Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [128]
There’s no point in dragging this out. I came here, hoping I could salvage something, but he’s settled. Sasha calls him Dad, and I can’t compete. Nor do I want to. It’s crystal clear to me that March needs this even though it breaks my heart.
“I’m going to La’heng,” I tell him. “The cure worked on Loras, so we’re ready to try and get the necessary permissions to start trials on a larger scale.”
“I knew you were. It’ll take time, but I have no doubt you can do it.”
I don’t deserve his faith—not after everything I’ve put him through—but it still lights me up. “Thanks.” I pause, hating the awkwardness. “Do you want me to head out? I don’t know your policy on overnight guests.”
Knowing March, he errs on the side of caution and doesn’t indulge in behavior that could hurt his nephew. I don’t expect he’s been faithful to me all this time, half suspecting I was dead. I’m sure there have been women. I just don’t want to hear about them. Not when I still love him, and I am walking away from him, even if it’s not forever. Mary grant it’s not.
“I don’t ever want you to leave,” he says softly. “But you will. The morning is soon enough.” My comm beeps, and I check it.
When we were stranded on the other side of the Maker’s gate, the thought of him kept me going. Day after day, I pushed on, even where I was tired and half-starved, when the cold felt like it would kill me, then the heat. But I can’t be bitter when I see how happy March is and how much Sasha loves him.
He touches my cheek, catching a tear that got away. Mary knows, that’s how I feel about March. Then I feel him inside my head, as I haven’t in so long. I’d gotten used to the silence. This time, since it isn’t so fleeting as it was on Gehenna, I notice that he’s pure warmth, different now that he’s known a child’s unconditional devotion. The old March had rough edges and dark places; this one streams light. I catch my breath at the difference, and he flinches at my secret pain.
“Do you really think I haven’t been true to you?” he asks.
More tears fall . . . and I hate them. I’m not this person. I’m not.
“I don’t expect it.”
“Jax . . . you know how I said . . . before your trial—that I’d be there waiting? I always will be. Five turns. Ten. Twenty. There’s no one else for me. I live in hope that there will come a time when you’ll need no more wandering, and you’ll come home to me.”
I wish I could. I wish I were wired that way. But I’m not. As March said once before, I’d wither on the ground and come to hate the person who tied me down. I was born to jump, to tag new beacons and keep moving. There’s so much out there, and after I keep my promise to Loras, I intend to see it all.
“And I live in hope that you’ll still want me when Sasha’s grown. I hope someday you’ll be ready to captain a ship again and join me out there.”
I tip my head back and gaze at the stars, crystal and diamond on black s-silk. It’s a lovely view, but it can’t compare with grimspace—or even the beauty of the constellations in straight space. Even if he asked, I can’t stay. The promise to Loras gives me a compelling reason to leave, but even without it, I don’t want to remain here. Though I want March—and I always will—I can’t do it if it comes with this life.
“Someday,” he says softly. “What’re you doing in eight turns?”
“Dunno, but I’ll keep my calendar clear.”
He braces his hands on the balustrade, not looking at me anymore. “I can’t make love to you again. Not when you’re leaving. That last time, before you jumped, before the beacons changed . . .” He trails off and shakes his. His hair is long now, past his shoulders. Once more, he has the piratical look that I always loved. “For the longest time, that was all I had of you. First the trial . . . and then you were just gone. Before that, I had that memory. Of making