He shook his head, still lingering by the door. “For what?”
“Bethany.”
“That wasn’t your fault. I spoke with Nicolas briefly. I know you did your best to protect those kids.”
“I failed.”
He came forward a few steps. “You saved four lives today.”
“At the expense of one.”
“Bethany is not your fault, Renee. She chose to go with the others. She put herself at risk.”
Anger rose hotly in my chest. “So it’s Bethany’s fault she’s brain-dead?”
“That’s not what I said or what I meant.”
Thatcher’s words made sense but I didn’t want to hear them. We knew the clones were targeting Bethany and we allowed her to leave the safety of the island anyway. It didn’t excuse my culpability; it actually made it worse. I should have stopped her from leaving us two days ago. I should have done so many things differently.
“Stop that,” he said.
I blinked. “Stop what?”
“Second-guessing your choices and playing the what-if game.”
“If anyone else but me had been with those kids—”
“You don’t know how things would have turned out. Maybe worse.”
I laughed bitterly. “I doubt that. This happened because of me and my stupid, useless fucking Flex powers. I’m a goddamn liability to everyone here.”
“According to Nicolas, your powers stopped the fight and got Hinder to back down.”
“I let the clones get away.”
“I understand your anger—”
“Oh, I’m way past anger right now.” I lurched out of my chair so fast I almost fell over. “I left anger a while ago, back when I was first burned. I even hit bargaining not long ago, during the earthquake. You know what this is, Derek? This is me accepting I’ll never be the hero my friends are, because my Meta powers are compromised. They’re never getting better.”
Saying it out loud to another person made everything hit home. The Flex powers I’d loved as a child and loved again for six months this year were gone. I was at half my original capabilities, if that. I carried a gun now, for crying out loud! If it weren’t for the fact that my family was here (and I would always be blue), I’d have left a long time ago.
“You’re so much more than your powers, Renee,” Thatcher said softly. “They don’t define you.”
“No? Teresa’s powers define her.”
“You aren’t Teresa.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Not better or worse than Teresa, just not her. You’re you, and I happen to like you very much. You’re smart, you’re quick-witted, and you’re beautiful. You are incredibly loyal to your friends, and your heart is bigger than you let on. None of that has anything to do with your Flex ability. It’s already inside you.”
Tears stung my eyes. “What good is any of that if I’m useless in a fight?”
“Just because you don’t shoot energy spheres from your hands or create whirlwinds doesn’t mean you’re powerless. Or useless.”
“This coming from a guy who can alter the chemical composition of metal.” Before he could argue further, I put up a staying hand. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you, Derek. Go be with your son, okay?”
I turned and left. He didn’t try to stop me or chase after me—and I was surprised at how much that stung. I ignored the curious looks thrown my way by the occasional newbie and ducked outside. I wanted the sunshine on my face and open spaces. The morning was crisp and damp and smelled like autumn. Winter would be here soon. I hated snow and the cold. Vegas had been a great town for me with its insanely warm weather.
Maybe.
I wandered down toward the sparring fields, which were empty. The solitude felt nice after being in such close quarters with six other people for more than twenty-four hours. I was a naturally social person (usually) and I liked being around others, but right now I needed alone time so I could think.
Teresa didn’t get the memo.
She found me under a tree and sat down uninvited.
“I don’t want to talk about Bethany,” I said before she could.
“Well, good, because I want to talk about you.”
“Can we not?”
“Being responsible sucks. It sucks even more when someone you’re responsible for gets hurt. And it’s goddamn torture when they die.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine, then you can listen, because this is something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.” She twisted around to face me; I stared straight ahead. “I’m sorry.”
The strangled grief in her voice made me look at her. Her eyes were red and shiny with new tears. “Sorry for what?” I asked, perplexed.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you from Queen. I’m sorry you were burned so badly.”
My brain stuttered for a response to that. I gaped at her, vocal cords frozen. She looked so utterly miserable that I wanted to hug her but I was too damned confused to move. “T, I don’t understand. You were shot. You were in the hospital.”
“You were still my team. It was my responsibility—”
“You. Were. In. The. Hospital.”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t change anything. Maybe circumstances were out of my control, but that’s the nature of leadership. I still felt and do feel responsible for everything that happened to you guys. Doesn’t matter that I
“Stop.” I grabbed her hands and squeezed tight. Her fingers were cold, and she gripped mine fiercely. “You’re the one always telling us that we can’t change the past, that we have to learn from our mistakes and look forward.”
“Do as I say, not as I do,” she replied with a mournful smile.
“My burns? Not your fucking fault.”
She arched one eyebrow. “Bethany’s injuries? Not your fucking fault, either.”
“Maybe not, T, but I’m still a liability.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Then maybe you should open your goddamn eyes.” I stood up, unable to stomach her hurt, startled expression. “Start seeing things the way they really are for a change. That this fantasy of Metas uniting for the common good is bullshit. All we do is hurt people. We let friends die in fires and we let teenagers get strung up from gym rafters, and it’ll never fucking stop.”
I bolted, too afraid of bursting into tears to stay and let her yell at me the way I deserved. I’d been needlessly cruel and we both knew it. I also knew it would keep her from following me or bothering me for a few hours. I made it inside, upstairs, and was twenty feet from my bedroom before Ethan cut me off.
“What?” I snapped.
He took a step back, blinked hard, then frowned. “You look like hell, Renee.”
“Thanks, Windy, I needed to hear that. Fuck off.”
“No.”
“Please fuck off?”
“Tell me you’re on your way to your room.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to yours.”
“To sleep, Stretch.”
I nearly slipped up and told him I was avoiding sleep, and the inevitable nightmares, for as long as possible.
