The Girl Who Kicked Ass (Death Fields 3)

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” I feel a little bit like a jerk. I hadn’t gone down once since we’d arrived back at the base. “I can come with you if you want?”

“You sleep,” he says, reaching for me. He rubs his thumb along my neck and goosebumps rise on my arms.

“Okay,” I agree. “But come see me when you get finished.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

We separate and go opposite directions. When I turn the corner, I see Paul waiting outside my room. He looks a million times better than when we found him. His cheeks are filled out from getting some food and nourishment. His eyes brighter and the dark, sunken circles underneath gone. His disposition and attitude is better—he’s upbeat and happy to be part of the team. Davis and I watch him closely but neither of us has seen the single hint to the fighter from the night we got here. I’m starting to think I made it up.

“He seems weird,” he says when I get to him.

“Who?”

“Cole.”

I shake my head. “How would you know?”

He leans his lanky body against the wall. “I know you asked him back to your room and he declined. In my opinion, that’s weird.”

My cheeks flush. Was I that obvious? It’s not like I’ve done anything like this before. Paul watches me with an expression that is one of amusement and sympathy. Trying to save face I say, “I didn’t ask him back here. I was just making small talk. It’s not a big deal.”

“Enhanced hearing seems to be one of the benefits.” He touches his ear and gives me an apologetic smile. “I know you and Davis are keeping an eye on me. I know you think something’s wrong. There may be. I don’t know. But I’m not the only one acting strange, and that exchange between the two of you confirms it. It’s the apocalypse. No one turns down a chance to share a bed with a beautiful woman when given the opportunity.”

“Oh, God.” My face is so red I break out into a sweat. Paul shakes his head and fights a burst of laughter. The dorm is full of sleeping people. I reach for the door handle in an attempt to escape. “I wasn’t—that’s not what—”

Paul stops me and says. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, Alex. I really do think something may be wrong. Keep an eye on him.” He opens the door for me. “Goodnight. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Paul.”

I close the door and strip to my T-shirt and a pair of shorts before getting into bed. Under the thin, wool blanket I push to forget everything embarrassing thing that had just transpired and slip into a heavy sleep.

*

The light from the hall brightens the room for a brief, bold moment, waking me enough that I see the body slip into the room. My hand is on the knife I keep under my pillow but it’s unnecessary. A halo of shaggy, curled blonde hair catches the light before we’re swallowed in darkness.

“Hey,” I call in a groggy voice, and I feel his weight on the edge of the mattress.

“Sorry I woke you. It took longer than I thought but…”

“It’s fine.” I scoot over further and again, I sense the slightest hesitation before he kicks off his boots and fills the empty space beside me. He lifts his arm to move around my neck, cradling me to his side.

“How’s Josie?”

“Good. Stronger, I think. She went through a lot out there.”

I think about the young woman surrounded by semi-feral men. They protected her—but at what cost?

“It’s good that you’re helping her,” I say, resting a hand on his stomach. He’s too thin, we all are, but I feel the muscles beneath his shirt contract at my touch. “Things could have ended differently for me out there. You know, back in the beginning. I don’t think I would have made it far without having help.”

“I’ve never said this, but I should have been there for you in barn, you know, with your mother. Chloe and I got hung up with some Eaters and we lost track of you for about twenty-four hours.” His voice is quiet. Heavy with sadness.

“Wyatt was there. I wasn’t alone.”

He winces and I realize that was not the comment he needed to hear. “Yeah, he was.”

I want to tell him Wyatt is playing a game I can’t quite keep up with. Someone we can’t exactly trust, even though my gut tells me something different. I haven’t told anyone he was in the house with my father. I’m not exactly sure why, although one look at Cole’s pained expression gives me a good idea. I hate that he feels this way—like he’s never enough.

I can barely make Cole out in the dark, but I roll on my side and ask, “Did I ever thank you for saving me that day on the boat? Properly?”