These Broken Stars(73)

“Stop it.” It’s a strained whisper. “I’d have been eaten our second day here if it wasn’t for you. Time for me to even the scales. I won’t be long.”

“You’ve already done that.” I reach for her hand to wrap mine around it. “You saved us both, hot-wiring the escape pod. Let’s just stop trying to keep track of who’s saved who.”

“Tarver, you’re making it harder.” Her eyes are squeezed shut now. “It’s dark in there, and cold, and it’s more silent than space itself, and being here with you is none of those things. But there are things we need in there. If I were the one who was sick—” I can see the wetness along her lashes, but she refuses to blink and let the tears roll down her cheeks. What happened to her in that ship?

I breathe out slowly and try to inject some calm into my voice, even though all I want to do is hold on to her so tightly she has to give up the idea of going back in there alone. “I wouldn’t go in there. It’s a pretty simple risk-reward analysis. Sure, there are things in there it would be good to have. What’s better is to have two people functioning. What’s worst of all is to have both of us down for the count. We need to be well more than we need more clothes or food.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she begins to ease down beside me again, then stops. She draws the Gleidel out from the back of her waistband, offering the gun to me grip first. “I suppose I ought to give this back now. You should teach me how to use it, though. I wouldn’t have known what to do with it.”

It’s a jolt to realize I was so sick I didn’t even miss it. “You want to learn to use the gun?” I ask, setting it down beside me within reach and easing my arm around her once more. “Maybe when I’m a little better, and I can run to a safe distance.”

“Come on, now.” She pokes me in the ribs. “You know I run faster than you. So you’ll do it?”

“After you’ve pointed out you’re fast enough to hunt me down and shoot me when I upset you?” I tighten my arm around her and turn my head to tuck her under my chin.

“I’m stubborn,” she warns as she closes her eyes. “Don’t think you can just wait until morning and hope I’ll forget.”

“Of course not, Miss LaRoux. You’d shoot me if I tried.”

I continue to lie there after her breathing has evened out. Alec wells up in my mind again, and I can hear our conversation. I hope I die first.

Has she been thinking about that too? About what would become of her? My throat closes as I realize that she’s not talking about learning to defend herself if something happens to me.

I should give her a lesson. If I at least show her how to operate the settings, she’ll have options. I can’t think about it any further than that.

I turn my head to take a better look at her now she’s asleep.

There’s a rip in the leg of her jeans, running down by her knee and exposing skin that’s turned grubby with dirt. Her blue shirt’s untucked, marked with black grime.

Her hair’s escaping the piece of string tying it back, framing her face in a halo of wispy curls that remind me of how it floated around her in zero gravity during the pod’s descent.

There are dirty smudges mingling with the freckles all over her face, and that bruise on her cheek. Even in sleep, her mouth is pulled into a straight, determined line.

There are purple half circles underneath her eyes, and she’s sweaty, beat up, and utterly exhausted.

She’s never looked so beautiful.



“You didn’t stay at the wreck.”

“You already know that. We saw no option but to leave.”

“Your reasoning?”

“There were no rescue craft in sight. There was a disease risk with so many bodies around. We needed another option.”





TWENTY-SIX




LILAC



BY THE AFTERNOON OF THE SECOND DAY, I have to threaten to sit on Tarver’s chest to keep him from getting out of bed. More than anything, the speculative look—and thoughtful silence—that follow that threat convince me he’s feeling better. I don’t mind. After hearing him call out for his ex-girlfriend in his delirium, there’s not much that’ll make me blush. I let him sit up and shave, as a compromise—it’s nice to see him looking a little more like himself.

On the morning of the third day we agree that our best move is to get to a higher vantage point and scout the area. For the first time since we crashed we’re talking about the long term. If they knew where we were, someone would be here, at the wreck, to rescue us. The Icarus must not have transmitted her location before she was destroyed. Not even the all-powerful Monsieur LaRoux could find us now—though I have no doubt he’ll take the galaxy apart trying, even if it’s only to mark my grave.