And every moment in the world drops dead just then, because they woke up and realized they’d never be as important as this one.
“It’s true,” Adam says.
Two words to change the world.
Warner steps back, hand caught in his hair. He’s rubbing his eyes, his forehead, running his hand down his mouth, his neck. He’s breathing so hard. “How?” he finally asks.
And then.
And then.
The truth.
Little by little. It’s pulled out of Adam. One word at a time. And the rest of us are looking on, and James is still sleeping, and I go silent as these two brothers have the hardest conversation I’ve ever had to watch.
SIXTY-FOUR
Warner is sitting in one corner. Adam in another. They’ve both asked to be left alone.
And they’re both staring at James.
James, who’s still just a little snoring lump.
Adam looks exhausted, but not defeated. Tired, but not upset. He looks freer. His eyebrows unfurrowed. His fists unclenched. His face is calm in a way I haven’t seen it in what feels like a long time.
He looks relieved.
As if he’d been carrying this great burden he thought might kill him. As if he’d thought sharing this truth with Warner might somehow inspire a lifelong war between him and his brand-new biological sibling.
But Warner wasn’t angry at all. He wasn’t even upset.
He was just shocked beyond belief.
One father, I think. Three brothers. Two who nearly killed each other, all because of the world they were bred in. Because of the many words, the many lies they were fed.
Words are like seeds, I think, planted into our hearts at a tender age.
They take root in us as we grow, settling deep into our souls. The good words plant well. They flourish and find homes in our hearts. They build trunks around our spines, steadying us when we’re feeling most flimsy; planting our feet firmly when we’re feeling most unsure. But the bad words grow poorly. Our trunks infest and spoil until we are hollow and housing the interests of others and not our own. We are forced to eat the fruit those words have borne, held hostage by the branches growing arms around our necks, suffocating us to death, one word at a time.
I don’t know how Adam and Warner are going to break the news to James. Maybe they won’t tell him until he’s older and able to deal with the ramifications of knowing his heritage. I don’t know what it’ll do to James to learn that his father is actually a mass murderer and a despicable human being who’s destroyed every life he’s ever touched.
No.
Maybe it’s better James doesn’t know, not just yet.
Maybe it’s enough for now that Warner knows at all.
I can’t help but find it both painful and beautiful that Warner lost a mother and gained two brothers in the same week. And though I understand that he’s asked to be left alone, I can’t stop myself from walking over to him. I won’t say a word, I promise myself. But I just want to be close to him right now.
So I sit down beside him, and lean my head against the wall. Just breathing.
“You should’ve told me,” he whispers.
I hesitate before answering. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, dropping my head. My voice. “I’m really sorry.”
Silence.
More silence.
Then.
A whisper.
“I have two brothers.”
I lift my head. Look at him.
“I have two brothers,” he says again, his voice so soft. “And I almost killed one of them.”
His eyes are focused on a point far, far from here, pinched together in pain and confusion, and something that looks like regret.
“I suppose I should’ve known,” he says to me. “He can touch you. He lives in the same sector. And his eyes have always been oddly familiar to me. I realize now that they’re shaped just like my father’s.”
He sighs.
“This is so unbearably inconvenient,” he says. “I was prepared to hate him for the rest of my life.”
I startle, surprised. “You mean . . . you don’t hate him anymore?”
Warner drops his head. His voice is so low I can hardly hear it. “How can I hate his anger,” he says, “when I know so well where it comes from?”
I’m staring at him. Stunned.
“I can well imagine the extent of his relationship with my father,” Warner says, shaking his head. “And that he has managed to survive it at all, and with more humanity than I did?” A pause. “No,” he says. “I cannot hate him. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t admire him.”
I think I might cry.
The minutes pass between us, silent and still, stopping only to hear us breathe.
“Come on,” I finally whisper, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”
Warner nods, gets to his feet, but then he stops. Confused. So tortured. He looks at Adam. Adam looks back.
They stare at each other for a long time.
“Please excuse me,” Warner says.
And I watch, astonished, as he crosses the room. Adam is on his feet in an instant, defensive, uncertain. But as Warner approaches, Adam seems to thaw.
The two are now face-to-face, and Warner is speaking.
Adam’s jaw tenses. He looks at the floor.
He nods.
Warner is still speaking.
Adam swallows, hard. He nods again.
Then he looks up.
The two of them acknowledge each other for a long moment. And then Warner places one hand on Adam’s shoulder.
I must be dreaming.
The two exchange a few more words before Warner pivots on one foot, and walks away.
SIXTY-FIVE
“What did you say to him?” I ask as soon as the elevator doors close.
Warner takes a deep breath. He says nothing.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“I’d rather not,” he says quietly.
I take his hand. Squeeze.
The elevator doors open.
“Will this be weird for you?” Warner asks. He looks surprised by his own question, as though he can’t believe he’s even asking it.
“Will what be weird?”
“That Kent and I are . . . brothers.”
“No,” I say to him. “I’ve known for a while now. It doesn’t change anything for me.”
“That’s good,” he says quietly.
I’m nodding, confused.
We’ve moved into the bedroom. We’re sitting on the bed now.
“You wouldn’t mind, then?” Warner asks.
I’m still confused.
“If he and I,” Warner says, “spent some time together?”
“What?” I ask, unable to hide my disbelief. “No,” I say quickly. “No, of course not—I think that would be amazing.”
Warner’s eyes are on the wall.
“So . . . you want to spend time with him?” I’m trying so hard to give Warner space, and I don’t want to pry, but I just can’t help myself.
“I would like to know my own brother, yes.”
“And James?” I ask.
Warner laughs a little. “Yes. And James.”
“So you’re . . . happy about this?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I am not unhappy.”
I climb into his lap. Cup his face in my hands, tilting his chin up so I can see his eyes. I’m smiling a stupid smile. “I think that’s so wonderful,” I tell him.
“Do you?” He grins. “How interesting.”
I nod. Over and over again. And I kiss him once, very softly.
Warner closes his eyes. Smiles slightly, his cheek dimpled on one side. He looks thoughtful now. “How strange this has all become.”
I feel like I might die of happiness.
Warner picks me up off his lap, lays me back on the b
ed. Crawls over me, on top of me. “And why are you so thrilled?” he asks, trying not to laugh. “You’re practically buoyant.”
“I want you to be happy,” I tell him, my eyes searching his. “I want you to have a family. I want you to be surrounded by people who care about you,” I say. “You deserve that.”
“I have you,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. His eyes shut.
“You should have more than me.”
“No,” he whispers. He shakes his head. His nose grazes mine.
“Yes.”
“What about you? And your parents?” he asks me. “Do you ever want to find them?”
“No,” I say quietly. “They were never parents to me. Besides, I have my friends.”
“And me,” he says.
“You are my friend,” I tell him.
“But not your best friend. Kenji is your best friend.”
I try so hard not to laugh at the jealousy in his voice. “Yes, but you’re my favorite friend.”
Warner leans in, bypasses my lips. “Good,” he whispers, kissing my neck. “Now flip over,” he says. “On your stomach.”
I stare at him.
“Please,” he says. Smiles.
I do. Very slowly.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, turning to look at him.
He gentles my body back down.
“I want you to know,” he says, pulling on the zipper holding this suit together, “how much I value your friendship.” The seam is coming apart and my skin is now open to the elements; I bite back a shiver.
The zipper stops at the base of my spine.
“But I’d like you to reconsider my title,” Warner says. He drops a soft kiss in the middle of my back. Runs his hands up my skin and pushes the sleeves off my shoulders, leaving kisses against my shoulder blades, the back of my neck. “Because my friendship,” he whispers, “comes with so many more benefits than Kenji could ever offer.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t.
“Don’t you think?” Warner asks.
“Yes,” I say too quickly. “Yes.”
And then I’m spinning, lost in sensations, and wondering how soon we’ll be losing these moments, and wondering how long it’ll be before we’ll have them again.
I don’t know where we’re going, he and I, but I know I want to get there. We are hours and minutes reaching for the same second, holding hands as we spin forward into new days and the promise of something better.
But though we’ll know forward and we’ve known backward, we will never know the present. This moment and the next one and even the one that would’ve been right now are gone, already passed, and all we’re left with are these tired bodies, the only proof that we’ve lived through time and survived it.
It’ll be worth it, though, in the end.
Fighting for a lifetime of this.
SIXTY-SIX
It took one day.
“I want one.” I’m staring at the gun wall in the training room. “Which one is the best one?”
Delalieu arrived just this morning to deliver the news. The supreme has arrived. He’s been transported from the ocean by jet, but he’s now staying on one of Sector 45’s army ships, stationed at the dock.
His guard is close behind. And his armies will be following soon.
Sometimes I’m not so sure we’re not going to die.
“You don’t need a gun,” Warner says to me, surprised. “You can certainly have one, but I don’t think you need one.”
“I want two.”
“All right,” he laughs. But he’s the only one.
Everyone else is frozen in the moments before fear takes over. We’re all cautiously optimistic, but concerned nonetheless. Warner has already assembled his troops, and the civilians have already been notified; if they want to join us, a station has been set up to provide weapons and ammunition. All they have to do is present their RR cards to prove they are residents of Sector 45, and they will be granted amnesty. Shelters and relief centers have been created in the soldiers’ barracks to stow away any remaining men, women, and children who cannot, or will not, join the battle. They will be allowed to take refuge here, and wait out the bloodshed.
These extra efforts were all coordinated by Warner.
“What if he just bombs everyone again?” Ian asks, breaking the silence. “Just like he did with Omega Point?”
“He won’t,” Warner says to him. “He’s too arrogant, and this war has become personal. He’ll want to toy with us. He’ll want to draw this out as long as possible. He is a man who has always been fascinated by the idea of torture. This is going to be fun for him.”
“Yeah, that’s making me feel real good,” Kenji says. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Anytime,” Warner says.
Kenji almost laughs. Almost.
“So he’s staying in another ship?” Winston asks. “Here?”
“This is my understanding, yes,” Warner says. “Normally he would stay on base, but as we are currently the enemy, it’s become a bit of a problem. Apparently he’s also granted sector clearance to soldiers across the country in order to have them join him. He has his own elite guard, as well as the soldiers who maintain the capital, but he’s also collecting men from around the nation. It’s all for show,” Warner says. “We are not so vast in number that he’d need that many men. He just wants to terrify us.”
“Well, it’s working,” Ian says.
“And you’re sure,” I ask Warner, “that he won’t be on the battlefield? You’re positive?” This is the part of the plan that’s the most important. The most critical.
Warner nods.
Anderson never fights in his own wars. He never shows his face. And we’re relying on his cowardice to be our biggest advantage. Because while he might be able to anticipate an attempt on his life, we’re hoping he won’t be able to anticipate invisible attackers.
Warner has to oversee the troops. Castle, Brendan, Winston, Lily, Alia, and Adam will be supporting him. James will be staying behind on base.
But me and Kenji are going to the source.
And right now, we’re ready to go. We’re suited up, armed, and highly caffeinated.
I hear the sound of a gun being reloaded.
Spin around.
Warner is looking at me.
It’s time to go.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Kenji grabs my arm.
Everyone else is going up and out of Warner’s room, but Kenji and I will head out the back way, alerting no one to our presence. We want everyone, even the soldiers, to think we are in the midst of battle. We don’t want to show up only to disappear; we don’t want anyone to notice we’re missing.
So we stand back and watch as our friends load into the elevator to go up to the main floor. James is still waving as the doors close and leave him behind.
My heart stops for a second.
Kenji kisses James good-bye. It’s an obnoxious, noisy kiss, right on top of his head. “Watch my back, okay?” he says to James. “If anyone comes in here, I want you to kick the shit out of them.”
“Okay,” James says. He’s laughing to pretend he’s not crying.
“I’m serious,” Kenji says. “Just start whaling on them. Like just go batshit.” He makes a weird fighting motion with his hands. “Get super crazy,” he says. “Beat the crazy with crazy—”
“No one is going to come in here, James,” I say, shooting a sharp look at Kenji. “You won’t have to worry about defending yourself. You’re going to be perfectly safe. And then we’ll come back.”
“Really?” he asks, turning his eyes on me. “All of you?”
Smart kid.
“Yes,” I lie. “All of us are going to come back.”
“Okay,” he whispers. He bites down on his trembling lip. “Good luck.”
“No tears necessary,” Kenji says to him, wrapping him up in a ferocious hug. “We’ll be back soon.”
James nods.
Kenji breaks a
way.
And then we head out the door in the gun wall.
The first part, I think, is going to be the hardest. Our trek to the port will be made entirely on foot, because we can’t risk stealing vehicles. Even if Kenji could make the tank invisible, we’d have to abandon it in its visible form, and an extra, unexpected tank stationed at the port would be too much of a giveaway.
Anderson must have his place completely guarded.
Kenji and I don’t speak as we move. When Delalieu told us the supreme would be stationed at the port, Kenji immediately knew where it was. So did Warner and Adam and Castle and just about everyone except for me. “I spent some time on one of those ships,” Kenji said. “Just for a bit. For bad behavior.” He smiled. “I know my way around.”
So I’m holding on to his arm and he’s leading the way.
There’s never been a colder day, I think. Never been more ice in the air.
This ship looks like a small city; it’s so enormous I can’t even see the end of it. We scan the perimeter, attempting to gauge exactly how difficult it’ll be to infiltrate the premises.
Extremely difficult.
Nearly impossible.
These are Kenji’s exact words.
Sort of.
“Shit,” he says. “This is ridiculous. I have never seen this level of security before. This is backed up,” he says.
And he’s right. There are soldiers everywhere. On land. At the entrance. On deck. And they’re all so heavily armed it makes me feel stupid with my two handguns and the simple holster swung around my shoulders.
“So what do we do?”
He’s quiet a moment. “Can you swim?”
“What? No.”
“Shit.”
“We can’t just jump in the ocean, Kenji—”
“Well it’s not like we can fly.”
“Maybe we can fight them?”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind? You think we can take on two hundred soldiers? I know I am an extremely attractive man, J, but I am not Bruce Lee.”
“Who’s Bruce Lee?”
“Who’s Bruce Lee?” Kenji asks, horrified. “Oh my God. We can’t even be friends anymore.”
“Why? Was he a friend of yours?”
“You know what,” he says, “just stop. Just—I can’t even talk to you right now.”
Shatter Me Complete Collection Page 94