Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

“Looks that way.”

“You know you don’t have to live here at the Watchtower. My offer of a room at the condo still stands.”

I offer him a grateful smile. “And I really do appreciate the offer, Phin, but I think I’d like to stay here. For a while I just want to be a little cog in a big wheel without the fate of the world resting on my own two shoulders.”

“Understandable and, I think, well deserved.”

“Thank you.”

He averts his gaze to the floor. He’s avoiding a topic, and I can guess pretty accurately who it’s about.

“Just ask, Phin,” I say.

He looks up, eyes meeting mine, curiosity in them. “Have you and Wyatt spoken at length about the time you were missing?”

“Not in any great detail, no.” I plop down on the lid of my chosen trunk, predicting this to be a long conversation. “We hit the Cliffs Notes version of events for each of us. Kind of came to the conclusion that we both changed and we need time to figure out who we are before we try to be together.”

“Is that really wise?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Phin sits down on the trunk opposite mine, his expression drawn, uncertain. “I’m surprised, I admit.”

“Why’s that?” I have no energy to be snarky with Phin, so I settle on genuinely curious.

“I’ve witnessed the depth of your love for each other. That you would both step away, rather than fight for it, surprises me, especially after—” He stops the thought.

Well, I can’t have that. “After what?”

“The second day of your abduction, Michael Jenner asked Wyatt if you were his chosen mate. Because you were owed a debt by the Assembly, that debt was extended to your mate.”

Nervous butterflies set to work on my stomach. “Wyatt said he was my mate?”

“Jenner made the assumption. Wyatt did not deny it.”

“He’s too smart to deny it.” I’m rationalizing. As much as I love Wyatt, and probably always will, the future scares me. I’ve always lived one day to the next, not making plans for tomorrow. It’s not that I’m scared of commitment, I just don’t know how.

Phin nods. “True. By agreeing with Jenner’s assumption, he was granted protection by the Assembly, as well as assistance in his search for you.” Something in his tone hints at more he isn’t saying.

“But?”

“I don’t believe Wyatt said it only for those reasons. You are his life, Evangeline. He was … broken without you.”

I study the scrubbed cement floor between us, the words echoing in my mind. Rufus told me that Wyatt drank a lot during those few weeks, that he was cold to everyone. Wouldn’t talk to any of his friends. I know Wyatt’s temper, and I’ve seen his moods range from joy to rage to despair. I’ve seen him drunk, and I’ve seen him sober. We’ve both seen each other at our worst. I knew what my leaving would do to him.

I just never imagined how badly returning would hurt him.

“Broken people heal, Phin,” I say. “Unless someone keeps breaking them all over again.”

He’s silent for a long moment. “You think coming back hurt Wyatt more than accepting your death did?” It’s simply asked, without rancor or accusation.

“No, I’m pretty damned positive it hurt more. But I can’t change going with Thackery, and I can’t change the fact that I was rescued and proved not dead. And I know Wyatt.” Something tightens in my throat. “He probably thinks he deserves this. That he’s earned all this heartache and pain, because of the things he’s done. But he hasn’t. He’s saved so many lives, and all he can ever focus on are the people he’s failed.”

Phin coughs. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Yeah, well, we’re a lot alike.”

“Indeed.”

I wish fixing it was as simple as Phin made it sound. But people don’t just change twenty years of bad habits overnight. And I’m still carrying two heavy secrets, keeping them from him. If we’re together, it has to be all or nothing. As much as I want Wyatt, I owe him too much to do anything less.

“Wyatt has something to live for now, Phin. He has the Watchtower and building up this new group, and that’s what he needs. Everything should go back to what it was six months ago when we just worked together. After we figure out who we are apart, we can start thinking about giving us another try.”

“Because it’s what he needs,” Phin says.

“Yes.”

Something flickers in his bright blue eyes. “And what do you need, Evangeline?”

A hug. A kiss from someone who loves me and means it. One night of peace when I don’t feel the weight of five hundred thousand lives resting on my shoulders. Respite from fear. So many impossible things, and all outside the realm of Phin’s abilities.

I think back to Milo and his wrestling match with Marcus, and I realize there is one thing I can ask Phin for. “I need someone to help me train,” I say.

He frowns. “Train?”

“Yes. Even before Thackery, I never managed to get this body into peak physical condition. But it needs to happen, especially now, and I have all the time in the world.”

He’s quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. I don’t have a clue what he’s thinking—the things he’s weighing. Finally he speaks. “All right. When would you like to begin?”

I don’t wear a watch. I have no idea what time it is and don’t really care. I flash him a bright smile. “How about right now?”

Friday, July 11

It should be easy, and it isn’t. I’ve done this move hundreds of times in the past. Emphasis on past, I guess, since my sixth attempt at a spinning roundhouse kick ends the same way the first five did—with me flat on my back.

“Fuck!” I slap my palm on the mat to put a little power into the word. My frustration level is topping out. Ten days of training has put a little muscle back on and increased my flexibility, but my coordination is shit. Granted, Chalice Frost didn’t seem like the most acrobatic chick before she died, but this is ridiculous. Like riding a bike that won’t let me take off the damned training wheels.

Phin looms above me, his face upside down. He’s been my dutiful teacher since the day I asked for his help, in between his duties to the Assembly and assisting Astrid in readying our tactical squads.

The squads have started patrolling, getting out and making ourselves known. The Triads have expanded, is the word on the street. We’re feeding the existing fear to create a new reputation for the Watch. The challenge has been folding five active Handlers, sixteen Hunters, and a dozen trainees into the ranks of existing vampire and Therian volunteers with as few issues as possible. Matching up temperaments and skill sets is like a chaotic game of Memory.

Or sudden-death overtime.

“Again?” Phin asks, reminding me of my aching back.

“You’re a sadist.” I sit up fast, nearly clipping his chin with my forehead. “I used to be able to do this without thinking.”

“You used to be an entirely different person.” He circles around and offers his hand. A quick jerk and I bounce up to my feet, sore and a little sweaty. “Again?”

“Fine.”

The seventh time is not the charm, but it is my lucky number. As Phin yanks me back to my feet once again, his phone beeps from its place on the floor. He retrieves it. Checks the message while I stretch a little.

“I’m needed in the War Room,” he says, frowning. The War Room is what we call the conference area in Operations—which means something’s up. Something that doesn’t include me because Phin grabs his shirt on the way out the door.

Terrific .

I snatch a towel from the stack in the other room and dry off as I amble out of the gym, unsure of my destination. Maybe a shower. But a shower will only relax me, and I’m warmed up, keyed up, and eager to do something, dammit. I haven’t been out in the field in what feels like forever. More than almost anything, I hate feeling caged. Although the Watchtower is a far cry from a tiny utility closet in an abandoned train station, it’s starting to feel just as claustrophobic in terms of my freedom.