Standing outside Connor’s door, I had to swallow my pride. He was the last person I wanted to ask for help but the only person I knew who might be able to. I knocked. A big man answered who looked nothing like Connor. Probably his stepdad.
“Is Connor in?”
“No. Connor is not in. He has not been in for three days. If you find him, tell him to get his sorry butt home and apologize to his mother for causing her this much worry.”
Three days? He’d left right after we got back?
It wasn’t like I knew Connor’s habits or hangouts, but if he wasn’t at Face’s and he wasn’t in his garage, there was only one other place I could think of that he might be.
It was closing in on dusk when I got there. Founders Square looked even more antiquated in the dark. I walked by the statues, passed by the motorcycles, then headed for the train.
The metal door to the train that had been opened last time was shut. I pulled myself up by the vertical rail next to the door and stood on a small metal step. Then I knocked. No answer. No sound. Nothing.
I knocked again and tried to open the door, but it must’ve been locked from the inside, because it wouldn’t budge. I started banging with the side of my fist, calling his name. The sound echoed through the night.
I stopped and listened after a few minutes. Just when I was ready to start my pounding again, I heard the sound of footsteps and the scrape of metal against metal. The door slid open half a foot and Connor stood inside, hair a mess, pajama bottoms resting just below his hips, chest bare. My heart raced to life at the sight of him. It felt like I hadn’t seen him in forever.
He sighed. “You must need something.”
I held back a curse. I did need something. More than I’d needed anything else before this moment.
“That’s what I thought.” He moved to shut the door, and I stuck my leg inside.
“I don’t know who else to go to.”
“Anyone else.”
“It’s my brother. He needs someone to help him. Maybe you can Heal him or something.”
“I’m not your personal Healer, Laila.”
“What’s your problem? Someone break your bike or force you to make a decision?”
His knuckles whitened from where they gripped the frame of the door, but his face remained calm, tired. “The only decision I need to make is how to most effectively get you to leave me alone.”
I knew I was being mean, but I needed to see some emotion from him. Get a rise out of him. Anything. It was like the life had been drained out of him. And tired Connor wasn’t going to be motivated to help me at all. “Maybe if you weren’t half Norm, these decisions would come easier to you.”
He leaned forward a couple of inches so that his upper body breached the doorway and said in a low voice, “You’ve now used the three whole things you know about me to insult me. Do you feel better?”
I knew more things about him. Didn’t I? I racked my brain. He liked old things, which was because he was half Norm. He wanted someone to force him to leave the Compound, which was why he sold illegal mind expansion programs. Crap. I only knew three things about him. Two, really. He was generous in his summary. “You don’t tell me anything.”
I wanted to know him. He wouldn’t let me. But if I were being honest, I never tried very hard either. I was trying to keep him at a distance. If that was my goal, I knew way more than I should. I knew that he worked on his motorcycle more than anyone should want to. And I could tell now by the lack of grease marks on his face that he hadn’t worked on it in days, and that was probably driving him crazy.
I knew that despite his obsession with the past, he knew as much as any Bureau agent about technology. And I knew he cared about people, no matter how much he tried to hide it. That if he did leave this place he would miss it. And I knew he was exactly like me in that he wouldn’t let anyone in unless they showed some vulnerability. If I took down my guard and took him off the defense, he’d let me in. And that was the problem—we both needed the other to act first.
He looked at my leg still in the door and then my hand still gripping the metal bar. I should’ve realized that meant he knew he could push my leg out without throwing me to the ground. But I didn’t realize that until he grabbed hold of my leg. Just as he almost successfully cleared it from the train, I threw my arms around his shoulders. This was a big mistake. He was using his weight to push me out, and without me supporting my own weight on the handle, he stumbled forward. I fell backward, out the open door.
My foot caught in the slat of the metal step and got lodged there while the rest of my body continued to fall. When I hit the ground I heard my ankle snap. Then I felt the pain, hot at first and then so intense I thought I might pass out. Connor landed on top of me but was off faster than I could register that he’d fallen too.
He freed my foot and scooped me up, saying something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like he was cursing me to a fiery death or at least an unsaved one. But then it changed to calling himself an idiot, which I completely agreed with.
He carried me into the train and onto one of the beds that folded out from the wall. The one he’d obviously been using, because there was a pillow and blanket on it that smelled just like him—a combination of soap, hair product, and musky deodorant.
He threw off my shoe and wrapped both his hands around my ankle. For a moment the pain was even more intense, and as my eyes stung, I gripped the bed until the ache was replaced with a tingling warmth. Next he moved to my head and put one hand on the back of it.
“I’m good now. It’s fine,” I said, trying to sit up.
He pushed me back down by the shoulders. “Stay down for a minute; you’re bleeding.”
I felt it then—liquid seeping through my hair. But as soon as I felt the pain, it was soothed.
“Where else?” he asked, his eyes more alive than I’d seen them all night.
“Nowhere.”
His gaze traveled my entire body. “Will you just stop and feel for a second before you answer? Where else?”
A trail of blood ran down a cut from his temple that he must’ve received on the way out of the train. “You’re bleeding.”
He wiped it with the back side of his wrist and then looked at me like I still needed to tell him where to Heal me. The cut on his head slowly closed. He hovered above me, close, too close.
“I’m fine.” I sat up and swung my feet to the ground, then rotated my ankle around. It felt perfect.
He sat on the floor, leaned back against the wall, and grabbed a fistful of hair. “I swear, Laila.”
“Yeah, you do. A lot.”
He let out a small groan. “I need you out of my head.”
I gasped, thinking of my brother in that closet, whimpering. “I know I’ve asked you for a dozen favors.”
“It’s the only thing you ever ask me for.”
“I know.”
He sighed. “What’s wrong with your brother?”