choosing to ignore it.
I duck into the Beamer to change and reemerge to discover that he’s cleared nearly two feet of paint. Deep down, I know it’s better to let him wear himself out rather than say something, but I need to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself in the process. So I take up my position at the base of the ladder, bracing against it as I stare down into the sand and ferns that surround our landing site. Scorched patches mark where the Beamer’s rotary thrusters fired to stabilize our landing, wreathed by the curled and blackened stems of the plants I destroyed when I dropped the ship here.
I close my eyes.
I knew it would go like this. I don’t know why I thought it would turn out any differently. I’ve watched Gal and romance from afar, and they’re not a good pair. He’ll flirt and flit, but he dances around anything serious, leaving a trail of frustrated people in his wake. In retrospect, his reasons are clear. He knows the responsibility on his shoulders. For his future empire’s sake, he’s learned to guard his heart.
I wish I could have done the same. I got caught up in the river, in the moment of escape, in the way this place made me forget everything we carry with us. There’s no taking back what I tried. We’re trapped in the aftermath.
But maybe it’s better this way. There’s absolutely no future for anything between us—not when he’s going to be the ruler of the galaxy and I’ll only ever be an orphan who crawled out of the ruins of Trost. We’d never stand as equals, and I can’t believe I let myself think otherwise.
He was smart to reject me. Right to reject me. If he knew anything about what I’ve survived—and I’ve made damn sure he doesn’t—he wouldn’t want anything to do with me. There’s nothing about me that deserves the love of an Umber prince, especially not the love of one who might actually do some good in this rutted-up universe.
Gal can’t afford the distraction, and neither can I. I need to get my head on straight and start thinking like the loyal soldier he needs. Gal doesn’t need a lover. He needs a pilot. The best thing I can do for him isn’t kissing him—it’s bringing him home.
I keep my post at the base of the ladder, waiting for Gal to offer a switch, but he only comes down, kicks it a few feet over, and then climbs right back up. The afternoon drags on into evening, the paint chips keep falling, and by the time the sun’s disappeared into the tree line, he’s cleared the last of his family’s colors from the ship. As he descends the ladder for the last time, I retreat to the cargo bay ramp and lean against the edge of the hull there, stuffing my hands in my pockets and trying to ignore the rattle of Gal’s footsteps.
The setting sun paints the sky above us a hazy, soft purple. Unfamiliar stars peek out between the sparse clouds, and the distant lights of air traffic trace vectors toward Isla in the north. I tip my head back, knocking my skull against the Ruttin’ Hell. The dusk is lovely, and the freedom of the wilderness is intoxicating, but it’s all an illusion. Our lives are no less in danger, and we can’t afford to get swept away.
The thought barely has time to settle before Gal’s fingers wrap around the back of my neck, pulling me down. I let out a startled yelp, nearly losing my footing in the sand as I catch his shoulders, stopping his lips inches from mine. A look of confusion flickers across his face, his hands slipping hesitantly down over my collarbones. I shy back from his touch, pressing against the sun-warmed hull behind me.
“But you…” he says. “But I…”
“We can’t,” I croak, even though a part of me is violently raging to throw all that thinking and resolving I did aside. “You…I thought…In the river…”
“Yeah, well, you were covered in river water then,” Gal snaps, taking a few steps back and running a hand through his sweat-fluffed hair. “And I needed time