Debra Driza - Mila 2.0 - Renegade

So many things about him got to me: The softness of his voice. The way he leaned toward me, as if his life hung on my every word. The slowness of his hand sliding down my hair. The way he twirled several errant strands around his finger.

My eyes fluttered shut. There was something about his sincerity, and how it mingled with the sparks his touch ignited, that filled a tiny bit of the void inside me. I couldn’t lose that, and being honest with him might lead to him walking out the door without ever looking back.

I know this is going to sound crazy …

What would I do without him to remind me that a part of me, at least, was alive?

You see, the thing is …

And what if he left and told someone what I really was?

The secret I’ve been hiding all along …

I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, but my backup story came pouring out instead. “Mom and I got in a huge argument …,” I started, then faltered.

Was I really doing this? Lying, to the one person I had left in the world?

“Because you were moving to Germany, right?”

The attentive tilt of his head encouraged me to continue, but I was momentarily blindsided. I remembered the frantic phone call I’d made to Hunter from the airport in Canada, before Mom and I were snagged by Holland’s men. I’d told him I was leaving Clearwater, and that was probably the last time I’d told him the truth.

I willed myself again to set things right with him, but failed.

“No, she … she told me I was adopted.”

It was selfish of me to lie. Utterly, unforgivably selfish. I couldn’t deny that.

But then I thought of the day Mom handed me that iPod. The day a power-hungry general’s drawl changed my life forever and ripped away my very identity. Simply by telling me the truth, he’d erased my entire life, stolen my parents, and blasted my hope. Truth —was it really that great? Because in my experience, it was a taker. It took away all that was good, leaving behind pain and fear and an endless funnel of betrayal.

“She just dropped that on you, out of nowhere? So the guy who you thought was your father, the one who just died …?”

“Not my real dad.”

“Wow. That’s … wow.”

I bit my lip and averted my gaze, my stomach clenching, revolting against my betrayal of Mom’s memory. Yes, she’d programmed me with false memories of a father who didn’t exist, but as a way of protecting me. And it had worked. While I’d known sadness before that day in the barn, I hadn’t really known despair.

So perhaps keeping Hunter in the dark right now was actually less cruel?

“I’m sorry, Mila. That must be really tough.”

Even though I was trying to convince myself that I was somehow doing Hunter a favor, his sympathy was just too much. I rose and strode over to the window—there was no way I could look him in the eye right now. I stared outside while my fingers curled around the worn wooden sill.

Crunch.

Crap, too hard. I eased up immediately, but not before new jagged lines branched out into the already faded white paint. Hopefully Hunter wouldn’t notice.

“So, what now? Did she tell you anything about them?”

When I didn’t answer right away, he added, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

I felt like such a fraud, even when I was silent. Justifications for lying kept filing through my mind, like someone shuffling a deck of cards. For instance, if Hunter was going to stay with me, then I had to have a valid reason for hunting down Richard Grady. And him knowing the truth about me could possibly put us both in danger—if he remained unaware of the situation, I could have more control.

But the guilt building inside me made me doubt I could keep up this charade for more than a day.

I just needed to work my way up to breaking the news.

Tomorrow. I’d tell him tomorrow.

“No, it’s fine. That’s what this trip is all about. She gave me a name, Richard Grady. But that’s it. She’s refusing to help me find him, or give me any other clues whatsoever. She got incredibly pissed when I told her I’d look for him all on my own.”

“When you called, you said your mom was … gone.”

I nodded jerkily, like something was suddenly wrong with one of my mechanisms. “I know. I meant she … she left me behind.”

Mom’s broken body appeared behind my eyes. I saw her sinking into the depths of the Potomac, and her voice echoed in my ears.

Find Richard Grady … he knows …

Her last words, right before one of Holland’s bullets killed her.

Holland. Just the name ignited a fiery, churning hatred within my core.

My fingertips had been sliding down the smooth glass, but now they pushed harder, full of pent-up frustration. The window creaked in protest, and I hastily yanked my hand away.

“So does this Grady guy live in Virginia?” Hunter asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

“I thought he was. I’d found some information, but it turned out to be a dead end.”

Please don’t ask me any more questions. I don’t know how many more lies I can tell you.

My back still to him, I said, “Anyway, thank you so much for coming. The thought of continuing to do this on my own … it just … thank you.”

I heard the bed creak, heard his soft footfalls. I spun around to face Hunter. His soulful eyes, filled with compassion and understanding, nearly had me confessing everything. In this moment, I wanted to believe he could accept what I was, but in the likelihood that he couldn’t, the dangers to me would increase. Again I tried to reassure myself that my lies offered him a shield of protection as well. He couldn’t reveal what he didn’t know.

“Any time,” he said gently. “I could tell when you called that something bad had happened. I can’t believe she went to Germany without you. Who does that?”

“Well, I can meet her there, if I want to, but I’m not sure if I do,” I said, hoping to salvage some sliver of Hunter’s respect for my mom. “I know being adopted isn’t the end of the world, but I have a right to meet my real father, and she just didn’t see it that way.”

“I don’t blame you for wanting to find him. It sucks that your mom never told you the truth.” Then he cocked his head, like he was noticing something strange.

“What?” I demanded, inwardly panicking. Had he seen me crack the windowsill?

“Nothing. It’s just—don’t be mad, but based on how jumpy you’ve been, I was sort of expecting something a little crazier. Like your mom was abducted by aliens.”

I stared at him incredulously for a moment, before losing it. “I can’t even—” I gasped, trying to talk through the laughter and failing.

“What can I say? I had a crush on Scully from The X-Files growing up.”

The ball of tension that hadn’t left my gut since I’d been on the run was beginning to disintegrate. “You hide it well, Hunter Lowe, but you are a total nerd.”

His eyes suddenly filled with shock, and he glanced toward the window. I was on instant alert again. “What?” I said, listening intently, pulse starting to pound in my ears.

No human threat detected.

A car, a group of kids in the distance, the faint rumble of the ocean. Nothing of concern.

“Shhh, be careful how loud you say that. I don’t want my secret getting out.”

I groaned. “Hate to tell you, but it’s too late for that.”

“Those are fighting words.” With a mischievous smile, he grabbed my wrists and pulled me toward him, whirling me around at the last second until my back was pressed firmly against his chest. One of his arms wrapped loosely around my neck, the other around my waist.