Wings of the Walker - CoraLee June Page 0,371

here—and soon,” I told him.

Huxley stood, walking over to the sink to get himself a cup of water, then returned to sit back down next to me. “You and I both know you won’t be back in the manor anytime soon.” He took a sip of his drink, then swiped his finger on a stray dollop of chocolate frosting on the wooden table and plopped it in his mouth.

“I haven’t been welcome in the manor since my parents died,” I said. I frowned at the memories that flashed through my mind. Cyler and Maverick’s grief. The relieved looks on their faces when they told me they were sending me off to school. The lonely holidays, birthdays, and lack of visits.

A long and uncomfortable silence stretched between us. Although I didn’t expect him to say anything, sometimes I craved comfort or, at the very least, understanding. I wanted to know that someone else saw the injustice in all this.

“I don’t want to talk about our feelings and shit. Ok? I just wanted some fucking cake,” Huxley began before taking another bite. He chewed slowly and rolled his eyes in exasperation. “But…fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this… did you ever apologize, I mean really apologize? Not that bullshit ‘oopsie-daisy’ shit you pulled as a kid either. A real, honest, apology?”

For a brief moment, I gaped at him.

“Of course I did!” I replied once the shock of him putting more than two words together wore off.

“Are you sure? Because you never apologized to me.” I shivered as hot coals gathered in the pit of my stomach. Guilt was an emotion I rarely felt, but when I did, it was all-consuming. Huxley had always been the emotionless one in their group. Oh, how I wished to approach a situation with level-headedness. He was direct. Fearless. Hux buried his grudges deep, so asking for an apology meant that this was big—monumental almost.

“Hux—I—I,” I stuttered. I felt unsure of what to say. Out of all of them, he was the last person I expected to have this conversation with. He stared off into the distance for a moment, and I wondered if our conversation was over.

“I don’t blame you, Jules.” He took another long gulp of water before continuing. The pause felt like holding my breath. My feelings felt trapped beneath my ribcage. “At that moment, it wasn’t you and Jacob. It was my mom and that Eastern Scavenger.” Huxley’s expression slipped into a dark frown full of pain, guilt, and regrets. His eyes seemed far away, stuck in his mind's eye and reliving the horror he saw that day. My heart broke for him, but I masked my pity into a look of annoyance.

“Stop blaming yourself, Hux. You’re gonna fuck up your entire life if you go through each experience looking for a reason to punish yourself. God, you’re so helpless and predictable.”

Huxley didn’t smile, but I saw the slight rise in his brow, and I knew that he was no longer trapped in that night. I wanted to feel pity for him, to hug him, to say I’m sorry for what happened to him. But at the end of the day, Huxley needed someone to kick his ass. We’d never get to a good place if I showed him compassion. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Thanks for the cake,” he said before stealing another bite. He looked at me again, but this time his expression didn’t burn with the pain of what happened.

"Yeah, do me a favor, Hux. Don't tell anyone I'm eating this."

"Your pettiness never ceases to amaze me, Jules," he replied with a huff before walking out of the room.

I knew he’d never offer me verbal confirmation of my forgiveness. Yet as he left the kitchen, it felt as though he took a chunk of my guilt with him.

Chapter Four

I hate the Gardens and the unbearable heat. It felt impossible to keep my hair in place while whacking the wheat. The soundtrack to my work was Walker women gossiping about what miner was courting who. The pathetic musings made for a long, boring day.

My work seemed to drag as I thought about my night in the Scavenger camp. For reasons I wasn't ready to admit yet, I felt excited to see Gordon again. Perhaps it was because we were so equally cynical.

Sometime during the day, Maverick stopped by to ask about Gordon. I hated to admit it, but when he ruffled my hair and thanked me like a puppy, my metaphorical