Capturing Today (TimeShifters Book 2) (18 page)

I suck in a sharp breath. If I hadn’t distracted Eddie from his post during the night raid, he would be dead right now. Just like Lark. Was he meant to die? By keeping him alive, did I fail? My brain pounds. I thought that saving him could only be a good thing. But now he’ll have to live without his Pairing. Will Eddie become like my father? Or will he move on much like Porter probably has?

“You want me to go with you?” Why me?

“I believe that would be meaningful for everyone, including you.” He blows out a long stream of air. “There will be a funeral. I would like you to attend.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you—truly—for coming to check on me tonight, but I do believe I’d prefer to be alone for the rest of the evening.” He rises and sets the picture frame on his desk. With his back to me, he says, “For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for what happened to her. So please don’t carry that as a burden. Misplaced guilt can do horrible things to a person.”

How can I not blame myself?

My throat and eyes burn as I head to the door. I put my hand on the knob. “I’m so sorry—for everything.”

“Me too.” His voice breaks again.

Like a coward, I flee the room as fast as I’m able without actually running. I can’t handle someone else’s tears anymore. Not when I’m still full of my own.

With my eyes on the ground, I make my way back to my old room in the residential wing. Back to Michael. I’m halfway across Keleusma when I notice I’m still wearing Donovan’s bracelet. And I’m not about to double back and return it tonight.

I stand in front of room number 309 in the girl’s residential wing. My room.

Although I can’t imagine that it’ll ever truly feel like home.

Bracing my hand against the door, I let a gulp of cold air fill my lungs as my mind launches into hyper drive.

Back in my time, I wanted to shift because I was determined to locate my mother and bring her home. But she ignored me. I don’t even know what to do with that. She stared me down, so I’m pretty certain recognizing me wasn’t the issue.

What was?

Perhaps she believes I wouldn’t accept her as a Shade. Understandable—but so wrong on her part. It’s that … or she still doesn’t want me.

Please let door number one be right.

I rest my forehead on the sliding door to my room. Contact with the cool metal sends a shiver down my back, but it also eases the tension that’s piled up in my head all day from crying and further serves to focus my thoughts. It grounds me. This is all real. And so messed up.

Donovan said he liked my mother
more than is allowed
. Did he love her? If so—did she care for him as well? Where does that leave my father? And what about the Pairing? Michael once wondered if the Pairings have a choice in caring for us. Porter clearly does. The Elder twins chose not to marry their Pairings. And if Donovan and Rosa had feeling for each other that would mean … are we wrong about Pairings altogether? Wishful thinking.

Clearly Donovan married his Pairing, and they had Lark, and my mother married my father and had me. They chose their Pairings, but was there a possibility they could not have? Conceivably my mother left
because
Donovan didn’t choose her. Who would want to rub shoulders with the person they loved day in and day out and not be able to be with them? Not me.

I close my eyes, sorting through mental files to something Lark told me many months ago: her parents loved each other more than any romance movie or book. I know she told me that.

Perhaps I’m reading more into Donovan’s words than he meant to convey.

I breathe out through my mouth, leaving a foggy circle on the door.

Where does all of this leave me? Am I destined to bumble my way through shifting again? To keep demonstrating for everyone how colossally I can fail? To watch helplessly while my friends get injured, break down from exhaustion, or die? If that’s my lot in life, then I’ll take a pass. Seriously, the little good we Shifters accomplish by saving a person here and there can’t actually have an impact on the world. Can it? 

I’m tired. Too drained to consider such things objectively.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll decide—

There’s a clicking sound, and then the door to my room rolls open. It happens so fast I semi-fall into the doorway and right into Michael’s arms.

His eyes are heavily lidded, but his lopsided dimple appears for a second before retreating. “Look at that. Just who I was about to go search for.” He pulls me over the threshold and then hits the pad on the inside of the door to close it.

The eye-piercing orange bedspread is slightly rumpled, and the hot pink pillows have been moved around. Hopefully that means Michael dozed off at some point. I’d forgotten the exact tint of green that covered these walls but won’t make that mistake again. It’s the same shade as a cut avocado before the air has gotten the chance to change the flesh inside. My room is how I left it—still decorated for the girl who lived here before me.

Will Lark’s room remain the same? Or will a new Shifter be assigned to it and get rid of all her things? I never bothered to visit Lark’s room … to see what was important to her. Now I’ll never know. A hollow ache fills my chest.

Lark deserved a better friend than me.

I shrug off Michael’s arms, cross to my closet, and slip out of my shoes. My thoughts are tangled like rush-hour traffic. I don’t know what I should be talking about with Michael. Definitely not Lark. Guilt nibbles at my heart for that, but … it’s too much right now. If I dwell on my friend, I’ll be consumed by things I don’t want to feel.

Michael leans against the bed with his arms crossed and watches me. He’s working his jaw back and forth, keeping in words and questions and emotions.
Say something
. Why doesn’t he verbalize whatever he’s struggling with? It’s not that difficult. Open mouth, spew brain. I do it all the time.

I find a brush in the top desk drawer and work it through my hair, buying time. Michael might prefer silence, but I don’t. The past few days have rubbed me raw. I feel like a bruised and bloody hunk of meat hanging in a freezer that some chump has used as a punching bag.

And by chump, I mean Nicholas.

“Why are you a Shifter?” I point the brush at Michael.

The question hangs in the air between us. I didn’t phrase it correctly, but Michael usually has a knack for decoding my misspoken words. 

He cocks his head while he rubs his thumb and pointer finger back and forth across his bottom lip. “I’m going to assume you mean more than the fact that we’re both born Shifters?”

“Yes.” I nod and set down the brush before I get too zealous swinging the thing around. “You could not do your missions. But you choose to.”

His eyes narrow but not in anger or suspicion. No, he’s weighing his words. “I guess I care about our end goal.”

I perch on the arm rest of the couch so I’m facing him, but there’s a good five feet between us. “Wait. We have one?”

“Rescuing the Norms. Making the world safe. Minimizing despair. I believe in those things.” He pushes away from the bed and paces toward the wall.

“You actually buy that stuff?” I bite back a laugh which turns into a really unfeminine snort. “But it’s all so pointless.”

The word
pointless
feels sharp and sour the second it leaves my tongue. Wrong. Shifter’s missions aren’t pointless. Not really. Images project onto my mind—the girl Michael and I protected during the Wall Street bombing, Eddie, and the child I pulled from the Chicago River. Their lives matter.

Then again, so did Lark’s. Why should they be saved and not her?

My blood’s rushing fast and hot through my veins. So charged, I need release, or else I’ll fall apart. I want to yell or run five miles or lock horns with someone. The last option is winning.

Michael freezes, pivots, and pins me with a stern look. “You think everything I’ve sacrificed for, my entire life, is pointless?” He stalks toward me looking dark and intimidating. “Am I a joke to you? All of us Shifters … we’re stupid because, of course, Gabby knows best. You just learned about shifting, but you know, you understand it so much better than we all do.” The veins in his neck stand out against tensing muscles.

And the truth comes out. He thinks I’m judgmental.

I see red.

Pouncing off the couch, I get in his face and speak through clenched teeth. “If that’s what you think of me. Then get out.” I fist my hands in an attempt to hide the fact that my arms are quivering.

His nostrils flare, and his chest heaves with a deep breath. After a few seconds, he takes a step back, and the intense look in his eyes melts away. “Let’s rewind. We’re saying things we don’t mean.” He hooks his hand on the back of his neck and puts some space between us. “It would probably be best if we kept our thoughts to ourselves for now.”

“No. Absolutely not.” I advance toward him. My voice rises. “You don’t get to just shut down on me like you usually do. We’re supposed to be better friends than that. Though after what you just said ...”

“It’s
not
shutting down.” His tone says not to mess with him. Too bad.

“It is.” I shove his chest with the tips of my fingers. “And I’m not doing this with you anymore.” I fight the urge to grab his shirt and shake him. “You can talk—be brave enough to have it out with me—or you can leave.”

“It’s not shutting down.” He repeats.

“Then enlighten me. Seriously. Because I’m grasping at straws here.”

“This is surviving.” He grabs at the fabric near his neck. “How can you not see that?”

“Surviving?” I laugh once, but it holds no humor. “You go on back to your room and sit in your comfortable silence.” I point at the door. “I’ll stay here alone and try to work through the fact that my friend died in my arms today.” Hot tears blaze down my checks. I hate them. But I don’t care anymore.

Michael turns away from me and goes straight for the door but then stops suddenly and spins back around. Fire in his eyes. “Know what?” His legs eat up the distance between us. His voice drops low—almost to a growl. “You’re not the only one who lost Lark today. Believe it or not, you’re not the only person hurting right now. She was my friend too.”

His words prick my conscience like a tiny needle poking holes into a balloon, causing it to deflate immediately. I wish he had said something mean and cutting. Right now, embracing anger would be preferred to admitting guilt. But Michael’s right. I haven’t stopped to consider what he must be feeling. Ever since I got back to Keleusma, he’s spent his time comforting me and hasn’t been able to deal with his loss. And I repaid his kindness by lashing out.

Most people would have stormed away if I’d spewed in their direction. But Michael stayed. He took it.

“I’m sorry.” I take a half step in his direction. “There’s so much in my head right now, and so much I don’t understand, and it just makes me angry. All of it.” Another half step.

What happened to my vow to tell people I cared about them? To see their struggles instead of focusing on my own? I forgot so quickly.

My throat constricts. “First you were so sick and then Lark … I’m not okay right now. I’m sorry.”

Michael rakes his hand through his hair and then closes the last of the distance between us. He places his hands on my shoulders. “I should never have spoken to you like that.”

I shrug. “I act like a jerk half the time.”

He runs his fingers up my neck and uses them to tip my chin. But as if that’s not enough for him, his other hand finds my face, and he tentatively traces down my cheek so he’s cradling my head with both his hands. “There was a span of time today when I thought I’d lost you.” He drops his forehead so it touches mine and closes his eyes. “I never want to feel that way again.”

Michael lets go of me abruptly. “Then to find out about Lark … I’m a horrible person, Gabby. I was relieved that it was her and not you. That was my first thought. That’s so messed up. Lark was my friend. I—I really care about her. I’m still numb.” He grabs at his hair and walks toward the bed. “I know it drives you crazy, but I like to think things through before talking about them. I need time to process. I haven’t gotten that today.”

“Hey.” I come up behind him and run my hands down his back until they still at his waist. I hesitate for a moment—I’m not sure what he’s thinking or if he’s forgiven me for taking out my anger on him—but it’s Michael’s turn to be comforted. I wrap my arms around him tightly, press into his back, and lay my cheek against his shoulder blade as I close my eyes. Michael’s hands find my wrists. He clings to me.

Bowing his head, he takes a giant breath before releasing it all through his nose. “We can’t attack each other like that.” He turns in my arms. “We are not each other’s enemy. We should be a safe place, me for you and you for me.”

“I know.” I stare at the hollow in his throat because any higher and I’m liable to melt into a puddle of shame on the floor. I press my forehead into his collar bone, just in case he’s considering tipping my chin again to look me in the eye.

“I was so upset and I don’t know what to do with everything and there’s still so much—”