Never (Never, #1) (99)

“Jamison—”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yes?”

“Do you remember that I’m eighteen now?”

He stares straight ahead but smiles a little. It’s only for a second before it’s replaced with frustration.

“Daph, ye can come to me.” He looks over at me. “Always.”

I give him a nod because I don’t know what I am to him, and I don’t know whether I believe him.

“I like your mum,” I tell him to change the subject.

He looks down at me. “She likes you.”

I purse my lips. “Does she?”

Jamison laughs. “She’s a bit of a closed book, hard to read, but aye.” He nods a few times before he eyes me. “Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“No.” I look straight ahead.

“Wusnae a question, Daph.” He knocks me with his shoulder gently. “Tell me.”

I squint at a tree that’s nowhere near him. “I don’t think I should,” I say eventually.

He asks, a few paces behind me now, “Why no’?”

I take a breath before I turn to face him. “I don’t suspect it’ll thrill you.”

“Nor do I, but I want ye to tell me anyway.”

But it feels like an invitation to trouble, and it’s already been a big couple of days, so I shake my head. “No.”

Jem grabs my wrist and stands me still as he adjusts the clasp on the feather cloak Rune just made me.

His eyes hold mine, and the breeze all of a sudden blows so cold I huddle in towards him without thinking.

“Tell me,” he says, and neither of us notice the way the wind is moving around us.

I stare up at him a few seconds, frown as I think about saying it. I breathe out my nose. “He took me to the labyrinth.”

Jem eyes me. “No.”

I shrug like it’s not a big deal, but it is a big deal, I think. I don’t know why I’m acting like it’s not. “He wanted to play a game.”

He gives me a look. “No, he d?dnae.”

“With the minotaur,” I tell him matter-of-factly.

Jamison’s mouth twitches in an angry way.

“And then”—I clear my throat demurely—“he got distracted and left me.”

Jem nods his head a few times, then starts walking down the mountain a lot faster. “A’m going t’ kill him.”

“Jem!” I scurry after him.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Enough’s enough.”

“Jamison, wait.” I reach for him, and he spins again, grabbing me by the shoulders, holding me tightly as he ducks so we’re eye to eye.

“You could hae died,” he tells me.

“I know.” I shrug. “But I—”

“Didn’t?” he cuts in, shaking his head madly. “That daesnae make it okay.”

“It was an accident, I think.”

His face pulls. “Ye think?”

We stare at each other crossly before he breathes out, shakes his head, and starts walking again.

“He’s just so forgetful,” I call after him. “Where are you going? You’re going the wrong way.”

Jamison stops dead in his tracks and stares over at me. “Yer having a laugh, right?”

“What?” I frown.

He stares at me wide-eyed. “Are ye really going back t’ him?”

“Well.” I breathe out, annoyed. “Where else can I go?”

He presses his tongue into his bottom lip. “Really?” he asks, and I don’t like his tone.

“Yes, really.” I put my hands on my hips. “The last time I came to you, your hands were very full.”

He starts to shake his head again. “Thon was before—”

“Before what?”

“Afore—” He stops short. “It daesnae matter. It’s—” He scoffs and keeps walking. “What the fuck is it with you and him?” He looks over his shoulder at me. “Yer smarter than this. Yer better than him.”

“I think it’s fate,” I say, and I sound worried. I think I look it too, my brows all knitted together. I want Jamison to tell me I’m wrong, but he doesn’t, and for some reason, it looks like I’ve slapped him.

He takes a moment to recompose himself. He steadies himself, giving me a long look. “Do ye no’ think you choose yer fate?”

I shrug as though I’m helpless to it all. I think I am. “I don’t know that you can control it.”

“D?nnae like that.” He scrunches his face up. “Sounds…awful.”

“Not awful. Just inevitable.”

“And you’re sure you and him are inevitable?” Jamison asks, eyebrows tall and waiting. “All meant t’ be?”

Actually, Jamison, less so by the second, I think to myself as I stare over at him.

“Well, who else might I be meant to be with?” I say, hoping he’ll say something like “me, you idiot” and finally kiss me stupid and maybe more right now—I think I’d quite like to do that with him on the side of a mountain—but Jamison doesn’t say that. He doesn’t do it either. There’s no kiss, no wandering hands, no wonderful more where he’s pressed up against me how I think about all the time when I’m sure Peter’s not looking. There’s no protest from him, just eyes that look a bit ragged, and I suddenly feel nervous.