Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1) (22 page)

His chest heaves. “Kayla wasn’t adventurous. Not brave like you are. She didn’t want to go into the cave I built. Never liked closed-in spaces much. But I convinced her. Told her I’d tell her a secret if she would just come in and see how cool I’d made it inside. Something dumb like that.”

Silence blankets us for a minute. I don’t jump to fill it. Whatever Michael wants to tell me, I’m going to give him the time he needs.

He stares out at the tree across the way from us. “Once she was in there, she told me she liked it. But I always wonder with the Pairings—do they actually have a mind of their own? Could they decide not to like us if they wanted to? That always bothered me.”

My shoulders droop. Is it that way for Porter? Somehow is he stuck or forced to care about me? I’ve always kind of thought he and Emma would be good together. She’s made goggle eyes at him since the third grade. Not that he’s noticed. Perhaps it’s because he didn’t have a choice. “It doesn’t seem fair that way.”

Michael nods. “We were in there awhile and I finally went into my house to get hot chocolate for the both of us.” As if he’s shielding himself, he brings up his knees, and rests his head in his free hand. “The snow plow came. They didn’t know she was in there.”

The world seems to slow down. My gut clenches. I gasp without realizing it as I imagine a small girl being killed by the blade of a plow. Did the snow turn red? Did Michael have to see her like that? My arms burn to hug him. To take any amount of his pain away. But I don’t know if he’d welcome my comfort. Does he miss her? Wish it was her here holding his hand instead of me?

His eyes are still closed.

What to say? Nothing. Keep my mouth shut. I just hold his hand. Make it warm. Let him know I’m still here, and will be, no matter what.

I rub my brow, blinking back tears for the boy who saw his friend die. Also for the guy who’s carried around the unnecessary weight of an accident for so long. But I don’t want to say something empty. Now’s not the right time. He doesn’t want to hear that it wasn’t his fault. People never want to hear that. It steals their guilt, and sometimes that’s all they have to cling to. If I take that away, he might drown. Besides, I can tell him that until I’m blue in the face, but it won’t mean anything until he believes it for himself. Until he lets go.

He breaks our handhold. “Nicholas took me before I could make it worse. I didn’t even get to the sidewalk before I shifted. It’s ironic really.” He pauses, looks away. “The one time Kayla actually needed a hero, I didn’t save her.”

I study him, but it’s difficult to read his face in the shadows. “Were you in love with her?”

“I was eleven.”  A bird calls in the distance, long and low. When the song stops, I listen for another to return it. But the only other sounds are the churning creek, a few toads crooning, and bugs carousing during their evening journeys. No other bird. No answer.

I pick at a scratch near my elbow. “So that’s why you never went back to your time?”

Standing abruptly, he shoves his fingers into his hair. “My mom could pull me back, if she wanted to. But that’ll never happen.”

“You can’t be sure. She might still.”

“No. After I left, she wrote me off. I ruined her life. There was a dead girl in her front yard and a missing son. When the cops arrived she had no way to explain it. They suspected her of wrongdoing. Don’t ask me how. I only know because my dad went back without me once before he died. Right before he and I went on our first mission together. Our only mission together.”

“It still could happen.”

He snorts. “It’s been seven years. I’m not exactly holding my breath.” Plucking a leaf from a nearby bush, he weaves it through his fingers. “I don’t blame her. Because of me, Dad’s gone too.” He balls up the leaf and tosses it to the ground.

With my chin in my hand, I watch him. Wonder what’s going on in his mind. Does the past keep him up at night? Drive him to take on tougher missions? I don’t understand how his own mother wouldn’t want him. She has to understand that Michael was a kid, and the snow plow was a freak occurrence.

Okay, so maybe I’m not the best one to process this kind of stuff. I mean, my mom doesn’t want me, so who am I to rationalize about Michael’s mom? What I do know is, if I could, I’d travel to her time and make her sit down and listen to what an amazing son she has. Tell her all she’s missing.

 Leaves whisper as the breeze stirs around us. I trace my finger over my bracelet. Michael’s arms are crossed. With his head tipped all the way back, he’s looking through a break in the canopy at the night sky. Didn’t he say that’s what he does when he feels lost?

“They’re the only things that are the same no matter what time you’re in.”

My heart feels like a giant gaping hole. It’s a hollow ache, something that, while not particularly painful, is always there. Does he feel that way too? Do memories snare at his heart, tugging and ripping at him? I rub the heel of my hand on my chest, trying to make it all go away.

How is he able to encourage others and not walk around jaded? Well, now it’s my turn to help him think about something else, although I don’t have his gift of making people smile.

But his story has caused my own dark days to bubble to the surface. Times I would like to keep locked away in a trunk marked ‘do not open.’ Too bad I’ve never been able to hold my tongue.

“Once I tried to kill myself.” I slap both my hands over my mouth. Way to lighten up a room. What on earth is wrong with me? That’s not the right thing to say after someone spills their darkest hour with you.

Michael freezes. Slowly turns toward me. Even with only sparse moonlight, I see his eyes grow wide. His lips press together.

Okay, if calming Michael is my goal—that was definitely not the right thing to say.

He strides to where my feet rest, towers above me. “Are you messing with me?”

Why did I even say it? I focus all my attention on a cricket as it hops near my side.

Dropping to his knees, Michael takes my face in his hands. He tips my chin so he can read my expression. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

I push my shifting bracelet down my arm as far as it will go. Trace the white scars that glare underneath it.

He grabs my arm and brings my wrist a couple inches from his face. His eyes narrow. “You cut yourself?”

“Just one time. It’s not like I make a habit of it.” Snatching my hand back, I tuck it under the other. Press them both to my stomach.

He sits down fully. “Once is enough. Don’t ever do that again.”

“It’s not like I planned it. Life with my dad got rough. I was lonely.”

Leaning forward, his voice is hushed. “But you know your worth now ... don’t you?”

I shrug. “Don’t other people decide that?”

“No. You have worth because you’re a Shifter. Because Nicholas cares about you. Because you breathe. Okay?” He snags the blanket from the ground, and tucks it back around me. “Besides, you’re not alone anymore. I’m here with you, and when I’m not, remember Nicholas always is.”

I fight an eye roll. “He’s not all that comforting.”

“You’ll figure him out eventually.” Michael yanks the book bag from beside the tree. “Here. Use this as a pillow. You need some shut-eye.”

I take it and lay down.

He pulls the blanket to my chin. “Warm enough?”

No. I want him back next to me. “Yes.”

 Then he strides about twenty feet away—it feels like miles—where he leans against another large tree and slides to the ground. Hooks his ankles together, crosses his arms, and tips his head back.

Why did he leave me? Okay, we’re still in the same clearing. But it’s not the same.

A lone bird sings in the darkness again. His song sounds like five different bird calls mixed into one. I can’t quite place it. Aren’t birds supposed to be silent at night?

What if the bird is some Shade signal and he’s leading them to us?

“Are you still awake?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

“Do you hear that? The bird? It’s eerie.” Tucking my knees to my chest, I try to stay fully covered by the small blanket.

Michael tilts his head to the side. “That’s a mockingbird.”

“Do they ever knock it off?”

“It’s a male. He hasn’t found a mate yet. They’re not unlike us in that way. He’s lost or alone, so he’ll stay out late. Making noise, no matter how long it takes until someone notices him.”

Great. Now I’m sad for a bird’s plight too. “I wish he’d find someone.”

It takes a minute, but Michael stands up and claps a few times. A small bird takes flight from a shrub. It circles in the air, calling out, until it reaches the treetop where it begins its song all over again.

Michael takes a couple steps my way. From the way he shuffles, I can tell he’s tired. “I better go get water so we have it in the morning.”

The water bottle is still resting on the ground from when he dropped it. I sit up, grabbing Michael’s hand as he walks past me. Stopping him. “Don’t. Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He squats down to my level, cocks an eyebrow. “If I’m gone too long, you could sing for me, like the bird.” Pointing up, he smiles deep enough to bring out his uneven dimple.

I swallow hard. “Would you answer me?”

“Always.” It’s just a whisper, but the single word thunders through me. Does he know what he’s saying?

I count to a hundred in my head. He’s still there. Smiling. “Michael?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t shut my eyes. What if that Shade comes back? What if he finds us while we’re asleep?”

He tucks my bangs back behind my ear. “He won’t.”

“You can’t be sure of that. If they catch me, what will they do?”

“You don’t have to worry.” His tone is soft, even.

“Please don’t leave.” I’m selfish. Completely. He needs water, but I can’t stand the thought of being alone.

He sighs. “I won’t go anywhere. I promise. Lay back down.”

When I obey, he adjusts the blanket so it covers me.

I’m on my back, so I can gaze up above me. Keep an eye on the mockingbird.

Before I realize what’s happening, Michael presses a kiss to the palm of the hand he holds, and tucks it under the blanket. The place where his lips touched burns. I won’t have to worry about being cold again tonight.

Even still, I sit back up and grab Michael’s hand again. “Stay.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I just said I would.”

“Not over there again.
Here
. I want you close by.” I might regret being so bold tomorrow, but right now, I’m okay with it.

His hand closes around mine. “Are you sure?”

I answer by tugging on his arm, which throws him off balance. He chuckles, if only for a second, and then drops to his knees next to where I lay. Michael doesn’t lie down next to me. Instead, he leans, sitting up, against a tree near where I am. His legs are inches from me.

The nearness isn’t enough. I need contact.

I lift my head, scoot over, and use Michael’s closest thigh as a pillow. I turn so I face him. “The backpack’s too lumpy.”

Michael doesn’t say a word. But he relaxes, uncrosses his arm and rests a hand on top of my head. I reach up and lift his hand off my head.

Michael starts to pull it away, but I hold his hand tighter. Letting him know I didn’t mean I don’t want him touching me. I just want to hold it again. I lace my fingers with his and tuck our clasped hands in the hollow of my neck in between my chin and collar bone. I stare up at him. He’s looking out at the clearing, his brow furrowed but his mouth relaxed. Is he angry? Annoyed? Pleased?

Just before I close my eyes, he looks my way and catches me watching him.

“Sleep, Gabby. No more fears. I’ll watch over you.”  

Birdsong wakes me, more than just the mockingbird. Sunlight pierces through the treetops like a dozen blazing javelins. Sweat already covers my forehead and my upper lip. I scrub a hand over my eyes, my mouth. I start to roll onto my back, but something blocks my way. Michael. I freeze. His hand rests on my hip. It’s dead weight. He’s still asleep.

I lift his hand and scoot out from under it so I can place it on the ground without waking him. Sitting up, I turn and look at him. His other hand rests on his chest. His head leans to one side, mouth open, breathing heavy. The sight charms a smile to my lips. Do all men look that cute when they’re sleeping? I fight the urge to brush the hair from his forehead. He deserves rest. Clean water should be ready for him.

Yawning, I stretch and my spine makes a bunch of popping noises. My whole body is sore. Note to self, sleeping on the ground is not advisable. Those men on survival TV shows are certifiably nuts. Or they’re paid an obscene amount of money to live like this.

I run through the last few days in my mind, taking stock. Confederate soldiers on our trail who want to kill us.
Check.
Shades intent on capturing me.
Check.
When we get back to Keleusma, we’ll be in trouble for taking part in Eugene’s science fair experiment.
Double check.

Way to start off the day with excellent odds.

I push to my feet. How long did we sleep? Whatever, I’m awake now. I grab the water bottle resting near my feet, then search through Michael’s bag and find the iodine. In this heat, we need water if we’re going to accomplish anything. I stuff the blanket into the backpack and zip it carefully, not wanting to wake him.