Page 4 of The Last Love Story
“And the gas lines!” a sister chimes in gleefully.
“Ew,” the third remarks, tightening her eye protection.
“Ugh,” Mona enthuses. “We’re going to havesucha view from the air. I mean, I think all of Kansas”—the clip is geotaggedNebraska—“or whatever is on fire! We are going to be the last people to see it before it’s gone!”
The girls all squeal like this is some sort of shirtless boy performing on stage in a DopaMine video. Not that my DopaMine feed looks like that.
“Totally fire!” another sister chimes in, and the girls pose with big smiles.
Hux makes that same noise again.
I bite the tip of my tongue as the women step into the copter with the help of two security guards, teetering in too-high heels. Disaster tourism has never made any sense to me, but I’m not rich enough to get it, I guess. I suppose if you don’t think the suffering can ever reach you, there can be beauty in anything with enough distance. Maybe to them, it’s not real. But even hearing about it makes my stomach roil.
“How much do you think the two Bellaccimi sisters would profit if the third fell out of the helicopter? Accidentally, of course,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
In reply, Hux reaches for the remote and turns the volume up on the central monitor—the one playing the footage of a scorched town in Southern England. When this is sanitized for Alba, it’ll be a five-second clip, and the AI will blur the bodies. No one else will see what we’re seeing now. I know that I should look while I can. Force myself to take it in. Still, I find myself looking away.
Hux doesn’t. His face seems to draw tight against his skull.
“How can you watch that?” I can’t help but ask.
“How can you look away?” he bites back.
I lock my jaw together as I try and find the right words that will answer him without being too vulnerable.Because I need to believe that it’s not all bad out there.
Because I’m scared.
I can’t say these things to anyone, though, especially not to Hux.
The soldier on the livestream is recounting the particularly gory battle, lives lost, the supply shortages and inaccurate AI intelligence. My mouth goes dry.
“Wow. I’m looking on the bright side and you’re just doubling down on the bummer,” I mutter, forcing my voice light. “How much do you want to bet—”
“Having access to this information isn’t helpful if I can’t hear a damn thing,” Hux snaps, running a hand through his dark hair as he stands and comes around the back of his chair, fingers gripping the plastic until they go white.
Suddenly, the screens are the least interesting things in this room. He swallows thickly. Works that strong jaw. Narrows his green eyes. It’s like he’s trying to sort something out. Eight years we’ve been sharing this room and Hux has always been a puzzle. But I’ve learned, if I wait, I can figure him out.
Even if it hurts my neck staring up at him and his completely unfair height.
Finally, he takes a deep breath and casts a sideways glance down at me. His gaze softens just a touch—the closest thing to an apology I’ll ever get from him.
“Banks turned eighteen today,” he says quietly.
I face forward quickly. I didn’t know Banks personally—Hux has mentioned his friend from the eastern sector onceor twice. I try and think of something to say, but can’t find anything. If Hux’s friend had his birthday, he’s gone forever. Sent away—maybe even to that particular spot on the center screen, the town that just got blown off the map. “When’s your birthday again?” I ask, unable to look at him.
“Three months.”
“You’ve got time,” I lie.
“Yours?”
I bite my lip against the sudden sour taste flooding my mouth. “Six.”
The silence thrums at my ears as Hux takes his seat again, his knee bouncing up and down. He checks the clock on the wall. “We should get back. I’ll head out first. Give it two minutes,” he says.
I don’t tell him that I know how it works, that we’ve been doing this for years. Instead, I nod.
He cracks his knuckles and then turns toward me. “I killed my fan. Told Ms. Astor I had to go get another from the supply room.”
