by eden Hudson
His smile was pure relief.
“What about getting stuff ready to open?” he asked.
I tried to tease him. “You just want a cinnamon roll.”
He tried to hold the smile. I didn’t push my luck.
*****
Halfway through “Joey Chung from Outer Space,” neither of us was paying attention. Colt was staring through my tablet’s screen just like he’d been doing to the kitchen floor earlier. He hadn’t touched his cinnamon roll and all he’d done with his coffee was move the cup so that the handle was parallel to the edge of the table.
I’d been going through the possibilities in my head. The only thing I had come up with so far was an arms deal gone bad. Except that had happened before—twice since I’d known him—and it hadn't affected Colt like this.
“Want to tell me what's wrong?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said.
“But something is.”
He shivered. It doesn’t take long for a vamp to sap a human’s body heat and I’d been leaning against him for a while. I started to move away.
Colt put his arm around me.
“It's not you,” he said. “I'm not cold, I promise. Will you talk to me or something?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
I turned my tablet off, flipped it shut, then made myself relax back into his side. His body didn't react the way it usually did when I touched him—no sudden spike in heartbeat, no arousal.
“What should we talk about?” I asked.
Colt shook his head. “I just want to listen.”
I nodded. Cast around for something.
“What’s-His-Face called the other day,” I said. “From the Dark Mansion. The foot soldier that handles the boss man’s secretarial stuff. Wanted to know if I could cater the Armistice Celebration Welcome Ceremony this year.”
Colt mumbled something that sounded like, “Around to see it.”
“What?”
Another shiver ran through him.
“Nothing.” He reached out with his free hand and straightened his coffee cup handle again. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure.” I traced the edge of the table with my thumbnail. Tried to think of something else to say.
But when I looked up, Colt’s eyes had locked onto the grain in the tabletop. Sitting there, but a million miles away.
It hit me where I’d seen that look before. Shannon. The times the auditory hallucinations and fear and guilt and exhaustion would overwhelm her and suddenly she would be gone, lost somewhere. I had watched her stare into space for hours playing never-ending melodies on her acoustic. A break from the noise in her head was what she had needed back then, an anchor to the real world.
Will you talk to me or something?
I cleared my throat. Colt blinked, then looked up me.
“You know where your mom got Tough’s name?” I asked.
“She made it up,” Colt said, shrugging.
I shook my head. “You know she had to have an emergency C-section. The umbilical cord got wrapped around Tough’s throat and he was in distress.” I touched my thumb to my lips, trying not to smile. “But when the doctor pulled him out, the damn kid had ahold of the cord and he wouldn’t let go for nothing. Tough was bound and determined to get that cord off or die trying. About choked himself to death before they finally pried his little fingers off and cut it.”
“Sounds like him,” Colt said.
I nodded. “It made Shannon think of this old song she liked. ‘If You’re Gonna Be Dumb, You Gotta Be Tough.’ Danny was on board with it. That’s one thing I always respected about your dad—his sense of humor.”
Even if Danny had stolen the first woman I ever loved and given her the children and life I’d always wanted. Old scars.
I picked up my cigarettes and shook one out, sneaking a glance at Colt.
Breathing normally, eyes focused. He hadn’t relaxed, but at least he was there with me. I leaned my head on his shoulder. Smelled the rush of endorphins flood his system, felt his muscles tighten like ripcords, and listened to his heart trip over itself to catch up.
Colt swallowed and tried to pretend that he didn’t care. I did my part and pretended like I hadn’t noticed.
What I should’ve done was put the “Closed” sign in the bakery window. Colt and I could have spent the day watching X-Files and joking about Mulder’s porn collection. The problem with this damn world is that there’s never a way to tell when you’re turning down your last chance.
“Got to get this place open,” I said after a while. I started to bring the cigarette to my lips before I remembered it wasn’t lit. “Going to have the early birds coming in in half an hour.”
I felt Colt nod. He kept his arm around me for another few seconds. He inhaled. He was smelling me. It seemed like such a stupid thing to get a thrill out of, but I’d never noticed him do that before.
I should’ve kissed him. I knew how he felt about me—had known for years—why the hell didn’t I just make a move?
Colt let go of me and stood up.
I slid out of the booth.
“Be seeing you,” I said.
“Bye.”
On my way to the kitchen, I heard the bakery door open, then swing shut behind him. His scent lingered, but he was gone. I don’t know if he looked back because I didn’t. Every day since then, I’ve wished like hell I had.
Deleted Scenes
Not every scene that gets written can go into a book, just like not every scene that gets shot can go into a movie. What you’ll find here are a collection of memories, nightmares, and experiences that landed on Halo’s metaphorical cutting room floor. Just like with the regular chapters, before each, you’ll find the character from whose point of view they’re written, plus the book they would’ve appeared in if they hadn’t been deleted.
Scout
Book: Halo Bound
Description: The morning after Jax’s death.
I sighed and arched my back as Tough’s thrusts pushed me higher and higher. His stubbly cheek, rough and cold, slid against my face and his hands traced down my chest to the silver studs in my nipples.
“I love you, Scout,” he breathed. “You’re the only one who gets me.”
The lights came on. I straightened my skirt, put my hands on my desk, and crossed my legs.
“Just because we’re watching a movie,” Coach Isewell said over whatever stupid documentary we were watching, “Doesn’t mean it’s naptime.” Nice, dramatic pause. “Scout.”
I cocked my head at him.
“Excuse me for closing my eyes for five seconds,” I said. “The guy who was almost my brother-in-law gets killed by a vamp and I’m supposed to be all ‘Oh, awesome, World War II?’ You’re right, this is way more interesting than helping my sister find a casket she can afford.”
Isewell’s mouth opened and shut like a sock puppet someone had forgotten to make the sounds for.
“I’m sorry, Scout, I didn’t—”
“Know,” I finished for him. “You didn’t know because you don’t live here. You teachers leave Halo at three o’ eight p.m. and forget that there’s a school full of students living in a prison, growing up so they can sell their bodies and their possessions and their lives to NPs while you go on collecting your check from Mayor Kathan. As long as he pays off those student loans, you don’t care! No, you didn’t know Jax Carpenter was dead because once we’re out of your class, we’re out of your mind. Enjoy your clear conscience, you fucking kapo.”
A couple of people snickered. Isewell wouldn’t look at me.
“Just pay attention,” he said. He shut the lights off and backed the documentary up to where we were interrupted.
“Kapo?” Cash whispered in my ear. From his tone, I could imagine the crow smirk on his face.
“A kapo was one of the Jewish police the Nazis set up in the concentration camps and ghettos to patrol their own people,” I said without bothering to lower my voice. Let Ise
well hear me teach his class for him.
“Does that make me a Nazi?” Cash breathed in my ear. “And if I’m a Nazi, what does that make you, Shiny Girl? The chick who fucks the Nazis so she doesn’t get sent to the camps?”
“Screw you.”
“What time?”
He was purposely misunderstanding me, but I let it go. With crows you have to take what you can get. What I could get was an immature douchebag who got off on the reversal of the unwritten Halo NP-human roles. At least Cash looked enough like Tough that I could squint my eyes and imagine I was with the man I loved. As long as he didn’t talk, that was.
“Lunch,” I say. “I have stuff to do after school.”
Isewell cleared his throat. “Let’s all pay attention to the movie. There’s going to be a quiz at the end of class.”
“Oh, no, not a quiz,” I said to Cash.
Cash snickered.
“Cash, Scout,” Coach Isewell said, trying to sound threatening. “If I have to separate you two—”
“Good luck,” I said.
Everyone in class had to force back the giggles. Isewell wasn’t doing himself any favors trying to threaten me. I’m more badass than he’ll ever jerk off to.
“That’s enough!” Isewell flipped on the lights and shut off the movie. His face was red. He pointed at the classroom door. “Everybody. Let’s go.”
“Where?” Cash asked, twisting one of his spider bite piercings lazily.
“The gym. Move it.”
Everybody groaned, but they got up and started heading for the door, bumping desks and rustling papers. Someone asked whether we’d be back before the bell.
“No,” I said.
Isewell glared at me.
“What?” he said.
“Shut the hell up,” Rick hissed as he passed me. Coward.
I stood up and gestured to my clothes. “I’m wearing a skirt and sandals. I am not running laps.”
“Everyone is running laps,” Isewell said. “And they have you to thank, Scout.”
“I could fly mine,” Cash said. “Take less time.”
“Don’t bother,” I said. “None of us is running.”
Isewell’s face turned so red it looked like I might actually be giving him a heart attack. He had to force the words out between gritted teeth. “Do you fucking want to bet, Scout?”
“I fucking do,” I said. “Do you understand how power works, Coach?” I stretched the title into sarcasm. “We obey, we watch the stupid documentary, we play by the rules, and you get to think you’re in control. But you don’t have a gun or a weapon other than what we allow you. When we take that away, you’re screwed.”
“Wrong,” Isewell said. “There’s a Taser in every classroom.”
“You don’t have the balls,” I countered.
“Just run the laps, Scout,” Lyra said.
I spun around and stared her down.
They were all glaring at me, everyone in class. Everyone but Cash. He was grinning. He would defy Isewell with me, but he was the only one.
“If we don’t run the laps, he’ll see that he doesn’t call the shots,” I told them.
“Dammit, Scout, just do the fucking laps,” Donnie said.
The rest of first block World History II agreed with Donnie and Lyra. They would rather literally run than metaphorically fight.
“You fucking cowards,” I said.
Donnie flipped me off and headed for the gym. Everybody else followed him out the door, until it was just me and Cash and Isewell left in the classroom.
“Pershing?” Isewell asked.
Cash shook his head. “Nah. I think I’m going to hop on the revolution bandwagon.”
“ISS. Both of you. Now.”
“Thank God!” I picked up my notebook and history book and headed for the door. “I’ll go read a book and learn something.”
Colt
Book: Halo Bound
Description: Ryder waxes philosophical about the perfect Soldier of Heaven while he waits for Colt to come back from a blackout.
“—get caught up on the Sermon on the Mount, on Jesus saying that the meek would inherit the earth, the peacemakers are blessed, all that. They forget Jesus made a whip and drove out the fuckers who were turning the temple of God into a high-profit business—him against a crowd of crooked merchants and their hired thugs. They think because Jesus told the disciples to put down their weapons when the soldiers came for him in the garden, that he was some sort of pussy who never put up a fight.”
Ryder gestured with his spit bottle while he talked.
“They forget that Jesus got the shit beat out of him by a battalion of Roman soldiers—some badass motherfuckers who’d spent their careers torturing and killing—and he never broke. Any point Jesus could’ve said, ‘Fuck this,’ called down an army of angels to kill the assholes, and ascended to Heaven. Even knowing that when the soldiers were done, he was going to die a slow, excruciating death on the cross—”
“Thank God you never made it to seminary,” I said. I sat up straight and tried to pop my neck. How long had I been huddled in this corner with my knees up and my head down? Out the bedroom window, the sky over the trees was starting to lighten up. “You would’ve made one sorry-ass preacher.”
Ryder grinned and reached into his back pocket for his Copenhagen.
“Well, looky who’s lucid,” he said, tapping the chew can with his thumb. “I knew if I just kept on talking, you’d get your shit together and come back around sooner or later.”
“Here I am,” I said, rubbing the pain in the back of my head and jaw. Felt like I’d been clenching my teeth all night. “Now what?”
“Don’t know about you, but I plan to bring this bitch home. Some of us like to finish what we start.”
I snorted, but Ryder held his spit bottle and chew can out wide as if he was addressing a congregation and raised his voice.
“And even knowing he was going to die a slow, excruciating death on the cross, Jesus stayed strong. From the time he was arrested on bullshit charges until he didn’t have the strength to pull himself up by the bleeding tendons in his wrists to breathe, Jesus fought every earthly battle we would’ve lost and he won. And when he was finally dead and he could’ve rested on high with his Heavenly Father—lived an afterlife of ease—he kept on fighting. He kicked in the gates of Hell and overcame Death to save you and me from our sins. That ain’t some weak-ass pussy. That’s a perfect Soldier of Heaven.”
Ryder stood there letting the last words resonate for a second, just like Dad used to. Then he looked down at me for a reaction.
“You done?” I asked.
“Shit-ass son of a bitch. I gave you goose bumps and brought tears to your eyes.”
“I’m crying inside.”
I stood up and leaned against the wall while I worked the pins and needles out of my foot.
Ryder took the lid off his Copenhagen, swiped his finger around the inside, then stuck it in his lip.
Colt
Book: Halo Bound
Description: Colt takes a lot of showers in this book. Three, for those of you keeping score at home. This would have been the one he took while Desty was out in the living room, snooping through his records.
I flipped on the bathroom light and turned the shower on. Took my clothes off and tried not to think about how they smelled like smoke and were stiff from dried blood.
Something moved in the corner of my vision. I lunged for the .357 in the sink vanity, then stopped. It was just the mirror.
For a second, all I could do was stare.
I’d felt burning tar poured down my throat, ants trying to dig their way out of my veins, a drill boring through my cheek into my jaw. I’d been drugged, shocked, beaten, burned, frozen, hung-up, mutilated, humiliated, sleep- and sensory-deprived. There were things that had happened with Mikal that I would never get out of my head—stuff that was going to fester inside me forever—but I didn’t look any different. No scars, no burns, no brui
ses. Except for the calloused skin around my neck where the dog collar had been, the Colt from thirty-six days ago looked exactly like the dumbass gawking at the mirror.
One long, wavy, brown hair was stuck to my shoulder with blood. I picked it off.
It was cold. Mikal’s skin had been the burning, living thing, blistering-hot like a spent shell casing right after it ejected. It had hurt to touch, but the pain felt so good. The sting of her skin melting into the whisper and burn of the tar—
“Shit!” I hit the mirror as hard as I could and yelled it again, louder.
Then I was on the floor, leaned back against the toilet bowl. The shower door was hanging in its track by one set of wheels and the glass was cracked. Shards of the mirror were in the sink, on the floor. Drawers had been ripped out of the sink vanity. One was smashed to pieces.
I ran my hand across my face.
“Shit.”
“Yeah, you said.” Ryder was leaned against the doorframe. He spit into his soda bottle and nodded at a coffin-shaped toolbox on the floor. “What’s that?”
I pushed up to my knees, undid the latches, and flipped open the lid. The toolbox was packed with soft foam that had been custom cut to fit the barrels and stylus.
“A tattoo iron and some needles,” I said, feeling around my brain for the memory. The best I could do was a piece of it. “A guy from Jeff City ran short on cash and threw it in to pay for his MP5.”
“You took a trade?” Ryder shook his head like he was disgusted. “You fucking ink junkie.”
“I’m not addicted.” I liked the way tattoos looked, liked having something in my skin where I wouldn’t lose it. “I was going to sell the thing to Lonely before—” The ink in my chest piece started stinging like a dry ice burn. Resist or serve. I swiped at the lettering. “—before.”
Colt
Book: Hell Bent
Description: The true story of the day Colt and Ryder got in trouble for clicking at each other in school.
When I was in third grade, Ryder and I figured out how to click our tongues just right to make this hollow sound that could carry forever outside. It was our secret thing that made us better than everybody else—we could talk to each other without talking. We just couldn’t figure out when to use it.
