Riders

by Veronica Rossi

  “What are you doing here, Gideon? Why aren’t you at home?”

  What she meant was why aren’t you bedridden, but I took the questions at face value. “I thought you could look after me here. That way you don’t have to miss any classes.” Then I nodded at her phone, ready to leave the subject of my non-injuries behind. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  She shrugged, smoothing her hands on her pajama pants. I’d given them to her the same Christmas from the photo. Red flannel with Eiffel Towers stamped all over them because her dream was to study in Paris. My sister was an artist. Growing up, Anna made beautiful collectible drawings and paintings and pottery. I broke shit. Bikes, bats, surfboards. Hearts. Just kidding on that last one.

  “Oh. Just stuff with Wyatt,” she said.

  “Wyatt?” I knew the guy. He was a spoiled idiot from a private high school near our hometown. He and Anna started dating senior year when they met in a mock-Senate club. I was pissed when I found out he was coming to the same college. High school should’ve been the end of Wyatt Sinclair. “I thought you broke up with that loser.”

  “I did break up with him,” Anna said. “It was mutual. I mean, we decided to end it together. He said he wanted a time-out so I gave it to him.”

  “Like he’s a freakin’ toddler? That kind of time-out?”

  Anna ignored that. “He thought we were getting too serious. He said he wanted to ‘experience college.’” She made air quotes. “I thought we were really done. I know he’s been with other girls since. But we were technically on a break, so it shouldn’t matter, right?”

  What technically mattered was that Wyatt was an ass, but Anna clearly didn’t see it that way. I looked around at the pile of clothes thrown over her chair and the coffee mug on her desk. I couldn’t believe I was talking relationships with her when I’d fallen out of a plane a week ago. And had no injuries to show for it.

  Anna lifted her phone. “He just called and said he was wrong about leaving me. He said he made a terrible error in judgment and that he wants me back.”

  “And you told him to screw himself, right?”

  “I love him, G.”

  “Anna. My ears.”

  She laughed. “Okay, maybe not. But I do like him. He’s smart and he treated me well when we were together. He’s coming over to talk. I feel like I should at least hear him out.”

  “He’s really coming over? That’s great! My fist is dying to talk to his face.”

  “No, Gideon.” Anna’s smile disappeared. “Stay out of this. It’s my business.”

  As I stared into her eyes, I wondered if this was my fault. When our dad died I was always gone, off on my own. Camping. Driving. Just hiding out alone. I couldn’t be around anyone. I didn’t trust myself to be. But my sister had needed someone in those days like I’d needed no one, and Wyatt Sinclair had been there for her. He’d stepped in and been her someone, and if there was one thing I understood, it was that grief was an opponent you didn’t play fair with. You did whatever it took to not let it beat you. You fought dirty against grief, period. So I understood. Anna didn’t love Wyatt. She loved that he’d been there for her during the worst time in her life.

  “What is that?” Anna pulled my sleeve up before I could stop her. “Is that a cuff?”

  “Yeah, so?” I tugged it back down. “Can’t I wear jewels?”

  “It’s called jewelry, for one. And you can’t hate it your whole life and suddenly start liking it.”

  “I don’t hate jewelry.” I just didn’t like having anything on me that didn’t have a reason to be there.

  “Hogwash. You don’t even wear belts.”

  True. Belts and bracelets shared a lot of DNA, in my view. I’d avoided them up until recently. In the Army, belts were a must.

  Anna suddenly looked like she’d won the state lottery. “You met someone! You did, didn’t you?”

  I’d never had a girlfriend, officially, and for some reason that made my mom and Anna lose their minds. In general we Blake twins were pretty screwed up when it came to relationships. Anna stayed in a bad one. I avoided them completely.

  “Easy there, Banana. It’s called an XT3 Band. It stands for Experimental Therapy Band, third generation. Highly classified so that’s all I can tell you.”

  I said all this, but I still had no idea what the cuff really was. Maybe I was right?

  “Seriously, what’s her name?”

  “You know how I feel about this. If I wanted a commitment, I’d get a dog.”

  “Wow.” She reached for a black pillow decorated with a big sparkly skull and hugged it. “So romantic.”

  I made a face, because who the hell wanted to be a romantic? Then I couldn’t look past the skull pillow. “Tell me something, sis. Why do we have to make skulls cute? Some things shouldn’t be messed with. Guns, for example. Toilets … toilet paper … guns … They should just stay functional. Sparkle-free.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. If I had a bedazzled toilet, I’d love it and so would you. Don’t even try to deny it. You’d love a fancy can.”

  I did deny it, which led to a healthy debate. Trivial discussions were the bread-and-butter of our relationship and it felt good to just be with my sister—until someone knocked on the door. Anna stopped mid-sentence and vaulted off the bed. Douche bag had just arrived.

  “Hey, Pooh Bear,” I heard him drawl in the living room. All pet names were inherently ridiculous but that one took first place. “How are you?”

  “Honestly, I’ve been better,” Anna replied.

  “I know,” Wyatt murmured. “Me too. But I’m better now that I’m with you. I’ve missed you, Pooh.”

  I grabbed the sparkly skull pillow and dug my fingers into it. Ignore, Blake. Ignore. “I don’t know if I can do this again, Wy. How am I supposed to believe you really want to be with me? Or that you’ll stay with me this time?”

  You’re not, Anna. Move on.

  “We’ll just take it one day at a time. You know I never stopped caring about you.” He lowered his voice. “Anna, the others girls were nothing to me. They didn’t mean anything. Not like you do.”

  No.… Did he really just say that?

  I flew off the bed.

  “Stop right there,” Anna said, the instant I crossed the door.

  I did what she said and leaned against the doorjamb. Seeing Anna upset had sidelined my own problems for a little bit, but now that sharp, tangible buzz of anger was back, seething from under my skin. I couldn’t even fight it. This was about my sister. My self-control was under siege.

  Wyatt gaped at me, taking a half step back. “Your brother is here, Anna? I thought he was hurt.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, jackass.” Well, that came out. But I didn’t care. Wyatt might have been good to Anna in the past but he was taking advantage of that.

  “I told you to stay out of this, Gideon,” Anna said.

  “Yes! Stay out of this please.” Wyatt pushed a hand through his preppy hair. As a general rule, I didn’t like guys who styled their hair like they just woke up. Messiness should never be a goal. It should be a consequence. “God, Anna. I don’t think this is going to work. How are we supposed to talk with him around?”

  “I didn’t know he was coming down here, Wyatt. I’m sorry.”

  Was she actually apologizing to him?

  You’re not sorry, Anna. You are pissed off.

  Anna shook her head like she was shuffling her thoughts. “Wait a minute. You’ve been messing around with other girls for the past month and you’re mad that my brother is here?”

  Now, that was more like it.

  Wyatt frowned, clearly surprised by the pushback. “I thought we were trying to fix things, Pooh Bear. He’s going to interfere with that.”

  “I’m not interfering. I’m just standing here.” I smiled.

  “See? He’s already doing it. Anna, I thought you wanted to be with me. Maybe I was wrong.”

  What a load of guilt-tripping crap. Don’t
stand for it, Anna.

  “This was a mistake, Wyatt.” She opened the apartment door. “I think you should go.”

  Wyatt stepped toward her, turning his back to me. “I came here because I want you back in my life,” he said in a hushed voice. “But we’re never going to figure this out if you’re going to be irrational.”

  Irrational? That sounded good to me. Let it rip, sis.

  Anna slapped him across the cheek. Wyatt’s head whipped to the side. For a few seconds, no one breathed. We all just stood there, hearing that fleshy echo, until Anna said, “Leave, Wyatt. Now.”

  He shot me an accusatory glare, like he suspected I was behind Anna’s actions. I was less suspicious. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d influenced Anna’s behavior. Somehow, I’d focused my anger on her and propelled her through the entire thing. But how was that even possible?

  After Wyatt left, Anna fell back against the door. “What did I just do?”

  “You took care of business. You don’t need that moron in your life, sis. You did the right thing.”

  “I hit him.” She looked at her hand like it wasn’t part of her. “I slapped him.”

  “You were nicer than I would’ve been.”

  Anna shook her head, her eyes welling up. “That doesn’t help, Gideon.” Then she darted past me into her room and slammed the door.

  I reached for the handle just as the lock clicked. “Open the door. Come on, Anna. It’s his loss, sis.” I could hear her crying inside—one of the worst sounds in the world for me. “Anna … let me in,” I tried again, but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen for a long while.

  Excellent. I’d succeeded in making her more upset. Now what?

  Behind me, I heard the quiet scuff of keys as someone entered the apartment. That had to be Anna’s roommate, Taylor. The last thing I wanted was another bizarre social interaction, so.

  I hustled to the balcony, climbed down, and took off.

  CHAPTER 8

  Like I said, moving helps to clear my head. Running’s always been something I’ve been pretty good at. It made RASP easier for me than for a lot of other guys. By easier I mean less excruciating. Sometimes around the five-mile mark, I hit the runner’s high. For me the feeling is actually mellow—real quiet and steady—but as I picked up a trail heading away from the dorms into the hills around campus, I doubted I’d find that steadiness. I had too much to figure out. The fast healing. The mystery metal on my wrist. My newfound ability to, what? Make people angry?

  I already had that. I didn’t need to get any better at it.

  Nothing made sense and I had nothing, no theories. I didn’t hit any mental dead ends because I didn’t even have roads. I ended up thinking about the months just before my dad died because that was a trick my brain liked to do, pulling memories from behind my ear and presenting them to me like a bad magician.

  This one was a baseball memory, right after my last game junior year. My Jeep had broken down and everyone else had already gone home, so Dad and I were stranded at the field. We called Anna, who was bringing jumper cables in my dad’s work truck, then went back to the baseball diamond to wait.

  We sat in the home team dugout together, watching the sun sink behind the scoreboard. The infield was freshly groomed, the chalk lines dragged clean, the bases put away. I thought about how something had clicked for me that season. I’d upped my game on every level and already been approached by a couple recruiters—small colleges that wanted me—but I knew I’d do better. I had the grades I needed and enough talent. Effort was the last piece, and that was where I really kicked ass. Come spring, I’d have a scholarship offer from a big school.

  It’d been a dream for a long time. That night it felt attainable. Everything seemed possible to me in that moment. Everything did. And as we waited for Anna to show up, I told my dad what I wanted. What I was going to do.

  When I finished, I remember he looked at me for a long moment. I felt like he was seeing a man sitting there with him, not just his son. Then he’d smiled and said, “I could go for another four years in the stands.”

  He believed I could do it. My fate seemed sealed. In a way, it almost felt achieved already. My dream was going to happen. Except he died six weeks later and I never set foot on a baseball diamond again.

  Anyway.

  You can probably guess that thinking about my dad didn’t improve my mood. He wasn’t around and never would be again, but he was one person I’d always been able to talk to about anything. I could’ve used that right then. Without that option, I ran until my shirt was soaked with sweat and I’d put five miles behind me.

  I stopped as I reached the top of a hill. The setting sun turned the sky red, and campus spread out below me. Up until then I’d barely noticed the cuff on my wrist. Wearing it felt as comfortable as wearing nothing and it shouldn’t have been that way, considering I didn’t like things on me, and how hefty and snug it was. But now, as I cooled down and focused on it, I felt the slightest buzzing sensation, a beehive kind of drone humming up my arm.

  That was enough for me. I had a feeling this piece of metal was responsible for everything. Time for it to go. I grabbed the first big rock I saw, braced my arm on the dirt, and slammed the rock down.

  A scream detonated in my ears—high-pitched, terrible. Like someone getting murdered. At the same time, the air rushed out of my lungs and my vision went red, bright fire red, and I face-planted into the dirt. The last thing I remember was the sound of my blood pounding in my ears.

  It sounded like the thunder of hoofbeats.

  * * *

  I think I was out for a few minutes. When I came around, the sun had just set and the sky was doing a slow bleed from red to purple. As I headed back to Anna’s, I had a nice long talk with myself about staying composed.

  Anna’s roommate, Taylor, answered the door. In the living-room area, a few people were sprawled across the two small couches, and a pyramid of empty beer cans sat on the coffee table.

  I’d already made sure my personal rage atmosphere was mild, low chance of anger. Now I followed up by sending a kind of mental message into the room before anything bad could happen.

  We’re cool. Everybody be cool. Just be calm.

  They ignored me, which was perfect, except for Taylor, who started right in with how much she’d heard about me and how much she loved Anna and how much fun they’d been having. I countered with how much I needed a shower and took myself to the bathroom. By the time I got out, my head felt clearer and I had a plan. I’d attack the situation like I’d been trained to do in the Army. Gather intelligence. Create a strategy. Execute on it. I’d figure out what was happening to me, then go about reversing it.

  Anna was at her desk when I stepped into her room. She spun in the swivel chair, sliding her cell phone into the pocket of her jacket. “Good look, little brother,” she said, tipping her chin to the pink towel around my waist. I’d been born two minutes after her and she loved to remind me that I came into this world in second place. “The girls in the apartment downstairs are having a party. Joy said she told you about it. You’re coming, right?”

  “Yeah, sure. Is Wyatt going to be there?”

  “I don’t think so.” She frowned, eyeing me more closely. “Gideon, you don’t look hurt at all. You look bigger.”

  “Yeah?” I looked at myself. All I could really see was my stomach, so I patted it. “It’s all the PT I’ve been doing.” I’d always been athletic. Army life had just honed me up more.

  “Did you do something wrong?”

  It took me a second to realize what she meant. She thought the accident was a cover? “Anna, no. I didn’t.”

  She didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds. We could always tell when the other was holding something back, which was one of the reasons I’d been gone so much over the past year. I hadn’t wanted to take any chances of dragging her down with me. Now was no different.

  I rubbed a hand over my wet hair, which was already dry because it was
a millimeter long. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s creepy.”

  “You’re creepy.” She stood. “See you downstairs.”

  “Wait. I need to call Mom.”

  “I already told her you’re here. She went atomic.” She tossed me her phone and smiled. “Have fun.”

  When she left, I pulled on jeans and sat at the desk. My first order of business was to get information. I fished some medical discharge papers out of my ruck and found the number for the Army physician overseeing my case. Because of the severity of my injuries, I had Dr. Katz’s mobile number. He answered right away.

  “Private Blake, how are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Good, sir. I’m good … maybe too good.”

  “No such thing as ‘too good’ where health is concerned. Glad to hear it.” I heard him tapping on a keyboard in the background. “Looks like we’re seeing you in a week for some follow-up exams. What can I do for you, son?”

  “Major, did you or any of the other doctors put a medical bracelet on me?”

  “You have no known allergies or preexisting medical conditions. There’s no need for an ID bracelet.”

  “Not an ID bracelet. A healing bracelet. On my left wrist?”

  “I don’t have a record of that, Private. I don’t want to discourage you, Gideon, but a magnetic bracelet won’t go far considering the severity of your injuries. Is there anything else? How’s your pain tolerance?”

  “Good, sir. Thank you. Nothing else.”

  I hung up and flipped open Anna’s laptop. The apartment had fallen quiet except for a deep, pulsing bass thrumming from Joy’s party.

  I typed one ridiculous search parameter after another.

  Unexplainable rapid healing

  Manipulating rage in others

  Mystery metal bracelets

  Just about everything turned up the same result: superhero websites.

  That was enough intelligence gathering for me.

  I shut the laptop, sat back, and laughed my ass off.