He stepped back, but left his palm curved around my side. “Coach benches us if we cut. Can I see you later? After practice?”
His mouth came down on mine, silencing the whisper of doubt inside me. Later, I’d tell him about his Echoes. We’d figure out how to free him from the anomaly. We’d start fresh. We’d be happy. Simon’s kiss made it all seem possible, the choices before us as limitless as the multiverse itself.
“Sounds good,” I said, and let myself believe.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
IT WAS EASY to think I’d done the right thing with Simon whispering those exact words in my ear. But as the day wore on, doubt crept back in. I’d told an Original about the Walkers. I’d let him see me Walk. I was still keeping secrets from Simon, and Eliot was still avoiding me.
It was probably for the best. I could only imagine what Eliot would say if he knew I’d told Simon about us. He’d probably turn me in to the Consort himself. Maybe he already had.
When I arrived home, Mom was waiting by the kitchen island with her coat on, a giant leather tote at her feet. Her shoulders sagged with relief.
“Del! Where have you been?”
“School. Like every other weekday. Am I in trouble?” Guilt surged, and I turned away, fumbling with my coat and scarf.
“I’m in a hurry. The Consort needs me to come in right away, Addie’s at her apprenticeship, and I didn’t want to leave your grandfather alone.”
“I can hang out with him.” In the family room, Monty was watching a documentary on the History Channel, arguing with the narrator about the outcome of the Korean War. “How long will you be gone?”
“We should be back by dinner. Addie said she’d be late too, so you’re off the hook for training tonight.”
At least Simon and I would have some measure of privacy.
“I’ve got to run, sweetie. Bye, Dad. Love you both.”
Monty joined me as I made a cup of tea. “How was your day?”
“Strange.” I wrapped my chilled hands around the mug. “Simon’s coming over later to practice our composition.”
“Was it him who put those roses in your cheeks?” he asked with a grin.
I touched the side of my face, and the loneliness of my trip home faded. “Maybe.”
“It’ll be good to see this young man up close, considering how much time you’ve spent with him.” He winked. “And his Echoes.”
I stared into my mug. “I should have known better.”
“Bah. People will do all sorts of things for love. You can’t blame them for it.”
“I’m not in love with Simon.” I wasn’t quite ready to confess the extent of my feelings—or my actions. Not even to Monty, who’d been paying closer attention than I realized. “There’s something different about him.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, and patted my hand. “Not to worry. I’ll keep your secrets and you’ll keep mine.”
I hoped so. I leaned back against the island and checked him over. Neatly dressed, hair combed, lucid despite his ongoing argument with the television. One of his better days, and I hoped it held. “You’re not going to hover, are you?”
He shot a mournful glance toward the empty cookie jar. “Your mother hasn’t made cookies in ages. Did you notice? Oatmeal chocolate chip would hit the spot.”
I was not in the mood to bake. “Why don’t I fix you a bowl of ice cream?”
“Too cold for ice cream. Rose made sure to keep oatmeal chocolate chip in the house. We never went without. Your mother uses her recipes. Did you know that?” His eyes went distant, his voice wavery. “I wonder if she has some right now. If she’s making them wherever she is.”
Hard to tell if he was genuinely confused, or putting on an act to get what he wanted. But real or feigned, the last thing I needed was Monty slipping in front of Simon. If an hour of baking would buy me a peaceful afternoon . . . “Cookies it is.”
By the time Simon rang the bell, the island was covered with racks of cookies and Monty was at the table with a plate full of crumbs and a glass of milk, seemingly content.
“I’ll get it,” I said, brushing at a lock of hair that wouldn’t stay tucked into its braid.
Monty made a noise of agreement and helped himself to another cookie. I’d lost track of how many he’d eaten. My mom was going to kill me.
The minute I opened the front door I forgot about my mom and sugar comas. Simon, rangy and lean and breathtaking, crowded out everything else.
“Hey.” I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Was I supposed to hug him? Kiss him? I wanted to melt into him, but with Monty down the hallway, it seemed like a recipe for disaster. “How was practice?”
“I was distracted.” He set his backpack on the floor, midnight eyes crinkling at the corners. “You have stuff on your face.”
“Flour.” I swiped at my forehead. “I was baking.”
He sniffed the air appreciatively, and rubbed his thumb slowly over my cheek.
“Did I not get it?” My voice sounded too breathy.
“You did.” His fingers curved around my neck and he touched his lips to mine.
I figured out what to do with my hands: slide them over his shoulders, pull him closer. His hair was damp from the shower, his skin smelling soap-and-water clean. He tasted like toothpaste and mischief. With one hand he unwound my braid, while the other slid along the strip of bare skin above my jeans.
Whatever trouble we were in was worth it.
“You must be Del’s friend,” Monty said from the kitchen doorway.
Simon froze. “I thought you were home alone,” he said against my mouth, and straightened.
“Simon Lane, sir.” He took a full step away from me and extended his hand.
“Montrose Armstrong. I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite a while.” He held the handshake for a beat too long, reading Simon’s frequency. I tried to interpret his expression. If there was a problem, Monty would feel it.
Finally he let go, nodding in approval. My lungs resumed working. “Del’s my favorite, you know.”
Simon’s hand rested on the small of my back. “Mine too.”
“She made cookies,” Monty said. “You should have one.”
I glared at him, but we went into the kitchen, where Simon made enthusiastic noises about the cookies and I plotted our escape.
“You two are working on a song for music class?” Monty asked.
Simon finished the cookie before responding. “I lucked out, getting paired with her. She’s a genius.”
“You’re not musical?” Monty sounded surprised.
“No, sir. But Del says it runs in your family. Being good at music, I mean.”
“Told you that, did she?” Monty said vaguely, but his gaze sharpened.
“We’d better get to work,” I said, and dragged Simon to the living room.
“Is he one too?” Simon whispered. “A Walker?”
“Everyone in my family is. Eliot, too. But Monty . . . he’s done it for too long. He’s not quite right now.”
He sat at the piano. “Seemed fine to me.”
“He has good moments and bad ones,” I said. “And he made a special effort for you.”
“Am I special?” He hooked a finger through my belt loop.
“Very,” I said, giving him a slow smile.
“I thought about you all day. About this. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Anything’s possible.”
His hands closed tightly over mine. “Is there’s a world where they’ve cured cancer?”
My smile fell away. “I don’t know. Probably. But . . .”
“Could we take my mom there?”
I couldn’t look at him, at the hope shining in his face, knowing I would be the one to snuff it. “She couldn’t get through,” I said. “Like when you tried following me. If you’re not a Walker, you can’t cross.”