Page 17 of Locked & Loaded

The cold air moves through the compartment, and I pull the sleeves over my hands because I need something to do with them.

“Can I ask you something first?” I say.

“Sure.”

“But I need you to answer honestly. And not get offended.”

Mads raises an eyebrow. “That’s not ominous at all.”

“I’m serious.”

He holds my gaze for a beat, then shrugs. “Okay.”

I ask before I lose the nerve.

“Why do you hate me?”

It sounds worse out loud than it did in my head. Too much like an accusation, when what I actually mean is, Why does it feel like there’s nothing I can do to make you like me?

For a second, Mads just stares at me.

Whatever he expected me to ask, it clearly wasn’t that.

“What?” he says, blinking. Then, after another beat, “I don’t hate you. Why would you even think that?”

He sounds genuine. Not defensive. Not like he’s trying to cover up a lie. Just confused and a little offended, as if I’ve asked him why he hates puppies or sunshine.

I shrug, feeling stupid. “I don’t know. You stare at me like you want to kill me.”

Mads goes a little red.

“It’s not an ‘I want to kill you’ stare. It’s a ‘stop ignoring me’ stare,” he says, like this should be obvious. Then his expression tightens again, the frustration snapping back into place. “Which means you still haven’t answered the fucking question. Why are you ignoring me?”

We look at each other across the gap between our bunks. The train rocks beneath us, and a fresh gust of cold air blows through the broken vent, making me shiver inside his hoodie.

I don’t answer fast enough.

“You’re fine with everyone else,” Mads says. His voice is level, but there’s an edge to it now. “Sam, Roman, Rami, whoever the fuck else. You talk to them. You joke with them. You sit with them at meals. But with me, it’s like you can’t stand to be in the same room.” His jaw works for a second. “I’m the only one you avoid, and I don’t get why. Honestly, that kind of pisses me off.”

The blush spreads across my face and down my neck despite the cold.

I clench my jaw and say, “I’ll stop avoiding you.”

Mads looks at me with open suspicion. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s a solution.”

“It’s not enough.” His eyes narrow as he studies my face. “I need to know why you did it in the first place.”

My cheeks get hotter. Jesus Christ, he’s going to figure it out. He’s going to look at me sitting here in his hoodie with my face on fire and put it together, and then I will have to throw myself out of that fucking vent and hope the snowdrifts are soft.

“Can’t you just let it go?” I ask, and I hate how desperate I sound.

“No,” Mads says.

Simple. Final.

I let out a frustrated breath and look away, but there’s nowhere useful to look. The broken vent. The snow melting on the floor. My hands clutching the sleeves of his hoodie.