Page 8 of Phoenix Fated (The Phoenix Guardians #4)

JACKSON

I 'm dreaming again. My body might be out cold but of course my mind isn't. The feed comes on, and a blurry image fills the screen.

"So you're leaving, then?"

Rachyl ' s voice.

"Monday. Signed a three-year contract. I just wanted to say goodbye in person."

God. This night .

Slowly, it all comes into focus.

We're in the empty parking lot by the supermarket, the one we always go to to smoke cigarettes and drink stolen booze.

She's standing in front of me, arms folded over her chest, staring at me with that hard look she uses when she's trying not to cry.

Same look she's used since all the way back in junior high.

"Great," says Rachyl. "Well, goodbye then."

"Dude," I protest. "Why are you being like this? You've always said I should follow that greater calling, and I'm doing it."

"By joining the fucking army? That's what your dad wants you to do."

"That's what I want to do," I say firmly, feeling heated. "I want to help people."

"Whatever, you just want to shoot guns."

I smirk. "A little."

Rachyl sighs and for a moment her eyes go soft in a way I'm not used to seeing. It's the same look she had on the night when she admitted her feelings for me. The night I had to crush my best friend's heart.

"You had to choose the farthest possible thing from me, huh?" she says. "You know, I actually believed we'd always stick by each other."

"That's not why at all, Rachyl," I snap. "We're not in high school anymore. Everyone else is moving on with their lives, and I sure as hell can't stick around here. Look, just because I'm gonna be gone for a while doesn't mean we aren't still friends."

"Yeah, okay."

"It's true, though."

She's silent for a while, and then she turns away and jumps up onto the concrete base of a nearby light pole. She flips her headphones over her ears from around her neck and reaches into her hoodie where her CD player is.

"Rachyl," I protest.

"Shut up."

I hear the tinny sound of the headphones get louder. She bows her head.

I'm trying to play cool and unaffected, like I'm doing this because of some higher calling and not because I'm a fucking pathetic coward.

The music fades. She pulls the headphones off, then hangs from the light pole with one arm like she's in some old musical. She has her back to me; I can't see her face.

"So this isn't because I called you gay?" she says.

"Jesus fuck, Rachyl. I told you, just because I'm not into you that way doesn't mean I'm..." The words catch in my throat.

She turns around and looks straight at me, waiting for me to finish. I cringe. It feels like chewing on glass.

"...I'm fuckin' gay ."

"It was an honest question. Not an accusation."

"God dammit," I mutter.

"So you're not running away?"

"No!" I blurt. "A three-year contract. It's not like I'm shipping off to fuckin' Mars or something. I'll be back, okay?"

Crunch, crunch . Shards in my throat. I'm a piece of shit coward that knows full well I have no intent of coming back.

Rachyl hops down from the lamp and comes up to me. She's giving me that hard look again. "Alright," she says, finally. "Well, goodbye, then. Nice knowin' ya."

Then she turns and starts to walk away.

"Seriously? So that's it?" I call after her.

She stops, and for a moment I expect her to absolutely drag me. But she just turns around, a sweet smile on her face and a shimmer in her eyes, and pulls off her headphones. She thrusts them and the old CD player into my hands.

"Here. Something to remember me by."

I stare at the Sony DISCMAN. She's had the thing since I met her, before it was cool to be into '90s tech. All the kids used to make fun of her for using it instead of the latest iPod.

"You're not giving this to me," I call after her.

"Take it, asshole! You'll be bored as shit there, I'm sure."

"I have a fucking smart phone!"

She's at the edge of the parking lot, at the rim of white light from the overhead lamps. She stops and spins around.

"Jackson!" she shouts. "I hope you'll be brave enough to tell the truth someday, before it's too late."

And then she's gone.

Rachyl's departing words thump the inside of my head like a hammer.

I try to open my eyes, but even the darkness of the brig adds to my pounding headache.

The 'ol ass-whooping hangover. As usual, it's not my first rodeo, but I can't remember the last time I've had it this bad.

My face is throbbing and hot, especially my right cheek and eye, and I know they must be swollen as hell.

My hands are clamped to the wall behind me, and I only have a few inches of movement.

The taste of blood lingers in my mouth, and it stings like a motherfucker when I lick my lips.

Son of a bitch ...

I have no idea where Dustin is. The cat sniper—I've learned that her name is Sylla—had us separated after we were caught, and I can only guess he's taken the same beating.

It's a fucking horrible feeling to know your actions have led to someone else getting hurt, especially someone depending on you to keep them safe.

Yes, Dustin is a grown man who didn't ask for my protection, but I can't help but feel responsible for his safety.

I've spectacularly fucked everything up. Seems like I'm always fucking everything up.

My mind drifts, trying to escape this killer headache by way of distraction, but nothing but bad memories are coming up. And just like an addict getting a little taste of their poison, it's impossible not to dive deep once that dark door is opened.

The rattle of distant gunfire sounds like a snare drum over the rap intro of In the End.

I've listened to this old Linkin Park album more times than I can count, and yet I haven't gotten sick of it.

The trench is cold and damp, dug hastily at the edge of the forest by the opposing force and held by them until our unit had cleared the area in our push to retake the nearby town a few days ago.

We're waiting for instructions to come in, and it's been a few hours.

Not much to do but sit. Most of the guys are on their phones, the glow of their screens lighting their faces in the darkness.

Clarke is stretched out on the bare soil beside me, hands folded over his chest as he snores softly.

The familiar smell of a Chesterfield cigarette drifts over me, and I feel my heart pick up its pace a little.

Finally , he's back. I was starting to get a little worried.

McScott grips my shoulder as he drops onto the space on my left.

I glance up at him and pull down my headphones.

He exhales a cloud of smoke and jabs two fingers and his cigarette towards Clarke.

"Bloke could kip through a bloody earthquake." He leans in and whispers to me in a low voice. "How much did he drink?"

"No fucking idea," I reply. I don't tell him that Clarke managed to convince me to join him in sharing yet another bottle of magically procured liquor.

McScott shakes his head and sighs. "I just spoke with Neal. It's looking like we might be stuck here for the long haul, at least until the others arrive."

I just nod. I'm happy to get this news, though I won't say so out loud—or even to myself.

Spending time with McScott is... It's fun.

I like it. And if we have nowhere to go, then that means more time to kill with him.

We've been talking a lot. He hardly shares around Clarke, but when we're alone, he talks.

It makes me feel good. I even told him a little about my parents—Dad, mostly.

We have similar fathers, both obsessed with making sure their son turned out 'right'.

The difference is that his dad was ex-army. Mine just wished he was.

He offers me a drag off his cigarette, and I take it even though I have a vape pen. As I pull the smoke into my mouth, a pesky intrusive thought flutters right on past the defensive gates set up in my head.

Is this what he tastes like ?

"Where's it all end for you, Bird?" he asks later, flicking away the spent cigarette. "A hole in the ground?"

I shrug. Such a blunt and out-of-nowhere question like that isn't unusual for McScott, so it doesn't faze me. "Not exactly my plan."

"Onto the next battlefield if you make it out of this one, then?"

"I don't exactly have much to go back to. Life makes more sense out here."

"I hear you. You get on with the work and no one gives a fuck who you are or what you were back home."

"Exactly," I say.

I realize McScott is looking at me, and when I meet his eyes, the corner of his mouth raises with the slightest uptick. I smile back. I don't know why my heart is beating so hard. I guess it's because I'm not used to seeing him smile.

You know why , you sick bastard. Cut that shit out. You ain't like that, you hear me?

The voice in my head berates me with all the words drilled into my head since I was young.

Clarke begins to snore loudly.

"Bloody hell," McScott mutters, then stands up.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Getting away from that racket." He pauses and glances back at me. "I know a spot right at the edge of the forest. Secluded, no one can see it from here."

"Yeah? Maybe I'll come with."

He nods, then in a low voice says, "Give it five minutes before you follow."

He disappears into the darkness. The pulse of my blood hammers in my ears as I sit there, so loud it drowns out the sound of Clarke's snoring.

I tell myself I'm going to stay right where I am, that nothing good will come of this, but when the final minute ticks by, I get to my feet and go after him.

At the time, had I known what McScott's invitation meant?

I'd always maintained ignorance, because after all, if I had known then I'd have no excuse for the way I'd reacted.

But isn't it possible for a man's mind to split in two directions?

To act in a way he didn't intend just because of. .. What? Self-sabotage?

Curiosity?