Page 27 of Beacon

“I know. But you can never predict what they’ll do, so if you aren’t paying attention to every move, then they’ll keep having the advantage.”

I nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

He’s in control of my body again, holding himself upabove me on his forearms. We’re both flushed and panting, and our faces aren’t very far apart. I like his weight on me. Even though I’m vulnerable and mostly helpless, his weight makes me feel safe.

I see the expression in Mack’s eyes shift as he stares down at me. A smolder that prompts a matching hunger in me.

But I’m nothing if not a good student, and he’s taught me well. So I arch my spine and let out a long, sensual moan.

It distracts him. Visibly. He makes a greedy sound in his throat and lowers his head toward me.

I push hard against him, freeing myself and jumping to my feet, narrowly managing to evade his hand when he bellows out in outrage and grabs for me again.

I’m spilling over with laughter as I turn around, raising my arms in victory. He’s on his feet already and coming after me, warm amusement and a feral kind of determination in his expression.

He chases me around the yard until he traps me against the side of the house. He grabs me and slings me over his shoulder as I laugh and squeal.

Mack holds me in place and carries me back to where we left all the weapons. Our training session is clearly over.

And he laughs.

It’s not just the breathy huffs of amusement I’ve heardover the past couple of days. It’s his real laugh. His old one. Full and free and familiar.

The sound of it now—at last, again—almost makes me cry.

We’re both in a good mood as we put up the weapons in the cabin’s storage closet where we found them. I’m hoping once we get stuff put up, maybe we can follow through on the hot moment a little while ago.

There’s a lot of stuff stocked up here. Chloe and her grandfather could have probably survived here another year if they’d had to. The prepper food is getting low, but there are still plenty of toiletries and first aid supplies and medication and weapons and ammunition.

A lot of weapons and not just guns.

I’ve pulled out from the bottom shelf the box where all the extra ammunition is kept so we can return the extras from what we used. I’m about to slide the box back in place when I notice that Mack has grown completely still. Motionless.

I frown up at his frozen face and follow the direction he’s staring.

Behind the box were stored additional weapons.

Including a couple of what appear to be grenades.

“Shit,” I breathe out, my stomach dropping sickeningly.

I wasn’t there when it happened six months ago, but I’ve heard the story told multiple times from Rachel and from Cal and from Chloe and from Jimmy’s parents. Mack and the others came to rescue Jimmy from the criminals who tried to capture him and Chloe. There was a gunfight, but the bad guys had the advantage. They all might have died if Mack hadn’t thrown a grenade.

Only to discover later that one of the bad guys was a young boy.

Mack killed him, and it was the final straw in everything he’s had to do to keep so many people safe after Impact. It broke him, and he still hasn’t recovered.

Despite the positive changes I’ve seen in the past days, he’s obviously not recovered yet. He’s frozen, staring and so tense I can almost see the emotion he’s hiding shuddering beneath the surface of his skin.

“Shit,” I say again. I reach up to take his shoulders and gently turn him around. “Let’s get out of this closet. We can go sit down for a minute.”

I wouldn’t be able to move him if he was actively resisting, but he walks when I push him, so I’m able to get him to a chair at the kitchen table. Then he just sits there, staring at nothing.

I have no idea what to do. I want to cry and hug myself and run away and cradle Mack all at the same time. I step around to the back of his chair and put my hands on his shoulders, starting to knead the tense muscles there.

After a minute, he lets out a long, hoarse exhale. He’s not relaxing, but something has changed.

I keep massaging him, moving to his neck. Then rubbing his smooth head as he releases another textured breath.

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