All the Feels

by Danika Stone

  Liv checked both directions. She headed into the crowd, dodging elbows and drinks. A woman in a white outfit who looked suspiciously like Flo from the insurance commercial crossed Liv’s path, and she barely avoided another head-on collision. Nearing the elevators, she swerved past a group of men dressed in camouflage, belatedly realizing it wasn’t the regular green camo, but the same hallucinogenic pattern as the Marriott’s carpet. Seconds later, a toddler stumbled into her path, and Liv nearly tripped to avoid stepping on her.

  “Fly away!” the gold-wrapped child giggled, her shiny wings bouncing as she sprinted past.

  “Who in the world would bring a kid here?” Liv’s words disappeared as the child’s haggard parents appeared.

  Fighting frustration, she moved farther into the crowd, searching for a nineteenth-century man with black hair. For a while, the only thing she could see was costumed partyers and science-fiction action heroes, and then the flash of a camera led her attention to the side.

  “Dragnat all anyway,” she groaned.

  Just when she thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Tom Grander appeared. He stood alone, his entourage forming a half-circle human shield around him. On the outside of the C, people snapped pictures with their phones, but no one invaded his space.

  He walked to Liv’s side, entourage in tow.

  “Good to see you, Liv,” Tom said gravely.

  “Hi.” Liv turned the other way, hoping for a glimpse of Xander.

  “How’ve you been?” Tom asked.

  “Fine.” Liv stood on tiptoe, searching the crowd. “Where are you, Xander?” she muttered under her breath.

  “I was hoping to run into you again,” Tom continued. “I want to talk.”

  Liv’s attention jerked back to him. “Sorry. Talk about what?”

  Tom gestured to the side of the room. “Do you mind if we do this someplace a little more private?”

  “I can’t,” Liv said, looking away. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, with a top hat. Maybe tails.”

  “I wanted to find you to apologize.” Tom’s voice was stilted, the words coming out in awkward jerks and starts. “I’m really sorry for what happened the other day.”

  Liv turned back to him, struggling to catch up to the one-sided conversation. “You mean when you yelled at me?”

  “Er … yes. And I—I want to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I get what happened. You had—”

  Her phone buzzed, and she fumbled to grab it from her pocket.

  Tom stepped closer. “But I—”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Tom, but I have to go,” Liv gasped. “Sorry!” She gave him a bashful wave as she darted away. “I’ve got to find someone!”

  And for the first time that Liv could remember, she really didn’t care that she was walking away from Tom Grander, because she was walking toward Xander.

  * * *

  Liv found Xander packing.

  She stared in horror. “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “But why?!”

  Xander threw another handful of linen shirts into the bag, ignoring her. When he passed by her on the way to the dresser, Liv touched his arm. “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He added a pile of cravats to the mix, not bothering to fold them. He slammed the suitcase closed and looked up.

  “I’ve got other friends here,” he said stiffly. “I’ll leave you with the room. Crash somewhere else tonight.”

  Liv shook her head. “But these are your friends. Emma and Mario—”

  “Will be just fine with one less person in the room,” Xander said, cutting off the rest of her words. “I don’t want this to be awkward for you.” His jaw clenched. “I want you to have a good time.”

  “But I … I was.”

  He stomped to the bathroom. Liv could hear things being thrown together. The hated tears were on the verge of spilling. She needed to persuade him to stay, but Liv was terrible at declarations. She’d been in love with Xander for almost a year, and even now she struggled to explain it.

  When he returned a minute later, she stepped in front of him. “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t do this,” Liv said. “Don’t walk away from us.”

  Xander’s brow wrinkled in pain, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, the expression was so raw Liv felt something inside her break. She’d caused this.

  “I can’t stop it,” he said haltingly. “I don’t want to wreck things, but I—”

  “Then why?!” Liv cried.

  He smiled sadly. “Because I’m in love with you, Liv Walden. And it’s too hard to pretend I’m not.” He turned his back to her, plodding across the room to where his clothes lay, half-packed. “I get that you don’t have the same feelings for me, and that’s okay. But I felt awful when I saw you’d left this morning.” His voice broke, and he looked up. “I will be okay, but you need to understand I need some space to figure this out.”

  If Liv had imagined a reunion scene from a romance novel, she wouldn’t have selected the costume-strewn, three-day-old room from the Marriott Marquis at Dragon Con, but that’s exactly how it felt. She crossed the carpet, grabbing Xander by the shirt collar and tugging him down. His eyes widened in shock.

  “I love you, too!”

  “But when you took off this morning, I thought—”

  She pulled him closer. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  “Liv, be reasonable—”

  “Kiss me, damnit!”

  Xander moved forward at the same moment she moved up, their chins and noses banging painfully together for a half second before their mouths met. This kiss was demanding, desperate, and it hinted at something else to come. In seconds, Liv felt herself danced back against the wall. Their mouths never broke contact, but he pressed into her, his hands growing bold as he reached the edge of her shirt, roving higher. This kiss—standing pressed against the wall—was full-blown spontaneous combustion. Liv was breathless by the time Xander’s mouth dropped to her neck.

  The door behind them opened with a squeal.

  “… and then she said that he’d have to check on whether they were booking the rooms now or—” Emma’s words stopped at the same moment Liv and Xander broke apart.

  Mario coughed.

  “Hey, guys.”

  Xander moved in front of Liv, blocking her from their view. “Mario,” he said with an uneasy chuckle. “Wasn’t expecting you back.”

  Face on fire, Liv tugged down the bottom of her shirt, wondering when in the world it had gotten shoved up to her armpits.

  “It’s no problem,” Emma said with a giggle. “We’ll get out of your way.”

  “It’s fine,” Liv said. “We were just going out for a panel.” She turned to Xander. “Right? Our last day at Dragon Con together.” She grinned. “Until next year.”

  He stared at her for a few long seconds. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Xander, trust me on this. I’m sure.”

  His voice dropped to Malloy’s growl. “Then if you’re ready, darlin’, I’m more than willing.”

  Liv leaned in, her lips brushing his.

  “I think I’ve been ready for this forever.”

  Epilogue

  “EVERYTHING IS AWESOME!”

  (THE LEGO MOVIE)

  The star freighter’s hangar was abandoned. Hanging lights hummed overhead, piles of destroyed engine parts cluttering the otherwise empty room. In one corner, a damaged interstellar transport waited for its repair crew. In the other, a man’s figure appeared, his shadow stretching out across the floor as he strode forward. His captain’s jacket was tattered, the hem singed by a blaster.

  He paused next to the transport and sighed.

  “Dragnat all. Where are you?!”

  A woman appeared from behind the transport. She had a headset hung around her neck and a clipboard in hand. “Over here
, Xander!” Liv shouted.

  His face contorted in surprise, then joy. “Heavens, Liv, I thought I’d misplaced you again.”

  “No.” She laughed, coming forward and hugging him. “I was still here. Got to get my notes done before they start the next scene.”

  “Sorry it took me so long to get back. The soundstage is huge! I need a map to locate anything.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” she said with a grin. “I did.”

  Xander’s brows knit together, his anxiety visible beneath the stage makeup.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Liv … I don’t know about this.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders. “Stop it. You’re going to be fine. You’ve done this a million times before.”

  “But not for real!”

  “The vids we created were totally real. They’re racking up views even now.” Her smile softened. “Relax, Xander. It’s only two lines.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned into her, his arms wrapping her back. “But it’s still lines in a real film, and if I mess it up—”

  “They’ll have you do it again. And again … and again.” Liv laughed. “No big deal. Life is full of second chances.”

  “That sounds like a fortune cookie.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s true.”

  He put his hand to her cheek, moving in for a kiss. “And I’m glad for every”—he kissed her forehead—“single”—he kissed the tip of her nose—“one.”

  And with his words, a bittersweet swell of Starveil music began, the house lights fading until only the silhouette of the two lovers could be seen, and then, finally, nothing at all.

  Acknowledgments

  The writing of a book is a lengthy process, but I could not release All the Feels without expressing my sincere gratitude to the many people who have shaped it along the way.

  Thank you to my husband, my most enthusiastic collaborator, for reading aloud every iteration of this project from beginning to end, so that I could make sure the language sounded “just right.” I’m so proud to be part of our personal OTP. Thank you also to my children, for tolerating long periods when I couldn’t play, as I wrote, and rewrote, and rewrote again. I owe you one.

  A grateful shout-out to my fellow fangirls—far too many to name—who kept me going when my own “Spartan” died. Thanks to Morty Mint, my agent, for his unwavering support and levelheaded advice. And a very enthusiastic thank-you to Holly West, Lauren Scobell, Emily Settle, and the entire Swoon Reads team for their tireless efforts in bringing this project together. All the Feels is yours as much as mine!

  Finally, a special note of appreciation to Erin, the very real woman behind the @CoulsonLives phenomenon, who skipped out of D*C to spend an afternoon with me as we talked about writing, life, the universe, and everything in between. You are one of my dragons.

  * * *

  Title: Shadow Soul

  Author: JoesWoes

  Word Count: ~ 6,000 words

  Primary Characters: Spartan, Tekla, Malloy

  Pairing: SparTek

  Rating: NC-17 for sexuality (NSFW)

  Warning: Mentions of suicide, death, and war atrocities

  Tags: #SpartanSurvived #SparTek #Malloy #ShadowSoul #Hurt/Comfort #JoesWoesFic

  Summary: Leaving the memories of the Fight for Io behind is harder than Spartan had believed. Malloy helps him come to terms with the horror.

  * * *

  SHADOW SOUL

  The dream begins with a memory: searching for Malloy while the attack begins. Lost. Terrified.

  Spartan jerks awake, Tekla pressed against his side, their hands tangled together. Beyond the metal walls, the Hyperion’s hyperdrive begins to hum. They’re jumping again. (They’re always jumping these days.) If they stop, they’re dead.

  “What is it, love?” Tekla whispers. Her crimson lips are pressed against the blond curls of Spartan’s hair.

  Spartan frowns. (He doesn’t want to remember.) “I had a nightmare.”

  “About what?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  * * *

  Lanky and underfed, Spartan stands at the side of the grassy field, his eyes on his feet. He hates this new elementary school—one in a line of many—but he hates his father even more for leaving them behind. He hates his grandmother’s shadowy house that he and his mother now share. Hates the mothball-scented living room and the dusty attic where he sleeps. Today he particularly hates his snot-faced schoolmates, eager to show they’re tougher than the new third grader who has joined them. Spartan’s already seen the principal once, but he suspects that he’ll be there again before the dismissal bell rings.

  Hating’s easy. (Fighting’s even easier.)

  A blur of shadow appears in the corner of his eye. Spartan doesn’t move, just stares at his newly scabbed knuckles, rolling his hand to release the tension. A scab pops open, and a berry of red blood appears. He lifts it to his mouth, sucking.

  The shadow moves again, followed by a voice. “You’re that new kid, aren’t you? The one that got kicked out a Miss Tran’s room.”

  Spartan looks up to find that one of the boys from his class has appeared at his side. He’s small and dark, with eyes that glitter with mischief.

  “You figured that all out yourself?” Spartan sneers.

  The boy frowns. (Spartan tenses.) And then, oddly, the strange child begins to laugh. “You really are as piss-mean as they say!” The boy grins and offers his hand. “I’m Reginald Chance Malloy.”

  “You gotta mighty big name for such a puny kid.”

  “I might be puny, but I could kick your sorry ass,” he says, lifting his chin.

  Spartan rolls his eyes. There’s no prestige in fighting a kid small enough to be in kindergarten. “You and whose army?”

  Before the boy can answer, screams from the far side of the field reach them, and both turn. For a few seconds, they watch as a group of students surge around two fighters, scuffling in the dirt. A red-faced teacher heads into the fray, chest wheezing, leaving the boys alone. This is the time for an attack, but Spartan doesn’t.

  “So what’s your name?” the boy asks.

  “Spartan.”

  “Spartan?” He laughs. “What kinda name is that? Sounds like a candy bar or … or … or a washing detergent.”

  For a second, Spartan wants to hit him. He’s ready, his small hands tightened into rocks, but he’s tired of being alone, and this is the first boy who’s spoken to him in more than grunts.

  He shakes his head. “Spartan’s my last name,” he admits. “My real name’s Matt … Matthew.” His expression grows dark. “But then so’s my dad’s.” His fists release. “And I like Spartan better.”

  “Your last name…” the boy murmurs. His eyes widen, and a gap-toothed smile appears. “You could call me Malloy,” he says. “Yeah! Malloy!”

  For the first time in days, perhaps weeks, Spartan begins to laugh. “Malloy, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He shoves Spartan’s shoulder. “Malloy’s a hell of a lot better than Reginald.”

  “Better than R. C., too.”

  The boy grins, like that’s the biggest compliment in the world. “Ain’t that the truth?”

  “So whadya do around here for fun, Malloy?”

  “Fight mostly. But I like tag better.”

  And like that, Spartan gains a best friend.

  * * *

  Spartan wakes, shaking, body slick with sweat. He rises slowly from his bunk, pulling on clothes with trembling hands and heading into the corridor of the star freighter. He could go to Tekla’s quarters, ask her to help him forget. (He has done it many times before.) But he doesn’t today. It’s too hard to endure her pity. His memory keeps going back there, and he doesn’t want to.

  Instead, he walks to the central command center. They are tracking the Imperial Fleet again, preparing to destroy it. (As they’ve done every day since Darthku’s attack on Io.) Usually, Spartan would at least make a point of arguing
for combining forces with some of the other rebel ships—that was the point of the Rebellion, after all—but lately he’s been too tired to fight it.

  His will died long ago.

  With this thought flickering through his mind, he turns another corner and stops stock-still. Tekla is standing in the corridor, waiting for him. He keeps trying to leave her, but she always finds a way back. He doesn’t want her kindness, but sex is his weakness, and she knows how to exploit it. (There’s a reason she’s a leader in the Rebellion.)

  “You didn’t come to my quarters last night,” she says, approaching him, hands outstretched. “I was worried about you, Spartan.”

  He doesn’t answer, just stares at her, his mind drawing in details: pale skin and long waves of silver-blond hair. That worried smile. Pain.

  She is exactly the same as the day Darthku destroyed the base.

  “I need to figure this out on my own,” he mutters, then turns and walks away.

  * * *

  Spartan and Malloy have been drinking for hours, the two of them one-upping the events of their short lives, earning their ranks at the Imperial Academy, when she shows up. Curvy, fresh-faced, red-haired: all the things Spartan wants … and knows his friend wants, too.

  Malloy lets out a slow whistling breath, his gaze dragging up her body. “Well, would you look at that,” he murmurs.

  “Mmm…” Spartan chuckles. “She’s quite a sight for sore eyes.”

  “The kinda girl you don’t see too often,” Malloy agrees.

  “She’s a little above your game, I think.”

  “And yours,” Malloy snorts in easy good humor. “Jeez, though, look at her legs. Go on forever.”

  The woman is utterly out of place. She’s wearing a black dress with a string of pearls, rather than the fatigues of the standard military clientele the bar tends to attract. Both men watch her as she moves through the room, apparently searching for her friends. When she pauses next to their table, she catches sight of Spartan and Malloy, and a dimpled smile breaks across her face.