“Not that I’ve seen,” Nate said, grateful for another sneeze that hid his stutter.
What would happen after he took a shower? More kissing? He’d have to tell Reed to stop, eventually. That this wasn’t right—not when Reed didn’t trust him, and he didn’t deserve Reed’s trust.
But he wanted to try it again. As soon as possible.
When he wasn’t stinging all over from insulation dust.
“Why did you do that?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. From needing to know. “You made me stop before.”
“Because you didn’t know what you were doing. You were bleeding, you were—”
“I know what I want!” Shocked by his own outburst, Nate lowered his voice. “I knew what I was doing. It wasn’t the first time I wanted to kiss you.”
Reed went still at the door to the next floor. He leaned back against it, letting it catch his weight, and placed his hand at his side. “I know what I want too,” he said very softly.
With Reed close and quiet, Nate was struck by the vivid green of his eyes. And the exhaustion in them. A tender ache formed at the flat of his belly, and he didn’t know how to ease it. But he knew he wanted to take Reed’s hand and hold it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not sure if it was for lying to him or for needing him.
A crease of hurt formed around Reed’s pretty eyes. He recovered with a faint, tired smile. “Wishes,” he said. “You first.”
Hating the small, prickly space between them, Nate brushed his knuckles against Reed’s hand. He gasped when Reed clasped their fingers together. “A hot bath. Big enough to dunk my whole body in.”
“New boots that don’t pinch.” Reed’s thumb brushed over the back of Nate’s hand.
Nate tried to remember how to talk. “Sausages. With city meat—not gull.”
“You are always thinking about food,” Reed said with a soft grin. They were close enough to kiss again, but it was an easy closeness. “Let’s go.”
Their hands unclasped. Everyone in the Withers was careful about showing affection in front of others. If people knew who you cared about, they’d have a way to control you.
Reed lingered, close enough for Nate to feel his breath stir Nate’s hair. “Come on,” he said reluctantly, pushing the door open to reveal the men’s showers. The lines between men and women weren’t drawn too firmly in the bank—or anywhere else in the Withers—but Nate didn’t see any women or children. He wondered briefly if Sparks had any trouble at the women’s showers the next room over and figured she must be okay if she hadn’t said anything.
“Come on.” Nate’s heart still beat too fast, thumping against his ribs. “Your turn. More wishes.”
They took their places in line for the three showers, boots squelching in the standing water on the concrete floor. The showers were faucets rigged to the rain barrels on the roof, with very little pressure and no heat. Each man hung his clothes on a wire rack and scrubbed down quickly in the frigid water.
“Real soap,” Reed said. “The kind my mom used to have. It smelled like flowers.”
“That’d be a welcome change,” Nate said.
Reed turned, grinning, and punched Nate’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t call your natural aroma pleasant either.”
“What? I’m very pleasant.” Nate wiped his nose again and pretended to smell his own armpit. In truth, he smelled pretty bad and looked forward to the shower, cold or not.
“Wishes,” Reed reminded him in a whisper, shuffling forward as the line moved. They were at the end of the line. The others waited silently, shoulders tense and elbows out. Nate tried to imagine being there without Reed and shivered. He’d rather stink for days than brave taking his boots off without someone else to guard them.
“Wishes . . .” he repeated, touching his lips absently. What had Reed’s kiss meant? What did Reed really want?
It didn’t make any sense. Nate was a problem—sick, untrustworthy, and too loyal to a chem pusher. He’d almost gotten all of them killed.
“Fine, I’ll wish for you.” Reed patted Nate’s back, the simple touch jolting heat through Nate. “New tools. A better pair of gloves. Yours have holes in half the fingers.”
“That’s two, and you’re cheating.”
“I can go on. A new blanket. Shiny filament tech nonsense that does something interesting and very electrical. I can tell you’re trying, Nate.”
The words slipped out too fast, like Reed was afraid Nate would hear them.
Nate’s mouth went dry. It was his turn to change the subject. “Kiwi.”
Reed blinked. “What’s kiwi?”
The man in front of them started his shower in a hurry and shot Reed and Nate a sour look.
“Not for me, for you,” Nate said, lowering his voice and trying not to grin. He hadn’t felt like this in as long as he could remember—electric with hope, lit up by Reed’s quiet faith in him, by the touch that still warmed his back. He didn’t care if they were talking too loud in a room where people rushed in and out, eager to be safe wherever they spent their time hiding. For this moment, he wasn’t afraid to be trusted. “It’s a fruit. Another furry one, like peaches, but . . . sharp. It makes it feel like your tongue is going to stick to the inside of your mouth.”
“You’ve had one?”
“When I was little.”
It was Reed’s turn at the shower. He began to undress and winced as he leaned over.
Nate took his arm and urged him to stand up straight. He glanced over his shoulder. They were alone now. “I’ll get it,” he said, crouching to help Reed out of his pants and boots. He flushed, his knuckles skimming through the hair at Reed’s calves where the muscles were wiry and his skin, warm. “Your turn.”
Heat seared up his back and pooled in his belly, dizzying him.
“Am I wishing for you or for me?” Reed held on to Nate’s shoulder for balance and stepped out of each leg of his pants. His brow furrowed.
Careful not to let Reed’s clothes get into the water on the floor, Nate stood and clutched them to his middle. “For you,” he said.
The water splashed down on Reed’s head and shoulders. He yelped and started laughing, his body tense and twitching. “Hot tea and a big, fuzzy blanket,” he said, teeth chattering.
“That’s two again. You’re terrible at this.”
“I have a lot of wishes,” Reed said. The water clumped his eyelashes together as he watched Nate. It made his eyes gleam like he was sad and happy all at once.
Nate handed him the bath sheet and turned away politely—and reluctantly. Reed dried himself off with one end of it, leaving the other draped over his arm and dry for Nate.
“Thanks,” Nate said, gesturing at the sheet. He undressed in a hurry, already chilly before hitting the water and grateful for the way the cold settled his eager body down. A cough burst out of him, and he doubled over, willing it not to become the type of cough that went on and on until he saw spots.
Reed grabbed his arm to steady him. The grip tightened painfully.
“Ow!” Nate gasped and looked up at Reed, shocked by the sting and the iciness in Reed’s eyes. “What?”
“Your arm,” Reed said. His thumb rested at the edge of the marks and bruises where the Diffuser had pierced him.
How could he have forgotten? His insides went hollow, every wish shattering. He placed his other hand over Reed’s as if he could will him to unsee it, to believe in him again. “Reed, it’s not—”
But Reed was already throwing him off with a disgusted growl. He dressed quickly, shaking with the kind of anger Nate had only seen in him once, when he’d turned a young man away from the gang. The kid’s arms had been like Nate’s all over, ravaged by crude syringes.
“Let me help you,” Nate said, shivering. He hurried to wash the dust out of his hair. “Wait a second, Reed, and I’ll help
you get dressed. You shouldn’t be bending down too much!”
Reed grabbed his boots and walked away without looking back. Only the bath sheet remained, half wet and half dry, hanging on the rack beside Nate’s clothes.
Nate followed Reed’s wet footprints back down the stairwell, wanting to run but afraid to catch up. He knew what was coming. The hurt of it numbed his cold fingers.
Reed met him at the entrance to the hideout, his hair still damp and gleaming. “I can’t make exceptions. Not even for you,” he said, putting a strange emphasis on the last word.
“I told you. It’s not what it looks like,” Nate said, the words barely escaping the tightness in his throat.
“I’ve heard every excuse. Every single one. You have to know that, Nate.”
Reed’s eyes shone.
Stopped short, Nate choked on all the things he couldn’t say. Unless he explained what he was, Reed would never believe him. Fiends lied and thieved and crossed their friends and lovers. Chem warped the mind, and hunger trumped all else. Nate had seen this, day in and day out, when he’d been with Alden. Anything he said would come across as a desperate attempt to stay with the gang.
He was desperate to stay, but not desperate enough to force them to choose between cashing in on the Breakers’ offers or hiding him from those who would.
Reed let out a ragged breath, his posture softening. “Shake it off, clean up, and you can come back. You’ll always have a place here.”
“But you’ll never trust me again, will you?” Nate swayed, and Reed steadied him.
“Don’t ask me that. You have no right.” Reed shook his head. “What you’ve been doing puts us all in danger.”
It was truer than Reed knew, but not in the ways he imagined. Nate would never steal from them or allow anyone to come into the den. He’d never push chem on the others. He’d never give them away.
But what he was put them at risk. If the Breakers found out Nate was a GEM, they’d go after all of them for hiding him.
If he left quietly and they never knew, Pixel would be safe for now, too young to need Remedy. As long as she stayed clear of the Breakers, she had a good six or seven years before she had to keep the sick away. The gates might be open by then. Remedy might flow freely between the city and the Withers.
“Are you listening to me?” Reed asked, propping Nate up against the wall.
“I’m sorry.” Nate choked, undone by the gentleness Reed showed him, even now. “I’ll get my things. If you give me—give me an hour. I’ll draw out how to run the security panel. Maybe Pixel can give it a try until you find a Tinkerer.”
“Don’t.” Reed sighed sharply. “Don’t talk like you’re not coming back. I know you, Nate. You’re not a waste. Clear your head and come back. Don’t disappear.”
They both knew what that meant. Those who got too deep in chem stopped eating or sleeping. They got mixed up with the wrong pushers and got killed, or took too much and shook apart and died.
“You don’t understand,” Nate said, rough with frustration.
“That’s rot, and you know it.”
“I—”
“Brick likes you,” Reed said, “and she owes you a debt for helping us find July. She’ll take you back if you’re off that stuff. I can ask Sparks if she’ll squat with you, clean you up.”
Reed’s kindness became too much. His bright hope kindled an ugly fire in Nate. It was too late. They couldn’t have this. They’d never be close. And Nate couldn’t stand imagining an impossible life together.
Nate pushed Reed before he knew what he was doing, startling Reed back a few steps with more surprise than force.
He couldn’t stand seeing now, when it was too late, that Reed cared.
He’d kissed him.
And he’d never do it again.
“You can’t fix everyone!” Nate shouted. “Gods, Reed. Let me go.”
He staggered around Reed and headed for his bunk. The room was too quiet in the echo of his outburst, and when his breath broke into a sob, he wanted to fold in on himself until he disappeared.
His bunk contained only the blanket that had softened his sleep space in the old den. He tucked it into the backpack he rarely used and gathered up his tools, careful to leave anything the gang might use. Sparks climbed out of her bed and watched, eyes wide. She might have helped if he hadn’t shouted at Reed.
Pixel’s shrill, small voice filled the room. “No! You can’t toss him out! He can’t—Nate! Nate, tell him you can’t go.”
Reed caught her at the door on her way back from the showers with Brick. She began to cry, hiccupping and struggling as Reed and Brick held on to her, both of them trying to calm her down. After landing an elbow at Reed’s groin, she broke free and dashed across the room to launch herself onto Nate’s back. He twisted and caught her up in a fierce hug. She made him solid for a moment.
“You know I’ll be fine,” Nate said, speaking quietly at her ear, his words only for her. “I have somewhere to go, and you know it isn’t what Reed thinks. I’ll find a way to see you, Pix. Don’t tell. It’ll be all right.”
He met Reed’s eye across the room and understood in an instant the pain that made Reed stand rigid and cold. Reed had the same fuel in him, the same desire to shelter those he loved from the pain in the world. Nate had shouted at Reed for trying to save him, yet here he was, ready to promise the moon to Pixel. What right did he have to say things would be all right?
No wonder Alden had laughed at him.
“I don’t want you to go,” Pixel sobbed out against Nate’s shoulder.
“I know, Pix. I know you don’t.”
She grasped at him like she was drowning, and it took Sparks and Reed both to pry her away. Nate’s hand brushed against Reed’s as they managed to get Pixel into Brick’s arms and under a heavy blanket.
He caught Reed’s gaze and said, “I’ll try.”
It wasn’t the kind of hope he should give Reed, but he couldn’t leave with Reed thinking he was so far gone that he’d walk away from the gang without a fight.
Reed didn’t smile, but relief shone in his eyes. “I would walk you out, but I’ve got to get Pix settled before she makes herself sick.”
“You sure you don’t want instructions for the system?”
Sparks rolled her eyes. “You draw like a toddler, Nate. Pixel can handle it.”
“Didn’t you learn anything from July? I thought you were better than this.” Brick rocked Pixel and glared at him.
“I’ll have to do right by you, then.” Nate wished it were that simple.
But chem fiends were sunk so deep in their hungers that the chem was part of who they were, as unchangeable as the blood in Nate’s veins.
Nothing was ever simple.
With his backpack weighing at his shoulders, Nate made his way to the door, his breath uneven with unshed tears. He paused, turning back to Reed to get the code word out of habit. Seeming to know, Reed crossed to him and pulled him into a loose hug.
Nate ducked out of the embrace. “I can’t,” he said, hoarse.
Reed stared at him. “Walk well, Nate. Please.”
CHAPTER TEN
Red smog-clouds bled on the horizon at sunset. Flickering bin-fires lit the street, and the warm glow hid the grime of the Withers. Bruises and sickness faded in the firelight.
Pleasure peddlers and chem pushers sold their wares in the shadows. Keeping his chin ducked low, Nate hurried through the crowd. His bloodshot gaze and runny nose made him look like someone who needed a fix or a warm body to bed, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not tonight.
A man holding up a pair of shiny blue shoes bumped into Nate.
“Name your price, kid!”
No one had shoes like that in the Withers. Nate’s fingers drifted to the angry scar at his hairline.
“You
hear me?” The man leaned close, his big grin full of brown teeth. “Straight from Gathos City. Only singed a bit.”
“No.” Nate stumbled back. “No, thanks.”
He turned and ran, pushing through the crowd and dodging around the hot fires. He had to get away from the shoes and clothes and fancy timepieces people had pulled off the commuters.
When Nate reached the railway, long lines stretched behind every ladder and stairway. The noisy crowd writhed like a dying sludge-fish. He’d get trampled before he ever made it onto the walkway. He swallowed back a frustrated sob and tried to remember the quickest way to Alden’s without taking the rails.
Nate stayed out of the shadows. If he got himself robbed now, he’d have nothing. Everything he owned thumped against his back. His tools and tool belt. A blanket. Some mismatched socks. His dusty coat in a bundle. No food, no credits, no spare tech. He had no choice but to go straight to Alden.
Alden, who had hidden the GEM manual from him—had kept him from understanding the limitations and the wonder of his own blood and body. He’d known more of Nate’s origins than Nate himself and hadn’t told him. Hadn’t let him see.
Pixel says it’s magic.
And Alden had used him. Made him weak and helpless. Twisted his feelings up until he didn’t know if they were friends or if he was nothing more than a thing Alden wanted to keep.
Nate’s hair swung in his face and tickled his nose. He scrubbed tears away, aching. None of that mattered. It didn’t even matter that Alden would be angry at him for avoiding the shop.
He wanted to go back. To Fran. To the familiarity of the bed on the floor and the chimes that sang in the doorway. To the comfort of their old routine and the reliability of Alden’s unpredictable moods.
Near the shop, shadowy forms gestured wildly. Shouting rang out like bells. The train crash had set off a current of fear and excitement. People who normally avoided the streets at night were out gossiping and admiring what they’d stolen.
Nate shifted his backpack, his thoughts broken and jagged like shards of glass. Going up on the rails to rescue the passengers had been stupid, but he’d do it again today if he had the choice. Reed had gotten hurt, but Nate’d saved him. And he would have kept Reed safe at the bank.
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