by Tarah Benner
Lark worked this idea around in her brain, simultaneously wanting to forgive Soren and feeling resentful that he’d led her to believe that her best friend was dead.
“If it helps, I would have done the same thing,” said Bernie after a moment of thoughtful silence. “If I thought that he got shot, I would have said anything to get you out of there.”
“But he lied to me.”
“You don’t know that,” said Bernie. “He probably thought that I was dead — or at least that I was beyond help.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Look, we all knew what we were getting ourselves into that night. I knew it was risky when I agreed to come, but I went anyway because I didn’t want to get left behind.”
“But I did leave you behind,” mumbled Lark. She could feel tears scorching the back of her throat, but she swallowed them down. She was so sick of crying.
“It’s a good thing you did! If you’d been caught, they wouldn’t have put you in the hospital with me. You’d have gone straight back to San Judas — or worse. With everything that’s happened, I’m not sure if they would have had a supermax facility to send you to. They might have stuck you right back in with Mercy and her crew.” Her eyes grew wide. “You would have been dead by morning.”
Lark couldn’t argue with that. Bernie was right, but it killed her to know that she’d abandoned her best friend when she’d needed her most.
“I have to tell you something,” said Bernie.
Lark’s stomach lurched. She had no idea what Bernie was about to say, but judging from her tone and the fidgety look on her face, it couldn’t be good.
Bernie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I think Portia and I were being followed.”
“I think we were all being followed,” Lark mumbled.
“No, like . . .” Bernie swallowed and cast around for the words. “Like I saw someone tailing us back in Roswell. I don’t know if it was the feds or someone else, but —”
“You saw the feds tailing you?”
“I don’t know if they were the feds,” Bernie clarified. “They could have just been people from the prison. All I know was that they were in some creepy black car driving really slowly, and there was literally no one else around.”
Lark bit her lip. She was so happy to have her best friend back, and she didn’t want to spoil everything by telling Bernie that she might have been imagining things. Bernie had a flair for the dramatic, and she was known to blow things out of proportion. Lark knew that the police were still after them, but it seemed unlikely that Bernie and Portia could have evaded them if they’d gotten that close.
“I don’t know . . .” Bernie continued. “I thought maybe I was just being paranoid, but then we got on the highway and the sirens came on, and —”
“They were chasing you?” said Lark, sitting up in alarm. “I mean, you saw them?”
“Yeah, but then we wrecked,” said Bernie. “I hit my head really hard and blacked out. When I came to, they were gone.”
Lark stared at her in disbelief. Her heart was pounding in her throat, and her palms were sweaty.
“It’s okay!” said Bernie quickly. “I cut out Portia’s tracker back in Brownfield, so there’s no way they could have followed us here. We were really careful, and I haven’t seen the black car since.”
Lark gave a shaky nod. Bernie’s story chilled her to the core, but she herself had said that she’d hit her head. It was possible that the impact had jumbled her memories or made her think something she’d dreamed was real.
But if Bernie was right and they had been followed . . .
Lark desperately wanted to believe that they were safe, but she didn’t think she’d actually felt safe in five or six years. They’d only been on the run for four days, and already they’d dodged death more times than she could count.
“It’ll be fine,” said Bernie, finding Lark’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “We already ditched ’em once, right? Twice, if you count the Roswell sighting.” She grinned. “And that was with pregnant Portia and everything.”
Lark smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. Bernie was watching her face carefully, looking as though she regretted telling Lark about their brush with the authorities.
“Don’t worry,” she said forcefully. “You can’t be nervous. That’ll make me nervous. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I need Full Badass Lark right now. We need Full Badass Lark.”
Lark couldn’t help it. She laughed.
Bernie smiled and gave Lark’s leg a sharp slap. “Now, go talk to your man, okay?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I think that’s a queen-size pullout in the den, but just so you know, the walls are thin.”
Lark rolled her eyes but sat up anyway. Taking a deep breath, she let herself out of the guest room and wandered down the hall.
Axel must have gone to bed, because Soren was alone in the den, battling the pullout couch. It smelled faintly of mothballs and mildew, but Bernie had left him a stack of fresh bedding on the La-Z-Boy.
Lark watched him for a moment, wondering what had been going on inside his head the night they’d fled San Judas. Soren tugged on the rusty bed frame, clearly frustrated, and Lark felt all her bad feelings evaporate.
In the end, it didn’t really matter if Soren had thought Bernie was dead. He’d been forced to make a snap decision, and he’d done everything he could to get them all out of there in one piece. They were alive — Bernie was alive — and there was no reason she couldn’t have her best friend and have Soren.
As if Lark’s realization had released all the pressure in the room, the stubborn aluminum frame snapped into place, and Soren flipped the thin mattress down. Lark made a small noise in the back of her throat to announce her presence, and Soren wheeled around with a startled look.
“Everything all right?” Lark asked, fighting a smirk.
“What?” Soren hadn’t noticed her watching his struggle, and he pulled on an easygoing, slightly macho expression. “Oh . . . yeah.”
They teetered on the verge of conversation for a moment, both of them stewing in the discomfort of all that had been left unsaid. Soren seemed to be waiting for Lark to say something else, but suddenly he couldn’t help himself.
“Can we talk?” he asked, gesturing to the sliding glass doors.
“Yeah,” Lark stammered, feeling suddenly awkward. “Sure.”
Soren grabbed an old quilt from the chair and led Lark out onto the deck. The air had cooled substantially since their arrival, and Lark was immediately grateful that he’d thought to bring a blanket.
Soren draped it over her shoulders but didn’t let go. He met her gaze with a tortured expression and just held her there, inches away. “Lark, I am so sorry.”
Lark opened her mouth to say something, but Soren kept going.
“I didn’t know that Bernie was alive. I swear. It was dark, and the guards were after us . . . I just heard that gunshot and saw her go down, and I —” He shook his head, momentarily lost for words. “I really wasn’t sure what I saw. I just panicked. I had to get you out of there, and I thought —”
Lark cut him off with a small shake of her head. It was Bernie who’d convinced her to give Soren the benefit of the doubt, but he looked so devastated and contrite standing before her that Lark couldn’t imagine that he’d misled her on purpose.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Soren froze.
“I believe you,” Lark murmured. “I’m just happy she’s alive.”
Soren cracked a tentative smile, and all the grief and joy Lark had been feeling suddenly sprung to the surface. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she let out a choke of laughter as all the emotions she’d been suppressing came rushing out at once.
Soren didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around her, and the leaden weight in Lark’s chest seemed to lighten tenfold. She rested her head against his shoulder and let her tears fall into the folds of his shirt.
Soren stroked her back but didn�
��t say a word. He just held her as she cried. Occasionally, he would turn to kiss her gently on the side of the head, and Lark felt her sorrow fade bit by bit.
Finally her surge of emotions seemed to subside, and she fell into a peaceful silence. They ended up on the ground — Soren lying flat on his back, and Lark wrapped around his middle. With no streetlights or airplanes blinking from the sky, the stars had an intense, piercing quality that made them almost hard to look at.
Soren kissed her on the forehead, and Lark let out a blissful sigh. She turned onto her hip and looked up at him. His face was partially hidden in shadow, but she sensed him waiting for her to make the first move.
Taking a deep breath, Lark raised herself up on her elbow and rolled forward so she could kiss him on the lips. Soren’s mouth was warm and inviting. She kissed him slowly at first, moving with the tide of their breath as she traced the outline of his body through his shirt.
She could feel his heart pounding beneath her palm and the steady rise and fall of his chest. The rhythm stoked a longing buried deep inside of her, and she rolled onto her stomach so that she could feel all of him beneath her chest.
Within seconds, Soren’s lips engulfed hers. His warm, rough hands wrapped around Lark’s waist and massaged up her back, igniting her skin wherever he touched her.
Lark pressed closer to him and moved her hips with his, savoring the feeling of his body against hers. He was hard and strong and full of life. He made her feel like starting over.
For the first time since their escape, Lark felt hopeful. Bernie was back, and they were so close to finding Micah. She didn’t feel the need to grieve for what she’d lost. The life she’d had now seemed a million miles away. All they had was the present.
That urgency stoked a fire deep inside her core, and she poured it all into Soren. It was sweet and slow-burning at first, and then it morphed into a feverish heat that left her sweaty and gasping for air. The wind kicked up and whipped over the hill, causing the trees to sway dangerously in the dark.
They rolled around on the blanket, and suddenly Soren was on top of her. She could see the hunger in his warm brown eyes and the way his muscles stood out as he held his weight on his arms.
She ran her fingers through his silky black hair, pulling his mouth back down to hers. He tugged up the hem of her T-shirt and swooped down to plant a kiss in the middle of her stomach. She clenched her abs as he forged a trail up to her sternum, sliding her shirt up a little with each touch of his lips.
Finally, Lark sat up and wriggled out of her shirt. She tossed it onto the deck, and Soren slid her bra straps down to her arms. He kissed the tops of her shoulders and nipped at her skin, and Lark’s whole body erupted in goosebumps as his lips brushed the swell of her chest.
His hands worked around her back, and Lark shivered as he pulled off her bra. Ominous silver clouds were swirling overhead, blocking the stars and making Lark feel oddly sheltered as he explored her with his mouth.
Soren lost his shirt, too, and Lark’s jeans landed in a heap beside it. Their clothes fell away piece by piece, and suddenly Lark couldn’t wait any longer. She dug her fingers into Soren’s back and pulled him toward her until their bodies were aligned.
When they finally came together, Lark felt as though she could finally breathe again. Soren let out a noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh, closing his eyes as they felt each other for the very first time.
Everything after that was a wonderful blur. Soren’s eyes locked with hers as he rocked her back and forth, and Lark’s muscles ached from holding him so tight. His coppery skin shone silver in the moonlight, and warmth enveloped Lark as they anchored each other to the deck.
Finally, Soren collapsed by her side. He pulled the blanket over them, and Lark braided her bare limbs around his. She felt as though she could lie there forever in his warm embrace, and after a few minutes, they fell into a peaceful sleep.
Lark awoke a while later still tangled around Soren. Cold raindrops were tickling her face, catching in her hair and rolling down her chest. She opened her eyes to look up at the clouds, and a large, fat raindrop caught her square in the eye.
She laughed out loud and gave Soren a gentle shake. He rolled over and let out a warm chuckle that made Lark’s stomach soar.
The trees above the porch rattled ominously, and Lark pinched Soren and wriggled out from his embrace. They gathered their clothes into a heap and ran inside, wet, naked, and shivering. Soren slid the door shut behind them and tackled Lark onto the pullout.
They trembled with silent laughter as they rolled around in the dark, hoping against hope that they hadn’t woken the others. They exchanged a few tender kisses before leaning over the side of the bed and sorting through their clothes.
Lark’s shirt had gotten lost in the rush, so she donned Soren’s and tossed him his boxers. He made a groggy noise deep in his throat, and Lark felt a kick of affection so strong that she wanted to cover him with kisses all over again.
She settled with snuggling into the crook of his arm and resting her head on his chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe and happy.
She had Soren. Bernie was alive. She was the luckiest girl in the world.
twenty-five
Lark
Lark awoke to a light, persistent crunching sound coming from across the room. She opened her eyes, blinked in the sunlight, and peeled her face away from Soren’s chest.
Denali had found his way out of the bedroom and was curled at the foot of the pullout. Portia was sitting in the La-Z-Boy, staring right at her.
Lark sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. “Shit!”
Portia had her knees pulled up to her chest and a crumpled box of saltine crackers resting beside her. A hard rain was pelting the windows, and Lark could hear the trees being buffeted by the wind. Denali was suddenly on high alert, his ears sticking straight up like antennas.
“Must be nice,” said Portia, biting into a cracker and scattering crumbs all down her front.
Soren turned over in his sleep, and Lark got a sharp kick of guilt. She’d had nothing to do with Zachariah’s plunge to death, but she knew it wasn’t nice to be rubbing her relationship in Portia’s face.
“How are you, uh . . . How are you feeling?” asked Lark in the most civil tone she could manage.
“How am I feeling?” asked Portia, as if Lark were incredibly slow. “I feel fucking fantastic.”
Her sarcasm wasn’t subtle. Even though she was wrapped in a woolen blanket, she looked pale and a little clammy. Her tangled hair lay over her shoulders in greasy bunches, and, judging by the crackers, she was still battling her morning sickness.
“Can’t keep anything down?”
“What would you know about it?” Portia snapped.
“Nothing, I just —” Lark cast around in annoyance for something that would bring this exhausting war to an end. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Sorry?” spat Portia. “What are you sorry for? Sorry for using my baby to turn Mercy against me? Orchestrating the beating that could have made me miscarry? Getting me locked up in that hospital from hell?”
“Yes!” said Lark, casting around for the right combination of words to defuse their argument. “I’m sorry! I only told Mercy about the baby because I was cornered! Mercy was a fucking lunatic, and we’re all lucky to be rid of her!”
“Lucky?” Portia hissed. “Mercy was the closest thing to a mother I ever had.”
“Well, that’s pretty fucking sad,” said Lark.
Portia looked as though Lark had slapped her, and Lark realized a beat too late how bitchy and insensitive that must have sounded.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I just . . . Mercy was only tolerable when she wanted something from you. She was power hungry and abusive and —”
“You didn’t even know her.”
“I know she tried to kill you.”
“If Mercy had tried to kill me, I wouldn’t be alive. She was
just angry because I betrayed her.”
“You think things would have gone differently if you’d been able to tell her about the baby on your own terms?”
Portia’s expression had turned deadly, but Lark caught a flicker of doubt in her sharp, predatory eyes.
“You think there would ever be a good time to tell her that you’d been screwing her son?”
“Fuck you,” Portia whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“Jesus,” said a voice from the hallway.
Lark looked up. Bernie was standing in the doorway wearing a baggy John Deer T-shirt and rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her already wild waves were sticking up in a million different directions, and yet she still had the careless beauty of a model.
“It’s way too early for this,” she groaned.
Lark looked away. It was useless trying to make things right with Portia. Her own hatred had been dampened by her joy at finding Bernie alive, but it was useless to pretend that they hadn’t both tried to fuck each other over. Portia was a spoiled bitch, and she’d solidified her hatred of Lark from day one.
Feeling defeated, Lark slipped out from under the covers and pulled on her jeans. It wasn’t exactly the way she’d imagined waking up next to Soren after their first real night together, but then again, nothing about the past few days had happened the way she’d imagined.
She’d only just buttoned her jeans when the sliding glass door opened and Axel ducked inside.
“What’s a man gotta do to get a workin’ shitter ’round here?”
Lark glanced at Bernie, who let out a wild giggle.
“How’s Simjay?” asked Lark.
“Do I look like his fuckin’ nurse?”
Lark sighed. “So you haven’t changed his dressing?”
“No,” said Axel. “What’s all this?” He gestured to the Lark-shaped indentation in the bed next to Soren.
“None of your goddamned business.”
“Whatever,” said Axel with a sly grin. “I saw you guys lyin’ there all cozy.”
“Shut up, Axel,” said Soren, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
