Earthbound

you? Isn’t that what he said?” Benson pauses. “Maybe he’s going to show you what you can do.”

I pull the cuffs of my jacket over my suddenly chilled hands when a thought occurs to me. “Maybe he can do it too.”

Benson gives one jerky nod. “Maybe.”

Whoever Quinn is, he’s wrapped up in all of this. Benson’s right—he has to be. I’m not sure I want to talk about Quinn with Benson, not after … but what choice do I have? “Do you think I should tell him I already know?”

“I guess you have to decide how much you really trust him,” Benson says quietly.

With my life.

The thought comes unbidden—feels more like an invisible someone whispering in my ear. Reflexively, I pull away, but of course no one is there. I try to shake off the eerie feeling and rub the goose bumps from my arms.

“Tave.” Benson hesitates and I know what he’s going to ask. “What … what is he to you?”

I swallow and look at up Benson—the person who has single-handedly gotten me through the last few months, to say nothing of the last forty-eight hours. Yes, there’s been Reese and Jay and Elizabeth—not that I’m certain anymore that they had my best interests in mind—but really, the person who pulled me through was Benson. Benson, who I’ve now been kissing for twenty-four hours.

I wish I could talk to him about anything but this.

“I don’t know,” I finally whisper, looking down into my lap.

“Even now? After … after everything. You don’t know?”

I lift my shoulder into a shrug, hating that it’s the truth.

“It’s just that—” He cuts off, his fingers gripped tightly together. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this if it’s only … if it’s only kissing for you. If that’s all I wanted, honestly, it would be great. It’d be fun. But … but it’s more than that to me,” he finishes, looking up and meeting my eyes for just a moment before turning away. “You’re more than that to me.”

To me too! The words are on the edge of my tongue, but I can’t say them, not until there’s only one guy in the arena. Until then, I can’t take anything to the next step. It wouldn’t be fair to Benson, but it’s not fair to me either.

The thing is that it should be easy. I have no reason to even like Quinn, much less be obsessed with him the way I am. I know what I want; I want Benson. So why does my heart ache at the thought of never seeing Quinn again?

A door slams downstairs and startles me from my haze enough to glance at Benson’s clock. “Crap! I gotta go. Reese and Jay are going to start wondering where I am and I can’t let that happen,” I rattle distractedly as I grab my backpack. “Would you mind taking me home? Maybe dropping me off a block from the house so Reese doesn’t suspect anything?”

“You’re going back? Tave, don’t. It’s not safe. Stay here with me,” Benson says a little too seriously, then breaks the tension by tacking on, “I promise I won’t let Dustin grope you in your sleep if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll make him stay on the couch. He passes out there half the time anyway.”

“I can’t,” I say, and my voice sounds utterly defeated even to myself. “I have nothing with me and I don’t know what I’m up against yet. I need some time.”

Benson reaches out for both of my hands in a gesture that speaks more of desperation than affection. “It doesn’t sound like you have much time, Tave.”

“I have some,” I say, squeezing back. “It’s just one night.”

“And tomorrow night?” he asks.

“I guess I’ll make that decision tomorrow.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Despite vehement protests about the rain—which, of course, started up again about two minutes after I got into Benson’s car, stupid weather—I make Benson drop me off down the street from the house. I want everything to appear normal.

After he tells me to be careful, I start to lean in for a kiss.

But stop.

I can’t go there—we can’t go there—until I figure this out.

I plod home slowly, rain trickling down my neck from where the wind blows it into my face. The chill wakes me up. Its bite is so sharp it seems to scrape the skin on my cheeks, but it grounds me, reminds me that I’m here. That I’m alive.

It used to only take simple things to do that—the feel of fresh air on my skin, the smell of bread baking, the sound of children laughing.

Now my reminders have to be harsh, and I admit, it frightens me.

My head is spinning. Being betrayed by Reese and Elizabeth was bad enough. The rest is hard to even contemplate.

I can make stuff.

Stuff that disappears in about five minutes.

It’s not so bad, I try to convince myself as I turn up the front walk. I’m breathing. I’m healthy. And that doesn’t seem to be changing. At least not in the very immediate future.

As in, tonight.

But the sight of the house—the place I have, until this afternoon, thought of as my home—brings everything back. Truth is, I’m seeing things that aren’t there, people are both hunting for and hiding me, and, oh yes, the laws of physics apparently no longer apply. Did the brain surgeons do this to me? Is it something I could do before? Am I dying as a result, or is someone trying to kill me?

I don’t even know for certain which side my aunt and uncle are on.

I reach for the doorknob but can’t make myself turn it. Instead I sit on the top step of the porch, barely protected from the downpour, and curl my arms around my knees, pulling them close to my chest. For hours now my mind has been racing. Running around and around the same problems, worries, and suspicions until my brain feels physically tired.

Everything with Quinn and now Benson is tipping me over the edge. I’m not sure I can handle things changing with Benson—even a good change. He’s my rock, the one solid thing in the hurricane of my life.

But the feel of his lips on mine …

I jerk my hand down from where my fingers are gingerly touching my mouth, reliving those minutes. Perfect minutes.

Not now.

I have to figure things out with Quinn first.

Quinn, who I might be in love with.

It sounds crazy, but I’ve never in my life felt an emotion this overpowering. It’s like quicksand, threatening to drag me under the more I try to fight it. He makes me feel like someone I know I’m not—someone who’ll take risks, throw logic out the window, gamble it all for the thrill.

I’ve been a stranger in my own body before, and I don’t like the similarities.

If only it was merely a matter of the heart. But Quinn has answers; I’m sure of it. He knows me. The way he looks at me—as though he hears my inner thoughts, my darkest secrets. Things I don’t know about myself.

A week ago I had a normal crush on Benson. Steady, comfortable Benson. Now I’ve moved on to an intense physical relationship with him even while I’m obsessed with another guy who I can’t find, can’t contact—and yet he makes me feel more alive than I have since my parents died.

It’s too much. Too fast. With both of them.