by Kat Bastion
He flexed his hands, then tightened his hold on me as he searched my eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” His mom had been a royal bitch. I’d expected things to be tough, but we’d walked into a hornet’s nest of old wounds and scathing insecurity.
And the level of loyalty between his dysfunctional parents? Astounding. But no different than other fucked-up parents I’d been shocked by...and had forcefully chosen to forget. All through dinner, I’d battled hard to keep all that trauma locked down tight.
I glanced toward the glow of the city. “But a horrible movie and ice cream might make it better.”
The tiniest quiver lifted the corner of his mouth upward. The beginnings of a smile.
There you are. I grinned, my heart warming already. “Let’s go have some real fun.”
“Thought this was supposed to be my day.”
I nodded and looped my arm around his, tugging him back toward his truck. The night was crisp and clear, and I drew in a refreshing breath. “It is. We can make it legal. Just like Monday was your day, but you gifted the choice to me. And you gave me multiple-choice options.”
He yanked open his stubborn truck door, cocked his head and stared at me, mulling the idea over.
I dropped my hands on my hips. “Did you have any other plans?”
“Not a single one.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m trying to decide how long you’ve known how to have fun while not breaking the law.”
“Ha ha. Not every bit of fun involves stealing and trespassing.”
His broad smile finally came. Like a giant gotcha!
I didn’t know if that’d been his plan all along, to get me to admit that. But he seemed proud of me.
“Sooo...what are my choices?” His brows raised slightly.
I blasted out the first quirky assortment that popped into my brain. “Quaker village, chocolate factory tour, self-guided independence walk.”
He blinked, then glanced at his watch. “Those can all happen after 8:30 p.m.?”
Dammit. I scowled. “No.” Which meant we couldn’t do any of those. Not on his day.
“Oh, I know! We’ll go train jumping.”
He leveled a suspicious look at me. “Please tell me that has nothing to do with jumping off a moving train.”
“It does not.” I got in the truck. “You’ll see.”
He rested a forearm on the bottom edge of my open window, leaning in. “Trains run this late?”
I pushed up out of the window and kissed him, not caring what we did as long as we found our happy balance again. My body sizzled with a low ache on contact, as if programmed to remember all the delicious things that his sexy kisses led too.
When we parted, we’d both gone breathless. Good.
Distraction? A must.
“Maybe.” It’d been a few years since I’d been on a train. “Gotta check their schedules.” I nodded toward the driver’s seat, itching to start our spontaneous adventure.
We had just enough time to catch the last westbound train. “I’ve never been on a paid train ride before.”
Ben waved the tickets in front of my face. “Well, I’m glad I’m here, then. We still have a chance to reform you.”
That last sentence dropped, tone heavy.
Like his father had already become a lost cause. But it wasn’t too late for me.
Only I didn’t want to be changed. I celebrated who I was.
I need you to see that...see me.
We still had a few more days. Plenty of time to convince him.
After the train left the station and we handed over our tickets, I took him by the hand, determined to distract his sexy law-abiding ass into the here-and-now.
“What are we doing again?” The coach door closed behind him.
We’d searched the entire train, front to back, scoping it out for empty coaches. In past years, there’d always been one or two, especially late at night. But apparently, tourists and commuters were ghost-town light on a Wednesday. We found three.
“We’re picking the best racetrack. And this one’s perfect.”
He spread his arms wide and planted his hands on the gray fake-leather headrests on either side of the aisle. He peered over my shoulder toward the far end of our empty car before he glanced back over his shoulder toward the one we’d just left. His inquisitive gaze landed back on me. “Why this one?”
“It’s the most invisible. Empty car behind, empty car in front, empty car for us.”
“To dooo...”
“Watch and learn.” I gestured a sweeping arm at the first row of seats and nodded him over.
With a cocked head and half-smile, he stepped aside.
Then I kicked my sandals off, bunched the excess material of my short dress into my fist, and plastered my body against the cold surface of the metal door.
After two deep breaths, I leaned forward, then launched off the door at a sprint. With every step, I leapt higher and higher, racing faster and faster across the aisle’s newer blue carpet as the train bulleted over a hundred miles an hour beneath me. My feet touched down with only inches to spare before I slammed into the back door, barely missing its latch.
Ben stared at me, then shook his head. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “It’s official! You’re insane!”
“We’re insane!” I pointed at him. “Your turn! And be sure to jump as high and straight up as you can!”
He stared at me for another handful of long seconds, shook his head again, then plastered his body against the door, exactly as I had. Then he leaned forward, expression fierce. “Ready... Set...”
“Go!” I jumped into the air on the rubber doormat and shot my hands straight up in the air.
Ben sprinted faster and jumped higher, covering the distance in record time with his longer legs. I had to lunge out of the way to avoid his collision with the door.
His face lit up with pure exhilaration. Then he dipped his head down, eyes glittering with mischief. His lips came within kissing distance. “Let’s do it again,” he whispered.
“Okay.” I spun around—without giving in to the kiss—and marched back the other direction. “But we can only run toward the back of the train. The secret’s in jumping against.”
Ben drifted a seductive glance down toward my bare legs. “The secret’s in watching you run in that sexy dress.”
“Go.” I leveled a stern look at him while pointing toward the front of the coach. “Innocent fun now. Scandalous fun later.”
We each ran the course three more times before we collapsed into a couple of cushioned seats while gasping for air.
He couldn’t stop grinning.
Mission accomplished.
I slid my fingers around his neck and finally kissed him soundly. Then I glanced at the window. Only dark glass and reflections of the interior stared back at me. “We’re only in the air for a split second, but it’s like the train speeds by without us.” I clutched a fist to my belly. “I can feel the difference in my stomach.”
“How fast does the train go?” He squinted at the reflective window, then glanced down at the carpeted aisle, as if he could decipher our speed through X-ray vision.
“In this high-speed rail section? Up to a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour.”
“You looked it up?”
“I did.” I shrugged. “No big.” So what if I like to back up my kid thrills with adult factoids? They’d made something super-efficient? I’d taken it supersonic.
“Well, there ya go.” He shot a hand out and braked it midair with a jerk. “We’re running in the opposite direction.” His tone held finality.
I gave him a nod. You get it. “Only way it works.”
He slow-nodded back. “And every time we’re in the air, we’re creating drag, even if it’s infinitesimal.”
“It’s like we’re stealing back time.”
He stared wide-eyed at me, then blinked. “Einstein would love to be si
tting with us right now.”
“He would?”
“His famous formula, E equals m c squared, came from him wrestling with the idea of time, the speed of light, and two simultaneous lightning strikes hitting a train at opposite ends.”
I asked a dozen more questions about Einstein.
And the train zipped along.
I yawned, then rested my head on his shoulder.
He draped his arm around me. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“All the way to Harrisburg, if you want. Then we’ve got at least four hours to kill. Trains don’t start back eastbound until 5:00 a.m.”
He gave a nod.
For the next few minutes, a natural silence fell between us.
But with every second that ticked by, his mood tanked. His breaths shallowed. Tension rolled off his shoulders.
My heart ached, that someone so strong, could be so tortured.
He shifted away from me, dug something out from his jeans pocket, then held it up. With a fuming gaze, he bored a hole into the small rectangular object. “If only we could really steal back time.”
I stared at the tiny thing pinched between his finger and thumb. “Looks like a flash drive.”
“It’s fucking evidence. Complete account information on all the people my father screwed.”
Holy shit. “What’re you gonna do with it?”
“I’m thinkin’ ’bout chucking it off the train.”
“Who are ‘all the people’?”
He gusted out a heavy breath. “Folks who worked hard, saved their money” —his expression hardened and fingers turned white as he pinched the drive— “then invested in my father’s higher-risk fund for the chance of a better return.”
My mind flashed to the dozens of people I knew, then the hundreds I’d encountered on the streets over the last eight years. Not all homeless suffered from mental illness. Many had been hardworking Americans with well-paying white-collar jobs. Misfortune happened in a flash. And too many never recovered from it.
Most had been helpless to stop whatever chain of events had caused their downfall.
A crazy idea crystalized in my head as I stared at the priceless treasure he held in his hand. My eyes narrowed as my thoughts raced. “What time is it?”
“After midnight, I think. Why?”
Perfect. “Because you won your day.” No doubt. “But now it’s my day. We might not be able to steal back time. But what would you say if we could steal back their money?”
His gaze slowly scanned toward me. His expression? Dead serious. “I’d say...I’m listening.”
Not I’m interested.
Not I’m in.
That’s okay, Ben. You’re almost there with me. One worthy crime at a time.
Ben…
“Wait. What. Is. Happening?” Shay shoved against me with surprising upper body strength.
Dark hair tumbled every which way in loose wild waves.
Long black lashes brushed her cheeks, eyes pinched shut to block out offending sunlight.
Brows scrunched down.
Lips tugged into a tiny frown.
Unaware. Cranky. And absolutely adorable.
And I was the luckiest fucker on earth; she’d chosen to share her secret world with me. Watching her sleep for the last hour had also helped take my mind off of my dilemma. And had given me time to process her unconventional, disturbing, and highly illegal solution to it.
I blocked out my concerns and kissed the top of her head. “You crashed. Hard.”
She squinted a wary eye open. “Where are we?” she grumbled.
“On your train.”
A slow smile curved her lips. “Our train, now.”
“Our train,” I agreed. But not the same one we’d stolen time on. And not the 5:00 a.m. return either.
When we’d first hit Harrisburg, we’d inhaled the largest breakfast known to man at another of her favorite greasy spoons. Then we went birdwatching along the Susquehanna River. After that, we wandered around Fort Hunter Park before exploring its mansion—on our own, while expertly evading the official tour guides and hosts.
We’d eventually caught the packed noon train to head back. Once we’d claimed two side-by-side seats, she’d settled heavily against my shoulder.
And she’d fallen fast asleep minutes after we’d pulled away from the station.
I nudged her. “You clenched my hand so tight a moment ago, I thought you’d break bones.”
Her hand eased its death grip. “Sorry. Had another bad dream.”
“About?” Hell, we’d had plenty of stress-ammunition last night at dinner. “Low-flying power-line diving again?”
I offered her the half-full coffee I’d been holding since before we boarded.
She gave a disinterested headshake, to the coffee and my attempt at humor. “No. This one was different.” She sat up straighter and flicked glances at the nearest passengers, forward, across, and behind us.
Apparently satisfied about any potential eavesdroppers, she continued in a lowered voice, “I walked into a community library. Not a big one like my main downtown one. The space was small, geared toward family and kids. There were brightly colored play areas that had tables covered with pop-up books, puzzles, brainteaser games, and wooden trains.
She gazed up at me with a gentle smile. “You were there.”
“Dreaming about me already?” I lowered my voice, “Are we naked?”
She arched a brow. “You are fully clothed and up in a tree house that’d been built into an entire corner of the building. I know you’re up there, and you know where I am, even though I’m down away from you. We can’t hear each other, don’t talk to each other, but everything felt good—safe.
“As I wandered around the place, I realized a river ran into the library from under the corner of the tree house, toward the center of the main room. Right after it came out, it forked and flowed in two different directions.”
She swallowed hard. “I crept toward the river, and as I got closer, knowledge came into my mind, little bits at a time, about an alarming creature that lurked in the water.”
“A crocodile?”
Her brow furrowed and she gave a quick headshake. “A giant child-eating snake.”
“An anaconda?”
She let out a heavy breath, clearly disturbed by the image. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You’ve been watching too many adventure movies.”
“I saw the snake.” She shot me a pointed shut-up-and-listen glare. “Then I glanced around. Little kids were running back and forth, laughing and squealing, hopping on steppingstones to cross the river. Parents watched and cheered them on. No one seemed to know.”
Her brow furrowed. “I panicked and ran to the help desk to warn the librarian.”
“Good. Person of authority.”
“Right? Except she seemed to know. And didn’t care. Then I realized that parents knew too. Not one person was alarmed or even bothered that their kid might be devoured.” Between words, her breaths reduced to choppy gulps. “I didn’t understand it.”
“What did you do?” I rubbed a soothing thumb over the back of her hand.
“I called 9-1-1 with the librarian’s phone. I waited with the damn thing held to my ear, but nothing happened. It just rang and rang; no one picked up on the other end. In my gut, I got the sense no one would save us, no one had our back.”
Something told me the dream paralleled her past: No one had protected her.
“While I was on the phone, the snake slithered up to the ladder of the tree house, then morphed into a man. You blocked his way at the top of the ladder, staring down at him. Then you and Anaconda Man talked, you above, him below, but I couldn’t hear what either of you said.”
She paused and took a deep breath, gaze unfocused as if she searched her thoughts.
“In the dream, I somehow understood that he’d revealed his true nature, and you’d told him he wasn’t welcome. But if he tried anything—if he went up ag
ainst any innocent in that library—you would destroy him.”
Definitely about her present. Going up against her past. I tightened my hand around hers. “Damn straight, I would.”
Lost in reliving her dream, if she’d heard me, felt me, she gave no indication. “With no one down where I was to help, I wandered back to the river to make sure I hadn’t been imagining things. And there was the massive snake, head up and scanning side to side, hunting as it undulated through the water.
“All of a sudden, I straddled the fork in the river, one foot on either side. The snake’s head snapped around. Its eyes focused on me. I couldn’t move.
“But then I looked up and saw you.
“You appeared at the edge of the tree house, told me to reach up, then you grabbed my arms and yanked me up into the air. When I landed, you’d lifted me even higher than where you were, my feet on the railing, your arms locked around my legs.”
She paused. Took a deep breath, then blew it out. “That’s it.”
“That’s enough, though, isn’t it?”
Her gaze locked on to mine, those expressive green eyes searching. And just like the dream, she understood without us having to say a word. Her chin dipped with a brief nod. “Yeah.”
“They didn’t have your back.” I gave her hand a solid squeeze, then lifted it up and kissed her knuckles. “I do. And I will. Always.”
I offered up the lukewarm coffee again. She accepted it and gulped down a few healthy swallows.
An overhead announcement blared something, the doors closed, and our train accelerated eastward once again. The temperature remained balmy. A constant metallic tang permeated the air. Muted conversations chattered in a low hum all around us. Bodies jostled with the occasional rock of the coach.
After she handed me back the cup, she slumped in her seat. “Do all parents suck?”
About the dream. Because she knew I knew. The gist of it, anyway. Something bad that she still struggled with to such a degree, she could only process through it small steps at a time.
I shrugged, then did my best to answer the generic question at face value. “From every kid’s perspective? Probably.”
“Nooo...I’m serious. Specifically. Do you know anyone whose parents are amazing?”