A Paradox of Fates

by Rebecca Hefner

  “I was definitely shocked when he blurted that out earlier,” Claire said, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you going to do it?”

  “I’m open to it,” she said, expelling a frustrated breath. “But at this point, I can’t even send an apple back. He might be staking his alliance on a complete failure of a human.”

  “Enough, Lainey,” Claire said, the soft lilt of anger creeping into her tone. “I won’t let you disparage yourself like that. Go on and work in your office if you need to, but you can’t think that way. I need you to be positive. We all do.”

  “I know,” she said, granting a smile she hoped relayed confidence she didn’t feel. “We’ll get there. Good night, Claire.”

  “Night.” She turned and reached for her weathered yet functional laptop that rested atop the console. “Hey,” Claire said, glancing over her shoulder, “can I open one of the bottles of wine Alora brought home from her last trip? It’s been forever since we had wine, and I feel like a drink. I plan to work for a few more hours and run the equations through the program Zach created. Maybe I’ll find an anomaly that indicates why they’re not working.”

  “Sure. Just not the Malbec, okay? I’m saving that for something special.”

  “Sexy times with Captain Sex-on-a-stick?” Claire asked, waggling her eyebrows.

  “No,” Lainey said, unable to control her laugh. “For a toast when we finally send Garfield through. Malbec’s my favorite, and we’ll certainly need to celebrate.”

  “Okay, boss,” she said, playfully saluting her. “Hands off the Malbec. Got it.”

  Lainey spent the rest of the night holed up in her office, completing the various tasks her busy brain required before she could even think about sleeping. She replayed Nelson’s video over and over, searching for clues, but found none. She read both of her father’s notes, trying to convince herself his actions weren’t a betrayal but instead were attempts to secure her safety. She revised the current equations multiple times, coming up with a few new ones they could test tomorrow.

  Once those tasks were complete, she sat in the high-back leather chair mulling over the fact Captain Hunter Rhodes had once had a wife, whom he’d obviously adored, and how awful it must have been for him to see her perish. The thought stirred up memories of her own that she kept buried deep inside. Closing her eyes, they hummed through her brain…

  Lainey trailed along the base of the mountain, knowing her father would be livid if he knew she was so far away from the compound. She’d ridden her bike here, telling her father she needed a break from the equations for a few hours.

  Having nothing that was truly hers, this spot held significance. She’d only managed to escape here a few times, but it always reinvigorated her soul. Living at the squalid hub and working to solve time travel every day was no picnic, and she just wanted a few morsels of freedom.

  A gun cocked behind her, and she froze.

  “I’m armed,” she said, reaching for the pistol at her waist.

  “Won’t do any good against my Glock and the rifle I have, but you can try. Otherwise, I suggest you turn around and tell me what the hell you’re doing on New Establishment territory.”

  Lifting her hands, palms-out, she slowly pivoted. The grass behind her swayed in the wind, the swooshing sound barely noticeable above the ringing in her ears as she studied the man. Dark hair, deep green eyes, and a prominent chin. He was handsome, although his expression was menacing.

  “My name is Lainey Winters,” she said, the false name rolling off her tongue. “My father is sick, and I come to the base of the mountain to gather herbs to make his medicine.”

  Eyes with thick black lashes narrowed. “Are you a citizen of Terrum?”

  “We live on the outskirts of the compound. I have no money, if you’re wondering. Robbing me would only rob you of your energy. All I have are these.” She reached for her pocket and held up a reassuring hand. “Just reaching for the herbs.”

  He nodded, and she pulled them from her pocket. Thank goodness she’d already picked them. They did actually have healing properties, and she liked working with Marie to create various concoctions and teas they could drink to boost their immune systems.

  Opening her palm, she took a tentative step toward him. “See? Just boring old flowers.”

  He approached, inspecting the buds, and finally lowered the weapon. “I appreciate that you’re out here to find medicine for your sick father, but it’s dangerous for a woman to be walking alone on New Establishment land.”

  “It is,” she said, her shoulders lifting. “I just needed some space. I know that probably sounds weird.”

  Assessing her, he secured the gun in the holster on his belt and inhaled a deep breath. “Actually, it doesn’t sound weird at all. I walk along this path to find solace too.”

  “Why do you need solace?” she asked before realizing the words that were leaving her mouth.

  His lips curled into a smile, contorting his face into something wickedly handsome. “Because I’m not who I appear to be.”

  “You’re not a New Establishment soldier?”

  He glanced down at the uniform covering his muscular body. “Not all things are as they appear.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “That’s vague and quite dramatic.”

  A laugh escaped his lips. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Biting her lip, she studied him. Lainey had never interacted with an attractive man her own age—except Cyrus, whom she saw as her brother. Standing in the thicket, curiosity overwhelmed her. She’d often wondered about sex, tried to imagine it but never really understood how something so…functional could be pleasurable. The scientist in her had always strived to find out, but there was certainly a lack of candidates as partners, that was for damn sure.

  Yet here she was, in the path of a handsome stranger who’d apparently decided she didn’t pose a threat. Did he pose one? Or could she take a chance and befriend him? Could her practical brain wrap itself around that idea at all?

  “I usually come here at night, once the troops are sleeping,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I was only patrolling today because we got word of some deserters passing through. I have to get back to camp. Could you meet me here one week from today at midnight?”

  “I…” Lainey swallowed, understanding the danger of his request but simmering in uncontrolled curiosity. Agreeing to meet him would be the most impractical decision she’d ever made.

  “Please?” he said, inching closer. “You’re… Well, you’re beautiful, and I need to make amends for greeting you with weapons blazing.” White teeth flashed as he smiled. “Say you’ll meet me.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, the word escaping her mouth, burning her throat with equal parts worry and excitement. “I’ll see you next week, uh…”

  “Dalton,” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Dalton.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Dalton,” she said, enfolding his warm palm…

  A knock on her door jolted her from her musings. “Lainey?”

  “Yeah?” she called, annoyed she’d been lost in the ancient memory.

  The door creaked open, and Zach trailed through to hand her a stack of papers. “I updated everything. If Claire’s still working, she can run them through the program.”

  “Thanks,” Lainey said, taking them and placing them on her desk.

  His kind eyes regarded her. “You okay?”

  Pasting on a smile, she nodded. “My compound’s been seized, I suck at time travel, and I’m never going to get to drink my damn Malbec. Otherwise, I’m great.”

  Chuckling, he squeezed her shoulder. “One day, you’re going to chug that Malbec, and it’s going to be so good. I promise, Lainey.”

  Clutching his hand atop her shoulder, her lips curved. “I hope so, Zach. I really hope so.”

  Chapter 8

  Claire sat at her desk, furiously typing while Ann Wilson belted “Barracuda” in her earbuds. The iPod was a dinosaur, previously owned by Lainey’s mom a
nd lovingly restored by Zach. It was one of her favorite possessions in the world, and the heavy metal and rock music Mrs. Randolph had uploaded decades ago was amazing. Tapping her foot against the desk leg, she ran the equations through the program Zach had designed. Lainey had popped her head in an hour earlier, handed her some updated calculations, and asked her to scan them with the software. It was designed to look for errors Lainey or Zach might have missed. So far, nothing.

  Glancing at the clock on her desk, Claire realized it was almost nine p.m. Holy crap. Where had the day gone? Her stomach gave an angry grumble, and she looked down at it and scowled.

  “Okay, you win,” she muttered. Divesting her ears of the buds, she stood and stretched, groaning as her limbs creaked and popped.

  “You’re too young to have bones that crack like that, grandma,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

  Claire turned and shrugged, feeling her lips curve into a smile. “I’ll be thirty this year. That’s pretty old in the scheme of this post-apocalyptic shithole, don’t you think?”

  Approaching Cyrus, she stopped half a foot in front of him. At five-feet, four-inches, she was about eye-level with his pecs, defined under his tight black t-shirt. Daaaaaamn, but he was fine. His nipples protruded under the cloth, making her want to close her teeth around them.

  Tilting her head back so she could look into his deep mahogany eyes, she grinned. “We can’t all live to be a hundred like you, old man.”

  He scowled, eyes narrowing as he glared at her. “I’m forty-three. Hardly a hundred. Although, sometimes, I feel that way.”

  “I think we all do,” she said with a chuckle. “Did everything go okay with the troops today?”

  Cyrus nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, Rhodes is a competent captain. His men are well trained and add a level of security here that my team can’t provide.”

  “Well, you’re nothing if not practical, Cyrus. I’m glad it went well. And what did you think of today’s word? Verisimilitude. Want to go over it?”

  “Sure,” he said with a nod. “Want to go to the kitchen? I’m hungry.”

  Claire nodded. “Thank god. I’m starving. Let’s go.”

  Always the gentleman, he offered his arm to her, and she settled hers in the crook. They began walking to the kitchen before she stopped short.

  “Crap,” she said, yanking her arm from his. “I forgot the book. Go on and get cookin’. I’ll be right there.” Pivoting, she ran back to her desk and grabbed the novel that lay on top.

  When she entered the kitchen, Cyrus was popping the cork on a bottle of wine.

  “I set that out earlier, when Lainey said I could open a bottle. Looks like you need a drink too,” Claire said. “Lainey is pretty punctilious about letting us raid the wine stash, but I caught her in a weak moment.”

  “Punch…ill…ee…us…?” Cyrus repeated, slowly pronouncing the word.

  “It means she’s protective of the wine and rarely lets us touch it,” Claire said, waggling her eyebrows. Taking the now-open bottle, she lifted one of the glasses he’d set on the table covered by a cheap tablecloth in their utilitarian kitchen. Once both glasses were filled halfway, she placed one in his hand. “I should’ve made that one of our ‘words of the day,’” she said, clinking her glass with his and taking a large gulp as she maintained eye contact. “Maybe I will one day, and then, you’ll have a leg up.”

  Large, gorgeous lips formed a smile as he reached for the book she’d placed on the table. Lifting it, he read the words slow and unhurried. “Where the Red Fern Grows.”

  Claire almost shivered at his deep voice. “It’s a classic. Really good. It’s at a fifth-grade level, but I think you can do it.”

  Gazing into her, he sipped the red liquid. As his Adam’s apple bobbed, she felt her own throat stiffen as she swallowed. His russet skin seemed to glisten under the staid light of the old kitchen bulb. What would it feel like to run her fingers over it?

  “Claire?” he asked, jolting her from her musings.

  “Huh?” She shook her head to clear it.

  “Do you mind if I try to read a few pages while we eat?”

  The way he said “we,” Claire thought her heart might burst from her chest. Boy, would she love nothing more than to have his silken voice read to her at every possible opportunity. But not in the kitchen. No—that was boring. Perhaps in his bed, which she knew to be king-size to accommodate his massive frame. Whoa, nelly… That would be awesome. To slip underneath his covers—which she imagined were silk in her daydreams, although she knew his practical ass probably only had cotton—and have him draw her into his warm body. God, the fantasy seemed so real.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “Um, yeah, let’s do it. And remember, there is no ‘try,’ only ‘do.’ Yoda would kick your ass.” She sat at the table while he set his glass down and turned to the stove.

  After dishing out the eggs he’d scrambled, courtesy of the always generous chickens Marie tended behind the hub, he placed two steaming plates on the table. Handing her a fork, he sat down and opened the book, holding it apart with his broad hand.

  In between scooping eggs through his plump lips, Cyrus would read a sentence, his words always cautious and halting. She’d been teaching him to read for two years now, but the compound was busy, and their sessions were intermittent. When she’d discovered he was illiterate, he’d seemed slightly ashamed, although illiteracy rates were high in their post-apocalyptic world. Claire had wanted nothing more than to reassure him and had begun teaching him immediately. Every morning, she would surreptitiously slip him a word of the day so he could improve his vocabulary. She thought him a fast learner and enjoyed their discussions immensely.

  “Scribbly,” Claire said, sounding out a word he was having trouble with.

  “Scribbly,” he repeated slowly.

  “Means it’s hard to decipher,” she explained. When he just stared at her, she said, “Hard to read.”

  “I know,” he said, smiling. “‘Decipher’ was one of our words of the day a few months ago. Don’t you remember? You slacking on me, Finch?” he asked, calling her by her last name.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You were just looking at me weird.”

  “You have a…” Lifting his hand, he rubbed his thumb under her bottom lip, wiping away what must’ve been a piece of scrambled egg. Claire wanted to melt into the floor. Maybe she could figure out how to make that happen. She was a scientist after all.

  “There I go again,” she said with a nervous chuckle, determined to will away the tears in her eyes. “Messy as ever when there’s good food in front of me. I should start watching what I eat—I’m getting fatter by the day in this place.”

  His eyebrows drew together under his bald head. “You’re perfect the way you are,” he said, wiping the egg on the napkin beside his plate. “There’s nothing wrong with having a good appetite.” Taking a sip of wine, he regarded her.

  Claire wanted to trust his earnest words, but her embarrassment made her feel small as a bug on the bottom of his shoe. “You’re being scribbly right now,” she said, trying to lighten the tone.

  “Huh?”

  She cursed her heart as it pounded in her chest. “Enough slacking. The eggs are good, and the wine is awesome. Keep reading so I can pour us another glass.” Ignoring his stare, she lifted the bottle and poured a hefty amount into their glasses.

  Confident she’d averted a crisis of extreme embarrassment, she relaxed, soothed by his calm voice and the rich wine. After he’d read two chapters, she felt her eyes droop.

  “Cinderella’s got to crash, chief. Sorry.” Yawning, she took their now empty glasses and plates to the sink.

  Cyrus came up behind her, his brawny arm reaching around her side. Claire gasped, only to realize he was reaching for the dishtowel and not for her breast. Good lord, like he would reach for her breast. What a freaking dolt she was!

  He was absolutely gorgeous, a perfect specimen of toned muscle who oozed masculinity. Wh
at in the hell would he ever see in her? A chubby girl with crooked teeth, weird-colored hair, and minimal experience with men as a whole. Claire wasn’t sure if he was still banging Alora, but she knew he used to take her to his room when she visited the hub to deliver supplies. She was absolutely breathtaking, with smooth, creamy skin, and almond-shaped eyes. Most likely courtesy of her parents, whom Lainey had informed her were from the South American Isle.

  Alora was everything Claire wasn’t: tall, stunning, witty…sexy. God, she was sexy. Claire couldn’t even blame Cyrus for being with her. The woman had something.

  “I think you can turn the water off. Lainey would kill us if she knew we were running the faucet.”

  “Shit,” Claire muttered, snapping off the nozzle. “You’re right about that. I was woolgathering. Thanks for drying the dishes, and for the eggs—they were great. See ya tomorrow.”

  Before she could escape, Cyrus grabbed her forearm. Hesitantly, she turned to stare up at him.

  “Can I keep it?” he asked.

  “Keep what?” Her skin burned under his calloused fingers.

  “The book. To read before bed. I’d like to practice before our next session.”

  “Sure,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp. “We’ll have another one soon. You’re doing great.”

  Brown irises darted over her face. “Thank you, Claire. Not many people would teach a washed-up soldier like me to read. You’re giving me such an amazing gift. I’d like to repay you one day.”

  “There’s no need for that,” she said, clutching his hand and squeezing. “I’m honored to help you.” Unable to find a reason to justify touching him any longer, she dropped his hand. “See ya tomorrow.”

  “Good night,” he said. Affection for her swam in his eyes, making her want to cry all over again. It was friend-zone affection, and she couldn’t stand the sentiment. Needing to escape, she bolted from the kitchen.

  Chapter 9

  The rest of the week dragged, each day as repetitive as the last. Cyrus and Hunter were amalgamating their men while Lainey worked with her team to get results from the Sphere. Unfortunately, they seemed to be backtracking, and by mid-afternoon on Friday, Lainey was at her wits end.