13. Chapter Thirteen

Cally

I’ve known him less than a day, but he continues to surprise me at every turn. What he just did was so generous. And risky. I need to respond in kind.

After turning down the heat on the burner and pulling the second stool to the opposite side of the bar from him, I sit down and stare at the lanyard and keys lying on the middle of the counter. They’re his peace offering.

I feel small, shitty, and selfish.

Sylas has been nothing but kind. Although I don’t know much of his backstory, I’d wager he’s lived a more difficult life than I can imagine.

The secret I now carry is life and death not only to him, but to ninety-nine others, and I’ve been treating it as though it’s merely a bargaining chip.

As a rule, I try to avoid reading or listening to the news, but I do live in this world and have at least a basic understanding of current events. I can’t escape the reality that hatred is running rampant.

Surely, some people will be thrilled to know that splicers exist and were rescued from what I imagine were terrible conditions. Those kind people will be full of well-wishes, prayers, and generous GoFundMe campaigns.

Another faction, though, will take one look at the splicers, perceive them as “other,” and become haters. In my experience, hate often morphs from thoughts to words to actions.

I have no doubt that Sylas’s fears about what might happen if the splicers’ existence is leaked could be very real and very deadly.

If he’s reading the situation right, I’ll be free to return to life as I know it in less than two years. Is that too big a price to pay to possibly save one hundred lives?

When I think of it like that, my course of action becomes clear.

After pushing the keys toward him, I say, “Keep these, Sylas. I don’t want you to have one moment of restless sleep wondering if I’ll sneak out while you’re sawing logs. Relax. I’ll be here for the duration. I promise.”

His gorgeous eyes, now luminous whiskey brown in the dusky light, narrow as he reads me. I imagine he’s assessing my sincerity.

“I didn’t expect that.” He traces the outline of one of my car keys but doesn’t touch it. “I’m not sure I deserve it. I… could have been nicer to both you and your dog.”

“There’s a fix for that, you know. At least for Tater.” I shrug as my pet comes running at the sound of his name spoken in the room where food is prepared. “You don’t eat meat and, what do you know, Tater loves it. Give him your rations and he’ll be your friend for life.”

“Okay.” He nods. “If there’s meat in the hut, he can have my share.”

I can feel Sylas’s reluctance as he slips the lanyard over his neck, which only makes me like him more.

“By the way. Although I’m fearful of making myself known to your colonel, there’s an expiration date on keeping Tater and me a secret. I’ve pawed through your cabinets, and although there’s a large stack of shelf-stable bacon, when that and the big bag of dog chow are gone, we’re going to have to come clean.”

He laughs. It’s hearty and real. Earlier today, I’d wondered what he would look like if he were happy. Now I know. He gets little wrinkles at the corners of those big, beautiful eyes and his cheeks flush with color as he smiles, transforming his masculine face into a thing of wonder.

His laugh is deep and soothing; almost like a lullaby that makes me feel safe and content, despite our odd circumstances. His eyes sparkle with amusement when he looks at me with acceptance.

Maybe there’s more than acceptance in his expression. Whatever it is, it causes an electric zing to sizzle through my synapses.