by Kelly Jensen
Dillon took Lang’s hand again and pulled it to his lips. Lang’s heart smiled—as though the organ inside his chest could lift and spin and express joy. Ridiculous, but not to be discounted. Dillon may have lost the ability to forge an intimate mental connection between them, but he could still do this. And it was enough.
Lang leaned forward to press a kiss to Dillon’s temple. Then he pulled back and addressed the guards. “Take us to a transdoor keyed to New York, please.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Dillon’s legs kept telling him they weren’t sure he should be walking, but the thought of spending another minute at Skrael Station got him up off the stretcher, through the transdoor to the city, and into a cab across town.
Lang kept crushing his hand until the bones creaked, and Arayu felt like four people too many in the cab, but her leaving with them meant something. When his head stopped hurting, he’d puzzle it out. Leaning said head back against the seat in the rear of the cab, Dillon closed his eyes. Then opened them again as the world lurched and spun. He swallowed, pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to squash any sound that might come out, and jerked his painful head toward the side window.
His stomach rebelled again.
“Are you all right?” Lang asked quietly.
In the front seat, Arayu turned around, her expression concerned. The driver—who’d barely glanced at Arayu’s robes before asking for an address—shot him a sharp glance through the rearview mirror. “No puking in my taxi.”
“I’m okay. Lying down would be good, though.”
Lang squeezed his knee. “We’re nearly home.”
The city blinked and flared as Dillon’s eyes tried to close again. His stomach did the thing, and he lurched forward, pressing his fingers to his temples.
The cabbie made a disgruntled sound.
“Two more blocks.” Lang rubbed his back.
Then they were there, and Arayu had a purse hidden in her robes. How ’bout that. Lang helped Dillon out of the cab and across the sidewalk. If he hadn’t needed the assistance quite so badly, he might have objected. As it was, he leaned heavily on Lang’s arm for the short walk from the cab to the heavy glass doors at the front of their building.
“I feel so bad I might actually, willingly, let Upero scan my head when we get upstairs.”
From the direction of Lang’s wrist, Upero said, “I have the diagnostic array prepped and ready. There is a complication, however.”
“Oh?”
The glass doors swung open with a cry. The doorman to their building generally wasn’t the dramatic sort. Nor was he female.
“Dillon! Lang!”
His mom and grandmother were in the city. In their building. Overnight bags stacked against one another on the floor behind them. Standing off to the side, looking bemused and vaguely apologetic, was the doorman.
Wasn’t he supposed to call up when they had visitors who weren’t clan?
Wait, they weren’t upstairs.
Before Dillon could try to fit current events inside the painful confines of his head, his grandmother had him wrapped up in her arms and… Oh, man, it felt so good. Like home. As soon as his grandmother’s arms loosened, his mom had him in another tight hug, her stream of questions cutting off as her face got tangled up in the front of Dillon’s T-shirt. Dillon winced at the pressure of her slim arms. Beside them, his grandmother was hugging Lang, and it was an event worthy of standing-room-only tickets.
His mother pulled back, her nose wrinkling. “When did you shower last, Dillon? You smell. We need to talk about how often you launder your clothes. This T-shirt is disgusting. And your jeans! Why so many rips? You’re not wearing a coat! In the middle of winter! When you’ve been so—”
Dillon tucked her in against his chest again, smothering the questions, and because it felt so good to have his mom in his arms.
When she drew away a second time, her gaze landed on Arayu, and her eyes widened. “You!”
You?
Arayu lifted her chin. “Hana Lee.”
Hana Lee?
Wait…
The city bobbed and swayed as Dillon whipped his head back and forth. “You two know each other?”
Shaking her head, his mom gestured toward the open front doors. “Come, come. Let’s get in out of the cold. Lang, would you be a dear and get our bags? Dillon looks as if he might lie down if he gets close to the ground.”
She put her arm around Dillon’s waist and guided him toward the elevator. Lang followed, both arms weighed down with bags. Arayu and his grandmother brought up the rear.
Dillon eyed the bags. “Are you staying the…” Was it the weekend?
“We told Lang we would come tomorrow, but I switched one of my shifts so we could come today. We tried calling Lang’s office, but his secretary told us he was out of town.” June would not like being called a secretary. “And the boy at your school said you were in Korea for a funeral!” The boy? Josh would probably love that. “I thought you had the flu, but now I see something else is going on.” His mom was eyeing Arayu up and down. She turned back to Dillon. “Do you know who this is?”
“Arayu?”
Lang looked as though he was following a tennis match. No, he might actually be the ball with the way his head bounced back and forth. Arayu smiled her serenely determined smile.
His mom clucked her tongue. “We have a lot to talk about.”
The elevator doors opened, and everyone spilled out into Lang’s apartment.
Dillon stood in the foyer for a moment, torn between admiring the view of Central Park—he had no idea what time it was, but the sun was up and the city glistened beneath its wintry charm—and wanting to march directly into the bedroom and burrow into Lang’s bed. Their bed. Then there was the tantalizing option of submitting to Upero’s diagnostic array.
Instead, he turned to face his mother. He wasn’t going to be able to do any of it until they got one big thing out of the way. “Mom, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. Arayu is an alien. So was dad. Lang is, too. And me. Sort of.”
His mom let out an exasperated sigh. “I know all of this.”
“You do?”
“Of course, I do. Now will you please tell me what’s going on?”
Lang shut his mouth. He wasn’t sure how long it had been hanging open, making him look less than intelligent the whole time. Not merely surprised, or fatigued. Not bewildered. Absolutely thoughtless.
Then, not so devoid of thought as the truth of the situation crashed through his synapses, closing the trapdoor of his mouth and kicking the analytical portion of his brain into overdrive.
Hana’s acceptance of the apparent changes in Dillon.
Hana’s acceptance of him, and all his three-fingered oddness.
Hana’s acceptance of Dillon’s father, Roth.
And, now, Hana seemed to know Arayu, and vice versa.
“Now that the eggshell has been dropped, perhaps we may allow Steilang’s AI to scan Dillon and administer any appropriate medication. Then we can sit and— What?”
“I think you mean bombshell, dear.” Hana patted Arayu’s voluminous sleeve.
“No, I definitely meant eggshell.”
Shrugging, Hana directed her gaze around the apartment—a mother looking for fault. “Where is this AI?”
Or that.
“The diagnostic array is prepared,” Upero announced, obviously keen to be a part of the conversation.
Hana jumped a little before peering at one of the speakers mounted high in a column flanking the foyer. “Can you see us?” She waved.
“Hello, Hana Lee.”
“Hello.”
Dillon crashed into Lang’s side. “Tell me this isn’t happening. My mom is not waving at Upero.”
“Ah, so this is Upero,” Hana said, nodding and continuing to wave.
“Um…” Clearing his throat, Lang directed Dillon toward the bedroom. “How about that scan?”
Halfway acr
oss the apartment, Bora Lee put herself in their path. “It’s not the flu, then?” She had her glittery pink phone out, one finger crooked over the screen. “Because I am very confused. Whose funeral were you supposed to be at?”
“Ah…”
“They weren’t at a funeral, Umma,” Hana called out. “They made up a story so they could deal with clan business. But you really don’t look well, Dillon. Have you actually been ill?”
Dillon sagged against Lang. “It’s a long story, Mom. Let me get something for my headache, and then we can talk. Or maybe Lang can start.”
Sweat sprang out across Lang’s brow. “Er…”
Dillon snaked an arm around his back and hugged him close. “You’ll do fine. Now point me at that nasty diagnostic array. My head is getting ready to lift off.”
Everyone followed them into the bedroom, but Lang drew the line at their following him through the transdoor. “Limited capacity,” he choked out, giving Arayu a look that she might determine however she pleased, as long as her interpretation included offering their guests refreshment, preferably somewhere other than the bedroom.
Could this day become any more stressful?
The lift tube boomed quietly, and the door slid back to reveal the small med bay. Lang helped Dillon into the lounge and moved back as the array swung into place. He took Dillon’s hand and held it.
“You should go back out and talk to my mom,” Dillon said.
“It would be useful to have Dillon quiet during the scan,” Upero added.
“I would rather stay here with you.”
Dillon touched the side of Lang’s face. “Same, but being back in the city is… My head hurts, but I’m so relieved to be back that I don’t freaking care if I start bleeding from my ears.”
Alarm pierced the center of Lang’s chest. “I would care.”
Dillon smiled. “I know.”
The likelihood of Dillon disappearing now, or being taken away, stood at slim to none, yet Lang found himself reluctant to depart the medical bay. To let go of Dillon’s hand. Words swelled up inside him—all the ones that would tell Dillon how much he’d been missed; Lang’s confusion regarding Hana’s apparent knowledge of his origins, of Roth’s; and the reason why Dillon now lay under Upero’s diagnostic array.
“It’s all my fault” is what eventually came out.
Dillon closed his eyes. “Not true.”
“If not for me, you wouldn’t—”
“Lang.” Dillon cracked one eye open. “We can talk it out sometime if you want, but right now? You need to remember two facts. One, my father was Wren. Meeting you was never going to change that. And, two, meeting you has been the most incredible thing that ever happened to me, and the most worthwhile. I know who I am because of you, and I’m not just talking about what’s in my blood. I’ve always wanted to create and to help people. You’re the one who encouraged me to open a school so I could do both. I’d never have done something so huge without you.”
“But what about all the rest of it?”
“You mean the emotion sensing?” Dillon had both eyes open now, but Lang wasn’t able to appreciate the striated color of his irises. His own vision was clouded with tears.
Lang swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. Again. He was probably too tired for this. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. His repair cells were going to insist on some rest very soon, and he’d do better if he were sitting when it happened. In fact, articulating all the rest of it, the words swirling through his thoughts—the ideas, the emotions—might end his run right here on the med bay floor. “I mean all of it. My people are not—”
“We have assholes on Earth, too, in case you’ve forgotten, and I dunno. You and Arayu are okay.”
Lang found a smile for that. “Only okay, hmm?”
“Maybe a bit more.” Dillon pulled Lang’s hand to his cheek and then turned to kiss the palm. “Now, if you go sit down and deal with my mom, I promise to love you forever.”
Lang hesitated before asking, “Will you miss it, the emotion sensing?”
A weary smile touched the sides of Dillon’s mouth. “Yeah.”
He said no more, and Lang decided to leave it there. Dillon was right. They could talk about it another time. Right now, Dillon needed a space of quiet so Upero could run a full diagnostic, and Lang had guests.
He raised Dillon’s hands to his lips and kissed his palms. “I’ll see you shortly.” After delivering a final squeeze, he dropped Dillon’s fingers and stepped back. “Let me know when you are done, Upero.”
“I will.”
“And this diagnostic is for us. As of this moment, none of Dillon’s health information is to be shared without his express consent.”
“Sounds good to me,” Dillon put in.
“Understood,” Upero said.
Lang lingered by the door for another long moment, watching the very unexciting process of the array dropping down and moving along the length of Dillon’s body. Then he backed into the lift tube and returned to the apartment—where he found Arayu serving sparkling water and cheese crackers to Hana and Bora.
Chapter Twenty-Two
There was a crack in the ceiling. Narrowing his eyes, Dillon traced the line from the corner to just over the bed. Was it new? He’d been away less than a month. The events of the past twenty-four hours stretched his perception of time, though, making it feel as if he’d been gone for months. A year might have passed.
Closing his eyes again, he prepared to go back over what had happened only yesterday, and quickly gave up as faces passed his closed lids in a dizzying blur: His mom, his grandmother, Lang, Obele and Vagnan, a med tech at the station whose name he couldn’t remember. The Nay he’d pushed into a comatose state. Had she recovered? The guards he’d driven to their knees in the attempt to burn out that particular part of his brain.
A soft snuffle interrupted his thoughts, and Dillon rolled onto his side to watch Lang sleep. It was a rare sight. But as Dillon settled deeper into his pillow, he realized that until Lang had made a sound, he hadn’t known he was there. He hadn’t felt him.
A wave of sadness crashed through him. Being able to sense the emotions of others hadn’t always been fun. But being able to sense the depth of Lang’s love? Amazing.
Then again, hadn’t he always been able to feel Lang’s care? Or, had that been the nascent stirrings of his talent?
With an abrupt shake of his head, Dillon pushed the covers back and left the bed. He was not going to lie there and second-guess the past several months. He’d done enough of that after Roth had died. Also, wow, standing felt pretty good! He touched the back of his head, expecting to reawaken the burning pain that had consumed the latter half of the previous twenty-four hours and smiled with gentle relief when all he felt was hair.
Greasy hair.
Ugh.
But now that he was back somewhere sensible, he could take a real shower. With real water! Would that have been so difficult for the clan to accomplish in Antarctica? The station had been surrounded by ice and snow.
The smell of coffee pulled him in a different direction. A glance down confirmed he was decent—sleep pants and his oldest, softest, favoritest T-shirt. Wrapping his arms around his middle as if to hug the shirt, Dillon left the bedroom and crossed the apartment to the kitchen, smiling at the sight of his mom, who had half of Lang’s weird kitchen appliances arrayed in a circle on the floor behind her as she continued to dig into the lower shelves of the huge pantry.
“Help you find something?” he asked.
His mom jerked forward, muttered something, and turned. A huge smile spread across her face as she stood and launched herself at him. “You’re awake!”
“Yeah. I’m going to apologize now for anything I said last night. I was really, really tired. And I had a headache.” He had only the vaguest memory of talking to everyone after Upero completed the diagnostic. The AI had pronounced him fit but fatigued and had prescribed hydration, painkillers, and sleep. Three of
Upero’s favorite things.
Things got pretty fuzzy after that.
His mom stopped trying to compress his ribs but didn’t let him go. She moved her hands to his arms and squeezed. “The only thing you need to apologize for is worrying your umma. And for telling Joshua I was dead!”
“I actually think Halmeoni was the one who was supposed to be, ah, dead,” Dillon said, wondering if using the Korean word for grandmother would somehow soften the blow. Probably not. “Lang got confused.”
Laughing, his mom shook her head. “Just as well no one is actually dead, or we’d have to start tracing the lies back to truth.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.”
“Your halmeoni will explain it when she wakes up. Coffee?”
“Yes!”
She gestured toward the row of stools on the other side of the island counter. “Sit, sit. I’ll get you a cup.”
“What are you doing with Lang’s appliances?”
“He mentioned an omelet pan.”
“It’s in the cabinet under the stove.”
“Ah.”
Dillon sat at the counter and watched his mom pour a cup of coffee and then set about putting away the appliances she’d pulled out. It was homey and quiet and exactly what he needed after the chaos of the past lifetime. Though he grateful for the peace, he couldn’t help reaching out, tentatively, for her mental state—and got nothing. Nada, zip, zilch.
Why did that make him sad? He’d always known how his mom felt. She loved him unconditionally, even though he had very few Korean characteristics. Of course, there had been a reason for that, and while she’d made no excuses to her family—other than to her own mother—she’d been a fierce protector. Of his differences, of his choices, of everything he’d ever wanted to be.
“Is Arayu still here?” Dillon asked.
“No, she left last night. She said she’d be in touch.”
Mm-hmm. “So, you’ve met her before.”
“Once. But I never forget a face.”
“When did you know?” Dillon asked, his voice breaking slightly in the middle of the last word.