Page 43 of The Fall Before Flight

“I don’t… don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do. You’re safe here. You’re with me.”

With me.

Inside me.

Everything explodes. My mind. My heart. My life. I rock forward, clutching my head with my fingers.

“I was… I…”

“Yes,” he says gently. “You were pregnant.”

16

RUN RUN RUN

DAY 11 - 12

I don’t feel the scrape of spiny desert brush on my ankles and calves. I don’t feel the burn in my muscles, working beyond the limits of their endurance. I don’t hear the footsteps racing after me, the voice calling my name.

What stops me isn’t my protesting limbs, my wildly thrumming pulse, or the shoe I lost somewhere along the way. Not my screaming, gasping lungs. My burning, sand-scoured eyes.

Not my breaking heart.

It’s the chain-link fence around Oasis that brings me to an abrupt and painful halt.

My fingers curl around metal links and my knees give out. I taste blood where I bit through my lip on impact.

“Amelia!” An anguished, masculine yell.

Sand flies up behind me as he skids to a stop. I feel the vibration of his knees hitting the earth. Fingers curl around my shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he says between panting breaths. “I’ve got you.”

The darkness funnels to dangerous density, spinning toward its target with poisoned tip. My body follows, a puppet to the primal demand. I register the blue of his eyes, tortured and red from the run. His handsome, flushed face. The perfect hair no longer perfect but sticking in all directions. The swipe of his tongue across a full lower lip.

I lunge forward and kiss him. Hard enough that I feel the press of his teeth, the warm give of his dry lips. He gasps. I take advantage, driving forward, dipping my tongue into his mouth. Tasting him harshly, completely. Drinking him down.

It’s seconds. A lifetime. Then his hands on my shoulders wrench me back.

“No,” he says breathlessly.

Another level of me breaks.

I swing both arms, kick my legs, landing blows wherever I can reach as hard as I can. I’m screaming.

“Liar! Fucking liar! Oh God, oh God. I wrote Daddy on his cup. I hadn’t even taken the test yet, but I knew. Goddammit!”

Chastain finally subdues me by hogtying me with his arms and legs. I’m flooded with his scent. Hot, clean skin. The tantalizing musk of sweat.

“Let it go, Amelia. Let it out.”

I’m tumbling.

Freefall.

No parachute.

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