Page 39 of Citadel

It’s more than an hour later when I’m aware of a presence below me.

I’ve made some decent progress on my patch job, and sweat is dripping down my neck and between my breasts. The air is hot and sticky—without even a sea breeze to cut the thickness. For years after Impact, the dust and debris in the atmosphere blocked some of the sunlight and cooled global temperatures, but it must be almost clear now. Today is as hot as August afternoons in Virginia I remember from my childhood.

A weird, uncomfortable nostalgia.

It’s not the heat or the sweat or the way the muscles in my back are stretched that triggers a mental alert, however. It’s a sudden, acute awareness of a presence below me.

Familiar. From the past. Never forgotten, no matter how much I tried to purge it from my mind.

I jerk my head down to look in an automatic reflex.

Cole is standing on the ground below, not far from the ladder I climbed up here on. He’s big, even from my height. He’s wearing camo pants and an army green T-shirt. His shoulders are broad. His jaw is square. His gaze is piercing. Intimidating. Immovable.

He’s exactly like I remember. A rock. Both shelter and obstacle. Unyielding.

What happens next is unfortunate. Probably inevitable. I jerk in response to the rush of surprise and emotion, and I’m hit by a wave of vertigo that rushes in my ears and topples my balance.

It feels like I’m falling, so I grab for purchase on the roof shingles. I fumble clumsily for a few moments until I steady myself and catch my breath and my balance.

My cheeks were already red from the heat, but now they’re more so. Exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Embarrass myself in front of Cole instead of conveying a pose of lofty indifference.

“Damn it,” I mutter as I feel my way for the ladder and start descending, making sure not to glance down again.

Because I’m not looking, the hands that grab me by the waist, lift me off the ladder, and set me down on the ground are shocking. I choke on a squeal and yank myself away from his touch.

“What the hell are you doing up there on the roof by yourself?” he bites out, soft and angry.

My mouth drops open in astonishment. I sputter for a moment, too shocked and indignant to form an actual word.

“You could have broken your neck!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was fine! I wouldn’t have even gotten startled if you’d called out a greeting like a normal person instead of standing like a granite statue and glowering up at me in stoic silence.”

“I thought calling out would startle you more.” He’s still angry, but he’s pulled it back in. Only the glare of his gaze and the gravel in his voice give evidence to his mood. “And what the hell is everyone doing around here, letting you climb up on a fuckin’ roof instead of—”

“Don’t you dare!” The icy coldness of my words surprises even me. “Don’t you dare show up two years later and act like you have some say in what I do or don’t do. You made it clear you don’t give a damn. It’s fine. Breanna and I have done perfectly well on our own, and this community has been good to us when no one else was. You saved us once. And I’m grateful for that. But thanks is all you get. You have no other claim on me or say in how I live my life. I climbed up on the roof because I’m capable of it and someone has to patch the leak. Are we supposed to let ourselves get rained on merely because we don’t have a big, strong man to do the job for us?”

He’s surprised by my reaction. I can see it on his face even though barely more than his eyelids flicker. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“What are you even doing here? I assume you didn’t show up again after so long just to stand glaring and boss me around.”

Any time I envisioned encountering Cole again, I saw myself as being cool and controlled and beautiful and dismissive. Proving to him that he means nothing to me, and his leaving didn’t wound me in any real way.

But the truth is it did wound me. It betrayed my instinctive trust in him and made me doubt my own instincts about people. And, despite my fantasies about myself, I’m not a cool, controlled person.

I might not talk a lot, but I feel things deeply. I don’t anger easily, but when I get mad, I show it.

“I got word my brother might be passing this way. I was hoping someone here might have seen or heard something.”

Of course. That’s always been his priority. Finding and saving his brother—no matter how much his brother doesn’t want to be found.

His showing up here after two years has absolutely nothing to do with me.

“Oh. Well, you can ask around, but I haven’t heard anything.” I turn away, leaving my ladder and tools where they are. Right now I just want to get away from him so I can recover my composure.

“Del,” he says thickly, putting a hand on my shoulder and turning me around to face him.

I step back, away from his touch. “What?”

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