Shatter Me Complete Collection (104 page)

Warner pulls me to the side. Away from everyone else.

We’re standing in a corner of the training room, and his hands are gripped around my shoulders. He’s looking at me like I’ve just pulled the moon out of my pocket.

“I have to go,” he says urgently. “There are many things that must be set in motion now, and I have to reconvene with Delalieu. I will handle every aspect of the military details, love. I will see to it that you have everything you need, and that my men are equipped in every possible way.”

I’m nodding, trying to thank him.

But he’s still looking at me, searching my eyes like he’s found something he can’t bear to walk away from. His hands move to my face; his thumb brushes my cheek. His voice is so tender when he speaks.

“You will go on to greatness,” he whispers. “I have never deserved you.”

My heart.

He leans in, kisses my forehead, so gently.

And then he leaves.

I’m still watching the elevator doors close when I catch a glimpse of Adam out of the corner of my eye. He walks up to me.

“Hey,” he says. He looks nervous, uncomfortable.

“Hi.”

He’s nodding, staring at his feet. “So,” he says. Blows out a breath. He’s still not looking at me. “Nice show.”

I’m not really sure what to say. So I say nothing.

Adam sighs. “You really have changed,” he whispers. “Haven’t you?”

“Yes. I have.”

He nods, just once. Laughs a strange laugh. And walks away.

We’re all sitting around again.

Talking. Discussing. Thinking and planning. James is snoring soundly in the corner.

We’re all caught somewhere between being excited and being terrified, and yet, somehow, we’re mostly excited. This is, after all, what everyone at Omega Point had always been planning; they’d joined Castle hoping it would one day come to this.

A chance to defeat The Reestablishment.

They’ve all been training for this. Even Adam, who somehow convinced himself to stand with us, has been a soldier. Kenji, a soldier. All of them in peak physical condition. They are all fighters; even Alia, whose quiet shell contains so much. I couldn’t have asked for a more solid group of individuals.

“So when do you think he’ll be here?” Ian is asking. “Tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Kenji says. “But I don’t think it’ll take him more than two days.”

“I thought he was on a ship? In the middle of the ocean?” Lily asks. “How is he supposed to get here in two days?”

“I don’t think it’s the kind of ship you’re thinking of,”
Castle says to her. “I imagine he is on an army vessel; one equipped with a landing strip. If he calls for a jet, they will deliver him to us.”

“Wow.” Brendan leans back, rests on his hands. “This is really happening, then?
The supreme commander of The Reestablishment
. Winston and I never saw him, not once, even though his men were holding us captive.” He shakes his head. Glances at me. “What does he look like?”

“He’s extremely handsome,” I say.

Lily laughs out loud.

“I’m serious,” I say to her. “It’s almost sick how beautiful he is.”

“Really?” Winston is staring at me, eyes wide.

Kenji nods. “Very pretty guy.”

Lily is gawking.

“And you said his name is Anderson?” Alia asks.

I nod.

“That’s strange,” Lily says. “I always thought Warner’s last name was
Warner
, not Anderson.” She thinks for a second. “So his name is Warner Anderson?”

“No,” I say to her. “You’re right. Warner is his last name—but not his dad’s. He took his mom’s last name,” I say. “He didn’t want to be associated with his father.”

Adam snorts.

We all look at him.

“So what’s Warner’s first name?” Ian asks. “Do you know?”

I nod.

“And?” Winston asks. “You’re not going to tell us?”

“Ask him yourself,” I say. “If he wants to tell you, I’m sure he will.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Winston says. “I’m not asking that guy personal questions.”

I try not to laugh.

“So—do you know Anderson’s first name?” Ian asks. “Or is that a secret, too? I mean this whole thing is really weird, right? That they’d be so secretive about their names?”

“Oh,” I say, caught off guard. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot of power in a name, I guess. And no,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t actually know Anderson’s first name. I never asked.”

“You’re not missing anything,” Adam says, irritated. “It’s a stupid name.” He’s staring at his shoes. “His name is Paris.”

“How did you know that?”

I spin around and find Warner standing just outside the open elevator. It’s still pinging softly, only just now signaling his arrival. The doors close behind him. He’s staring at Adam in shock.

Adam blinks fast at Warner and then at us, unsure what to do.

“How did you know that?” Warner demands again. He walks right through our group and grabs Adam by the shirt, moving so quickly Adam has no time to react.

He pins him against the wall.

I’ve never heard Warner raise his voice like this before.
Never seen him so angry. “Who do you answer to, soldier?” he shouts. “Who is your commander?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Adam yells back. He tries breaking away and Warner grabs him with both fists, shoving him harder against the wall.

I’m beginning to panic.

“How long have you been working for him?” Warner shouts again. “How long have you been infiltrating my base—”

I jump to my feet. Kenji is close behind.

“Warner,” I say, “please, he’s not a spy—”

“There’s no way he could know something like that,” Warner says to me, still looking at Adam. “Not unless he is a member of the Supreme Guard, where even then it would be questionable. A foot soldier would never have that kind of information—”

“I’m not a Supreme Soldier,” Adam tries to say, “I swear—”

“Liar,” Warner barks, shoving him harder against the wall. Adam’s shirt is starting to tear. “Why were you sent here? What is your mission? Has he sent you to kill me?”

“Warner,” I call again, pleading this time, running forward until I’m in his line of vision. “Please—he’s not working for the supreme, I promise—”

“How can you know?” Warner finally glances at me, just for a second. “I’m telling you,” he says, “it’s impossible for him to know this—”

“He’s your
brother
,” I finally choke out. “Please. He’s your
brother. You have the same father.”

Warner goes rigid.

He turns to me.

“What?” he breathes.

“It’s true,” I tell him, feeling so heartbroken as I do. “And I know you can tell I’m not lying.” I shake my head. “He’s your brother. Your father was leading a double life. He abandoned Adam and James a long time ago. After Adam’s mom died.”

Warner drops Adam to the floor.

“No,” Warner says. He’s not even blinking. Just staring. Hands shaking.

I turn to look at Adam, eyes tight with emotion. “Tell him,” I say, desperate now. “Tell him the truth.”

Adam says nothing.

“Dammit, Adam,
tell
him!”

“You knew, all this time?” Warner asks, turning to face me. “You knew this and yet you said nothing?”

“I wanted to—I really, really wanted to, but I didn’t think it was my place—”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. He’s shaking his head. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. How—how is that even possible?” He looks up, looks around. “That doesn’t—”

He stops.

Looks at Adam.

“Tell me the truth,” he says. He walks up to Adam again, looking like he might shake him. “Tell me! I have a right to know!”

And every moment in the world drops dead just then, because they woke up and realized they’d never be as important as this one.

“It’s true,” Adam says.

Two words to change the world.

Warner steps back, hand caught in his hair. He’s rubbing his eyes, his forehead, running his hand down his mouth, his neck. He’s breathing so hard. “How?” he finally asks.

And then.

And then.

The truth.

Little by little. It’s pulled out of Adam. One word at a time. And the rest of us are looking on, and James is still sleeping, and I go silent as these two brothers have the hardest conversation I’ve ever had to watch.

Warner is sitting in one corner. Adam in another. They’ve both asked to be left alone.

And they’re both staring at James.

James, who’s still just a little snoring lump.

Adam looks exhausted, but not defeated. Tired, but not upset. He looks freer. His eyebrows unfurrowed. His fists unclenched. His face is calm in a way I haven’t seen it in what feels like a long time.

He looks
relieved
.

As if he’d been carrying this great burden he thought might kill him. As if he’d thought sharing this truth with Warner might somehow inspire a lifelong war between him and his brand-new biological sibling.

But Warner wasn’t angry at all. He wasn’t even upset.

He was just shocked beyond belief.

One father, I think. Three brothers. Two who nearly killed each other, all because of the world they were bred in. Because of the many words, the many lies they were fed.

Words are like seeds, I think, planted into our hearts at a tender age.

They take root in us as we grow, settling deep into our souls. The good words plant well. They flourish and find
homes in our hearts. They build trunks around our spines, steadying us when we’re feeling most flimsy; planting our feet firmly when we’re feeling most unsure. But the bad words grow poorly. Our trunks infest and spoil until we are hollow and housing the interests of others and not our own. We are forced to eat the fruit those words have borne, held hostage by the branches growing arms around our necks, suffocating us to death, one word at a time.

I don’t know how Adam and Warner are going to break the news to James. Maybe they won’t tell him until he’s older and able to deal with the ramifications of knowing his heritage. I don’t know what it’ll do to James to learn that his father is actually a mass murderer and a despicable human being who’s destroyed every life he’s ever touched.

No.

Maybe it’s better James doesn’t know, not just yet.

Maybe it’s enough for now that Warner knows at all.

I can’t help but find it both painful and beautiful that Warner lost a mother and gained two brothers in the same week. And though I understand that he’s asked to be left alone, I can’t stop myself from walking over to him. I won’t say a word, I promise myself. But I just want to be close to him right now.

So I sit down beside him, and lean my head against the wall. Just breathing.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispers.

I hesitate before answering. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, dropping my head. My voice. “I’m really sorry.”

Silence.

More silence.

Then.

A whisper.

“I have two brothers.”

I lift my head. Look at him.

“I have two brothers,” he says again, his voice so soft. “And I almost killed one of them.”

His eyes are focused on a point far, far from here, pinched together in pain and confusion, and something that looks like regret.

“I suppose I should’ve known,” he says to me. “He can touch you. He lives in the same sector. And his eyes have always been oddly familiar to me. I realize now that they’re shaped just like my father’s.”

He sighs.

“This is so unbearably inconvenient,” he says. “I was prepared to hate him for the rest of my life.”

I startle, surprised. “You mean . . . you don’t hate him anymore?”

Warner drops his head. His voice is so low I can hardly hear it. “How can I hate his anger,” he says, “when I know so well where it comes from?”

I’m staring at him. Stunned.

“I can well imagine the extent of his relationship with my father,” Warner says, shaking his head. “And that he has
managed to survive it at all, and with more humanity than I did?” A pause. “No,” he says. “I cannot hate him. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t admire him.”

I think I might cry.

The minutes pass between us, silent and still, stopping only to hear us breathe.

“Come on,” I finally whisper, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

Warner nods, gets to his feet, but then he stops. Confused. So tortured. He looks at Adam. Adam looks back.

They stare at each other for a long time.

“Please excuse me,” Warner says.

And I watch, astonished, as he crosses the room. Adam is on his feet in an instant, defensive, uncertain. But as Warner approaches, Adam seems to thaw.

The two are now face-to-face, and Warner is speaking.

Adam’s jaw tenses. He looks at the floor.

He nods.

Warner is still speaking.

Adam swallows, hard. He nods again.

Then he looks up.

The two of them acknowledge each other for a long moment. And then Warner places one hand on Adam’s shoulder.

I must be dreaming.

The two exchange a few more words before Warner pivots on one foot, and walks away.

“What did you say to him?” I ask as soon as the elevator doors close.

Warner takes a deep breath. He says nothing.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“I’d rather not,” he says quietly.

I take his hand. Squeeze.

The elevator doors open.

“Will this be weird for you?” Warner asks. He looks surprised by his own question, as though he can’t believe he’s even asking it.

“Will what be weird?”

“That Kent and I are . . . brothers.”

“No,” I say to him. “I’ve known for a while now. It doesn’t change anything for me.”

“That’s good,” he says quietly.

I’m nodding, confused.

We’ve moved into the bedroom. We’re sitting on the bed now.

“You wouldn’t mind, then?” Warner asks.

I’m still confused.

“If he and I,” Warner says, “spent some time together?”

“What?” I ask, unable to hide my disbelief. “No,” I say
quickly. “No, of course not—I think that would be amazing.”

Warner’s eyes are on the wall.

“So . . . you want to spend time with him?” I’m trying so hard to give Warner space, and I don’t want to pry, but I just can’t help myself.

“I would like to know my own brother, yes.”

“And James?” I ask.

Warner laughs a little. “Yes. And James.”

“So you’re . . . happy about this?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “I am not unhappy.”

I climb into his lap. Cup his face in my hands, tilting his chin up so I can see his eyes. I’m smiling a stupid smile. “I think that’s so wonderful,” I tell him.

“Do you?” He grins. “How interesting.”

I nod. Over and over again. And I kiss him once, very softly.

Warner closes his eyes. Smiles slightly, his cheek dimpled on one side. He looks thoughtful now. “How strange this has all become.”

I feel like I might die of happiness.

Warner picks me up off his lap, lays me back on the bed. Crawls over me, on top of me. “And why are you so thrilled?” he asks, trying not to laugh. “You’re practically buoyant.”

“I want you to be happy,” I tell him, my eyes searching his. “I want you to have a family. I want you to be surrounded by people who care about you,” I say. “You deserve that.”

“I have you,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. His eyes shut.

“You should have more than me.”

“No,” he whispers. He shakes his head. His nose grazes mine.

“Yes.”

“What about you? And your parents?” he asks me. “Do you ever want to find them?”

“No,” I say quietly. “They were never parents to me. Besides, I have my friends.”

“And me,” he says.

“You are my friend,” I tell him.

“But not your best friend. Kenji is your best friend.”

I try so hard not to laugh at the jealousy in his voice. “Yes, but you’re my
favorite
friend.”

Warner leans in, bypasses my lips. “Good,” he whispers, kissing my neck. “Now flip over,” he says. “On your stomach.”

I stare at him.

“Please,” he says. Smiles.

I do. Very slowly.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, turning to look at him.

He gentles my body back down.

“I want you to know,” he says, pulling on the zipper holding this suit together, “how much I value your friendship.” The seam is coming apart and my skin is now open to the elements; I bite back a shiver.

The zipper stops at the base of my spine.

“But I’d like you to reconsider my title,” Warner says. He drops a soft kiss in the middle of my back. Runs his hands
up my skin and pushes the sleeves off my shoulders, leaving kisses against my shoulder blades, the back of my neck. “Because my friendship,” he whispers, “comes with so many more benefits than Kenji could ever offer.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t.

“Don’t you think?” Warner asks.

“Yes,” I say too quickly. “Yes.”

And then I’m spinning, lost in sensations, and wondering how soon we’ll be losing these moments, and wondering how long it’ll be before we’ll have them again.

I don’t know where we’re going, he and I, but I know I want to get there. We are hours and minutes reaching for the same second, holding hands as we spin forward into new days and the promise of something better.

But though we’ll know forward and we’ve known backward, we will never know the present. This moment and the next one and even the one that would’ve been right now are gone, already passed, and all we’re left with are these tired bodies, the only proof that we’ve lived through time and survived it.

It’ll be worth it, though, in the end.

Fighting for a lifetime of this.