“What are you doing? Where are you going?” she called out, but he was already on the porch. “Will you be back for din—”
He slammed the door, and, gasping, sucked air like a drowning man breaking the surface.
Motherfucker.He hated being weak. Hated panicking over a freaking lavatory.I’m free now. I’m free.He reminded himself he was no longer boxed in by Dark Ops.
He’d left the organization, but leaving the memories and feelings behind had proven much harder.
Redirect, redirect.He stomped off the porch and headed for the town. He’d do a little recon. Hopefully, the distraction would help him calm down.
Chapter Three
“Where’s Marshall?” Faith asked. As expected, Amity’s friends had shown up at her cabin to go to dinner together.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “He went out about an hour ago.”
Faith and Bragg exchanged a wry glance.
“We didn’t fight.” At least she hadn’t thought so. She’d racked her brain for what she might have said to precipitate his abrupt departure. They’d seemed to be getting along, having a decent conversation. She’d even started to forgive him a little tiny bit—and then he’d stormed out.
And they say women are moody! Ha!
“Let’s go to dinner. Marshall can do whatever Marshall does.”At least I have friends.She and Faith went way back, and John seemed like a nice guy—unlike her cold, emotionless pseudo-husband.
Was she destined to be unlucky in love? Cosmically cursed? Even the Cosmic Mates match had been a dud. She shuddered at the disastrous encounter with the Nagarian. But since she’d just joined the matchmaking service, she’d remained hopeful thateventuallythey’d find her a compatible match. Then Marshall had entered the picture.
Now she was locked into a loveless, fake marriage after which she’d be another year older.
Being single hadn’t bothered her quite so much until Faith had married. Her whirlwind romance had emphasized the loneliness of Amity’s life. The man had fallen head-over-heels cray-cray for Faith—and she felt the same way about him. Amity was happy for their good fortune but a little jealous, too. Faith, a decade younger, was on her second, albeit last, husband.
Don’t I get a turn?
She shrugged into her hand-me-down coat and slipped her pay card into the pocket. She’d always been the charity donor, never the recipient. It humbled her to depend on the goodwill of strangers for basic necessities. If not for them, she wouldn’t have a warm jacket or a change of clothes.
But she did not intend to be dependent for long. Tomorrow, she’d begin her job as a weaver. A weaver! She really did feel like she’d been dropped into a reenacted pioneer village.
“As soon as I get paid, I’m buying some clothes,” she announced as they left the cabin.
After Marshall’s abrupt departure, she’d explored every centimeter of the unit and found a long flat footlocker under the bed. It contained sheets, blankets, and a couple of pillows. She dressed the bed—trying not to think about the awkwardness of sharing it with Marshall—
and then unpacked her duffel, stowing her two hand-me-down outfits in the footlocker. A pair of warm boots, which, unfortunately, didn’t fit, and a long-sleeved granny-like shift she assumed was a nightgown, completed the entirety of her wardrobe.
“We’re looking forward to getting paid, too,” Faith said. “However, our first priority is getting a box and figuring out what we can use for litter for Rusty.”
“I should have saved the rice I shook out of my clothes. I had enough down my shirt to fill a box,” Amity joked.
Faith laughed. “I’m still finding rice in my clothes and shoes.”
“How is Rusty?” she asked.
“Adjusting well. He made himself at home on our bed. We took him outside to go potty. It’s like having to walk a dog. And it’s not going to work when we start our jobs. It’s too cold to leave a window open for him to come and go, and I’d be afraid he wouldn’t know where he lives and wouldn’t find his way home.”
“I’m not sureIcan find my way home!” Amity said. “The units all look alike. There’s nothing to distinguish one from the other.”
“Like clones,” John quipped.
There weren’t so many housing units that she couldn’t eventually find hers, but she pictured herself entering the wrong house. “Which one is yours, by the way?”
“Fourth one down from yours,” John answered.
