Endgame

“I was steadfast,” he protests. “I waited.”

“Waiting isn’t the same as being there,” I bite out.

“Isn’t it?”

For the first time, the bitterness boils out; there’s no stemming it. “You could have hired someone to start the search for Sasha. Stayed for my trial. Once it was over, we could’ve gone together. You chose to leave me while I was locked up.

“I said all the right things, but the truth is, I blame you. Once again, you chose somebody else over me. It was my fault I wound up there, I get it…and you wanted to disassociate if the worst came to pass—”

“That’s not true. I didn’t lie when I said I couldn’t bear it, Jax. The whole time, I remembered how it was when I thought you were dead. Remember how I wired Farwan headquarters to blow?”

I nod, eyes fixed on his taut features.

“That’s how it was. I had the monster on a thin chain on New Terra. The longer I stayed, the more it strained. I stopped caring about due process. I only cared that somebody was keeping you from me, and I wanted to kill them all.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and the beast gazes out from his eyes. “If I’d stayed, I would have.”

“I thought Mair cured you.”

He laughs, and it’s a wild, hopeless sound. “She put barriers in place. She roused my empathy. But there is no cure for what I was, Jax. I fell into the pit again, after Lachion, after so much death and darkness. It’s always, always in me. I thought you sensed it. Thought that was the reason you never committed to me—because you recognize the bomb in my head.”

“But Sasha…raising him has changed you.”

“I’ve got more rope for the creature now to keep it bound, more boxes and chains to force it down. But it is never gone.”

“Why did you stay on Lachion?” I ask then. “Was it as simple as you claimed? You owed Mair a debt for saving you?”

He forces out a shaky breath, and I see that his fingers, when he runs them through his disheveled hair, are unsteady. “I’d like to say yes, unequivocally. But now, viewed through the lens of hindsight, I think it was partly that and partly fear. I was afraid you were dying…and you turned aside so easily. You shut me out.”

“So that’s where it started,” I whisper.

The problems between us began with me. I feared being helpless, dependent on him—needing him too much. Here we are, so many turns later, afraid of needing each other at all. My skittish nature broke so many things, and I didn’t even know it at the time. But I’d just lost a lover, and I was afraid of taking another wound.

“I’m sorry. That came from fear and insecurity. I suspect…we fell in love too soon.”

I don’t say what he’s doubtless thinking—that I wasn’t over Kai completely—and our timing sucks. It always has.

He laces his hands together. I can tell it’s an effort for March to stay out of my head, not to check what’s on my mind. It’s hard for him not to reach for me. I’d feel better in his arms, but physical contact can’t solve our underlying problems. Without communication, our relationship will become what he fears it already has—just two compatible sexual partners who know how to push each other’s buttons.

He sighs. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I should’ve shown I’d be there for you, no matter what. Instead, your rejection on Emry was in my head when I decided to stay on Lachion.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I’ve aired my grievances. So has he. Beyond that, there’s no benefit in dissecting past mistakes. Our course has carried us to this point. It only remains to be seen where we go from here.

“Is there anything left between us?” he asks. “Anything but sex? You love someone else now. I feel it.”

“I already told you—”

“Vel doesn’t want to be the center of your world. Yet that doesn’t change how you feel about him.”

“Yes, I love him. But he’s not my lover.”

“Do you wish he was?”

It should be a ridiculous question, but with the gravity of his face, I can’t laugh. I shake my head. “No. March, if there were nothing between us, I wouldn’t hurt so much. I wouldn’t cry over you or wonder how it’s gone so wrong.”

“This is the worst possible time with the war and all, but…can we start over? I want to be the man you need. I can’t change the choices I’ve made—”

“Neither can I.”

“But we can decide to let the past go. Begin again.”

Can we? I don’t know if it’s that easy. How do you forget the wounds that burn in your heart like hot coals? I don’t have a choice, though. I agree to wipe the slate clean, or it ends between us, here and now. Am I ready for that? Can I bear it?

CHAPTER 28

The answer, when it comes to me, offers immense comfort. “I can if you can.”

I’m not the woman who loves the one she’s with. I’m also not one who gives up because things aren’t perfect. You fight for what you love. You commit to making the relationship better. I don’t believe in the perfect match. There’s the one you love enough to stay with; there’s the one who puts up with your shit. It’s not romantic in the standard sense, but to me, it feels better. It feels real.

March moves then. He brings me into his arms as if I’m made of crystal. In my hair, he whispers, “I don’t deserve a fresh start, but I’m glad you’re giving me one. I won’t let you down, Jax. This time, I’ll stay ’til the end.”

“I don’t either,” I mumble. “I’m a screwup. Fortunately, life is arranged so that people don’t get what they deserve.”

He laughs shakily, crowning my temple with kisses. “That’s true enough.”

“Do you have any other grievances? This is your last chance.”

“No. I just have a request.”

I hold my breath, afraid it will be difficult or complicated, especially with me leaving at dawn. “What’s that?”

“Be honest with me.”

Relief flickers to life like a gentle flame. “I promise. No more withholding. Will you do the same?”

March nods.

We spend the remainder of the night talking. Mad as it sounds, it all feels brand-new again even though he is familiar as my own face. He doesn’t suggest making love, and that’s just as well. Odd as it might sound, I fear that sex would destroy this fragile rapport.

When I leave him, I am superstitiously afraid this will be the last time. Because there’s none of the raw anguish, just a fearful, nascent hope for the future. And hope is a butterfly, so easily crushed by careless hands.

Yet duty calls. Exhausted from twenty hours of argument—and thinking about the conflict—I hastily shower and gather my things. The rest of my unit is already waiting in the hangar. To my surprise, Sasha’s there, too.

He salutes Loras and hesitates when he spots me. “Can I hug you?”

“Do you want to?” I ask, startled.

“Kinda. I know you talked to my dad. Pissed him off, too. I guess you wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t care about me a little.”

“I do.” I’m surprised at how true that is. He’s March’s kid, not mine, but now that he’s older, he’s grown on me. “I suspect I was wrong to intervene, but I went to bat for you.”

“Thanks for that. He sees me as a baby, but I’m not.”

“I don’t think it’s that so much as he wants to protect you.”

Sasha narrows puzzled blue-green eyes. “But he can’t. Not forever.”

“True.”

“Sirantha!” That’s Vel, telling me politely that everyone is waiting.

“Let’s have the hug, kid.”

He delivers it awkwardly, as if he doesn’t know whether to hug me like a girl or with the backslapping camaraderie of a male he wants to impress. In the end, I get a little of both, then I step away. This time I don’t look back as I vault into the shuttle. The others are already inside; they look rested and ready to wreak havoc.

“Is it safe for us to head for the capital?” I ask Loras, as Vel powers up.

He shakes his head. “But we’re doing it anyway.”

Xirol laughs. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. I hope we see some action.”

For me, the word “action” brings back inescapable memories of Venice Minor. Of the bombardment and Doc’s death. I hold those moments close; they remind me of mistakes I don’t mean to make again.

“We will,” Loras says.

Eller breaks his long silence to say, “Be careful, people. Things will get worse before they get better.”

Even Xirol can’t make a joke out of that. I nod to show I take his warning to heart. In truth, the same dread burns in my bones, as if every last bridge has been burned. From this point on, there’s no way out but through. Then again, that’s the only path I’ve ever had.

It’s still dark, of course, when we slip out of the base. There are no other ships up here, and night cloaks our movement. We won’t put down in the city proper. The shuttle has to be hidden where we can reach it yet beyond the range of our enemies. That means a precise set of calculations.

“How is the war shaping up?” Vel asks.

Loras shakes his head, visible from the front only because I’ve half shifted in my seat. “In small pockets of resistance, just enough to keep them unsettled. The Imperials are looking for conspirators in the palace at the moment.”

“Courtesy of Leviter and Tarn?” I guess.

He laughs softly. “But of course.”

“Can they help us at all in the city?” I ask.

Loras angles his head, donning his commander’s air. “Shouldn’t you wait until you learn your assignment?”

“As long as it’s not more treatments,” Farah mutters.

I’m glad she said it, not me. But it’s so true. I’m tired of playing that role.

“No, we’ve moved into the next phase of the plan,” Loras replies.

Low-key whooping fills the shuttle, and Loras doesn’t shush us. The conversation becomes general, though I take some ribbing from my squad-mates. Xirol nudges me.

“You made yourself scarce, Jax. What did you do?”

“Or should we ask who?” A joke from Eller? The world must be ending.

“Very funny.” I pause for best comic effect. “You know who I did.” More hoots follow, but they’re good-natured. I add, “I don’t mind you speculating about my sex life. At least I have one.”

Zeeka laughs the loudest, but I detect a note of false cheer. Maybe he’s realized he’ll never find a mate out on the star roads since his people are all on Marakeq. In that, he’s like Vel. But then, Vel found somebody to love him on Gehenna; two, if you count me—and I do. So there might be a woman who doesn’t mind if Z’s different.

“Eller, she’s talking to you,” Xirol cracks.