“I don’t know. My mind is still too messed up right now. We’ll have to figure it out later.”
“How long do we have until they take you again?”
He looks away. “It depends what we give them. It depends on a lot of factors.”
“Why don’t you just tell them what they want to know? Wouldn’t that end all of this?”
“No. We already talked about this.”
I shove my fists in my pockets. His stubbornness is going to get him killed, and where does that leave me? “We didn’t talk about it. You wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“And I still won’t, so stop asking.”
I throw up my hands. “So that’s it then? I go about my business while you get tortured?”
He glares at me and tries to sit up. The pain must be unbearable when he sucks in a ragged breath and collapses again. But my heart is too shredded to take back my protest. I can’t forgive him for accepting this. He needs to burn like I do. Plot a gruesome revenge, our epic battle. Even a hysterical tirade would be better than this.
“I don’t need your accusations. Not now,” he says, and I’m grateful for the sudden fire, even if directed at me.
“Then be honest with me. Why won’t you tell me the truth?”
“What truth? You don’t even know what you’re asking.”
“So explain it to me. Or better yet, let me see.”
He tucks into his shell, and I know I’ve lost. He’s clearly in agony, and I’m furious at him for suffering in silence. For protecting me with a hard front when I should be the one helping him.
“Does it hurt?” I eye the bandages, and he shakes his head. Liar. “You were unconscious when they brought you in. Was it from the drugs?”
“Mostly.”
“Do you want me to go?” I fear his response, but can’t take the sudden distance between us. I messed it all up. Or he did. We both did.
When he looks away, I have my answer.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I just can’t handle your thoughts right now.”
I hate it—and completely understand. “When should I come back?”
“Don’t. I’ll find you.”
I swallow my emotion and move to the door.
“Rebecca, wait,” he calls after me. I turn my head slightly but I can’t look at him. Not if I have any chance of leaving him here alone like this. “It’s not you.” He doesn’t have to finish.
It’s not my fault. I get it. But, what if it is?
Daniel disappears again but leaves enough signs for me to know he’s okay this time. I appreciate the reassurance even if it does nothing to ease my anxiety. He knows the pressure we face, that Clausen will badger me about our limited timeline. I deflect the inquisitions as best I can, but without Daniel’s cooperation, I’m powerless to offer anything more than a promise.
And I miss him. Gosh, I miss him and hate the constant fear that the next time I see him will be in that room. Or maybe… I can’t even think about the or.
I find Sara, Matthew and Connor for the group activity session, doing my best to look the part. Connor rolls his eyes when he sees me, and the slightest of smiles slips over my lips.
“It’s going well,” he whispers.
“When’s the wedding?” I ask.
He grunts. “Aren’t you supposed to be here supporting me? What’s with shirking your responsibility as the wingman’s wingman?”
