Page 39 of Never a Hero

Joan’s throat tightened. In the alley outside the Wyvern Inn, Jamie had said, Why is he with you? Why would he be anywhere near you? But Joan hadn’t sought Nick out. Jamie had to know that.

Jamie himself had told Joan about the zhenshí de lìshi: the true timeline. We believe that if people belonged together in the true timeline, then our timeline tries to repair itself by bringing them together. Over and over and over. Until the rift is healed.

Lost in memory, Joan slipped on a wet step. A strong hand shot out and grasped her arm, steadying her. Joan blinked up. Nick had caught her so fast that she hadn’t even had a moment of fear.

Thanks. Joan could only mouth it, her throat too tight to speak.

The timeline had brought them back together in Milton Keynes, but they were pieces of a damaged puzzle. Nick had killed Joan’s family, and Joan had unmade him. It didn’t matter that Nick had forgotten it all; Joan knew. They might have fit together once, but they didn’t anymore. There was a rift between them that the timeline could never heal—even if it brought them together over and over again for the rest of their lives.

Joan took a deep breath and kept climbing down. But she felt the shadow of Nick’s touch for the rest of the descent.

The pontoon wobbled under Joan’s feet. Gaps between wooden planks showed choppy brown water. It wobbled again as Nick landed beside her with a thump.

Beside them, the barge seemed huge—a house on the water. It was lovingly maintained: freshly painted in forest green and burgundy, with a name in white lettering: Tranquility. The Hathaways’ double-headed hound underlined the name.

Jamie leaned over to pat the boat’s flank, absent and fond, like he might have stroked a passing cat. Then he started on the ropes. He shook his head when Joan reached over to help. ‘Faster if I do it.’

On the boat, heavy footsteps sounded. A man emerged from the boat’s interior, momentarily blurred by the wet plastic windows of the wheelhouse. He came into focus in the open doorway, a giant with a boxer’s body and a battered face. Tom. Joan almost blurted his name aloud.

‘There’s two of them?’ Tom grunted to Jamie.

‘Long story.’ Jamie threw a rope, and Tom caught it easily.

For a moment, sharpness glinted on Tom’s face like water catching the light, and then his expression slackened again. Tom was smart—Joan had made the mistake of underestimating him last time. Tom had encouraged it.

‘I’m Tom,’ he said to them now.

‘Joan. This is Nick.’

‘Thanks for the rescue,’ Nick said.

Tom’s nod was part acknowledgement, part indication for them to go on inside.

Joan followed Nick onto the boat. The wheelhouse was a tent-like space. The lower half was waist-high wooden walls and soft seats that followed the curve of the boat. The upper half was green canvas with clear plastic windows, wet with river spray.

Tom opened a panel to hit some buttons. The engine kicked on with a loud hum that combined with the wash of water into a white-noise drone. At a gesture from Tom, Nick continued down a short flight of stairs into the boat’s interior. Joan hesitated again. I know you, she wanted to say to Tom.

She knew him far better than she knew Jamie. In some ways, maybe she knew Tom better than Tom knew himself. She’d seen him in situations that this Tom had never been in—that Joan hoped he’d never be in. She knew what he was like laid bare with grief and desperation.

As she hesitated, Tom growled to her, ‘Joan, is it?’ His voice was pitched lower than the engine, just for the two of them. When Joan nodded, Tom said, ‘I don’t know you, but I know who you are.’

‘He told you?’ Joan said, surprised. Over on the pontoon, Jamie had almost finished untying the second rope. His back was to them, dark head bent over the task. The last time Joan had spoken to him, Jamie had been keeping the other timeline from Tom. Tom’s happy in this timeline, he’d explained to Joan.

Tom’s jaw was a tight line. ‘He’s always had nightmares, but they started getting worse a few years ago. He couldn’t keep it from me.’

Joan felt a strange surge of jealousy. And then guilt on top of that. It was good that Jamie had told Tom about the other timeline. It was good that Jamie had someone who loved him, who he could confide in.

‘He told me what you did for us,’ Tom said. ‘You should know—you’ll always have a bed and a meal among the Hathaways. Just say your name.’

Joan felt even more guilty then. ‘You don’t owe me, Tom. We helped each other.’ When she’d unmade Nick, she’d released Jamie from his terrible imprisonment. But she didn’t deserve thanks for that. Without Tom and Jamie, her own family would still be dead.

Tom met her eyes, his intelligence unobscured for once. ‘Go on. Get down to safety,’ he said. ‘I have to stay up here and steer.’

The boat’s interior was wider and brighter than Joan had expected. A soft white love seat stretched along the wall, and there was a diner-style table for meals. The walls were white, with oak trim framing large round windows. Beyond, there was a galley, the cupboards the soft green of new grass. The whole place had a welcoming, homey feeling.

Nick stood in the living room, his back to Joan. Joan took in the lean muscles of his shoulders, his dark hair. He turned at the sound of her entrance, and her heart skipped a beat. Would she ever get used to being near him? To how much he looked like his other self?

‘Hey.’ He looked uncharacteristically awkward. ‘Seems like your friend was only expecting you.’ He hesitated. ‘What did you say to get me on board?’

---