After their multiple ordeals, Spark had woken up in the hospital. Not alone—her mom and dad had been flown in, special delivery, but Aran had disappeared. No messager number, no note of farewell. Just out of her life like nothing had ever happened.
Except that too much had, and she refused to let him run away from any it. At least, not without saying goodbye to her in person.
She had more than one reason to track him down, too. Not the least of which was the fact she owed him her life. And vice versa.
Bix’s expression went wary and he slowly took a seat on one of the overstuffed chairs.
“What about Aran?”
Burt cleared his throat. “It’s nice of you to protect your friend, but we’re not here to cause trouble.”
“Burt, be quiet.” Spark frowned at him. His tough security-guy manner was far from reassuring. “Bix, I met Aran at SimCon, and I’d like to get back in touch.”
“Oh, damn.” Bix slapped himself on the forehead. “It really was you at that party. I’m such an idiot.”
“No worries. But… is he all right? Do you know where I can find him?”
Bix glanced at the doorway, then leaned forward. “He crashes in our old garage—but right now he’s working.”
“Working?” Burt’s voice was laced with disbelief.
“Yeah, he’s on night shift at the local Fry King. I think he’s done at five in the morning, or something tweaked like that. Before the sun comes up, anyway.”
Sunrise. Spark smiled.
“I know exactly where to find him,” she said. “Thank you, Bix.”
“No problem. Wait—before you go, could I get a picture with you?”
“Sure.”
She let Bix droop one of his long arms around her, and smiled on cue when he pulled out his messager and snapped a selfie of them. He looked at it and pumped his fist.
“Sweet! And, uh, come by again, anytime.”
“Thanks.”
At the doorstep, Burt shook his hand, and when they got to the curb she waved, trying not to laugh at the moony expression on Bix’s face. Another one down. Why was it the one guy she wanted to spend time with kept running away from her?
Aran scrambled down the path, letting the fresh sea wind blow the smell of fry grease off his clothes. At least his night-shift hours allowed him to come watch the sunrise most mornings, on his way back to the Chowneys’ garage. Spring was finally coming, the air losing its bite, the green edges of new leaves showing.
The sky was already getting lighter over the water, a line of white on the horizon preceding the sunrise. He never wanted to take the sun rising for granted ever again.#p#分页标题#e#
Beach stones shifting under his feet, he was halfway to his usual log when he halted. Someone else perched there, huddled in a thick coat and looking out at the ocean.
For a moment he thought about turning around, leaving the beach to whoever had claimed it first. The figure shifted, and he caught his breath at the familiar curve of her cheek. His pulse gave a huge thump, then settled into a faster rhythm.
For almost a month he’d tried to convince himself it was for the best that he never see Spark Jaxley again. Clearly his heart didn’t agree. He kept walking.
“Hi,” he said when he got to the bleached log.
He didn’t ask how she’d found his secret cove. The head of her security team was a pro.
Spark tilted her head and looked at him. “For a second there, I thought you were going to run away again.”
“Hey.” The truth of her words stung. “I had some things to do.”
After the med techs had treated his scraped back and his smoke inhalation, he’d talked them out of admitting him to the hospital. He’d waited around long enough to make sure Spark was okay, and then ridden Bix’s bike back to the city. The distance had seemed twice as far, every mile spooling out, cold and empty.
“You could have left a note,” she said. “Or your number.”
“Look.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, then leaned against the side of the log. “I don’t belong in your world.”
He still had no idea what world he actually fit in.
Knowing where he didn’t was a start, though. And accepting that his family would never knit back together, that his old life was gone forever. Things would never revert to normal in that house. Setch would always be the firstborn, the golden boy, perfect in his parent’s eyes no matter how many dirty deals he did. Aran hanging on, hoping things would change, only prolonged the pain. For everyone.
He’d given up hacking, too. It felt right, but the grind of regular work was gruesome—especially the kind of job he could get with no references and a minimal background check. It was either midnight fast-food peon, or, even worse, waste disposal worker.