Page 10

T he base always felt deserted at night, especially after curfew. My tab told me it was eleven, and all the good little soldiers were tucked away in their beds. And yet, here I was, physically exhausted while my heart thudded in my chest like I was running a marathon.

We walked for a little while in silence. Wes stared straight ahead, hands still in his pockets, while I stared at the ground in front of me, not sure of what to do or say. It was just weird.

Ever since I was reassigned to train with Wes for our mission, our interactions had remained stiff.

It was just like before, back at the rebel base, where he was incessantly bossy and moody.

But it was also different. He didn’t put me down anymore or make me feel bad or like an idiot.

But he didn’t compliment me either, or make small talk, or even come physically close to me if it wasn’t to grapple with me.

There was nothing personal…all work and no play.

The second our training ended, he’d bail…

immediately . Half the time I didn’t even get a goodbye from him or a chance to say it myself.

And then there was the Admin Job, the mission we had just survived from.

That had to be the chattiest I had seen him since surviving the attack at the camp.

And now he wanted to walk me back to my barracks?

That was just too out of character for him.

He wasn’t the I’ll walk you home kind of guy.

Matias was. Matias had always offered to walk me home, or help me, or just give me the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, that was before .

That’s why his refusal to help me on this mission stung so bad.

It wasn’t normal for him. It wasn’t normal for us.

But, then again, we weren’t really an us anymore.

Edith kept trying to tell me that he still cared about me, but that Chelsea was in some crazy deep crap, and she had no one.

Matias was her person, and he needed to be there to support her.

And I understood, truly . I understood Matias was all about responsibility, the best for the greater good, loyalty, and honor, and blah, blah, blah .

Intellectually, I understood his position and saw how all the pieces came together.

But emotionally, I was hurt. I was jealous.

And, truth be told, I was a little pissed off.

I knew he was doing what he believed to be the right thing, but he shot my brother, aiming to kill. Which resulted in me jumping in front of a bullet to save Jacob.

I died .

I literally died and then was brought back to find myself in the North.

I wasn’t upset about him shooting me, though.

I was upset that he shot Jacob. I was wrestling with it real bad.

But him refusing to help on this mission took the cake.

It felt like a betrayal, like he wanted me to fail.

But failure meant I could have died, which left me thinking…

Did he want me to die?

Did he want out of whatever we were, but didn’t have the guts to tell me?

Was it truly over between us? Over before it ever really got started?

I shook my head, wanting to get out of my thoughts.

It was all just so messed up, and I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with it.

I made Jacob my focus. And every time the thoughts, the memories, the hurt , came creeping in, I just shoved them back down and reminded myself that I had one focus, one goal… and that was Jacob.

The silence was bugging me. I cleared my throat quietly and then decided to try out the small talk. “How are you feeling?”

“What?” He didn’t even look at me.

“Your wound…how’s it feeling?”

Wes kept his gaze forward for a moment before casting me a quick glance. “Not too bad.” He shifted his gaze toward the ground then, taking slow steps that felt like we were strolling through a park on the most awkward date ever. But this wasn’t a date. Not even close.

“Well, that’s good.” We took several more steps. “Thanks for helping me yesterday.”

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled.

“Seriously, I appreciate it.”

“Yup,” he replied emptily.

“You didn’t have to volunteer for it.”

“I know.”

And then silence fell between us again. Well…this was weird. And stupid. And completely ridiculous. He insisted on walking me to my barracks, only to have me dance around this bizarre awkwardness. Um, no thanks . I didn’t sign up for whatever all of this was. It was just too weird, and I was tired.

I was tired, I was achy, and I was not looking forward to rejoining a squad that kept giving me the side-eye.

So, I stopped. I stopped walking and crossed my arms, watching as he took three more steps before stopping and looking back at me over his shoulder.

He arched a brow. “What are you doing?”

I stayed silent for once, giving him a taste of his own moody medicine.

His brows knitted together as he turned around to face me. “Are you planning on sleeping on the ground tonight or what?”

I tipped my head back and just stood there, hip cocked out, serious lines all over my face. I channeled my inner Chelsea and made sure I matched his attitude as best as I could.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossing them over his chest, biceps bulging.

And that sent a flush of warmth throughout my body that caused my heart to quicken and spurred the desire to touch them…

just a little. Just to see if they were as smooth and firm and tight as they appeared, stretching the fabric of his shirt, leaving me a little weak in the—

Get a grip, Mara! Get. A. Grip.

Why did he always have this effect on me?

I straightened my back, trying to hide the rush of hormones coursing through me.

And then it was on—the moody stare down where we both locked gazes and did our best to hide what was going on inside of us from the other person.

Sometimes I liked to pretend we were playing a game.

The only problem was, I was super bad at it.

But tonight was different. Maybe it was because he was on some good drugs, but tonight he broke the silence first.

“Mara, what are you doing?” His voice held the hint of his familiar growl, but mostly, he just sounded tired.

I went for it. “I’m trying to tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me yesterday—”

“I heard you,” he cut me off.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That!” I pointed to him, exasperation consuming me. “That thing you do where it’s all short responses or no responses at all. I hate that.”

He took in a deep breath, his head rolling backwards as he closed his eyes. “Come on, Mara, let’s just get you back so—”

“Don’t do that either. Don’t try to shut me down because I’m not willing to play this weird, bullshit, tiptoe dance we’ve been doing for the past several weeks.”

His head rolled forward, brow arched. “Tiptoe dance?”

“Yes!” I rubbed my eyes as I let out a quick sigh.

Then I looked at him again, dropping my hands to my side.

His expression was blank, but his eyes showed me he was listening.

“Wes, I’m trying to tell you that I appreciate you helping me.

When no one else was willing to go, you did, and I don’t know how I would have done it without you, okay? And I really appreciate it.”

He remained quiet, part of his face shadowed in the dark as his eyes flickered with emotions I couldn’t read.

I sighed again. “Are you going to say something?”

He grunted, body stiff and unyielding. “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know… something ,” I urged.

“Fine. You’re welcome.”

Silence fell between us again, and Wes stood like a perfectly sexy marble statue.

This wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted a conversation, some real talk, but all I was getting were these short little answers.

It was like he had built a wall up—one so high I just couldn’t climb.

And it was frustrating and confusing as all hell.

I mean, did he want something to do with me? Were we friends?

I groaned. I knew I shouldn’t have even tried. “You know what, never mind.” I waved a hand at him, motioning for him to go. “Just…just go home. Thanks for walking me.” I turned on my heels, waving a hand in the air back at him. “See you around.”

I took several steps, and then I felt pressure on my right shoulder, pulling me back.

“Mara…” I turned to see Wes, only a foot away from me, his hand on my shoulder, holding me in place until I was facing him. And then he dropped it to his side.

I looked up, catching his eye, and all the warmth came fluttering back up, low in my body as my stomach churned, making me feel slightly nauseous. I swallowed, trying to choke down the anxiety clawing its way up inside me. But I stayed quiet. It was my turn to be the stoic one.

His eyes shimmered, alive and vibrant. “What do you want from me?” It wasn’t caustic, or bitter, or angry, or anything like that. It was a genuine question, and I could feel this underlying tension, this need, that his question invoked. But I didn’t understand it.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. And I realized…I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know what I expected from him. All I knew was I…I was lost. I closed my eyes and looked away, my fingers coming to my lips as I chewed on my thumbnail. I had no response for him. “I don’t know.”

His eyes flickered, his gaze intent on mine, and I could feel everything within me tensing up, the anxiety piling high.

And then…

It all collapsed.

He dropped his gaze and gave me a weak smile that lacked emotion. Taking several steps back from me, his hands returned to his pockets. “Let me know when you figure it out.” Wes turned, giving me his back, and walked away.

I was left standing there, mouth agape, riddled with confusion and unease.

And, for some reason, I got the feeling that what I was trying to figure out was not the same thing Wes was talking about.

For some reason, I got the feeling that the issue we were dancing around was something big, and I had a sneaky suspicion Wes knew something that I didn’t.

And that part scared me.