I give him a suspicious look, not moving any closer. Now that we’re out of the Facility, I think about our argument, about running away from him. I’m not sure how to act around him.
He takes a step forward, bends down, and hooks his hand under my legs, pulling me up into his arms.
“I can walk by myself!” I struggle and push my hands against him. I don’t want to rely on his support. He ignores me and continues through the woods.
“You’re about to fall over. We’re still not clear of the lab. We need to get you back to the Bentleys’ house.” His voice is still soft, hushed.
His arms are solid against my knees, my back. He carries me as though I weigh nothing. I stop fighting, one hand rising up to his neck almost involuntarily.
“Are you still mad at me?” I blurt out the question.
Wes gazes down at me through long, dark lashes. He looks different from this angle; his bottom lip is even fuller, his chin more pronounced. He looks innocent, as if his armor is falling away. I wonder if that’s true or if it’s just a trick of the moonlight and shadows.
“No. Seeing him hurt you …” He trails off and his arms tighten around me. “I’m not mad.”
I’m silent as I digest this. He might not be mad, but he doesn’t want me to try to stop Dean either.
“Are you still mad?” His voice is curiously blank, and he stares straight ahead as he asks the question.
“Not anymore.” I wait a beat. “I wish you didn’t try to trick me though.”
Wes walks us around a tree trunk, then through a thicker part of the woods. He ducks so I can push branches out of the way as we pass.
“I wasn’t trying to trick you,” he says quietly. “I honestly thought you would want to leave once you had the information.”
“I still have things to do.”
“I gathered that.” His voice lowers. “You want to save Dean.”
He doesn’t sound very happy about it, and I don’t say anything. After a few minutes, he stops at the edge of an open clearing. There’s one large building in the middle of it, with several army-green jeeps parked nearby. I slide down out of his arms, holding on to his shoulder as my head spins a little.
As soon as I let go, Wes motions me forward. We move through the trees in a wide arc, stopping when we’re close to a wooden structure. It looks like a utility shed; there are no windows and only one wide metal door.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
“Old supply area. There aren’t any guards, but a patrol comes by every half hour. I’m not sure when they were last here. We should wait.” But then he looks at my tired, bruised face and seems to reassess. “We’ll go now.”
He crouches down and runs toward one of the small all-terrain jeeps. I run after him, gritting my teeth against the pounding in my head. He holds the passenger-side door open for me and I dive in. The jeep is low to the ground, with a thin canvas top and no windows.
Wes slides into the driver’s seat. I duck down as he yanks at something under the steering wheel.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Hot-wiring it.” He does something with his hands, there’s a spark, and the jeep roars to life. “It’s easy with these old cars.” He throws it into gear and we back up quickly.
I stare at the wires hanging near his legs. “Will you teach me how to do that?”
He glances at me, surprised. “You want to learn how to hot-wire a car?”
“It seems like a useful skill.”
His lips tilt into a smile, but he doesn’t respond.
The headlights are off as we drive quickly out of the clearing. Soon we’re on the main road that curves through the camp. It’s empty this late at night, though I can see lights glowing in other parts of the base.
“What about the guards at the gate?”
“We’re not going through the gate.” Wes veers the jeep onto a tiny dirt road that leads through a maze of trees. We turn onto another run-down path. This one curves west through the southern part of the camp, not far from the cliffs near the beach. After a while the road ends and turns into forest. I expect Wes to stop, but he keeps going. We drive around trees, over a tiny stream. I hold tight to the dashboard as we bounce through the woods.
The trees open into a wide field, and Wes drives along the edge of a grassy pasture. It’s too windy inside the jeep to try to talk to each other, but I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. Everything unsaid seems to stir and boil between us, and the air grows thicker and thicker with tension.
When the field ends and turns into the beach, Wes cuts the engine. We’re parked on top of a dune, and the ocean is in front of us, dark and unending. It is almost impossible to see where the black water turns into the night sky.
Wes opens his door. “Wait there.” He gets out of the jeep and disappears. I hear him rummaging around in the truck bed.
I breathe in the scent of salt water and listen to the sound of the waves running onto the shore. Being on the beach feels like coming home again, especially after the night I’ve had.
My door opens and I look up. Wes is leaning over me. His face is stark in the moonlight, all angles and dark hollows. I feel something tighten inside my chest.
He slowly takes my chin in his hand. I flinch, but I don’t pull away. Using his other hand, he touches my cheek with a piece of cloth that he
