Page 153 of Queen of Volts

“Bryce is manipulating you,” Narinder continued. “His game didn’t go to plan, and so he’s using you.”

Harvey shook his head vigorously, once again feeling sick. “He cares about me. I’m his closest friend—”

“Even if that’s true, your friendship isn’t healthy. You know that.”

Narinder stepped closer, but Harvey backed up until he pressed against the cinder block wall. His mind swam with memories. Of when he and Bryce met, of how Harvey had just left home and had less than no one. Of when they established the Orphan Guild, with Bryce as manager and Harvey the slimiest, most efficient of salesmen. Of how Harvey had thought he’d had everything, when really all he had was him. Of all the ways Bryce reminded him of that.

Harvey knew what Narinder said was true, but it hurt. He felt it like the cut of a knife in his stomach, a knife that had always been there, a wound he’d been letting fester.

“They hate me,” Harvey choked out, unable to hold back memories of the way Enne had looked at him, of how Levi had talked about him, or how Grace had screamed at him.

“Idon’t hate you,” Narinder said gently.

Something fluttered in Harvey’s stomach. “You should.”

“I would never have helped them, if it weren’t for you,” he said. “I would never have walked into a crowd of whiteboots with a gun in my hand. I wouldn’t have risked myself.”

The fluttering disappeared, replaced by guilt. “I didn’t ask you. You shouldn’t have—”

“You didn’tneedto ask me.” The musician placed a hand on Harvey’s shoulder, and Harvey flinched. “You helped me realize some things are worth taking a risk for.You’reworth taking a risk for.”

Narinder’s hand slid from his shoulder down his chest and settled along his waist. Even through the cotton of his undershirt, the touch burned, as holy things should.

Harvey froze, a statue beneath him. It hadn’t been long since he and Bryce were in a similar position, and his pathetic heart leaped in the same manner. Narinder, in many ways, was proving his point. Harvey was so easy to manipulate. His thoughts had already roamed to these places—of course they had, in those nights he’d spent awake instead of resting. After all, Narinder was sogood. Talented, charismatic, charming, at ease with himself and his soul in a way Harvey had never been. The kind of attractive that everyone noticed, everyone liked, everyone wanted. And oh, Harvey had wanted.

But he wanted Bryce, too, and even now, he didn’t believe Bryce to be a monster. The others didn’t know Bryce the way Harvey did. Harvey had seen Bryce cry, and laugh, and be human in the same way they all were. Someone wasn’t evil by default, just for being on the opposing side.

And as Narinder pressed his forehead against Harvey’s, as Harvey felt the musician’s breath hot on his cheek, his heart still struggled to tell the difference.

But still—his hands grasped for him. He found Narinder’s hips and pulled him closer. He needed this. He needed an anchor. He needed to figure out the difference.

“I’m so furious with you,” Narinder breathed, slipping his other hand behind Harvey’s neck, lifting his face, his lips, closer to him.

“Then why are you doing this?” Harvey asked, then immediately wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want Narinder to stop.

“I’m not going to kiss you.” But he said it more like he was talking to himself. Harvey wondered, deliriously, what he could do to convince him otherwise.

“Why not?” Harvey asked. He immediately cursed himself for such a question he could think of a hundred answers to. Because they had just watched a lot of people die, people who didn’t deserve it. Because they were in a cold stairwell in a hospital, and it smelled of it—like sickness and antiseptic. Because this was all a trick, someone else trying to plant an idea in Harvey’s head, to break him from inside out.

“Because I can’t fix you,” Narinder answered.

Harvey’s anger and desire battled one another. He should push him off him—he wouldn’t be called someone’s broken toy. He should kiss him the way he’d thought about for weeks, he should make this both of their mistakes, so someone besides him would have something to be sorry about for a change.

Before either terrible emotion could win, Narinder pulled away. With one hand, he pushed on Harvey’s chest, keeping him pinned to the wall.

“Everyone deserves good,” Narinder said. “Even if they haven’t done good things.”

“The others don’t think that.”

“I don’t give a muck what the others think,” he growled. “I’m telling you what I think. I think there’s no such thing as a happy ending—not in this, not for everyone. But if anyone is going to get it, I want it to beus. But you won’t choose that because you don’t think you deserve it.”

His anger won. “You don’t think Iwantmyself to be happy?”

“If you did, you wouldn’t have stayed with Bryce as long as you did.” Narinder gritted his teeth. “You’d rather be a martyr. As long as Bryce feels a pang of guilt when he thinks of you, at least he thinks of you, right?”

Harvey pushed him away. “You’re only manipulating me.”

Narinder gaped. “I’mthe one manipulating you?”