Page 48 of Never Say Die
“Yeah, give me a sec,” he mumbled.
In the cramped bathroom, Aiden splashed water on his face, peeked at the broken capillaries under his bandages, and brushed his teeth. Remembering last night felt like remembering a dream. How vulnerability had poured through Shay, onyx-eyed and on his knees. How they’d clung to each other, tried to devour each other, turned wild and savage with each other. He spit, wiped his mouth, and stumbled through the cabin, falling into the seat next to Pru.
Sherlock sunned on the dashboard next to burger wrappers and salsa packets. Aiden propped his feet on the dash, scratching the ferret with his big toe. “Where are we?” he asked, staring at golden desert shriveled by another overbearing summer.
“The Extraterrestrial Highway,” Pru said. She pushed at her heart-shaped sunglasses. “You doin’ okay? Found some bandages on the counter last night. There was a, uh,thoroughlysqueezed antiseptic tube in the trash, too.”
Well, shit.Aiden chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just cut myself shaving.”
“You say that a lot.I’m fine. It’s noticeable.”
“Is this the part where you tell me you’re here if I ever need to talk? If so, just save it.”
“It’s physically impossible for me to care any less about your attitude problem,” she said, and laid her arm against the window, guiding the steering wheel with tattooed fingers. “So, no, I’m not here if youneed to talk. I’m a college drop-out who took a semi-decent-paying job. That job is to get Knight’s Bloodfrom one venue to the next and make sure none of you die on the way. I’m loyal to exactly zero people in this RV. La verdad—now.”
“Ay Dios mío. Look, the truth’s a little complicated, okay? A lot complicated,” he said, inhaling a long, drawn out breath. “I’m fine, though. I’mgood. For once, seriously. I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to you, but. . .” He shrugged, squinting at an oasis in the distance. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay, I tried,” she said, blunt as stone, and reached into the slim space between the door and the driver’s seat. The hunting knife looked too big in her hand, too long and dirty, still caked with dried blood and disturbed earth. “La verdad, Aiden.Now.”
Aiden’s stomach kicked into his throat. Lungs spasmed, white spots swarmed his vision, and panic forced adrenaline into every tired limb. He snatched her wrist. “Let go,” he growled, voice hushed. She gripped tighter, stubbornly strong. He remembered years ago, fourteen and furious, chasing Camila through the house after she’d stolen his iPhone. He’d peeled her fingers backward until she’d relented, so he did the same to Pru. She let go and steadied the steering wheel. He jammed the knife beneath his shirt, blade flattened against his belly.
“What the fuck is that for?” Pru hissed, tearing her sunglasses off to meet his eyes.
He glanced at the pull-out. Georgia snored faintly, nestled in the blankets with a pillow over her head. “You went through my shit,” he said, teeth grinding.
“Yeah, to make sure you weren’t swallowing pain-killers like breath mints. Seriously, man, a pocketknife I could get behind, but that’s some serial killer shit.”
“It’s just a knife,” he said, exasperated.
“Me estás tomando el pelo,” Pru said, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “It’s the size of my forearm?—”
“We’re traveling across the country in a beat-to-shit RV.” He gestured wildly at the windshield. “I thought we could use a little protection.”
“Explain the blood,” she said, feigning calmness.
“It’s not blood.” Memories flash-banged inside him. Slippery knuckles. Shay saying his name—Aiden—likeplease, likewait. “I dropped it,” he said, scraping the lie from the roof of his mouth. “In a. . . a gutter right after I bought it. I never…” Shay smiling against his mouth, lulled by ketamine. “I never got the chance to clean it, you know. But it’s not—it’s just. . .” He scrubbed at his watery eyes. “It’s there in case of emergencies.”
Pru shot him a suspicious, sorry look.
He turned the window crank. Hot air whistled into the motorhome, pushing against his face, scented like somewhere new.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked, cautiously.
He inhaled the grainy desert and stood.It should’ve been me.“Don’t go through my shit again,” he whispered, and stashed the knife in his backpack, slouched carelessly against the window atop the booth-table, still carrying dust from the Ocean Grove trailhead on its straps.
A quirky cartoon UFO topped the Welcome to Roswell road sign, backdropped by the same dry, yellow desert they’d driven through for hours. Little green men flashed peace signs in shopfront windows, murals of unidentified flying objectscovered abandoned buildings, and balloons with owlish eyes floated above car dealerships. Even their motel, operating on the outskirts of town near the alleged UFO crash site, had its own weather-worn alien statue standing in front of the lobby. After a competitive round of rock-paper-scissors, Georgia and Pru won the suite with a bathtub, leaving Aiden and Shay the smaller, second-floor room. Dylan stayed in the motorhome with Sherlock, staking his claim on the tub for at least one hour. They unpacked at sundown and slinked to the 24-Hour diner on the other side of the parking lot.
“Can’t avoid me forever,” Shay said, holding the door open.
Aiden slipped past him. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“You stood in the hall and threw your backpack into our room. Literally, like,threwit.”
“Yeah, and. . . ?”
“Aiden, c’mon.”
He tipped his head toward the booth where Dylan, Georgia, and Pru picked at onion rings. For ten years, he’d wanted Shay—so much he’d plunged a blade into his stomach, so much he’d begged the devil for mercy. Actively avoiding him hadn’t been the plan, but how did they go back to being who they’d been after doing what they’d done?
