Forget Me Not

by Stacey Nash

  “Ha.” I point my stick over his heart.

  He looks up at me, flecks of amber dancing in his big green eyes like mesmerizing flames. His hand edges out from where I pinned it by his side, his unreadable gaze holds mine, boring into my soul. His hand brushes against mine on the stick, and my heart pounds in my temples with a rhythmic beat. Why did Beau send him to stop the scout at my house? Why him?

  My grip loosens around the stick, just barely. His leg wraps around mine like a lasso—BAM. He flips me over, flattening my back against the floor and pinning me between his legs. The same desire I’m sure I can see in his eyes, floods me with the urge to kiss him.

  “Gotcha.” He grins.

  “Damn it,” I say, and we both laugh.

  * * * *

  Another hard day of training, and I’m bone tired. The muscles in my legs pull like they’ll tear in half if I walk another step. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes from sliding closed. I glance out the window in my room, but it’s still too early for bed. The sun hasn’t yet snuck below the horizon when a soft knock sounds at my door. I open it, and Will pushes his way past and unceremoniously dumps himself on my bed.

  “Come in, Will, make yourself at home.”

  He rests his arms behind his head and leans back on my pillows. “How’s training?”

  “Jax is working me hard. I ache all over.”

  “Oh, poor baby.” He drops his bottom lip.

  I snatch a cushion from the window seat and peg it right at his head. “I’m actually learning heaps. I managed to pin him down today.”

  Thinking about our bodies touching sends the heat of a blush to my face.

  Will presses his lips together. “I don’t trust him, Mae.” His eyebrows draw down a second before his gaze drops to watch his fingers work at a loose thread on the pink cushion.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “Then don’t be silly.”

  He lets out a long sigh. “There’s just something about him. My instincts tell me not to trust him.”

  I look away, the guilt of not sharing the argument under the tree weighing me down. I don’t let it break me. My instincts tell me that particular conversation wouldn’t end well.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Heat burns my face where the blood rushes back to my cheeks. I like the way Jax looks at me. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I don’t like it. His eyes are always on you. He watches everything you do.”

  “He’s probably just following orders.” I scoop up the ceramic wren from the dresser. Jax is probably just putting on the show Beau ordered. Why’s Will always so darn protective, ever since that incident with Billy? It’s not like all boys are jerks.

  Will raises his eyebrows. “What?”

  “Beau asked him to guard against the risk of me running.” I turn the wren in my hand, its dark red wings stark against its cream body. Not really like a wren at all, but it saves me from having to look at him.

  Will lets out a loud, sharp laugh.

  “Guard you? More like leer at you.”

  “Stop it, Will, he’s not a creep.”

  “He wants you. It’s as obvious as my right hand.” He waves it in my face.

  “Get out!” I point to the door. He ignores me and pitches a pillow at my head. It hits me on the nose and knocks my head against the dresser. He chuckles, and I try to hold my face straight, but my mouth twitches.

  Will laughs, his dimples divoting his cheeks.

  “Shut up,” I say, and I can’t hold it in any longer. My mouth twitches higher. I laugh and can’t stop. So I run to the bed and pummel him with my fists.

  When the joke finally peters out, we’re both left red-faced and panting. Will’s hair is more tousled than ever. “You need to fix your hair,” I tell him.

  “Check out your own.”

  I smooth all the flyaway strands back into my usual ponytail. “Let’s go hang in the family room.”

  We head down. Will lounges beside me on the couch while we watch the big, old television. It’s nothing like the flat screen we have at home. This one’s square, and the reception’s like watching white fluff buzz all over the screen. It’s difficult to concentrate on the movie because all I can think of is finding a way to go home. There has to be a solution.

  “How do you like Sam?” I ask.

  “He’s a good teacher. He’s done some cool, army guerrilla style stuff.”

  “I don’t think Jax does anything like that.”

  “He’s only a kid, not an experienced warrior.” Will’s mouth twists as if at a horrible taste or a bad joke.

  I shoot him a scowl. That’s not fair. He only said it because he’s a year older, eighteen. “He’s not a kid. He’s the same age as me.”

  Will grunts.

  “Dead right he’s not a kid.” Hands stuffed in the pockets of his trademark jacket, Jax walks into the family room and lowers himself into the patched armchair, stretching his legs out in front. “Bond, James Bond.”

  Will rolls his eyes and settles back, watching the screen. “Yeah, it’s a Bond movie.”

  “You know, these shows have it all wrong,” Jax says.

  Will grunts. It’s becoming a thing. He really has to stop it.

  “There’s no way Garrett would do that.”

  “Huh. Do what?”

  “Well, check him out,” Jax says, gesturing at the screen, “rushing in, blowing up that car… there goes his cover—Garrett wouldn’t be so obvious.”

  I scoot to the edge of the couch, my gaze set on Jax. “Who’s Garrett?”

  “He’s our Bond.” He glances at me quickly, his attention drawn back to the movie. “Where do you think Hollywood got the story from? Cool guy with all that tech.” His mouth curls, and I know he’s playing with us.

  I shake my head. “Seriously, Jax?”

  “Okay, you got me. But seriously, if you want to know something… Garrett’s the guy who’ll find out. He’s freaking awesome at his job.” This time he looks me square in the eye, and winks. “Almost as good as me.”

  This guy’s their spy. Then why the heck hasn’t Beau called him in? I have to meet him, because maybe if we chat I can figure it all out. He might know a way I can fix the mess Dad and I are in. When my gaze refocuses, Jax is still smirking. “Take me to him,” I say.

  The couch cushion springs me forward as Will bolts upright, his back stiff. “No way. Last time he took you—”

  “Will, it’s a great idea. This guy could really help us.”

  “No, Mae. Nah-uh.” He shakes his head.

  Jax draws in a long, loud breath and lets it out slowly. “Beau….” He purses his lips, pauses. “No. He wouldn’t agree.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  Jax settles back in the armchair, kicking his legs up onto the footrest. “He just wouldn’t. Beau’s not ready to act. Yet. And Garrett’s his man.”

  “But surely—”

  Will sits back too. “He said no, Mae. Drop it.”

  * * * *

  The next day I find Jax perched in the big old oak at the front of the house. The place I first saw him the day we came to the farm. He lazes back in a fork of the branches, carving a short, fat chunk of wood with his blade. I haven’t really seen him outside of training much lately, other than last night’s movie. He hasn’t popped up everywhere I go like he usually does. Perhaps now Beau actually trusts me, and I no longer need a guardian. Standing at the base of the tree, I look at footholds cut into the thick trunk. Climbing up should be easy.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sure.”

  I put my foot in the first notch and pull myself up, scaling the tree with ease. The bark’s rough against my training-calloused hands. A fresh, earthy smell fills my nose; the sweet syrup of sap. It’s actually a nice smell. I climb to a spot where two branches come together at the trunk, and Jax slouches against it.

  I poke my
head around to look at him. “Strange place to hang out.”

  He shrugs. “No one bothers me here.”

  I shuffle and make to move, feeling a bit like an intruder. “Oh, sorry.”

  “No. Stay.”

  My tongue scrapes in my dry mouth. Now that I’m here it feels crazy. Maybe I shouldn’t ask him. Sitting back, I look away from him, glancing through the branches at the hills. The view from here is quite spectacular, and I catch the perfect angle, a leaf in focus up close with the rolling hills in the background. “This would make a great photo.”

  He continues shaving thin curls off the chunk of wood. “You’re into photography?”

  “Yeah, I like to muck around with nature shots; sceneries, animals, you know.”

  Clasping my hands together to stop their twitching, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The small talk’s only dragging this out. Besides, if I don’t get to the point, we’ll run out of conversation and end up sitting in our usual silence. “I want to meet Garrett.”

  His hand stills, and he peers around the trunk with a focused, curious gaze. “I already told you, no.”

  “But Beau’s not doing anything. He’s just sitting around, letting us train. I told him this was my fight.”

  “And what do you think meeting Garrett will achieve?”

  “I… ah… you said he knows stuff.”

  He laughs. “I know stuff. Have you asked Beau about Garrett?”

  I probably should have, but it just felt kind of pointless. I pluck a leaf off the closest branch and scrunch it between my fingers. “Well, no, but—”

  He laughs. “So you want me to go over his head?”

  “No, I just—”

  He laughs again, and I can’t help but feel that it’s at me. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I shimmy down out of the tree, landing on the ground with a bone-jarring thud. How the heck am I ever going to find a way out of this mess if no one wants to help me? The thought of going to Will flits out of my mind as quickly as it enters. It’s not like this is something he’d agree to.

  Screw them.

  Screw them all.

  Striding across the yard, something snags my hand, pulls me back, and I spin around, face to face with Jax.

  “Forget it, Jax,” I say. “I don’t need your help.”

  His eyes bore into mine and they hold a slight fire. Something I haven’t seen in his gaze before. “I’ll take you.”

  Blank, my thoughts are blank as he holds my gaze. “I’ll take you. Beau’s meticulous in his planning. You’re right; it’ll be a year before he pulls his plans together.”

  Chapter Nine

  A SOFT RAP SOUNDS ON my door, but I ignore it. I need to finish Mom’s letter. My gaze burns into the last sheet of paper, but for the life of me I can’t remember what’s happened this past year to tell her.

  The rap sounds again, only this time it’s louder, more insistent.

  “Not now, Dad.”

  He doesn’t stop, just knocks and knocks and knocks.

  Dear Mom

  My concentration pounds, then shatters. Argh. I can’t do this.

  I can’t even think.

  My pen, poised over the paper, refuses to move. I push against it, trying to guide the nib into an M, but it’s like the nib is glued to the page.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Heart pounding, ears ringing, the dampness of sweat cakes my whole body.

  Knock.

  My eyes spring open. It’s dark.

  Knock, knock.

  My heart beats in time with the knocks, a rapid, thudding beat.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  What does Dad want? Beating my door down in the middle of the night is a little overreactive. Surely this could have waited until morning. “What is it?”

  No answer.

  I climb out of bed and cross the room, but run into something which spears a dull jab through my thigh. With instant clarity, I know I’m not home. It’s not Dad. The shattering illusion hurts almost as much as if it were glass smashing over me. I yank open the door and find Jax standing in the hall with his fist in the air, ready to rap again. Disorientated and still half asleep, I squeal and clamp my hand over my mouth.

  He smiles that infuriating half smile, and pushes his way past me.

  “What the heck do you want at….” My gaze zips to the digital clock’s red numbers, “Three forty-five in the morning?”

  “You want to meet Garrett? Then, let’s go.”

  His eyes roam over me and the smile returns. Oh my God. I fell asleep in my T-shirt and panties, too exhausted to get changed. I dart back under the covers. His superglue gaze makes me squirm and pull them up under my chin. “Get out.”

  He smirks and walks toward the door too slowly. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

  Minutes later, I edge my door open, cursing when it creaks. Jax pulls himself off the closed door opposite mine where he leaned. It looked like he’d been sleeping on his feet. He looks so at ease, I wonder if the room behind that door is his.

  We tiptoe down the still and silent hall, our way lit by moonlight glinting off the windows. My hand finds my pendant, and I bunch the forget-me-not and excess chain in my palm almost unconsciously.

  Slipping outside, we go straight to Marcus’s workshop, the silence stretching between us natural and not awkward at all, which is unusual. The door grates along the ground as Jax pulls it open. I cringe, peering over my shoulder and hoping no one heard. He goes straight to a metal cupboard up against the far wall and forages through it. Then he pulls out a sheathed dagger and holds it out to me hilt first. Tan leather winds around the grip, but the blade is hidden beneath a black canvaslike cover. He flicks his wrist, shaking the weapon at me.

  We need weapons, just to meet with the resistance’s spy guy? My thoughts must mirror in my expression because he sighs. “Strap this to your arm; it’ll be hidden unless you need it. It’s quick to draw and light to maneuver. If you aim at the stomach, it’ll stop an attacker long enough for you to get away.”

  To get away? He’s making this sound like it’s some kind of fight. I’m grateful for his help, but can’t bite my tongue any longer. “Isn’t this guy a friend?”

  “The chances of running into trouble outside a safe house… let’s just say, it’s best to be armed.”

  “Oh.” I take the dagger from him with a trembling hand. Holding a weapon and knowing I might actually use it, for real, sends horror seeping through my tummy.

  “So we’re going to him?”

  “Not to his base. I don’t want to risk us being seen.” He glances toward to the door, his gaze averted from mine. “Going over Beau’s head… well, it’s best if he doesn’t know.”

  “Okay.” I force a smile, trying to make it look genuine, but my nerves must be written all over my face. If Beau’s anger at my sneaking home is any indication, I don’t want him to know about this either.

  Jax slides a small metal rectangle out of a pocket inside his jacket—his compacted blade. Then he strides around the workshop opening cupboards, pulling things out and shoving them in the same small backpack he took to my house. As I watch him work, my thoughts are drawn back to that day in my bedroom with the first agent.

  “Why was it you?” I ask.

  “Huh?” He raises a lone eyebrow on his otherwise expressionless face.

  “The day in my house with the scout.”

  “I was on duty.” He shrugs. “We all have to take a turn.” His gaze sweeps the room while he pushes his hair out of his face. Surely he’s not looking to take more weapons. The bag’s got to be full by now, and we can’t possibly need anything else just to meet this Garrett.

  I buckle the sheath to my forearm while we talk. “You aren’t like Sam; you’re not one of the experienced fighters, so why did they send you to my house that day?”

  “I am experienced, and I can fight, maybe even better than Sam.” His brows draw together, then smooth out as he sighs. “Look, our numbers are low. So unless we suspe
ct something brewing there’s only ever one person on duty. Especially since the scanner needs to be manned around the clock,” he says. “Besides, you never know when a cute damsel will stumble across a piece of tech and use it, alerting The Collective and putting herself in distress.” He raises an eyebrow, and the hint of a smile touches his mouth.

  “Right.” I cross my arms and stand up straighter. I was hardly in distress. He thinks he’s hilarious. He’s not.

  Well, maybe just a little.

  His eyes twinkle with an inner light, and he chuckles. “Everyone capable of fighting has to do their share of shifts, and I’m the best young resistance member. I always get the tech.” He smirks, winking at the same time. “Let’s go.”

  As he pulls the door closed behind us, I can’t help but think, once again, of all the people on the farm he was the one on duty that day. Karma or Fate?

  “Come on, Mae,” he says over his shoulder as he starts back toward the farmhouse.

  I sigh and turn to follow, confusion warring inside me. Funny or rude. Like or dislike. Attraction or repulsion. Definitely Fate. Shaking my head, I watch him stroll along in front of me. I think I do like him, even though he’s so damned difficult to figure out.

  I lengthen my strides to catch up, heading back toward the farm house. We’re going inside? I glance back over my shoulder at the workshop but can’t see his bike. Over to Beau’s pickup—a twin to Al’s—then back at Jax standing at the base of the veranda.

  “We’re porting,” he says in a loud whisper.

  I move up beside him so we don’t wake anyone and whisper much quieter than he did. “Porting?”

  “Yep. Come on.” He climbs the three steps in one stride, pulls opens the squeaking door, and motions for me to step inside.

  “Porting?” I ask again. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a bit like the sliding or gating in science fiction movies,” he says. “It bends space-time by sinking the centre and bringing the edges of the plane together. You just kind of slip from one space to another. You’ll see.”