31: LUKE

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Ainsley disappeared as soon as Keira, Maverick, and Aspen left, so Frank and I are messing around with throwing knives at the projectile station while we wait for dinner time. Fortunately, Frank has a short attention span that’s singular in nature.

Frank adores Ainsley, and for some reason I can’t quite wrap my head around, she adores the rip right back. This leads to him constantly making plays to get her attention with the goal of her spending more time with us. That has the added side benefit of me getting to spend more time with her without me having to be a weeny wavelet and admit I want to.

“Skittles!” he whoops. “Let’s play a game!”

She’s standing around looking bored with a pod of other charges and comes over right away seeming relieved by the escape opportunity.

“Let’s throw some stuff at stuff,” he coos.

She makes a face saying that isn’t good enough, so he adds, “Whoever gets the bullseye first, gets a golden pass.”

She recoils her nose. “Is this like my brother’s golden poop paper?”

“No, it’s a free card the winner can use to make the person do something,” he vibrates.

“What’re the rules around it?” she fires back. “Are there limits to what I can make you do? Or can I make you do whatever I want?”

Of course, she automatically assumes she’s going to win. Wrong. I’m going to win.

“No rules,” he states. “Just that when the pass is used the receiver won’t give the issuer any grief about it.”

“But I give squibs grief, Frank,” she backstops. “It’s sort of my full-time job.”

“She really, really does that,” I splash, earning me a rare grin that makes my stomach feel weird.

“Well, that’s the deal.” He folds his arms across his giant chest. “Take it or leave it.”

Frank has her figured out. She isn’t walking away from the challenge. She’ll never walk away from any challenge. Suddenly, I want that darn pass more than anything, the single thing I can use in case of emergency to stop her from doing something detrimental when the time comes, and that time will surely come. This is Hurricane Ainsley we’re talking about.

I’m aces at throwing, even if she makes us promise not to use our wielded spark. This is glorious. It’s a simple yet elegant plan to give me some modicum of control over my constantly escalating thoughts of impending doom surrounding her.

Glorious.

Life.

Saver.

She won’t listen to me any other way, and worrying about her constantly is giving me wet rot.

“No sparks,” she accurizes as predicted, jamming her finger in my chest.

A swell of relief tears through me as I lean into it. “Agreed.”

Frank ceremoniously spits into his hand, and she grabs one of my daggers, scoring her palm. They shake hands and turn to me expectantly.

I grimace. “Your word will do fine, thanks. No bodily fluids necessary.”

On the bright side, she’s clearly taking this seriously which means when I win, and it comes time to use the pass, she’s really going to listen to me. I honestly don’t even care if she gives me grief so long as she listens.

She spirals her scopes like I’m the one being ridiculous. “Whoever wins, I promise when the pass is employed, I’ll do as they say without giving them grief. Cross my freaking sparks.”

“Same,” Frank promises.

“Same,” I swell.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“I’m going first!” Frank buzzes excitedly from the release line, “and I know just what I’m asking for when I win!”

“I’ll go last,” Ainsley hangfires.

“Are you sure?” Frank questions her choice. “Luke has great aim.”

She shrugs.

“Let’s make it fair,” I backwash. “I’ll go last so you get a chance to throw.”

“You’re a cocky punk,” she clips.

I smirk.

Frank hurls a blade, and it does hit the bullseye, but the pommel hits the board instead of the tip so it bounces right off. He looks at us hopefully like we might count it. I shake my head. “Doesn’t count if it doesn’t stick.”

“Agreed,” Ainsley suppressive fires.

She positions herself on the release line in a standard left-hand throwing stance. “Are you sure you don’t want to go next?” she slamfires.

“Giddy-the-heck-up,” I whirlpool, admiring the size of her bullets.

Frank has a weird expression on his face like he knows a secret I’m about to find out. For half a second, I worry I’ve made the wrong call. I’m going to voice that, but in that half a second, she’s already released the knife. It swirls through the air on a half spin and embeds itself directly in the center of the target.

“Bullseye!” she roars, skittering her eyesails like a scut.

I just stand with my mouth hanging open. I really, really need to stop underestimating this rip current. “How the heck?” I ask finally.

She shrugs.

Frank guffaws. “She grew up in the woods with four older brothers and no television.”

I crest a brow. “So, you got bored and threw knives at trees?”

“We threw a lot of stuff at a lot of stuff,” she dryfires.

“Including each other!” Frank whoops.

She doesn’t deny it.

“Can I have your pass?” Frank begs her, seeming desperate for it.

She draws her brow, trying to figure out what he’s up to. “Why?”

“I need something important that can only come from Luke,” he replies cryptically.

“What do you need, Frank?” I’ll likely give it to him without the pass just to still the wild look in his eyes.

“I need a copy of my file.”

“Your background file?”

“Yes,” he bumbles.

“You know I can’t give that to you,” I scupper.

I hate denying him, but it’s a huge security violation. All charges have a background done on them prior to ever coming to the academy. The reports are required reading for all guards, so they’re allowed to see them, but they aren’t allowed copies even of their own. Only captains have access to the storage server.

Frank asked for the file last week. I really didn’t think any more about it after flushing the request. Keira, Maverick, and Aspen took the opportunity to tease him mercilessly about its contents. Maverick claimed to have read it twice, Aspen claimed to have printed a copy he’s keeping under his pillow, and Keira outdid them both by claiming she stole the surveillance footage included with the file and uses it regularly as personal eruption material.

“I need the copy, Luke,” he repeats.

“It’s his information,” Ainsley reports, “and he’s not even asking for the original. What’s the harm in a copy? You shouldn’t be holding anyone’s personal information like that, let alone holding it hostage. Just give him his file.”

“It’s a security violation.” I deepwater a nervous lump down my throat, waiting for the obvious next demand to be that I flush her file, but that demand never comes.

“Why do you need the file, Frank?” Her eyes are soft with concern.

“Because I want to be with Fiona,” he pipes in, “and I can’t be with her until she knows me, really knows me, so she can choose whether she still wants to be with me like she thinks she does. I can’t tell her everything she’ll want to know about me. She needs details, every single piece to the puzzle that’s me, and she might deadbolt her china cabinet when she gets those details, but she deserves all of me if she wants all of me. The file has all the pieces that came before who I am now.”

“Frank, that’s maybe the sweetest freaking thing I’ve ever heard out of anyone’s sauce shooter in my whole life,” she quickfires.

Now Ainsley looks directly at me. Maybe she’s going to fight me for the file which will be fine. I’ll win, obviously, and it’ll be done. But her eyes don’t look like fighting eyes. They look like begging eyes, and I’ll never be able to say no to her begging. Sugar in place of the salt coming from her sauce shooter will split apart my resolve, and once she tastes that weakness in me, I’m done for.

She saves me from that fate with a compromise. “Will you give him the file if I give you the pass?”

“Heck yes!” I whitecap, probably too eagerly, but if she notices, she doesn’t seem to mind on account of it helping Frank. She could just use the pass to make me give it to him. Then I’d have nothing except a broken dream and a scuttlefest to fix.

“Trade accepted,” she agrees. “Give Frank his file.”

I go over to the wall ledge to retrieve my Sparklet, log onto the security server to download the file, and forward it to Frank. “It’s done,” I announce.

“You brass monkey blitzer,” she snicks, realizing her mistake about two seconds too late. The deal is done.

I sploosh a laugh, and she scowls at me. She knows I know she pooched that trade. Who’s winning now?

“What if she runs?” Frank’s suddenly nervous about sharing his past with Fiona.

Ainsley smiles, leans up on the very tips of her toes, and kisses Frank softly on the cheek. “Then you chase her. She’s not very athletic. You probably won’t have to run far.”

Frank just looks at her like she’s the answer to everything. Heck, I’m starting to believe that myself.

“Let’s throw knives at each other,” she suggests.

And she’s serious.

“No trawling way!” I billow.

“Is that a pass no trawling way or a maybe?”

Hurricane Ainsley smiles with those beautiful darn lips, and my stomach swirls again. She has me seasick all to heck.