A Thousand Fires

by Shannon Price

  My throat shuts like a slammed door.

  “But you probably knew that.”

  Somehow I reply that yes, I did. The wind bites at me again, and my lip trembles. Jax asks me what’s wrong, and I shake my head. I think I say my brother’s name.

  Right away, Jax puts his arms around me. I hate that he does. I should be better than this, stronger than this.

  I hate that Jax kisses my head and whispers into my ear that it’s all right. I hate that I’m calming down now with my head on his chest. I hate that I like hearing the beat of his heart. I can feel his blood pulsing, pulsing, pulsing.

  Jax chooses his moments, his actions. So I’m choosing mine. I push him back enough that I can look him in the eyes. “You said you’d help me,” I say. “Well, help me.”

  “With what?”

  “Getting revenge on the Boars.” I shrug and look at the sky, the bridge, then back to Jax’s face. “I’ve studied the binders. I go to the range all the freakin’ time. I gave you that phone. So why won’t you tell me who it was?” He frowns and pulls away—and I know I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have questioned him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “But please. It’s been months, and I just sit in the house. I know you wanted me lying low because of the doxxing, but there’s gotta be something I can do to earn your trust. And whatever it is, I will do it. Please.”

  My voice trails with the final word. Without thinking, I reach out and curl my fingers around the fabric of Jax’s sweatshirt, pulling myself that much closer. Whatever is between us—or whatever I think is there—has to matter to him.

  “You know what I like about you, Valentine?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “You’re determined as hell.” He smiles. “As soon as you gave me the phone, I knew. But we can’t get your man until this treaty with the Boars plays out. There’s too much at stake here. But I have a plan, and I know where to find the guy when we’re ready. I’m sorry, Valerie.”

  It’s how he says my name, that’s what does it. Realizations rush to my mind at once, like someone’s unlocked a door in my mind that I didn’t know I had. I’m not just a Stag to him. I’m the girl he marked to join the Stags years ago. I’m the girl he hugs from behind, and checks on after she’s gone to bed. It’s not coincidence. Jax, for all the talk, has a weakness, and it’s me.

  Jax likes me. And I like him. So what am I waiting for?

  I tug Jax closer again and kiss him square on the mouth.

  He responds instantly, arms enveloping me in a wild, fierce embrace. I know Jax well enough to know his emotions are hurricanes, and this one is for me. His hand goes to the back of my neck, raking my hair and keeping my lips close on his. I fall into him, kissing him back.

  We finally part, Jax sneaking one more gentle kiss on the delicate skin of my neck. Shivers race down my spine, in the best of ways.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he says.

  “Me, too,” I say. Then, smiling, I add, “Now what?”

  He puts his arm around me, steering me back to the car. “Now we go home. Because if I get to kiss you like that after just telling you I have a plan…”

  He trails off, but I get his meaning loud and clear—and blush something fierce because of it. This is nowhere near love and not something that the old Valerie would ever do. But Valentine?

  I lean my head into Jax’s shoulder. Valentine is free, and she doesn’t have a goddamn thing to lose.

  * * *

  We get home, and Jax gives my hand a final squeeze before going to shower. Nianna and the others are in their respective rooms, but Micah is chilling on the couch looking at his phone.

  “May I join you?” I say.

  “You don’t have to ask,” he replies. “Sit.”

  “Thanks.”

  I’m scanning channels when Micah’s phone rings. He takes it out and frowns at the number on the screen.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  “I think I know, but…” He trails off, stepping over to the front door and going out onto the patio as he answers.

  I can only take calls from other Stags, but of course Micah would be special. He takes his call out in the inner garden. The contestants on TV are down to their final minutes, but I’m not thinking of them. I’m still thinking about the bridge, still thinking about the kiss …

  The door opens again. Micah’s shoulders are hunched as he grips the phone tightly in his hand. He glances toward the bathroom, then back at me. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  He motions for me to follow him to his room, and the ridiculous part of me marks the occasion—this is the first time I’ve gone inside his and Jax’s room.

  In one half of the room is a twin bed with a red quilt neatly tucked over it. The air smells vaguely of pot and cigarettes, but mostly of boy. Sagging lines of Christmas lights are hung in a scallop pattern along a bare, tan wall. Along the other wall is another bed—larger than the first, because Jax is Jax. To my surprise, it’s also made.

  Then I see it.

  The IRIS machine is smaller than I thought it’d be. It looks a lot like the contraptions in old sci-fi movies: a metal box with a number pad on one side and a low tray for the messages to print into. The light on the top is orange and dull like a fire long burned.

  The walls are bare, save for one poster: an image of a woman, clothed in the sea and standing on a pile of skulls. Her ample breasts and body are rendered—to my surprise—without a trace of sexual undertone. She’s classically beautiful, like a marble statue.

  “It’s the only thing we could agree on,” says Micah when he sees me staring. He wipes the back of his nose with his sleeve.

  “Jax discussed his décor with you?” I reply, but one look at Micah’s face erases my levity. “What’s wrong?”

  “That was Theresa. She said Jax’s uncle is in the hospital.” He lifts up his phone then chucks it onto the bed. “He’s having heart surgery.”

  “Jesus,” I say. “Why did she call you?”

  “Guess she called Jax and he said he wasn’t going to go see him.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure.” Down the hall, the bathroom door opens. “Guess we’re about to find out. Jax!”

  Our leader comes into the room, smiling and shirtless. When he spots me, his expression changes. “Hey, V,” he says. “Welcome to our room.”

  Micah sits forward on the bed. “Dude, your mom called. You didn’t tell me your uncle was having surgery.”

  Jax rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. She can just visit him herself.”

  “Open-heart surgery is pretty serious,” Micah replies. “I think you should go. He’s family, isn’t he?” I catch the small sting in his voice. Micah’s family rejected him once he joined the Stags. It must feel so unfair.

  Jax rolls his eyes. “I barely know him. Theresa’s overreacting.”

  “It sounded bad,” Micah counters. “You’re really not going to go? He bailed us out that one time, back in high school.”

  “You go then. You’ve met him. Say I’m busy or something.” Jax goes back down the hall and leaves Micah and me alone. Micah flops back onto his bed and puts his hand to his eyes.

  “I’d just feel bad, you know?” he says. “He really did bail me and Jax out one time. Another time he had us over for Thanksgiving when Theresa was in town.”

  “Which hospital is he in?”

  “San Francisco General.”

  I take a moment to think. “That’s not that far. I think you should go.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Like you said, it’s the right thing to do.”

  He peels himself off the bed. Steadily his movements get faster. Minutes later, he’s zipping up a backpack. We walk down the hallway together. Micah opens the front door, and a blast of cold air hits us.

  “Gah, it’s cold,” he says, swinging the door shut again. “Fuck. And my nice jacket still smells all smoky fr
om the protest.”

  “Take mine,” Jax calls from the couch.

  “What?”

  “Take my jacket, bro. It’s on a chair in the kitchen.”

  Cautiously, Micah ducks into the kitchen and returns with the jacket in hand. He slides the soft leather over his lanky frame. He stands up straighter in it.

  “All right, I’ll be back when it’s done.” He smiles at me.

  “Okay, see you,” I reply.

  “See you.”

  And then he goes.

  21

  The night comes and goes, but Micah doesn’t come back. How long does open-heart surgery take, anyway? I do a quick Google search—three to four hours. That’s a long time to have your body cracked open and gaping.

  A shiver runs down my back. I’d be a mess if Mom or Dad were going through something like that. I can’t imagine what Micah’s feeling right now, even if Jax’s uncle isn’t a blood relative. Maybe I should have gone with him for support.

  At lunch, while the rest of the Stags chatter like normal, I keep my eyes on Kate. She pushes the noodles and veggies around her plate before dumping it in the trash.

  Leaning close to Nianna’s ear, I ask, “Is Kate okay? She barely ate anything.”

  “She gets that way sometimes.”

  “We should say something.”

  Nianna gestures toward the bathroom. “Be my guest, but we’ve tried tons of times.” She shakes her head. “I know you love her. We all do. So we just have to make sure she knows that.”

  “You’re right,” I reply, still not convinced. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

  I go back to my room and lie down dejectedly on the bed. I didn’t think I’d get so attached to the Stags. I’ve always known I’d be in the Wars for a year, but I imagined being in a larger group, not this small family. I feel for them. For Kate, who smiles to my face, but I’ve heard her crying in the shower. I feel for Mako, having to watch her internal struggles swirl ever faster. I wonder what that kind of love feels like.

  I feel bad for sharp-eyed Nianna and her steadfast loyalty.

  And for gentle Micah, who’s seen it all and chooses to stay.

  The afternoon passes, the world outside still. It drizzles at one point, before the fog descends and everything is gray. I spend the evening reading downstairs—some fantasy book I found in one of the boxes. It’s just getting to an interesting part when the upstairs door opens.

  Jax stomps down the stairs, a red cup in his hand. “Micah won’t fucking pick up.”

  “Did you text him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can’t you track him?”

  “No signal. He must have turned off the phone.” Jax exhales, making a frustrated sound.

  I shiver. “Maybe there’s no service at the hospital?”

  “Maybe,” he replies, not believing it. “It’s always the nicest places with the shittiest reception.”

  “It’s Micah,” I say. “If he could text, he would, right? I bet you’ll get like six in a row once he has service again.”

  Jax nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just nervous.”

  Me, too. But I keep it to myself. It was me who told Micah to go, after all. I look around the room, eyes settling on the pool table. “Let’s play pool. C’mon.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I still haven’t played.”

  Jax doesn’t look enthused, but he gets a cue from the wall. We break. I’m stripes, he’s solids. He’s a better player by far, but I manage to hit a few balls into the correct pockets.

  Jax stays quiet as we play. Each time our eyes meet, he immediately looks away. I fuck up my shot completely and swear under my breath. “Sorry. Not very good at this.”

  “You’re good at other things,” he replies.

  I exhale a half laugh, knowing my cheeks must be totally red by now. When I look up, he’s watching me, body tense. I think back to the fire in my chest when we kissed at the bridge, and I think he’s thinking about it, too. My limbs are light with anticipation as he slowly sets down his cue and comes around the side of the table toward me.

  “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he whispers.

  Steady, Val.

  “I know.”

  My heart beats so hard that I can see the blood pulse underneath my skin. I am not Valerie Simons. I am Valentine. Valentine the Stag, the godless heathen.

  Jax lifts me onto the soft felt of the table. The fluorescent lights buzz over our heads as he reaches around and pulls my hips forward until I’m leaning backward, my legs dangling over the edge. He snakes a hand up between my legs, pressing right where he should, and I don’t resist.

  Our lips meet—he tastes like power and danger and cigarettes. We’re back by the bridge, back to feeling blizzardy. I want him. I’m scared, but I want him, have wanted him for a long time, and not solely for an ulterior motive.

  Jax carries me to the bed, then lays me down gently.

  I clear my mind as best as I am able, and fall freely into his touch. I let go of the soot, the grime, the fear.

  The rest is just a bonus.

  22

  I wake up with Jax next to me, calm as a fragile sea.

  Shifting ever so slightly, I slide the lower half of my body out of the bed and sit on the edge, looking back at him.

  How many people see this side of him? The unguarded, unprotected side. When Jax is awake, he’s constantly three steps ahead, unfazed by us mortals.

  I relive last night—the unexpected gentleness, even hesitation with me until he was really sure I was okay. That I wanted him, too. Which I did.

  Which makes me totally unsure of what to say when he wakes up.

  His eyes search mine, like I’m a galaxy that he needs to explore.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi.”

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “You?”

  He nods back. “We don’t have to tell the others.”

  My heart sinks a little. Am I so embarrassing that he wants to keep it a secret?

  His eyes widen. “Not like that, Valentine. I mean … like, it can be ours.”

  Ours. The first thing Jax and I have for just the two of us, without Micah or any of the other Stags.

  “Okay,” I say. “Just for us.”

  He stands up and gets dressed without another word, and I do the same. The air between us may as well be a hundred-foot wall—how can someone be so close but so far at the same time? We head toward the stairs, and I’m dying for the awkward silence to end when Jax pivots.

  “I’d scream to the heavens how much I care about you, if you want. You just tell me when.” Then both his hands are on either side of my face and I’m kissing him back, pulling his fucking gorgeous body closer to mine. We part, breathless, and he goes up the stairs, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  When I’m alone again, I fall slowly into routine—pulling off the sheets and throwing them into the washer. I lie back on my bare mattress and stare at the ceiling, reeling. Looking at my phone, I take note of the time.

  It’s 6:57 A.M. Ours.

  * * *

  I kill time with a workout in the now even smaller gym space near my bed. Every time I feel like stopping I picture Jax’s face when he saw me, remember the feeling of his hands on my skin … and I blush like crazy, then keep going.

  After a shower, I eat a bowl of cereal and watch Jax and Nianna battle it out in Mario Kart. Nianna whoops in victory as she crosses the finish line.

  “You’re losing your touch, Jax,” she says. “I never used to win.”

  “Shut up,” he replies, smiling. His eyes meet mine for a beat, then he’s back and focused on the TV. “Let’s play again.”

  Our leader comes back and routs her the next two rounds, much to her chagrin. Jax yawns, and hands the controller to me. “Your turn, Valentine. Don’t fuck this up for us.”

  “Oh, God,” I reply, grimacing as I take it. Did he mean to say us?

  Nianna chec
ks her phone as the round starts. I’ve never been amazing at video games, but I used to play this with Lyla and her friends at sleepovers and the like, so I know a trick or two. Nianna and I are well matched and she’s winning until her phone lights up and she glances at the message. Immediately she pauses the game.

  “Oh no,” she says.

  “What?”

  “Have you seen Kate today?”

  “No,” I reply, my sense of dread growing. “Why?”

  “Mako just texted me. She told him she was out tagging with me, and she told me she was with him and Jaws at 24.”

  “What?” I say. “Where would she go?”

  “I don’t know,” Nianna replies.

  The air in the room seems to transform, and Jax is on his phone in a flash. My heart pounds as he waits for the screen to load—presumably the tracking app for all of our phones.

  Sweet, sweet Kate. Whatever her demons are, they’re winning the war for her mind—any one of us knows that as well as we’d know the sun in the sky.

  My blood freezes with Jax’s next words: “She’s at the bridge.”

  “Oh my god,” I say. Kate. Not Kate. No no no.

  “Let’s go!” Jax says, the panic in his eyes betraying his usually enigmatic expressions. For once, I know what Jax is thinking, because I’m thinking the same horrible thing: we won’t make it in time.

  We run out the door, not even stopping to tug on jackets. Nianna takes the passenger seat as I slide into the back then slam the door. Jax slams the keys in the ignition and backs the van out, tires squealing. The ride is a desperate whisper of a wish. Please, no.

  Jax drives. Nianna stares at her phone.

  I count every moment where I must have failed. All the moments that could have led to these hateful, heart-wrenching minutes. Her confession about her mom. Her erratic, lengthy sleeps. Like she was looking to escape something. It’s clear now—she was already on the edge.

  Mako. That poor guy. I text him practically every mile. We’re going as fast as we can. We’ll get to her. Keep calling her.

  I can hear the thunder of my own fear as we finally, finally reach the Golden Gate Bridge Welcome Center. Jax nearly hits a group of tourists as he parks the van up on the sidewalk, bursting out of it before they have the chance to yell. Nianna and I follow right behind, but Jax is a force of nature sprinting wildly toward the bridge. He shoves people out of the way, howling at cyclists to clear a path, his girl’s about to jump. I give up on muttering apologies and instead scream ahead, begging the people to let Jax through.