His eyes fasten on my face, and despite my attempt to disguise my pain, he looks at me knowingly. “Well, I hope so, considering you’re leaving. You don’t want to get out there and realize you’ve made a mistake and shouldn’t have left.”
“I haven’t made a mistake.” I swallow and correct myself. “I’m not.”
Something flickers in the amber depths of his eyes, but then it’s gone. He waves ahead. “Then by all means. Let’s go.”
My heart lurches against my chest. “You’re coming, too?” I look him up and down. He carries no gear.
His mouth lifts in a half smile. “I don’t know if that’s hope or horror I hear in your voice.”
Hope. It’s hope, and that disappoints me. I know better. Hoping for more than I need, more than I can have, only leads to pain. “I—I just didn’t know. . . .”
He shakes his head. “I’m just seeing you off at the top. Making sure you’re all properly blindfolded before you step outside.”
Right.
“Oh. I see.” My heart settles back in my chest. A chest that feels a little hollow knowing this is it. He’s not coming with us.
Turning, I continue up the stairs, his boots falling heavy on the steel steps behind me.
At the top we reach a platform with a tunnel that stretches both left and right. I don’t see the others. They’ve already moved on. Shadows loom in both directions.
“This way.” Caden steps past me and leads me to the right, his boots clanging over the grate. As we move the shadows deepen, enveloping us like we’re sinking into night.
His strides fall swiftly. Clearly he doesn’t need to see where he’s going.
I follow, studying the vague outline of his lean frame, the slope of his shoulders, careful not to walk too closely and run into him if he should stop. Ahead, I can hear the voices of the others, a soft rumble on the air.
“Almost there,” he says over his shoulder, as if he senses that I need the reassurance.
The narrow tunnel opens to a small space with three steps that lead up to a circular steel door reminiscent of the kind you would see on a submarine. Muted blue-tinged light glows from a fixture positioned near the door.
Tabatha is securing blindfolds to everyone as she issues instructions. I try to step closer and listen, but Caden’s presence is a distraction. Especially when he makes no attempt to hide the fact that he’s watching me, his dark eyebrows pulling tight. My skin prickles. His gaze is like a physical touch to my face, invisible fingertips moving, sliding over my jaw, my cheek, the bridge of my nose.
“At no time are you to remove the blindfold unless I tell you. It’s dark out there. You’re not going to be able to see where you’re going anyway, with or without the blindfold, but the blindfold must stay on. We’ll hold hands and make a chain. We just need to make it a few yards, and then we’ll be in the van that will take us to the halfway point.”
The ten-year-old is bouncing up and down with excitement, so much that Tabatha has a hard time fastening the blindfold around her.
Caden’s stare grows heavier on me. I swing around and glare at him. “Would you stop it?” I hiss, my voice low enough that no one notices.
“Stop what?”
My stomach feels like it’s bubbling with a thousand butterflies. “Staring at me.” This is it. Good-bye. He knows that. We both do.
His eyes glint darkly in the muted light. “You’re really going through with it?”
“Leaving? Yes. And why wouldn’t I?”
“Because the right thing to do is to stay here, where you can help and serve a purpose.” His voice has a hard, desperate edge to it. He’s convincing. I’ll give him that. He almost makes me feel necessary.
“Stay here?” I laugh.
“Yes.”
Stay here. Where no one wants me except him? And honestly, he scares me the most. I know Marcus’s kind. Caden I don’t understand.
I shake my head and press a hand to my rioting stomach. What’s wrong with me? Maybe I’m getting honest-to-God sick? “You’re wasting your time.”
“Evidently. I guess I just misjudged you.”
I should just let that remark go, but I can’t. “Oh? How so?”
“I thought there was something special in you. I thought you were someone who gave a damn. . . .”
His words find their mark. Sting as they shouldn’t. As someone that everyone once thought was special, remarkable even . . . I still hunger for that. My stupid longing for more, for my life to be something extraordinary—in a positive way—it’s still there, buried beneath the scrapes and bruises.
“You thought wrong,” I whisper thickly.
Tabatha steps between us, her gaze curious and faintly suspicious. “Here.” She dangles the thick black strip of fabric out. “Turn around.”
My gaze flicks to Caden, locking on him, memorizing. Once that blindfold is on, I’ll never see him again. For some reason, I crave a picture of him in my mind with a suddenness that rocks me.
“I got it.” He takes the blindfold from her.
Shrugging, she turns away. “I’ll go check and make sure everything is clear.” The well-oiled door doesn’t make a sound as she unlocks it and pulls it open.
“Go ahead,” I say, lifting my chin and trying not to care that this is my last glimpse of him. That it’s for the best. A good thing. He pushes too much. Makes demands.