Beckett smirks. “Holy Ian and Max. Somehow I doubt it would stick.”
Me too.
“So, we have to find Milla,” Kali says abruptly. “Not just because she’s obviously suffering, which is bad enough. But if we don’t …”
She trails off like she doesn’t want to say it. But it’s a reality Max and I live with every day—and why I felt so selfish when I stayed on Glacea with Kali when she was shot. Because that decision by me doomed all of us.
“If we don’t,” Max finishes for her, “Ian and I don’t have much time left, either.”
Chapter 64
Kali
Two hours later, I’m still reeling from everything I’ve learned today.
I’m in the galley using all the tricks Gage has taught me about making reconstituted food taste better to try to put together a decent meal for everyone, but I’m not sure how well it’s going to turn out. I keep getting distracted by what my mother said about how I’m the target of all these attacks. That they aren’t trying to kill all of us—just me.
Which means I’m the reason ships keep trying to blow us out of open space.
I’m the reason Gage got shot.
And I’m the reason Ian has nearly died twice.
Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t fucking puke.
I take a deep breath to settle my suddenly churning stomach, but it doesn’t work. Maybe the old Kali who first got here and thought everyone lived to serve the Empire could have handled the thought of people dying to protect the crown princess.
But the woman I’ve become since the Caelestis? The last thing I want is anyone sacrificing for an empire that apparently doesn’t give a shit about them. And I definitely, definitely don’t want anything happening to the people on this ship because of who I am or decisions that I make.
Because we’re not out of danger yet—we could be attacked again, if they can find us. And now that we know Milla is running out of time, it’s so much worse. Because if we’re too late and she dies, then Ian and Max die, too.
I can’t let that happen. I won’t let it happen. Not to them, and not to anyone on the Starlight.
We may have started out strangers and enemies, but that’s not what we are anymore. It feels like we’ve lived a lifetime in a couple of weeks, and now I can barely remember what it felt like not to have their backs—or what it felt like for them not to have mine.
I don’t know if I’d say we’re all exactly friends—Merrick and Beckett are hard to get a read on sometimes—but we’re definitely not enemies. And I do care about them all so, so much. Way too much to sit by and let them be collateral damage in the machinations of the Empire. They’ve already suffered enough for Senestris. No way am I going to be the reason these smart, funny, courageous people die.
Just the thought of a world without them makes me sick.
A world without Rain, whose love and joy is so incredibly inspiring?
Or Max, who always has a smile and an understanding ear to lend? And who’s taught me so much in my time on the Starlight?
Or Merrick and Gage, who are so completely different but still manage to both come through for us when we need them most?
Even Beckett, with her darkness and sarcasm and hatred of me. She’s suffered so much and has had such a terrible life, and yet she’s so incredibly resilient. Somehow, someway, she always bounces back. How could I not admire that?
And finally, Ian—what can I even say about Ian? I was supposed to hate him, smug, arrogant, controlling asshole that he is. And somehow, someway, I fell for him hardest of all. Not just because we slept together, but because inside all that I-don’t-care-about-anyone-but-me grumpiness is a guy who cares too much. About everyone and everything.
Since we left the Caelestis, they’ve been taking care of me in so many ways. Stitching me up. Telling me jokes. Calling me brave. Teaching me to fight—and literally kicking my ass. Now it’s my turn to take care of them the only way I can. No matter how much it hurts. Because losing them would hurt so much worse.
Ever since I got here, the only thing I wanted was to be useful. To be so much more than dead weight. I’ve tinkered with tech. I’ve cleaned toilets. I’ve cooked food. But maybe all along, the best, most useful thing I could do…was leave.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”
I freeze at the voice, my stomach clenching and my heart fluttering with nerves in my chest. Because I’ve known this moment was coming since I walked off the bridge. But it’s not like I’ve got a choice. The conversation has to be had.
“Sure.” I keep my voice casual as I start to fill up the sink with soapy water so I can wash the bowls I used to put together the casserole that’s now being finalized in the processor. “What do you need?”
“Is that how you want to play it?” Ian asks as he strides across the room toward me. “Like you didn’t run from the bridge the second you could?”
I plunge my hands into the soapy water so he can’t see how badly they’re trembling. “I didn’t run. I just wanted to get started on a meal.”
“So, we’re lying to each other now?” he asks, leaning a hip against the cabinet next to me like he’s got all the time in the world to have this argument. And suddenly I’m as angry as I am nervous. Because he’s got some nerve, accusing me of lying.
“Oh, I don’t think we’re just starting now, do you?” I shoot back.
He goes pale at the implication, but he doesn’t step back—or away—like I’d hoped he would. Then again, this is Ian, and I’ve yet to see him back down from a fight. But instead of coming at me with one of the biting comments I know so well, he just shakes his head as if to clear it and says, “It wasn’t only my secret to tell.”
My tiny little flare of righteous indignation—brought on by my own guilt and sadness; I’m aware—dies a terrible death. “I know. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.”
“Sure you did,” he says easily, the tension leaking from his shoulders. “But I don’t blame you for that. What I am is hard to talk about and even harder to understand.”
He’s not wrong there. “It doesn’t change anything for me, except…” I break off, unsure of how to ask what I’m thinking.
But Ian knows—I can see the knowledge in his eyes even before he says, “He was passed out drunk, Kali. He didn’t feel or witness anything—I swear. I never would have made love to you without you knowing what I was if there was any chance it would be more than just the two of us.”
Relief sweeps through me at his words. And at his understanding that it freaked me out completely, thinking that I’d slept with both of them without knowing it. It’s not that I don’t like Max, and it’s not that this gestalt thing upsets me so much that it makes me not want to be with Ian. It just felt strange to think that someone had seen me like that—so vulnerable emotionally and physically—while I didn’t know anything about it.
“Thank you for explaining that,” I tell him. “It means a lot to me that you made sure.”
He nods.
An awkward silence descends on the galley, and I can’t stand it. Ian and I have fought, laughed, snarked, made love, and none of it has ever been awkward. But now…now it feels like everything is a little bit off, like a picture that’s just a tiny bit out of focus.