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I give her another eye roll and stop myself from overreacting. “Nothing is developing. You’re imagining things.”
“Okay. Maybe.” She doesn’t look convinced.
“You really think I’d fall for a hard, stoic asshole like that?”
“I think you know him really well,” Molly says very softly. “So you know there’s a lot more to him than that.”
She’s right about that. I know he’s more than he shows to the world. Just like I am. Just like everyone who’s still trying to survive in the compost pile this world has become since Impact.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Right now the only thing I care about is getting you better. If I have to go on another run for antibiotics, I will.”
Her expression changes. “I don’t want you risking your life for me, Faith. I don’t want anyone doing that. It’s all right to just let me go.”
My throat tightens so abruptly it aches. I can barely swallow over it. “Stop talking nonsense. I’m not going to let you go.”
***
I’M UPSET WHEN I LEAVEMolly and don’t want to talk to anyone, so instead of helping in the garden or with the laundry, I wander into the kitchen where the breakfast dishes are still unwashed.
Langley was supposed to do them, but she got called away to help with the laundry where they needed an extra pair of hands. Since something mindless is exactly what I need right now, I pump water into one of the sinks, add a little soap, and set to work.
I’m about halfway done when I can’t hold back the memory of what Molly said at the end. About letting her go. I stare down at the sink, my hands submerged in soapy water, and close my eyes as I fight the wave of emotion that crashes into me.
When I was sixteen, I would have been in helpless tears, but I don’t cry right now. I don’t cry at all.
I’m not entirely sure I can.
I suddenly wish it were night. So I could be with Jackson. Feel his breath, his body, his hands.
That’s part of the problem with having sex with him regularly. I’m starting to need it for reasons other than recreation, and that’s not good for me.
I’m trying to pull it together when I feel a hand on my back.
People don’t touch me. No one touches me anymore except Jackson, and that’s only in the dark in the bedroom. So the feel of the hand on my back makes me gasp and jerk.
It’s Jackson. Standing beside me with his big hand resting between my shoulder blades. He’s not meeting my eyes, which is the only reason I don’t jerk away.
I like the feel of his hand. It’s nonintrusive. Supportive. It gives me strength, and I need it. I need it.
As much as I need him to fuck me every night.
And this is far more terrifying than that.
I stand completely still, shuddering internally and unable to pull away until he finally asks softly, “How is she?”
I shake my head. “Not good. We’re going to lose her unless we get better antibiotics.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but the nature of the silence is different. He’s about to argue. I know it, and I carefully edge away from his hand.
“We have to go,” I grit out. “We have to.”
“You really want to risk two of our lives on the flimsy hope that we can maybe save one? What kind of math is that?”
“It’s not math! She’s a person. She’s a human being, and she’s been one of us since the beginning. I’m not going to let her die if there’s something we can do to save her.”
“You have no idea if making that trip can save her, but you want to do it anyway.” He’s stern now. Angry. I can hear it in his soft voice and see it in his eyes, which seem to get grayer with every moment.
“Yes, I want to do it anyway. I told you. I’m not going to just let her die. I can’t.”
