Champion (Legend 3)

I splash water repeatedly on my face, and when that doesn’t help, I jump in the shower and drown myself with scalding hot water. But it doesn’t numb the images.

By the time I finally emerge from the bathroom, my hair still wet and my shirt half buttoned, I’m sickly pale and trembling. June watches me quietly as she sits on the edge of her bed, sipping a pale purple tea. Even though I know it’s pointless to try hiding anything from her, I still give it a shot. “I’m ready,” I say with as genuine of a smile as I can muster. She doesn’t deserve to see this sort of pain on my face, and I don’t want her to think that she’s the one causing it. She’s not the one causing it, I angrily remind myself.

But June doesn’t comment on it. She studies me with those deep dark eyes. “I just got a call from Anden,” she says, running a hand uncomfortably through her hair. “They have some new evidence that Commander Jameson’s the one responsible for passing along some military secrets to the Colonies. It sounds like she’s working for them now.”

Underneath my tidal wave of emotions, a deep hatred wells up. If it weren’t for Commander Jameson, maybe everything would have been better between June and me—and maybe our families would still be alive. I don’t know. We’ll never know. And now she’s working for the enemy when she’s supposed to be dead. I mutter a curse under my breath. “Is there any way to know exactly where she is? Is she actually in the Republic?”

“No one knows.” June shakes her head. “Anden says they’re trying to see if anything on her can be tracked, but she must have long changed out of her prison clothing, and her boots’ tracking chips must be gone by now. She’ll have made sure of that.” When June sees the frustration on my face, she grimaces in sympathy. Both of us, broken by the same person. “I know.” She puts her tea down and squeezes my uninjured hand.

Violent flashbacks flicker through my memory at her touch—I wince before I can stop myself. She freezes. For a second, I see the deep hurt in her expression. I quickly cover up my mistake by kissing her, trying to lose myself in the gesture as I did last night.

But I’ve never been the best liar, at least not around her. She takes a step away from me. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” I say in a rush, irritated with myself at dragging our old wounds back to the surface. “It’s not—”

“Yes, it is.” June forces herself to face me. “I saw where you went last night—I saw you in there. . . .” Her voice fades away as she looks down in guilt. “I’m sorry I followed you, but I had to know. I had to see that I was the one causing all of the grief in your eyes.”

I want to reassure her that it’s not all because of her, that I love her so desperately that I’m terrified of the feeling. But I can’t. June sees the hesitation on my face and knows it’s a confirmation of her fear. She bites her lip. “It’s my fault,” she says, as if it’s just simple logic. “And I’m not sure I will ever be able to earn your forgiveness. I shouldn’t.”

“I don’t know what to do.” My hands dangle at my sides, helpless. Terrible images from our past flash through my mind again—my best attempts can’t stop them. “I don’t know how to do it.”

June’s eyes are glossy with tears, but she manages to hold them in. Can one mistake really destroy a lifetime together? “I don’t think there’s a way,” she finally says.

I take a step toward her. “Hey,” I whisper in her ear. “We’ll be okay.” I’m not sure if it’s true, but it seems like the best thing to say.

June smiles, playing along, but her eyes mirror my own doubt.

* * *

The second day of the Colonies’ promised ceasefire.

The last place I want to return to is the lab floor of the Los Angeles Central Hospital. It’s hard enough being there and seeing Tess contained behind glass walls, with chemicals being injected into her bloodstream. Now I’ll be back there with Eden at my side, and I’ll have to deal with seeing the same thing happen to him. As we get ready to head down to the jeep waiting in front of our temporary apartment, I kneel in front of Eden and straighten his glasses. He stares solemnly back.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say again.

“I know,” Eden replies. He brushes my hand impatiently away when I wipe lint off his jacket’s shoulders. “I’ll be fine. They said it wouldn’t take all day, anyway.”

Anden couldn’t guarantee his safety; he could only promise that they would take every precaution. And coming from the mouth of the Republic—even a mouth that I’ve come to grudgingly trust—that little cracked bit of reassurance means almost nothing. I sigh. “If you change your mind at any point, you let me know, yeah?”

“Don’t worry, Daniel,” he says, shrugging off the whole thing. “I’ll be fine. It doesn’t seem that scary. At least you get to be there.”

“Yeah. At least I get to be there,” I echo numbly. Lucy fusses over his messy blond curls. More reminders of home, and of Mom. I shut my eyes and try to clear my thoughts. Then I reach out and tap Eden on the nose. “The sooner they start,” I say to him, “the sooner it can all be over.”

Minutes later, a military jeep picks me up while a medic truck transports Eden separately to the Los Angeles Central Hospital.

He can do this, I repeat to myself as I reach the fourth-floor laboratory. I’m escorted by technicians to a chamber with thick glass windows. And if he can, then I can live through it. But still, my hands are sweaty. I clench them again in an attempt to stop their endless trembling, and a stab of pain runs through my injured palm. Eden’s inside this glass chamber. His pale blond curls are messy and ruffled in spite of Lucy’s efforts, and he’s now wearing a thin red patient scrub. His feet are bare. A pair of lab technicians help him up onto a long, white bed, and one of them rolls up Eden’s sleeves to take his blood pressure. Eden winces when the cool rubber touches his arm.