He rolls his shoulders as he sits back on his haunches, his leg braces sighing and shifting as he uses them to lever himself to his feet. He grimaces.
“How long have you been in those things?” I ask quietly as I lead him out of our makeshift bedroom. He follows me between tidy rows of plants to the cluster of orchid tree specimens at the far end of the greenhouse. We have a spare camp bed and some chairs arranged in the private hollow created by the trees. Leela and Chris and I set this up when the weather got too cold to hang out in the square.
Beth complained about it at first, but not in a way that made any of us think she actually minds. Dr. Howard must know it’s here, but he doesn’t seem to care either. I guess he’s just happy Chris has somewhere to be when Dr. Hunter is busy on foraging trips.
“Twenty hours.” Jay shoves the chairs aside and eases himself down on the bed, back against the plexiglass wall.
“Jay!” Since he was stabbed during Ord’s attack on the Landing, Jay hasn’t had full control of his legs. He uses braces to walk. They work pretty well, but he isn’t supposed to wear them for more than twelve hours without a break.
He waves off my concern. “We started back right away when we got the news. James had been on the stick for eight already and nobody was gonna wait out a rest period, so . . .” He shrugs, like that was that.
“First things first,” I say, dropping to the camp bed beside him and pressing the power-down switch on his hip.
“I can tough it out a little longer,” he protests.
“Why?”
A little smile sneaks over his lips as he realizes I want him to stay the rest of the night. I think it’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from anyone since the Prairie burst over Tau’s orbital horizon.
We work together in silence, unlatching the matte black Teflon bands that encircle his legs at the ankle and above and below his knee. Each one vibrates gently in my hand as it breaks the wireless connection with the nanoreceptors embedded in the nerves of his legs. He winces when my hand brushes a spot where he still has sensation. He’s in more pain than he admits.
Once the braces are off, he lays them on the ground and switches them to charge mode. They pulse with gentle yellow light—pulling power from the greenhouse through the floor tiles.
“I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your texts,” I say as Jay settles back on the camp bed beside me. “I was just . . .”
“A little busy helping save the species?” he says.
More like having a panic attack and refusing to help save the species, but before I can tell him what happened up there, he adds, “My mom and my sister are on the Prairie.”
“Really?”
I feel the flush of happiness that colors his cheeks as if it were my own.
“I almost didn’t check the manifest,” he says. “I didn’t think . . . but Dr. Howard looked when your grandfather uploaded it, and his sister and her family were there. So are Chief Penny’s cousins. That made a couple of the others check. When they all found family members, I decided . . . I had to look.” He shakes his head in amazement. “I don’t know how, but they’re on it. They’re alive. They’re here.” He sweeps me into his arms. “I can’t believe it. They’re really here. And they’re safe, thanks to you.”
He presses a kiss to my lips.
Self-loathing stiffens my spine, pulling me away from his sweet excitement. I try to force my clenched jaw to relax, but Jay feels it. His shoulders go up defensively as he turns away from me.
“Jay,” I start, but he waves me off.
“No,” he says. “I get it. Our home world is gone and billions of people are dead and I’m happy. I don’t blame you for being weirded out. But . . . I was pretty sure I was never going to see Mom and Seo again when I came here. And I felt like the worst, knowing that I chose this place over them. But now we’re going to be together again. I get to see them every day and they get to meet you and . . . that makes me happy. And feeling happy right now is so . . . confusing. I mean, here I am, babbling about seeing my mom again when almost everyone else is . . .”
“Oh Jay,” I say, feeling like a self-centered jerk all over again for letting him think I was judging him when I was really judging myself. “That’s not it at all. It’s okay to be happy.” I duck my head under his arm, curling into him. “I’m glad you’re happy. You should be. There’s going to be a lot of surviving to do. Our whole lives. I think we’re going to have to get used to living at the same time. Does that make sense?”
Instead of answering, he presses a kiss into the top of my head. I turn my face up to his, and our lips meet and mold to each other. It isn’t new anymore. We’ve kissed each other many times. But the shape of it is different every time. Surprising, even when it’s familiar.
It feels good. His kisses always do. But this is more. Different.
When I was little, Grandpa made us learn to swim across the lake at his cabin in Geneva. It’s almost a kilometer wide. I spent the whole summer trying and failing. The last time, it was nearly autumn and the water was cold. But I was determined to make it, so I kept swimming even though I knew I was too tired. By the time I got close to the other side, I could feel myself sinking a little with every stroke of my arms. I stopped to try to rest, but the waves were like fistfuls of broken glass, tossing themselves into my face. Before I knew it, I was sinking. Drowning. Then my toes brushed the bottom. I’ll never forget what that felt like. Kissing Jay right now feels like that. Like I’m drowning and he’s solid ground.
I need that.
I need him. Desperately. I feel like I might die if he doesn’t kiss me again. Longer. Deeper.
I think Jay feels it, too.
His urgent hands mold over my hips and run up my back, under my thermal. His callused fingers throw sparks as they trail over my bare skin. Our tongues tangle. My breath is coming faster.
It feels good.
I want more.
I pull my thermal off.
His hands stroke up my stomach, fingers grazing the plain gray cotton of my sports bra as I yank at his T-shirt. He drags it off and pulls me into his lap, wrapping himself around me.
We’ve gotten this far before, but no further.
Tonight it isn’t enough.
Tonight, I want to feel all of him with all of me. I need to. Tonight, I want more than sparks. Tonight, I want to burn.
Jay pulls back.
“What are you doing?” I demand, trying to drag his lips back to mine.
He puts a gentle hand on my chest, over my pounding heart. “Wait. Please, Hotshot.”
“No. No.” To my surprise, the little word catches in my throat. “Please,” I whisper. “I want . . . I need . . .”
“Me too,” he says, leaning his forehead against mine. “You know how much. But when we . . . I want it to be about us, Jo. Not tangled up in this.” He reaches out and brushes a tear from my cheek. “And I don’t want you to be crying.”
I lean forward and press my face against his bare shoulder for a long time. Letting his heat evaporate the tears. After a while, the burning need fades, leaving my mind quiet.
Jay stretches out on the cot, pulling me against him on the narrow foam mattress. He’s so warm. I let his heat seep into me, easing my muscles and my mind.