| |
KATE
I wake up with the worst hangover of my adult life.
I open my eyes. Psychedelic Grateful Dead posters hang on the ceiling above me, but all I see is Lila’s face—the calm, determined set to her jaw when she raised the Sig to her temple.
Next, I see Jesus. His brave expression in the face of death. His earnest look when he asked me to put him down.
I close my eyes, trying to block out their faces. I still feel the jolt of the knife when it punched through Jesus’s temple and into his skull. I still feel the way the air vibrated when Lila discharged the gun into her own head. I shrink back from the memories, wishing I could hide from them.
The only thing that really makes it better is time. Ben’s gruff voice trickles in from my drunken memories of the night before.
That’s when I notice my left arm hanging over the edge of the bed, the skin cold from being left uncovered. My fingers twitch, held in place by something.
I scrunch forward and find Ben on the floor, fully clothed. A thin throw blanket is draped over his torso, too small to cover his tall form. His eyes are open. He gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it.
I realize with a shock that he’s been here with me all night. I’m equal parts grateful and embarrassed.
Our eyes meet. “When’s the last time you had to hold back a girl’s hair?” I ask.
“Technically, you don’t have any hair to hold back.”
I squint at him. “Did you just make a joke?”
His response is cautious. “Did you think it was funny?”
“I’ll let you know later. When my head doesn’t hurt so much.”
The skin around his eyes crinkles. I think that might be his version of a smile. Another thing to ponder when my head doesn’t feel like it’s going to crack in half.
I reach out and find his hand. “Thanks for everything you did last night.”
He squeezes my hand without speaking.
It’s what Ben does that always touches me. It’s the tattoos on his arms commemorating thirty years of life and loss in the army. It’s the way he looked after me last night when I was no better than a drunk teenager. It’s the warm coffee on a cold morning. It’s the way he holds my hand in silence right now.
I remain prone on the bed. Eyes closed, I savor the feel of Ben’s hand in mine. His palm is rough with callouses, his grip strong. I like the way it feels. I like him more and more every day.
My eyes snap open. “I forgot. I have a present for you.”
“A what?” He frowns, as though convinced he didn’t hear me correctly.
“A present. For you. Don’t get too excited. It’s not a Ferrari or anything.”
I push myself into a sitting position with a groan. My stomach threatens to revolt. I lean back against the wall to let it settle.
Ben, watching the operation, wordlessly hands me a bottle of water. I down it with a grateful sigh.
“How are you feeling?” Ben ventures.
How am I feeling?
I want to stay in bed and let the world fade away. I don’t want to wait out the agony of losing Lila and Jesus. I don’t want to face the terror of losing more of my new family every morning when I get up. I want to run away from it all.
But after Federico died, I made myself a promise that I wouldn’t run away from my problems. I owe it to him to stick it out. Hell, I owe it to all the kids.
I want to tell Ben all of this, but instead, I say, “I feel like any college kid feels after a night of binge drinking.”
I groan again as I fumble at the top desk drawer. My brain feels like it wants to pound its way out of my skull.
“Here.” I produce a stick of Secret deodorant hand it to Ben.
His brow furrows. He turns it over in his hands, frown deepening. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
My eyes widen. “That’s not—I didn’t mean it that way. We’re all a little smelly. That’s for your chafing.”
He stares at me. “My what?”
“Your waist. The chafing from your fatigues.”
“I thought runners used Vaseline for chafing.”
“No.” I shake my head, grimacing at the backlash of pain. “There’s too much moisture in Vaseline. That just makes it worse. Antiperspirants work much better. They’re designed to get rid of moisture. I use it under my sports bra.”
At the mention of my sports bra, his eyes travel to my chest. I clear my throat, feeling embarrassed. I’ve never had much up top, even less with constant running chewing up my fat reserves.
“You’re carrying a lot of heavy fabric around your waist,” I say. “I don’t know how well it will work, but it’s worth a try.”
He averts his gaze, suddenly absorbed in the blue deodorant stick. He turns it over in his hands, face unreadable. After what seems like forever, he shakes his head and sticks it into his pocket. “Thank you. It’s weird as shit, but I’ll try it.”
“It’s the least I can do. You know, for holding up my non-existent hair while I puked like a high school kid on prom night.”
His eyes soften. “Anytime.” He hesitates before reaching across the short distance that separates us. He cups my hands between both of his, running his thumbs over my palms.
He’s never looked at me the way he’s looking at me now. I’m too hungover to grapple with the emotion squirming around in my chest. All I know is that I want to hang onto his hand. Hell, I want to do more than that. I want to hang onto him.
I don’t do either.
I force myself to my feet, breaking away from him. I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat.
“We should go check on the others.” Realizing I’m being an asshole, I attempt to soften the abruptness. “None of them had a sober friend looking over them last night.” I give him a soft smile, wishing I didn’t feel like vomiting all over my bare feet.
The skin around his eyes crinkles again. I decide it’s definitely his version of a smile. I’ve never seen Ben smile before today. It looks good on him.
“Let’s go,” he says to me. “We don’t want to leave the little shitheads up to their own devices. No telling what they’ll get up to unsupervised.”
As we exit the room side by side, I lament my obscene intake of alcohol. I’m in no state to deal with whatever is manifesting between me and Ben. Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, things between us have changed. I make a silent promise to think on it when my head stops hurting.
Right now, I have my kids to think about. I don’t intend to fail them again.
I may have been drunk last night, but that doesn’t mean my brain wasn’t working. At least, it was before my sixth or seventh shot of whatever that brown stuff was.
Our campus was almost overrun yesterday. The appearance of the alpha zombies has changed everything. We have to adapt to our new environment if we want to survive. I won’t risk leaving us vulnerable again.
I have a plan.