Descendant (7 page)

K
ye taps my shoulder, bringing me out of my daze. “Akers has a cooler up there. You want a drink?”

I realize my mouth is dry and nod.

The road is far from smooth, but he moves down the aisle easily, chatting and joking with Mr. Akers like they’re best buds, and helping himself to the contents of the cooler like it belongs to him. A few minutes later, Kye returns, handing me a can. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I pop the top and sip, needing something to do with my hands, something to cool the flames I can still feel in my face.

“Will this be your first time?” He fidgets with the leather on his wrist.

I gasp, nearly choking on a mouthful. “Um, what?”

He purses his lips, doing battle with the urge to laugh. “I mean in Yellowstone.”

“Yes.” Relieved to realize he didn’t mean
that,
I twist a lock of hair around my finger, trying not to think about what
that
would be like. “Can’t wait to see what all the hype is about.”

“You’ll enjoy it.” Something in his eyes tells me he’s talking about more than geysers and mud pots, and twin feelings of anticipation and fear go to war in my stomach.

“I ... I’m hoping to see a ...”

He tips his can up and knocks back the entire thing. My eyes follow the line of his throat as he swallows, and once again, my own mouth goes dry. Needing the distraction, I take a long swig too, chugging so hard that this time I do choke, doubling over while Kye pats my back.

“Breathe.” He chuckles. “You okay?”

I shake my head. “That went down wrong.” My back tingles
where his hand touches a strip of exposed skin, and a line of heat circles my core.

L
ips, warm and soft on mine, teeth scraping against my tongue.

“A
bby?” He removes his hand, bringing me back to my senses but leaving me feeling feverish.

“I’m okay.” I scoot toward the window, needing to put distance between us.

His hand curls into a fist on top of the armrest, but it’s his only reaction. “You were about to tell me what you’re hoping to see.”

I fold my coat into a pillow and try to prop it against the seat behind my head, still holding my empty can. “A buffalo.”

Kye takes both cans, tossing them both at Mr. Akers, who turns and catches each one as it arcs toward his head. Now empty-handed, Kye turns sideways, his back to the aisle, and focuses on me. “You haven’t seen a bison yet? What about moose? Elk?”

I shake my head, because I don’t really know how to identify what I’ve seen. I’m not a wildlife expert. Kye seems to get that. “Wait. Just tell me what you know you’ve seen already.”

I adjust in my seat so we’re facing each other and hear myself highlighting for him all my best experiences in Jackson with one exception—I don’t mention the white creature. I’m not sure why.

Talking to Kye gets easier with each mile. I don’t know if it’s the privacy, or the distance from real life, or something entirely different, but I feel myself opening up to him in a way I would never have thought possible. It’s comfortable. Scary comfortable.

“Sounds like you’re adjusting well.” Kye rests his head against the seat.

“I try to make the best of wherever I am.” I wind a lock of hair around my finger, peering out the window. “Might as well appreciate it for everything I can until it’s time to move on.”

Kye’s fingers graze the back of my hand as it rests on my knee. “You sound like you don’t plan to stay very long.”

It’s hard to ignore the goose bumps that erupt up and down my
arm, but I try. “I don’t plan to stay anywhere for very long. Nothing’s permanent. Life’s a journey that forces us all to move forward, whether we want to or not.”

I half expect Kye to laugh, but he doesn’t. Something catches his eye, and he leans across me to touch the window. “Look. There.”

Up ahead, a family of animals with thick, curved horns climbs a steep mountain slope. The angle appears impossible, but they never stumble, and their fluffy backsides bounce up and down with each step.

“Bighorn sheep.” Kye turns his head, and I realize his face is only inches from mine. He backs away slowly, the pulse pounding visibly in his neck proof that he feels unsettled. I draw air into my lungs as my heart thump-thump-thumps.

Kye faces forward again, leaning against his seat. When his eyes close, I turn back to the window and watch the snow-frosted trees fly by. After a few minutes, the steady motion of the bus has my eyes feeling heavy too, and I lean my head on the window.

Though I’m tired, I can’t slow my heart enough to sleep. My thoughts stray to Las Vegas. I wonder if I can find a way to visit during spring break. Gram loved living there. Mom claims it was because Gram won every time she sat down at a blackjack table and her odds at roulette were generally three out of five. I smile, thinking Gram had better luck than anyone I ever met. Then I remember why that’s not true anymore, because in the end, her luck ran out. The end of Gram and the end of Vegas. I live in Jackson now, and Gram’s in the ground, and all I have left of her is my ring.

Kye’s hand covers mine. “You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m okay.”

His eyebrows draw together and he frowns. “You’re not. What’s wrong?”

Tears well up and I glance away, mortified, squeaking out, “I’m fine. Just tired.”

He looks distressed, unsure. “I ... I just wanted to—” He clears his throat. “You ... you’re welcome to spread out if you want.”

I shake my head, wiping my cheeks with my fingertips. “I’m fine, really.”

He raises the armrest dividing our seats. “If you need to sleep, you
can lie on my shoulder or put your feet up here or whatever. It won’t bother me.”

“Okay.” It’s a strange offer, even though I think he’s made it in innocence. Or not. Maybe he’s hoping he can get a good look down my shirt.

Right. My bulky sweatshirt is really sexy shirt-looking-down material. I tug at my top, sighing, because I’m paranoid. Actually, I sort of trust him, though I don’t know why. He offers me his little pillow and I scrunch it, double it over, and try futilely to stuff it into the crease between the seatback and the window. It won’t stay.

A gentle hand touches my knee, offering waves of warmth to calm my frustration. “You really can relax.” My heart speeds up when he tugs the pillow away from me and cushions it against his shoulder, then draws me closer until my head rests there. “Try this.”

I hesitate, wondering why I’m at ease with Kye—who I’ve really only just met—and on edge around Eric, who I eat lunch with almost every day. My eyelids droop, and my head feels heavy. I’ve slept very little since Gram’s death, and when I do, my dreams are riddled with nightmares and visions I don’t understand. When I close my eyes, something warm and soft covers me. The flannel button-up Kye had on over his T-shirt. I give in, grab the collar, and curl against him, comfortable, safe, and more content than I’ve been since Gram died. He shifts, stretches his legs around me, and leans sideways on the seat with his back against the armrest. Without thought, my head moves from his shoulder to his chest like this is something we’ve done a hundred times before. Here, after weeks of insomnia, I finally fall asleep.

My
  dreams are riddled with Kye and Eric fighting, Kye and me kissing, more kissing, and various other activities that make my heart race and my blood run hot. The strangest part is that these dreams are different from regular dreams, and also different from visions. I have mixed senses of peace and dread, happiness and deep, profound sorrow. Then an awful laugh breaks through, rough and mean. Frightening.

When I jerk awake, the full moon bounces above the mountains like a bright ball in the darkening sky, gilding the edges of the distant cliffs. Kye rubs my arm and smoothes my hair. “Nightmare?”

Heat creeps up my cheeks as I lift my head to meet his gaze. The tenderness in his expression makes me long to stay right here, wrapped in his arms and staring into the endless pools of blue for the rest of forever.

I tear my eyes away, feeling silly, and glance at his watch. After only an hour, my crush has developed into something far more dangerous. Kye traces circles up and down my arm, and my chest tightens when his hand slides under my chin and tips it up.

A spark of recognition passes between us, something undeniably strong and just as inexplicable, and I can’t look away. Conversations buzz around us, but we float in our own little bubble, focused and
unmoving for what feels like eons. Then his hand moves down my arm until our fingers lace together.

He shifts, pulls me closer, his heart beating a quick, irregular thrum under my free hand. In this moment, I want Kye to kiss me in the same way my lungs want oxygen. The wanting makes me tremble from an ache I swear I’ve felt before, but can’t for the life of me remember where or why or with whom. It is that sensation—the not knowing—that pulls me back, sends me scrambling out of his arms.

He keeps a firm hold of my hand, refusing to completely break contact. His thumb caresses the inside of my wrist, sending vibrations of energy to awaken all my senses. It feels as though time is racing, dragging me along behind it, and I experience a surge of panic. What if my time with Kye is limited? What if he’s only a temporary part of my life? Will I be gutted when he leaves?
I might.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Stay calm. Don’t freak out again. Not here, on the bus. Not in front of Kye. Not while he’s holding my hand. The warmth from that hand spreads up my arm, keeping me grounded, and I realize that it is because I’m holding on to Kye that I’m able to find my balance.

“You okay?” His voice is unsteady.

“Okay?” I shake my head.
Of course I’m not okay. I’ve completely lost my mind.
“You?”

He shakes his head too.

At least I’m not the only one.

W
e spend the next half hour catching up on conversations we’ve never had—since before today we’ve had none. It makes no sense, the things I hear myself telling him. None at all. This behavior is so unlike me.

The weirdest part is that Kye opens up too—like he’s known me for years and years rather than just minutes. Two halves of a whole coming together after a long absence, desperate to fill in all the gaps. Even so, I can’t tell him about my Gifts. I won’t. Not yet.

When I mention that we moved after Gram’s passing, instead of saying I’m sorry, like I expect, Kye says, “It hurts you.”

“Yes.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “I wasn’t ready to let her go.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Kye wraps an arm around me and squeezes. I lay my head on his shoulder and soak up his warmth. The guilt and tears I expect don’t come, so I relax and allow the grief to dissipate.

“So. You officially know the story of
my
life. Now it’s your turn.”

“My life’s boring.”

“Oh, come on.” I pull out of his arms and lean back, pouting. Kye adjusts in his seat, looking uneasy. “All right, fine. Where should I start?”

I listen to the soothing tenor of his voice, memorize every accent and cadence, drink him in. “How about your family?”

“Now there’s a story.” He runs a hand through his hair and tries to smile. “Mom’s in Mexico these days, and Dad’s in New York.”

“Wow.”
What’s Kye doing in Jackson?
“That’s ... far. How long have they been divorced?”

He shakes his head. “They aren’t.”

“Oh. Then why ...?”

“They love each other, even though they live separately. Mom does geographical and historical research—which requires funding. Dad’s pretty persuasive and he has connections with important people back east, so he handles the funding. They work together, a continent apart.”

“So, who do you live with?” Our knees touch, sending a shiver through me as a thousand questions tumble in my head. “And why do you live in Jackson instead of with one of them?”

“Most of the time, I live with Valdemar.” Kye gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “He’s a ... friend of the family, I guess, and my legal guardian. Like, if I went to jail, he’d be my one phone call. But he’s gone a lot, so sometimes I stay with Akers. They’ve been best friends for years. I could live with one of my parents if I had a fit, but they both feel that it’s better for me to stay here, so I do. It’s complicated.”