Amie remained frozen for a minute, staring at the closed door, wondering if she should run after Nina. But she couldn’t run. She could barely move. Her legs grew weak beneath her, and she sat down heavily in the chair that her sister had just left empty.
Then she finally started to cry.
Winter
Jack
Jack was picking at a platter of crudités in the corner of a corporate hotel suite, surrounded by various shades of beige furnishings, trying to prepare himself.
His suit hung a little looser on his frame; he had lost a surprising amount of muscle mass in the months since he stopped training for combat. Through the window, he could see the swarm of protesters gathered outside the hotel, holding signs that read “Support Short-Stringers!” and “Stop Rollins!”
In a few minutes, Jack would be standing onstage, under the arch of red and blue balloons, while his uncle made a speech about the future of the nation and his aunt waved to the crowds that seemed to grow larger and louder at every stop. Tonight’s event, the biggest to date, was being broadcast on national television.
Jack looked over at his father, who was reading in a nearby armchair, and smiled weakly at him.
“You better sharpen that grin before you’re on camera,” his father said, flipping to the next page in the newspaper. “And maybe you should just sit down and relax until we’re needed. Stop hovering over the food.”
When Jack’s father first heard about Jack and Javier’s switch, he was relieved and grateful, of course, to know that his child had a long life ahead. But he was also horrified by the boys’ actions. He had railed against Jack for hours, shocked that his son would jeopardize the Hunter legacy and live in such deception. Until Jack reminded his father about Grandpa Cal’s stories from his time in the army. The most important part was always the brotherhood, the loyalty among comrades in uniform. Jack told his father that the switch was what Javier wanted more than anything, and that’s why he agreed to it. His dad could never know the full truth.
But Jack knew that his father still had nightmares about the lie being exposed, putting the integrity of the whole family at risk.
“Only three people in the world know about this,” Jack assured him, over and over. “Just me, you, and Javi. That’s it. And none of us are going to tell.”
Yet the spotlight kept shining brighter on Katherine and Anthony, so it was hard for Jack’s father not to feel anxious. And he dreaded the day, in the not-so-distant future, when the truth would inevitably come out.
But Jack finally saw a purpose in his lonesome upbringing. He had been raised to take care of himself. So, when that day came, Jack would find a way to handle it.
All Jack had to do today was stand in a corner of the stage and act supportive. But he had another plan.
Jack knew that whatever he did now wouldn’t negate his selfish motives for proposing the switch back in June, that whatever words he spoke tonight wouldn’t erase his months of silence. But maybe it would still be enough to fulfill his promise to Javier.
A tall security guard in sunglasses poked his head inside the room. “Mr. Hunter, Jack, they’re ready for you both.”
Jack’s father stood up from his chair. “How’s my suit?” he asked Jack. “Any wrinkles?”
“No, sir,” Jack said, and the pleasure he derived from hearing his father ask for his help, no matter how insignificant, almost made Jack question his plan, knowing that some of the blame might land on his dad. But he had come too far to back down.
In the elevator, Jack thought of the demonstrators outside the hotel, still chanting even now. He thought of the rally in August, where a man named Hank had laid down his life during the protest. And he thought of Javier’s own inescapable death, as the soldier that he was always meant to be and yet was almost barred from becoming. Someday that would be an act of protest, too.
Jack had been given a long string, much longer than Hank’s or Javier’s. The least he could do was join them now. To see something wrong and refuse to look away. Like that woman, Lea, had told him. He had been so consumed by his fight with Javi that he hadn’t seen beyond it. But the battle was bigger than Anthony, or Jack, or Javier, or Hank, or the man with the clipboard, or the boys in New York. It was bigger than all of them now.
Jack and his father stepped out of the elevator to join the awaiting stage manager, and Jack slipped his fingers into his pocket, furtively pulling out a small gold pin with two interlocked threads. He flipped it around in his sweaty palm as he followed the stage manager down the hall, finally pressing it onto his lapel just as the glaring lights of the stage overtook his vision.