Page 50 of Never Bound

“Should we—”

But a scream left the sentence unfinished. I spun around again to see Corey lurching toward her—barely seeing her except as the closest target for his rage—with a heavy pair of metal garden shears, discarded under a nearby sage bush, raised high above his head.

Like so many of my decisions that night, it was already made. I lunged for the shears with both hands, through the piercing agony in my shoulder, wrenched them out of Corey’s grip, and brought them down on the side of his already bloodied head with a crack.

Corey toppled like lead, his head coming down on the top of a barrel cactus before he rolled off and hit the ground. Blood seeped out from his wound and stained the dust below him, the spines embedded in his flesh. He was still.

Neither of us looked closer. Did it even matter now?

I turned to her, shoulders heaving in exhaustion and adrenaline. But whatever thin wire had been keeping Louisa preternaturally calm until now had snapped.

She stood rooted to the spot, a veil of blind panic flooding over her face as rapid breaths rattled unevenly out of her chest. She wasn’t even seeing me.

“Ah, shit.” In another second, I would completely lose her. Rapidly trying to get control of my own breath, I cupped her face in my hand with a grip I was sure was too tight, but no less than what the situation called for, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Look at me, Lou. Stay with me. Breathe. We’ll figure this out, yeah? But I need you with me, so you have to breathe.”

And all of a sudden, she returned.

“Fuck, Lou.” I exhaled and kissed her forehead in awe. “Whatwasthat?” I asked. “And here you thought you weren’t good at anything.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. There were tears in her voice, but at least that meant she was present. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No. I’m glad you did,” I said, cutting her off. “It was either that or—well, the important thing is that you’re safe. Yeah? That’s all that matters.”

“No,” she cried. “It isn’t because—” She tried to look at Corey again, but I jerked her chin back, keeping her focused on me and my words.

“It’s all that matters,” I repeated firmly. “Yeah? Like I said, we’ll figure something out. We always do. Right?”

She nodded.

I pulled her terrorized, shaking body into the shelter of my own dirt- and blood-streaked arms, knowing that whatever comfort I could give her would only be a farce—a laughable mockery of what a free man could offer. What a free man wouldn’thaveto offer because he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. I wondered, for the millionth time, why she hadn’t taken off running a long time ago. Fuck, if I were her, I would have.

But she was braver than that. And smarter. So much smarter, in all the ways I wasn’t. And when she looked into my eyes, even though I couldn’t protect her from what she feared the most, there was still hope behind them. Hope, even as the walls we’d built to shelter each other were crashing down into the sea.

In truth, I hadn’t believed it when I’d told her we’d figure things out. I’d said it, almost selfishly, just to keep from losing her. But now, her eyes were almost enough for me to believe that we could.

“You have to go,” she said quietly.

“What?” I blinked.

“You have to go. Tonight. Right now. Back to Erica’s. She’ll know what to do from there.”

“But I—”

“Take the car. The keys are inside. The GPS will take you to campus, and you can find your way from there. Daddy will still trigger the chip, but not until tomorrow when he gets back. I can come up with a story and buy you a little bit of time. We’ve done it before. I plan, you execute. Speed chess, right? Right?”

Her voice seemed to come from underwater. My vision blurred for a second, and she looked at me as if afraidI’dnow lost the plot.

But I nodded. “You’re right.”

A breeze rattled, of all things, some terra cotta wind chimes from far off in the garden.

And that was it.

But still, we stood there, with no solace but in the cold of the desert night, no warmth but in each other.

We’d come back here because we thought that, if nothing else, it would buy us time together. But we’d got it wrong. If it had to be goodbye no matter what, then it should have been that morning. Properly, by choice. Like real people, instead of fugitives.

As my shoulders rose and fell, she gave me the only things she had left to give: her spine, brushing my bruised hand over it; her curls, to gather and let fall. She gave me her manicured hand—how could it still be so flawless afterthat?—to caress my ruined and throbbing shoulder, to trace my blood-streaked cheeks and jaw, brushing away the strands of hair she’d once thought shimmering, now dull and dirt-covered and matted to my face. And finally, she gave me her lips. And then she had nothing left to give, except time.

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