You Won't See Me Coming

by Kristen Orlando

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

  The first thing I hear when I enter the hospital room is the sound of a steady heartbeat. The curtain around his bed is pulled. I have yet to see his face. But just hearing that sound, knowing he’s alive, brings my hands to my warm cheeks and tears to my exhausted eyes.

  I carefully pull back the curtain, and those tears begin to well at the sight of him lying in bed asleep, his wounds wrapped in bandages. He stirs at the sound of the curtains scraping against the metal bar. His eyelids flutter and finally I’m greeted by his pale blue eyes. They shine and smile before his lips do.

  “Hey,” Luke says, his voice scratchy, his dimples folding at the center of his cheeks as his mouth curls into a cockeyed grin.

  “Hi,” I answer quietly, taking a few guarded steps toward him, trying not to bump the bed or monitors or wires coming from his body. “Am I allowed to hug you?”

  “Of course,” he answers, opening up his uninjured right arm and pulling my body toward him. I carefully wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. Even though he smells like a sterile hospital gown, I still get the faint smell of cinnamon.

  “Are you real?” I ask, my words muffled against his shoulder.

  “Yes,” he says back, softly placing his right hand on the back of my head. “Are you real?”

  “I am,” I say and nuzzle my nose into the skin on his neck, just to make sure.

  I’m alive. He’s alive. We’re safe.

  Luke squeezes my body against his, providing the catalyst for more tears. This time, I don’t try to force them down. The impossibility of all of this has made me a weepy mess and I just don’t give a shit. I turn toward Luke, and as my brown eyes connect with his two pools of cornflower blue, a tear breaks free. He smiles at me, gently touching my cheek with the back of his hand before wiping the tear away with his thumb.

  “I’ve missed those eyes,” I say, realizing it’s the first time I’ve seen him without colored contacts since we entered the Shadow Program.

  “And I’ve missed yours,” he whispers. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because you’re actually here,” I whisper back, carefully placing my hand on his chest. Another tear falls and I shake my head. “I was certain you were dead. I saw you get shot. And then I saw the article in the Columbus Dispatch. You were dead and now … you’re here. In front of me. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “I know,” he says, his thumb blotting away another rogue tear. “They got me good in the shoulder. Enough to draw a lot of blood, so I thought if I fell just right, maybe they’d think they killed me and leave me there. So I collapsed and played dead. It was absolute torture listening to them take you away. It took every ounce of strength in me to just lie there and not run after you. But I knew if they thought I was dead, it was the only way I could get to your father. The only way I could really save you.”

  “They wouldn’t have let you leave those woods alive,” I answer, confirming that he did the right thing. “Your parents know you’re okay, right? They never saw the Dispatch article.”

  “Yes, they know I’m fine,” Luke answers, nodding his head. “I had surgery in Iowa and then the Black Angels made sure I got taken by medical plane here so they could keep a watch on me. The article wasn’t real so they never had a reason to be alarmed. We owe Cam like a big cake or something. He’s the real hero in all this.”

  Dad and Sam explained to me on the plane that it was actually Cam who figured out that Browning was the mole. After months of hacking into confidential files using all of Browning’s credentials, he was on her server the day we were taken and saw some weird activity. So he started tracking her and told Dad he suspected she might be the mole. Cam and my father were the only two Black Angels who knew that Luke was alive and Harper and I were kidnapped. So the two of them doctored up an article saying Luke was dead. With Cam’s hacker magic, they put it on the server for Browning to find. And sure enough, she found it and sent it to an email address that Cam traced to Colombia. They started following her every movement on the server and around CORE. And when she made up some bullshit excuse about taking time off between Christmas and New Year’s, Sam and Dad followed her to Colombia, certain it would lead them to us.

  “I can’t wait to see him,” I say with a small smile. “I’m going to knock him to the ground I’m going to hug him so hard.”

  Luke stifles a laugh and pulls on my arm, drawing my body onto his bed.

  “Lie with me,” he says quietly. And so I do. I climb into an empty spot on the bed next to him, wrap my weary arms around his waist, and rest my head on his chest, his heart pounding against my ear.

  Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

  I close my eyes and feel suddenly sleepy, hypnotized by that sweet and steady sound, that metronome of life. Luminous warmth explodes at my core, rushing through me until it reaches every part of me, the top of my skull and the arches of my feet. The sensation almost startles me, but then I realize: this is what it feels like to be happy. I haven’t felt it in so long.

  As my mind begins to fade into that gray space, somewhere between asleep and awake, Luke rests his chin on the top of my head. I feel his chest rise against my cheek, taking in a heavy breath.

  “What is it?” I whisper, opening my eyes and tilting my face up at him.

  “I know it was horrible for you to think I was dead,” Luke says, staring out onto the gray December day outside his hospital window. “But it was terrifying for me not to know if they’d reach you in time. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life, hearing you scream as I lay on the ground. And then of course the hours that followed. Trying to figure out where you were, just hoping you were still alive.”

  “I’m here,” I whisper, hugging him tighter across his waist, nestling my face against his chest, breathing in his scent.

  “I know,” he says, kissing the top of my forehead.

  “You ran after me again, Luke,” I whisper, realizing how many times this boy has put his life on the line for me. “And even though I’m happy right now, even though we’re both safe and alive and together, I still can’t help but wish you had gone to that AP bio class. I will always wish you were at West Point and not a part of this dark life.”

  “Well, I never will,” Luke answers quickly, pulling me up from the warm cave of his arm and chest. He holds me by the shoulder with his good hand, his eyes both warm and serious. “Even with all that’s happened, I don’t regret a thing. Because it means that I’m with you.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Really,” Luke says. “I love you, Reagan. I’ve always loved you. And I never want to lose you.”

  My heart pounds spastic beats of joy, my body surprisingly light under the weight of the heavy words I both longed and feared to hear. Because loving me is so complicated and inconvenient and chaotic. And I only want Luke to be happy. But maybe this is his happy. Maybe this really is where he’s supposed to be.

  Luke wipes away a fresh tear that has fallen from my eye as my mouth begins to form the words I thought were lost forever, buried next to Luke in the snow.

  “I love you too,” I say, my voice trembling against my throat. I stare up into Luke’s striking face, and the future that was shattered by Fernando begins to rise. Jagged, colorful edges find their missing puzzle piece and in all of those maybe memories, again and again, I see Luke.

  Luke’s full lips slowly rise into a smile as his fingertips brush gently against my cheek, comb through my hair, and find the back of my neck. My entire body buzzes as he pulls me toward him, resting his forehead against mine.

  “I never thought I’d hear you say that,” he whispers, his long eyelashes brushing against my own. “Will you say it again?”

  “I love you, Luke,” I whisper, pulling my mouth toward his. And just before our lips touch, I breathe in the familiar scent that we somehow create together. Milk and honey. He leans into me, his mouth brushing against mine, and I fall hel
pless and hopeful into his kiss.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Slay, girl! Look at that sexy new haircut,” I hear a familiar female voice call out as I near the cafeteria at CORE. A long wolf whistle follows. I turn around and see Anusha and Cam rounding the corner by the intel center and coming toward me.

  “Oh my God,” I yell and take off running. I sprint past other trainees and senior leaders and trainers and once I reach them, it takes serious restraint not to tackle my friends to the ground. Instead, I throw my arms around both of their shoulders, bringing them in for a hug. I squeeze them hard against me, pulling their breaths from their bodies and sparking a round of laughter. “I have missed you guys so much.”

  “We’ve missed you so much,” Anusha says, her dark ringlets tickling my chin as she enfolds me against her strong frame.

  “PS: thanks for freaking saving our lives,” I reply, pulling out of our shared embrace and patting Cam on his warm cheek.

  “Hey, I learned from the best rule breaker out there,” Cam answers with a small smile.

  “Seriously,” I say, letting go of Anusha and grabbing Cam by his shoulders. I look up into his teddy-bear-brown eyes so he knows that I’m serious. “If it wasn’t for you figuring out that Browning was the mole, Harper and I would probably be in Fernando’s incinerator right now. So thank you.”

  Cam’s jovial smile falls and he pulls my body into his big frame for another hug. “You’re welcome,” he says quietly, squeezing me hard for an extra second and kissing the top of my head before letting me go.

  “I always knew I hated that bitch,” Anusha says after a heavy, emotional beat, causing Cam and me both to laugh. “No seriously. She was always a total see-you-next-Tuesday.”

  “A what?” Cam asks, arching a confused eyebrow up at Anusha. “What’s a see-you-next-Tuesday?”

  “Oh God,” Anusha says and rolls her amber eyes. “You Black Angel kids are so sheltered. Must I teach you everything?”

  “This is what happens when you spend every free moment of your life learning criminal psychology or how to knock someone out with just a metal pipe,” I answer, linking my arm through Anusha’s as we walk toward the cafeteria. “Which did happen to come in handy at the Torres compound.”

  “Well, thank God you’re okay,” Anusha says, pulling tighter on my arm and kissing me on the cheek. “And honestly, I’m really digging the blond.” She runs her hands through my hair, playing with a thick strand.

  “Seriously?” I ask, taken aback. “I hate it. I can’t wait to go back to being a brunette.”

  “Are you allowed to go back to your old look?” Cam asks as we get in line for food. The lunch menu on the chalkboard reads, Lemon Chicken, Herbed Risotto, and Fresh Vegetables. Yum. Finally, some real food that isn’t from a convenience store or possibly poisoned by a serial killer.

  “I’m waiting to find out. They just released Luke from the hospital this morning and we have a meeting later with some of the senior leaders,” I answer and grab a tray. “I had debriefings all day yesterday with Homeland Security and the State Department and the CIA. But from what I’ve been told, with Fernando dead, the cartel is starting to fall apart. All the Torres brothers are dead. A CIA and Black Angel task force just arrested the last remaining high-ranking officers in the cartel last night. They think it will just break up into a bunch of small cartels and we won’t really be on their radar anymore. They’re even letting Harper go home today.”

  “They don’t think there’s still a threat against her?” Anusha asks, carefully picking out a roll from the breadbasket with a pair of tongs.

  “I mean, everyone with any power is either in jail or dead,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “They’re going to have a watcher on her and her family for a couple months just as a precaution, but they’re pretty sure she’s in the clear.”

  “What about you and Luke?” Cam asks, accepting a full plate of food from one of the cooks behind the line. “What’s going on? Are they keeping you in the Shadow Program? Are they going to let you guys back in here?”

  “God, I hope they do!” Anusha practically screams, throwing her head back with frustration. “Lex Morgan has become even more of a monster without you here to shut her the hell up.”

  “Anusha, I can hear you, you know,” Lex yells, a few people away in the lunch line.

  “I know you can,” Anusha yells back, leaning forward and looking past the other trainees. “Why do you think I said it?”

  “Oh man, how I’ve missed you and your mouth,” I chuckle and follow my friends to our old spot in the CORE cafeteria.

  Over lunch, they catch me up on Qualifiers and how another round of cuts should be coming soon. They debate who is in and who is out. Who is being super annoying and sucking up to all the trainers (Lex) while making life completely miserable in the dorms (also Lex). We talk about their Christmas at CORE and how they wish we could all go out in DC for New Year’s Eve.

  “Are you okay, Reagan?” Cam says, finally asking me the question floating above both their heads like a cartoon thought bubble, while we’ve been talking about everything and nothing. I follow his eyes as they look over the cuts on my face and finally land on the deep purple bruises around my wrists. Part of me wants to take my hands off the table, tuck them away so people cannot see what has happened to me. I don’t know why my first instinct is to hide these scars. But I fight it. I leave my hands on the table. I let the world see my bruises, my cuts, the trauma branded on my body.

  “I’ve been scared to say something,” Anusha says, her voice just as soft as Cam’s. “But you’re like a sister and we worry. You think you’re going to be okay?”

  I take in a breath, trying to suppress the terror that lingers just below my skin. Trauma is a hard thing to erase. Feeling like you’re going to die is something that’s impossible to forget. The cuts and bruises from the beatings at the hands of Fernando’s assassins will eventually fade. The emotional scars? I don’t know if those will ever go away. But I’m trying to be grateful for everything and every moment. Because if I don’t, if I let myself wander back into the black like I did after Mom died, I’m not sure I’ll make it back this time.

  “I don’t know,” I answer, my voice shaky. “I think I will be. Or at least I’m going to try like hell to be okay.”

  Help me, Mom. Help me.

  It’s moments like this that I really wish she were here to put her arm around my shoulder and kiss my cheek. To tell me everything is going to be all right. I want so desperately for those words to be true. I want so badly to be okay. To be happy even.

  “You’re never going to forget what’s happened, Reagan,” Anusha says, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. “But this doesn’t have to be your story. And if there’s anything we can do to help you make sure of that, we’re here.”

  “I know,” I say, squeezing her hand, pushing down the tears threatening in my throat. “I don’t want to be the girl everyone here feels bad for. I don’t want all this pain to destroy me.”

  “So don’t let it,” Cam says, touching me gently on the arm.

  I nod my head and stare down at the table. It’d be so easy to become the victim. To be the girl everyone whispers about. I want to be the girl who walked through fire, who dove into the deepest, coldest ocean of grief, and fought her way up to the surface, fought to survive.

  “Reagan,” a voice from behind me says, causing my body to jump. I turn around and see Thomas Crane, one of the senior leaders at CORE, standing behind me dressed in an official-looking suit and tie. “Sorry to interrupt your lunch. But we need to see you and Luke in the Tribunal. Can you come with me?”

  “Of course,” I answer, slowly standing up from my seat, my stomach forming a weighty knot at the thought of stepping in front of the Tribunal again.

  “We’ll see you later,” Anusha says, her inflection forming almost a question rather than a statement.

  “I hope,” I say quietly before turning around and leaving my friends
.

  I follow Thomas out of the cafeteria and through the West Hall, where we pass a few trainees and Black Angel agents, each of whom greets me with a pat on the shoulder or a “Welcome back.” I have no idea who really knows where I’ve been or what just happened to me. “Welcome back.” It’s just a friendly, go-to greeting. But as I walk around the intel center and down the East Hall, the insides of my palms begin to prick, my mind racing. Are we back? Or will we be put back out into the world, forced to take on yet another set of new identities? And if we are welcomed again into the Black Angels, do I even want to be here? Do I really want to live this life of darkness again?

  As we approach the Tribunal Chamber, I see Luke seated on the steel bench outside, dressed in khakis and a light-blue button-down shirt, his injured arm in a sling, waiting for our turn behind those double doors.

  “Wait here, please,” Thomas says, pointing at the empty seat next to Luke. I slide next to him, the cool metal soaking into the yoga pants I borrowed from Sam this morning. (Oh, how I miss my clothes. But at least these were clean.) Thomas pulls at the handle and slips into the chamber, leaving us alone in the empty hallway. The door closes, its loud, metallic clank echoing through the cavernous underground bunker.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever hear that sound again,” I answer, my stomach still folding into itself, like kneaded dough. Luke reads the worry on my face and slips his right hand through mine, squeezing it three times.

  “Me too,” he replies as I begin to count the familiar gobs of paint on the cinder-block walls.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  The door opens again and I quickly stand, preparing myself to be ushered in. But instead, it’s Harper who comes out from the other side.

  “It’s you,” I squeal, throwing my arms around her. We were separated during debriefings and I haven’t seen her in over twenty-four hours. “I didn’t know if we were going to get a chance to say good-bye.”