24: LUKE

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My friends are waiting for me when I finally make it to the Oculus. Their faces, however, are anything but friendly. Thankfully, most people have already eaten and are long gone.

Frank didn’t say a single word to me while the Water Ward Healer fixed my broken nose outside suggesting I take off my sodden shirt which was covered in my blood. I refused, knowing I deserved to bear the shame of what I did to Ainsley.

Keira crinkles her nose when she sees me up close, tapping her foot impatiently like she’s waiting for an explanation.

“Whatever she said happened, that’s what happened.”

“She wouldn’t tell us anything,” she bubbles, “so you’d better open your portholes and start spilling.”

How can I explain? I lost my cool twice in quick succession. Splitting her lip was an accident, but I’m still accountable. After that…well, after that, I turned a bad situation into a horrible one and assaulted her. There’s no explaining that scuttlefest, no justifying it.

Frank frowns at me from across the table. “Callen tried some pervy crap on Skittles. Luke beat him down. She tried to intervene. Luke took a swing at her, busted her lip pretty good.” He pauses, gauging the reaction of his audience. “Skittles tried to leave. Luke grabbed her. She shoved a spark into him. No clue what it was, but it was not water. Luke scuttled. Shook her. Backhanded her.” He stops to take a breath, then lifts his chin like he’s proud as heck of her for the next bit. I am too, honestly. “So, she shattered his nose, coached his wave-making, called him a little backdoor blitzer, and here we are.”

“It was fire,” I clarify.

“She packed her fire spark into you?”

“She did,” I seiche, “and I deserved it.”

“Why?” she ashes. “Because she wanted to be with Callen?”

“She did not want to be with Callen,” Frank bumbles, “but I’m not sure she knew she didn’t. He messed with her head.”

“That’s not why I’m full of fire right now.”

“Then why would she do that, Luke?” she cinders.

My eye ripples. “Because she tried to walk away from me, and when I grabbed her, my water spark tried to connect to hers after she’d just threatened me against doing that without her consent.”

“Threatened to break off every one of your fingers and shove them up your butt,” Frank pipes in.

“The fire spark was comparable to anything overloading my stern.”

“Imagine if she’d shot air or earth into you,” Maverick rumbles, horror in his eyes.

He’s right. At least I know what fire feels like as I ignited fire and water at my Spark Ceremony. The fire is long gone, but my body still remembers it being there. If she’d packed air or earth into me, I’d have done something unimaginably worse.

Keira leans back in her chair. “I thought things were going to be better after—”

“Don’t start on that again,” I whirlpool.

“Did you even talk to her about it yet, Boss?” Aspen vogs.

“No,” I spume, “and I won’t. She probably doesn’t even realize I know she was there.”

I woke up in the night with her wrapped around me like a comfortable blanket, her water spark leaking into me. I should’ve been freaking out, but I was too sated to rage. If she’d had an episode, and saved herself from it, that was a step in the right direction for her. Far be it from me to turn away the water spark she gave me in the process of that understanding. She was so peaceful lying there, such a stark contrast to her usual animosity. I couldn’t find it in me to send her away, hadn’t wanted to either.

“Don’t you at least want to know what her thinking was?” Keira spews.

“It doesn’t matter what her thinking was,” I spray. “It only matters what her thinking is. After what just went down, I’d be surprised if she’s even still in the room when we go back. Probably abandoned ship.”

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“She made a choice, a conscious acknowledgement she needed help,” Maverick outcrops. “When she needed help, Luke, she came to you. She might come to you again.”

“She won’t want me anywhere near her now,” I scupper.

“You have to fix this. Please say you’re at least going to try,” Keira pops.

“There’s no fixing this,” I breakwater. “What I did—”

“You’re not the only one at fault here!” she erupts.

“Keira, I near gave her a concussion from smashing her head off the floor while shaking her, and I could’ve broken her cheekbone from how hard I backhanded her.”

“Like a little backdoor blitzer,” Frank buzzes.

“She’s stronger than you think, Luke,” Keira persists. “She’s strong enough to handle you.”

Maverick crumples his brow. “Are you strong enough to handle her?”

I ebb a defeated sigh, knowing I’m not nearly strong enough for that, but I really, really want to be.

Keira reaches over to place her hand on my forearm. The useless fire spark inside me swirls around at the base of the contact, acknowledging hers but pushing against it with force. This is why wielders can’t be together if they’re of the same element. Reverse magnetism at its finest. It’s what Esha did to us when she became a water wielder. I flex my forearm, and Keira pulls her hand away.

“I’m sorry.” She hisses a sigh. “I wish I could take it away.”

“Don’t be,” I deadwater. “I deserve to feel this burn for a while.”

She nods and stands to leave. “It might help if we talk to her first.”

“I won’t talk to her tonight anyway,” I foam. “It’s too raw. I don’t want to make it worse. This needs to settle a minute.”

“What’s the plan, Boss?” Aspen whooshes.

“The plan’s to not die,” I swell.

“How do we do that?” he outgasses.

“Let’s start by surviving the night.”

I stay in the Oculus until I’m the only one here, finally dragging myself to my feet when the janitor gives me a pleading look that says I’m keeping them from somewhere they’d rather be. Anywhere. They’d rather be anywhere else than here. Same as me.

I haul myself to the showers and grab a towel from the spare cupboard in the bathroom, shrugging out of my bloodied clothes to wash away the evidence of my violence. I don’t deserve to be washed clean of it. I know she hasn’t been. Her lip is surely still split all to heck, and she’s likely to have a purple welt on her cheek that’ll turn into a bruise over the next few days, just like the fingerprint marks I left on her arm from grabbing her in the Stadium.

I’m supposed to be protecting her, but it seems like I’m the one she should be protected from. I punch the wall of the shower. The tile cracks in the center but doesn’t give way. My split knuckles bleed down the drain. Satisfied I’ll have at least some residual pain as punishment for my crap, I turn off the water and wrap the towel around myself. I leave my bloodied clothes where they lay on the floor.

My feet are heavy as I make my way to our room, wondering if I’ve let enough time pass that everyone’s asleep. There are no lights from under the door, so it’s as safe as it’s getting. I carefully ease the door open and walk with quiet steps to my dresser, drop the towel, and pull on a pair of boxer briefs as silently as I can manage. Then I creep over to my bed, slide under the covers, and try in a pointless attempt to hear her darn heartbeat across the room.

I just want to know whether she’s still here, but I’m scared to look, scared she might be gone, and even more scared she’s stayed. Because if she’s stayed, I’ll be forced to face the crap I did to her. I lay back against my pillow, cross my arms over my head, and pull one arm down low enough to cover my eyes, refusing to look over. I don’t deserve to know.

But she doesn’t care what I deserve or don’t deserve. She gets out of bed, stands at the edge of mine, and waits to see whether I’m awake or asleep. I raise my arm, but I don’t look at her. I can’t.

She doesn’t say anything, just climbs into the bed and over me to the side away from the door. I flinch, thinking for a minute she’s going to strangle me with those beautiful darn hands, kick me to the floor, or any other number of crazy things I definitely deserve, but she doesn’t do any of those things. Not a single swashing one.

She curls against my side, drapes her arm over me, and cups my neck with her hand. Her hair spills across my chest in a gentle stream. It’s the same blanket I woke up with last night.

I’m still full of her fire spark, but as her fingers twitch gently against my neck, I feel the tiniest flutter of her water spark, droplets filling me like tears from her soul putting out that fire. I lay perfectly still for twenty straight minutes, sure my muscles will spasm from clenching. She doesn’t put out the fire entirely, but it’s merely simmering now, no longer raging. Then her breathing grows heavy, and I know she’s fallen deeply asleep.

I look down at this rip current folded against me. She hates everything I love, shirks every responsibility I make it my mission to fulfill. She despises everything about how things are done and doesn’t want any of the gifts offered to her. She’s so darn pigheaded and completely uncooperative or willing to make even the slightest compromise. So confident and unwavering in her righteousness. And I have no idea how I’m going to be strong enough to handle her.

Then she whimpers, the smallest sound of pain released from that ironclad armour of hers, and my frost-filled heartberg cracks right at the center. She shifts in her sleep, and fear creeps into the crack. I don’t want her to leave, can’t bear the thought of it, all the while knowing we’ll never see eye to eye. But here, like this, with her guard down, she’s placed her safety in me. Trusted me.

I drop my arm around her shoulder, sliding my hand carefully along her back to pull her closer. I’m scared she’ll shift away again if I don’t make that small claim to keep her. She clicks a sigh, not the whimper of fear or pain but of contentment. Safety. Security. Comfort. Did I give that to her? Am I even capable of that?

We’ll have to talk about what happened, but she isn’t any readier for that than me, so she’s settled for a placeholder in the space between those words, something she knows she can offer that I’ll willingly accept. Her water spark. It isn’t all I want, but it’s more than enough, more than I’d hoped for, and definitely more than I deserve. I’m never going to deserve her, but maybe, just maybe, I really, really want to, so I’m willing to give it a heck of a try.