Page 8 of Pieces of Us

I’ve worn these tags every day for nearly two decades. They’re a piece of me. A piece I had to leave behind when I left two days ago, not wanting to risk my captors stealing them. I carefully remove them from the hook and slide them over my head. They’re a familiar weight against my skin, the thud, thud of the tags a second heartbeat as they settle in place.

It doesn’t make me feel any better.

These tags were meant for a hero. Standing here, dead on my feet, bleeding, with a brother who wants nothing to do with me, I feel anything but.

I’ll just have to earn them. I did it once. I can do it again.

Despite the sheer amount of pain I’m trying to push my way through, my body inevitably gives out. I manage to ride a wave of hazy sleep on my bed for a few hours before suddenly jolting awake in a panic. My fingers are already wrapped around my gun before my eyes have cleared enough to see where I need to point it.

Turns out, I don’t need to point it anywhere. I’m completely alone.

Right. Back in the safe house. No threats here. Safe, safe, I’m safe.

I force my body off the bed with a groan. The world spins, my legs wobbling dangerously as they struggle to bear my weight. I press a hand to the wall and take a few careful breaths, steadying myself before attempting to move again. Each step forward causes vibrations of pain through my body. Even my fucking fingertips seem to ache. I fight any reactions, practicing for when I have an audience soon. I don’t want anyone to worry about me. I’m the last person in this house that deserves to be worried about. Even Travis, as pissed as I am at him for fucking up my brother’s head by falling in love with him, is higher on that list than me.

I only got as far as dragging a pair of sweatpants on before collapsing on the bed after my shower earlier, so I pause at my dresser on the way out to snag a sweatshirt. It hurts like a bitch to tug on, but I can feel my facial muscles staying perfectly even. No pained sounds escape. My breathing doesn’t even change. Good.

There’s no one in the hall, giving the air an eerie sort of silence. I eye the stairs when I reach them. There are fourteen steps. I know because I counted when I dragged myself up them a few hours ago. Somehow, the task of descending them feels even more daunting.

“You could just go back to bed,” a voice murmurs from behind me.

I startle, then grind my teeth in anger at myself. No startling. What are you, traumatized? Guess fucking what—you don’t get to be, you selfish bastard.

I force my body to settle. Force my heart to calm. Then I look at Ace. “There’s a lot to do. I can’t just sleep all day.”

“All the survivors have arrived,” he says with a shrug. “And everyone is hiding in their rooms or seeing the doc so they can leave right away. There’s not much for you to do right now, honestly.”

“Carter?” I ask, proud of how relaxed my voice sounds.

“He’s still asleep.” Ace winces. “He and Travis. Neither have come out of Carter’s room yet.”

Oh.

I look back at the stairs. “What about his friend, Casey? How is he doing?”

“Good. Jake just brought him to the pool a little bit ago.”

“Who is running tech right now?”

“Me.”

I give him a look. It feels good to give him it. Like I’m finally back in my own skin. I’m the boss here, even if Carter and Travis won’t respect that. This is my safe house. My team. My survivors. The responsibility is heavy on my shoulders, but heavy like a weighted blanket, not heavy like a burden. This is what I’m good at. This seems to be the only thing I can ever do right.

“I was just grabbing something from my room,” he says in response to the disapproving look. “I’m hurrying.”

“I’ll cover the kitchen then, just in case any survivors come around.”

“A guard can handle that, Maison. Seriously, get some fucking rest.” His eyes narrow. “I know you didn’t go to the doc like we said to.”

I wave him off. “The guards aren’t as well-trained as us. I’d rather it be me. I can’t sleep anyway.”

It was the wrong thing to say, concern bunching his eyebrows together. “You should really see the doc, man.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I take the first step, swallowing the urge to groan as pain shoots up my spine. I don’t let myself reach for the railing or hesitate before taking the next step. “Get your ass back to work.”

I duck into the bathroom at the end of the stairs before Ace can catch up with me, locking the door before leaning back against it with stuttered breaths. I muffle them with the collar of my sweatshirt in case Ace decides to be a nosey bastard. My hand shakes so badly I hit my nose twice, making tears pool in my eyes as the already injured area blooms with fresh pain. Nausea churns in my stomach. My ears buzz. My legs shake.

Fuck.

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