Page 63 of Nolan
Nolan looks as though I just stabbed him. I try to explain myself. “I just wasn’t expecting this today. I wish you would’ve told me when you volunteered. Just so that I could prepare myself. It’s a lot to think about. I just—I need some time to process.”
“I see.” He’s trying to be neutral, but there’s a touch of hurt behind his words. And it’s ripping me apart. “Well—thank you, for being honest.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, not wanting to leave, while also not wanting him to go.
“I guess I won’t waste any more of your time,” Nolan says with a finality that destroys any hope I have. To him, I don’t know might as well mean never.
I’ve said the wrong things. And it’s too late for me to take it back.
“Nolan,” I begin, wishing and willing myself to make this right, but another part of me is too shocked, too hurt to try. “You were never a waste of time.”
He doesn’t acknowledge that, scratching his cheek and avoiding my eyes. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I follow him in dejected silence. I can’t think straight at all. It’s only by some miracle I’m not giving into my desire to cry. This isn’t how I pictured our date ending. I hadn’t pictured any end at all, period. And now, I feel like the biggest idiot in New Carnegie.
Was Apollo right? Was the “no dating family” rule there for a reason? Was I a fool to think I was impervious to it, that it couldn’t apply to Nolan and me?
I just don’t know anymore.
10
Nolan
I hate saying goodbye to her.
Every part of my body rebels against this as I take her to the car. The way she turns to me so slowly, her eyes shining with tears she refuses to shed, makes me want to break into spare parts. Why did it never occur to me to say something? Why didn’t I mention volunteering before?
I’ve never been deployed. Being the first bionic of my kind, I knew it might be a possibility, but I never intended to hurt her.
Now I can see I went about this all wrong.
“Can I—” Her voice cracks. “Can I have a hug before you go?”
I quickly wrap my arms around her. As if my gratification drive would even allow me to say no. I hold her like it’s the last time I’ll ever see her. Maybe it is, I don’t know. Everything about this affects my programming, my circuitry enduring searing, uncomfortable pulsing, as though I’ve made an unforgivable mistake somehow. It never occurred to me when I started seeing her that this might not work. Not with how strongly my systems chase every recollection of her.
“Please come back safe,” Mia murmurs against my chest, her voice quivering the longer she tries to speak. “You mean a lot to everyone. To me.”
“I will,” I promise her sincerely. Then I feel her pulling away from me, and I reluctantly let her go. I stand there as she drives away, casting me a final forlorn glance before she turns the corner.
When I’m back at the station, I replay her reaction to my words—how surprised she was, her vital spikes, how wounded she appeared and how she tightened so painfully in my grasp. My gratification drive punishes me, all but demanding I remain with the only woman who has ever affected my circuitry so wholly and completely. I last until later that evening, helpless against its pull. Lying in the bed we broke after our passionate lovemaking, I cave, finally sending a message to her phone.
Mia, I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to bother you. I know you aren’t sure where to go from here, and I want to respect the space you need—but is there any chance this could still work?
I wait. Seconds turn to minutes, and minutes to an hour. I’m about to lose hope until I get a message in return.
I’m sorry I reacted to your news so poorly. I don’t want this to end either.
Hope courses through me like my coolant system. I take a chance and call her. She answers immediately, and I loosen the tension in my mainframe.
“Nolan,” she says in relief. “I thought I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life back there. Listen, I?—”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” I interject, trying to soothe her. “This is new territory for both of us. I mean, we’ve barely started dating. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to walk away. Life with me won’t be easy, Mia. I know that.”
“I don’t want to walk away,” Mia answers quietly. “Now that I’m home and faced with never seeing you again, kissing you again, having you again? I hate it.”
That makes me smile. “I hate it too.”
“So . . . what do we do?”
