Seeker (Riders #2)(47)

Soraya and Sophia show up as he's stepping out. I hear him talking to them outside.

"We don't know what to do," Soraya says.



       
         
       
        

"Or where to be," Sophia says.

"Yeah," he says. "I think there's going to be a lot of that today."

They talk for a little while, sharing medical updates on everyone. Then he leaves and they come inside, joining Maia and me.

We talk at the kitchen table. Then we sit and don't talk. We're all emotionally and physically wrecked. And aimless.

We move in a small pack the rest of the morning, pretending to eat breakfast. Wandering from the medical station to the RV and back as we wait for news of Ben, who was flown to a regional hospital.

I don't see Gideon again. He stays in his trailer with Jode and Marcus.

I wonder where things stand between us. We've had so many starts and stops-but he's right. That's on me. I've been the one slamming on the brakes. I've been so stupid. So determined to protect myself. Why have I been protecting myself from him?

Back at the RV, news arrives at eleven that Ben is stable. He lost a spleen, but spleens are optional. He's going to have a long road ahead, but the doctors think he'll make a full recovery.

Soraya and Sophia fly into a hug and dissolve into tears of relief.

Maia exhales a long breath through her teeth. "Okay. Good boy, Ben," she says, like he's right here. Then she looks at me. "I'm gonna go shoot. Wanna come?"

"Yes." I want to do anything that's not sitting around and worrying.

She commandeers a Jeep, and we spend an hour at the shooting range on the adjacent base. Maia gives me a lesson. Pointers on breathing, stance, technique. Much as I try, holding the weapon feels wrong, like I'm holding a chair instead of a rifle, whereas it looks like a natural extension of her body. Even with her leg stitched up beneath her cargos, she stands and shoots like a pro. It's impressive to watch her.

We head back when other people at the range start to notice how good she is.

"So, you and War?" she says, pulling the Jeep onto the main road. "I saw that he spent the night. Plus all the eye hockey you two have been playing. Plus, we all knew something had gone on before."

"Yeah, we're … " I don't know what we are. I pass the water bottle we've been sharing back to her. "We're something."

Maia laughs. "Yep. That you are. Blake's a top-quality guy. Hot as Hades, too." I look at her. "Whoops. Is it okay I said that?"

"Of course. I'm just surprised that I feel good right now. I mean, I'm sad about what happened  …  but I'm also good." Part of it is Maia, I know. Being with her. Doing something random with her that I'd never otherwise do. Being out. Driving around. Sharing water. Just  …  accepting the missing pieces and keeping going. 

"I hear you," she says. "Life's frickin' weird, ain't it?"

"So weird."

Back at camp, we're told to gather in the command center. Maia and I plop down next to each other. The seats around the table start to fill, but it's the absences I notice.

No Ben. No Suarez.

No Low.

Without them, it feels like we're half the number we were two days ago, even though that's not true.

Marcus walks in and looks at me. Jode follows behind him. Then Gideon, who I can't look at directly. Not even after I internally yell at myself for being a chicken. Not even when he sits right beside me and says, "Hey."

I mumble it back.

He must realize I've become mute, because he starts talking to Maia. "Heard you went shooting. How'd you do?"

Maia replies and then he replies and they talk like grown people, as I try to follow along while my brain feeds me an image of the way he looked smiling at me from the other side of the pillow.

"Daryn shot, too? How was it?" he asks, still carrying on like three of us are participating in this conversation.

Maia picks me up. She carries both of us, like she's my spokesperson. I sit like a lump of human, running my thumb over an imaginary scratch on the table. Because eye contact? Words? Not happening right now.

I feel too close to him. I've lost my protective shell, my ability to modulate, to hide or deflect or play it cool. I haven't felt this before. I'm afraid I won't properly shift gears back to civil and businesslike. I'm afraid I'll get up and crawl into his lap and look at him with hearts twirling around in my eyes instead of answering, Yes, I shot a rifle for the first time and I didn't like it much.

I'm rescued from my newfound awkwardness when Natalie Cordero enters. The quiet hum of conversation cuts off as she rounds the table and sits in her usual seat.