“We’ll tell them to leave supplies in one of their small-crafthangars,” I say, as if he’s just wholeheartedly agreed. “And they can block that one off indefinitely, since they have another hangar, so we could make this work, we could really—”
“Linds. I haven’t flown a beein a year. And even then, Jaqí was in my ear the whole time telling me all the things I was doing wrong.”
“Flying a bee is like riding a bike, right? You never forget how?”
My argument would be much more convincing if either of us had ever actually ridden a bike.
“Icrashedlast time, okay? I crash-landed, smashed a wing off on my way back into our dock.”
His words hang between us as last year clicks into place.
The scar on his eyebrow, once a thin slice of blood, but nearly undetectable now. He’d opened his medicine cabinet too carelessly, caught a sharp edge to the face. That was the story I knew.
The bruises on his head that he’d said were from a fight—a fight I’d never been able to imagine, because Heath? Fighting? And overwhat? Yet it still put distance between us, because it seemed like such a primitive way to handle a disagreement.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
He looks down at his hands. “We weren’t supposed to be out. Jaqí was... he and your mom didn’t see eye to eye on the necessity of flight training.”
“What? She never told me she didn’t want you training.”
“Probably because it wasme, Linds. Come on, what wouldyou have said if she’d brought it up?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. You would have told her I loved it, right? And that I was pretty good at it—how Jaqí always said I was the fastest learner he’d ever trained?”
I think back to those months Heath went out with Jaqí, just the two of them, tiny specks flinging themselves out into the infinite universe. Heath had just turned sixteen, three weeks to the day before my own sixteenth birthday.Jaqí taught me corkscrews today, Heath would report.We did speed runs and death dives and twelve loops in a row!And, and, and.
“Honestly?” I say. “I would have told her you were more flash than substance, that I thought you took too many risks.” I pause, dare to meet his eyes. “And that Jaqí encouraged too many risky things.”
Maybe sending Heath toNautilusisn’t such a great idea after all. I knew he loved the rush of it, the thrill—I assumed those things came along with basic knowledge of technique and precision. Hearing he crash-landed isnotreassuring. Hearing that my mother discouraged his training isn’t reassuring, either.
It does make sense, though. She never talked about flight school, but I know that’s where she and my father first met. She talked about my father almost as little as she talked about flight school.
When I meet Heath’s eyes again, they aren’t full of wounded pride, like I expect—they’re happy, almost. “This right here,” hesays. Slowly, thoughtfully. “Thisis why I like you.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. “I’ll make a mental note to make disparaging remarks about you more often.”
He grins. “I mean, I could do without the disparaging remarks,” he says. “But I like that you’re honest.” He looks me straight in the eye, and I blush.
“Honesty doesn’t always feel like a good thing,” I reply, cheeks on fire. “If people knew how I honestly felt, I don’t know that they’d like me so much.”
I’d rather curl up in bed with a good read than try to figure out how to keep us all from starving or socially imploding, for example. I’d rather be the kind of person who could easily trust other people to untangle all our problems.
I’d rather put up walls between Heath and me, pretend I feel nothing for him, keep telling myself that—keep tellinghimthat—than deal with the very real possibility of letting this, whateverthisis, distract me from all the things I have to do. When the truth of it is, if he had kissed me before the virus hit, I can’t say for sure there wouldn’t have been a spark between us. I can’t say for sure there isn’t one now.
Does it make me a horrible person if I don’t admit there could be something between us? If I don’t admit thisrightafter he’s praised me for my honesty?
He slides down from the love seat, sits beside me on the cork floor. “We’re not talking about other people here, right? We’re talking about you and me.” He smooths a hand over my hair.My breath catches, but when I loosen up and let myselffeel, it feels... rather nice. “You can tell me anything, Lindley. You know that, don’t you?”
For the first time since my mother died, it’s as if I have the freedom to just be in a moment, rather than trying to keep everything from collapsing. As if the entire weight of the universe is off my shoulders, as if someone is taking care ofmefor a change.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed this. How badly I needed a break from being strong, for however long this moment lasts.
Everyone deserves a break, right?
I shift closer, try to put the station and all our problems out of my mind. Maybe Heath could help me deal with my stress, rather than just being something else to worry about. Maybe he is exactly what I need.
