There’s an amazing view of Los Angeles from up here, all twinkling lights and cloudy skies. The city of the future doesn’t look much different from the city I know. Downtown is wider and the buildings seem taller, but the residential areas all look the same, with a few pockets of high-rises scattered on the path to the coast. From Future-Adam’s backyard I can see it all.
I sink to the ground and wrap my arms around my knees. The grass is wet on my butt and a cool wind brushes against my bare arms, but I welcome the chill. It keeps me focused. I’ve done enough moping around. Now I need to sort through all the data I’ve collected in my head if I’m going to get us out of this alive.
I hear footsteps on the brick behind me but don’t turn around. I’m not in the mood for conversation. Maybe if I ignore whoever it is they’ll go away.
No such luck. Adam sits next to me on the grass, facing the view. I stiffen up, bracing myself for whatever he is going to say. I’m not ready to talk to him or to face the knowledge of how he feels about me. But for a few minutes, the only sound is the wind riffling through our hair.
“I don’t want to become this person,” he finally says.
“Why not?” Future-Adam didn’t seem that bad to me. The others thought he was crazy, but I see now that everything he did had some meaning behind it. There was a method to his madness.
“I live in this house, but it’s not a home. It isn’t me.” He rips grass out of the lawn and lets it fall between his fingers with a sigh. “I’m not married. I don’t have any kids. I’m all alone…This isn’t the life I want.”
I open my mouth but struggle with what to say. He’s rich in the future. Famous. Important. And he’s good-looking even in his late forties, so I suspect he could be married if he wanted to be.
But I understand the desire for a real home. And learning you’re going to spend the next thirty years alone can’t be easy either. “You’ve done great things in the future. You cured cancer. You saved millions of lives. You won a Nobel Prize.”
“But I don’t even have a dog.” His head drops, as if the thought of not having a dog in the future upsets him more than anything.
“A dog?”
“My dog, Max—I know he won’t be around in thirty years, but I always assumed I’d get another one.” He turns to look at me with tortured, blue eyes. “Why don’t I have a dog?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you work long hours now or travel a lot or…”
“And I failed,” he continues, like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. “I watched all of you die and was unable to stop it or find out who did it. In the future, I have to live with that. Every. Single. Day.” He shakes his head. “No wonder I’m alone.”
I should do something or say something, but I can’t find the right words. I’ve never been good at comforting other people when they’re upset. He’s talking about his future self like he’s already become that person, but he’s not. He doesn’t have to be. But I don’t know how to tell him that and make him believe me. Instead I place my hand over his on the grass.
His gaze drops to my hand. “I’m sorry. I probably sound like a jerk whining about my problems when you’re…” His voice trails off.
“You just saw your own future. That can’t be easy.”
“I probably shouldn’t ask this, but what did he say to you? When you were alone?”
“He…” I’m not sure how much to tell him. Most of what Future-Adam said isn’t for this Adam’s ears, but I want to say something. I want to be honest. Finally I spit out, “He told me to trust you.”
Adam’s eyebrows dart up. “Yeah?”
I focus on an airplane flying overhead to avoid his gaze. “What did he say to you?”
“He told me to be careful. And…to not get too attached to you.” Adam shifts his hand to grasp mine, his pale fingers tangling with my darker ones. “I don’t care what he said. We’re going to change this future. I’m not going to let you die.”