here?”

He stiffened. “I can go if you’re uncomfortable.”

He could—what? I sat up and twisted my somewhat-stiff neck to stare at him. He looked startled. I shook my head, confused. Then I got it and laughed. “No, you idiot, not that. I thought you and Marcus were interrogating Felix.”

“We had to stop for a bit. The only thing he’d say was ‘I can’t’ and ‘it’s for them,’ and it was getting”—he blanched—“messy.”

“Oh.” Ugh. I tried to get Felix’s words to make sense, but a fog had settled around my reasoning skills, and it wasn’t going away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I touched my face. I really wanted to blow my nose. “When did I become such a weepy mess?”

“When you died and got a new body complete with new emotional imbalances?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I smiled.

So did he. “Get it out of your system?”

“I think so. Although the punching bag may never forgive me.”

“It might surprise you.”

The teasing banter was so normal, so us , that it was easy to forget we weren’t us anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks. I sat up straighter and got my first good look at Wyatt. Flecks of blood dotted his gray T-shirt and the skin of his bare arms. Some stuck to his neck. If any had made it to his face, he’d taken the time to wipe it off. He was smiling, but it didn’t hide the hint of concern in his expression or the shadows haunting his eyes.