I've been away so long I'm kind of afraid you're all going to throw tomatoes at me or something. But a very, very late update is better than no update at all, right? I've got a good start on the next couple of chapters too. Updates may continue to be kind of random. If anyone is still even bothering to read, thanks for your support. :)

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

TRIS

I can feel my heart pounding, but Tobias is utterly panicked; his whole body is tense and there is a wild look in his eyes, like a trapped animal. He stands abruptly and spins in a slow circle, his hands tugging at his hair.

"Tris, I can't get caught. I can't! Marcus ―" he snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head, unwilling to give voice to his fears.

I look around me, searching for an exit, but the only man door would take us straight into the line of the police search lights. "We won't," I assure him.

"Okay, how?" he asks. "We can't just stay here, we'll be sitting ducks! You know they're going to come down here." He eyes the dark water through the gap between the dock and the boat. "I think we have to swim, Tris."

"That water will be awfully cold, and it might be awhile before we can change into dry clothes."

Tobias crouches at the window again, looking through the clear spot we wiped in the condensation, and tugs at his hair again. "A couple of them are starting to come down toward the water." Tobias starts gathering up our discarded jackets, pulls up a corner of the boat cover, and tosses them into the boat. He tugs at the black waffle-knit shirt he had tugged back on just a minute ago. "We'll hide our clothes in the boat," he says, "and swim for it. As soon as it's safe enough we can come back and put our dry clothes on."

I watch him shove clothing into the boat. It's a twenty-one-foot cruiser with two cabins. The Phillips have had it for years; the summer before freshman year, Peter went on a week-long trip with them. He told me all about the trip on our first date, even described the layout of the boat. There was a cabin with a bigger bed for Ben's parents to sleep on, but Ben and Peter had to crawl through a low, narrow hall (more accurately, a tunnel) below the deck seating to reach their narrow bunk beds in the tiny second cabin. The boys were able to sneak liquor on board, because there was no way Ben's parents were going to bother trying to get into that little cupboard of a room.

"Stop," I tell him as he unbuttons his jeans. "We're not going to swim."

"We're not?"

"Nope," I say. "We're hiding in the boat."

URIAH

This is not how I ever pictured this night. My team won the state championship tonight. I have imagined it a million times, but never like this.

I dreamed of scoring the winning touchdown. Or at least playing a key role in winning the game. I thought this year I would be a starting wide receiver, first string. And apparently I was, before the accident. Instead I had to watch Ben Phillips take my place.

I imagined Tris running up and throwing herself into my arms. I would spin her around and kiss her in front of everyone. And maybe she didn't run to me… maybe I couldn't hold her above the ground or spin in circles, but I was still holding out hope for that kiss. I know she says we're broken up and have been for a while, but her rejection hurt like a punch to the gut.

Instead of driving myself to the party, I rode with a guy who is named after his jersey number. He and Zeke are good friends, and I am told that I was friends with him, too. He seems like a decent guy, but all I really know is, he spends his evenings at my girlfriend's and may or may not be the asshole that knocked up my friend.

Then I got to the party. I couldn't go down to the fire pit, or even the basement. I had to drink soda while the rest pounded beers; while they all stood around, I sat off to the side in this stupid wheelchair, on the sidelines just like at the game, where no one even noticed I was there. Tris disappeared to who-knows-where, Zeke got distracted talking to Four, and it seemed as though my friends forgot all about me ― all of them but Marlene. I was completely ready to get out of there when she invited me along to pick up some burgers.

"Thanks," I say, elbowing her playfully when she slides in behind the wheel, beside me on the bench seat of Tris's truck. "I needed to get out of there."

"You didn't look like you were having much fun," she says. "Watching other people drink is less fun when you're sober."

"You can say that again."

I sit beside Marlene, a bag of burgers, chicken nuggets and french fries between us, as she drives us away from McDonald's. This truck is Tris's baby; I am surprised she is letting anyone else touch that steering wheel.

"When did you get your license?" I ask as she pulls into a park bordering the lake.

Marlene glances at me, light from the streetlights glinting off her hazel eyes. "May," she tells me. "On my birthday."

"Sorry I missed it," I sigh.

"You didn't miss it," she tells me, turning off the engine. "You gave me a book of coupons for piggyback rides."

I grin. "I did, did I?"

Marlene grins at me, nodding. "Yeah, you did. I've still got a couple of them left. So you'd better work hard in physical therapy because I still expect to cash in on those."

I dig my hand into the McDonald's bag and pull out a few fries. "What else don't I remember?" I ask.

"Well… you missed Zeke getting caught streaking through Navy Pier," she offers brightly.

As we eat our burgers and share large orders of chicken mcnuggets and french fries, Marlene recounts her own version of the past eight months. There are lots of funny stories (and even more hilarious videos on Marlene's phone) from our dare game, though I don't like that Al recently chose Tris for seven minutes in heaven. I don't know Al well, as to my memory, Will and Christina had only recently started dating, but he is definitely on my shit list now. I want to kick my own ass for what happened on prom night, and I learn that Marlene broke up with Gabe, the guy she was dating last spring, shortly after. She doesn't say much else about her love life, which brings her current predicament to mind.

"So um..." I don't know how to bring this up, and she hasn't really given me an opening. So I just blurt it out. "I heard you're, um..." I clear my throat. My mouth keeps moving but it's like someone has stolen my voice. I try to gesture a big round pregnant belly on myself while I force myself to create words. I stutter, but nothing that makes any sense comes out, just a series of grunts and random syllables. I can't even look her in the eye. I stop and clear my throat.

Finally she puts me out of my misery. "Pregnant?" she fills in. I nod and finally look at her face, to find that Marlene seems very focused on stirring the remains of her McFlurry. "Yeah," she says quietly. She's still not looking at me.

"Whose is it?"

"Uriah..."

"Is it Four?" I demand. "Zeke was saying that Christina and Shauna think it might be Four."

Marlene's eyes go wide and lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "Four? God, no. Shauna just won't let that go. She tricked us into a surprise date a few months back, but neither of us were interested."

Okay, then, it's not Four. Then I can assume it is not someone in our group. "Okay, well, whoever it was… he knows though, right? Whose ass do I need to kick?" As if I could even try right now. Marlene is nice enough not to comment.

"No, he doesn't know."

I stare at her, waiting for her to say something more, but she doesn't. She just keeps stirring her ice cream, never once looking up.

"Marlene."

"Uriah."

I shake my head. "Why haven't you told him?"

"It's complicated."

More silence. Getting anything out of her is like pulling teeth. "Complicated how?" I ask.

She releases a sigh. "It happened at a party. We were drunk. He doesn't even remember it."

"How do you know? You...you do know who the father is, right?"

That earns me a death glare. "Yes, I know who the father is! God, Uri! I already had my own mother call me a slut, I don't need my friends doing the same!"

"I didn't mean it like that!" I panic. "I just - you said he doesn't remember, so I thought maybe you didn't either! Besides, if you haven't told him, how can you know what he does and doesn't remember?"

"Uriah, don't."

"Come on, Mar, he should be there for you. This isn't fair, you doing this all on your own. It's his kid too. Did the asshole even use a condom?"

"I said drop it, Uriah!"

I freeze. Her voice is sharp, sharper than I have ever heard it before.

"I will tell him, when the time is right. I'm not a coward, it's just complicated right now." She turns to me and finally meets my eyes. Our gazes stay locked for a charged, frozen moment, then she looks away.

"Okay," I say. "What are you going to do though? Where will you live and all that?"

"I don't know," she admits with a trembling voice. "There are programs and things, for young moms… low income housing and food stamps and daycare assistance, right? I don't… it depends on a lot of things. I haven't even had an ultrasound or heard the heartbeat yet, Uriah. I'm just doing my best and taking it one day at a time."

I keep my gaze on her, though. "Well," I say as I reach my left hand over to her right and lace our fingers together and give her hand a comforting squeeze. "Whatever happens, you know I'm there for you?" She looks at me with wide eyes, still, as if she were holding her breath. "I'm gonna be the best honorary uncle that kid will ever have. I'll teach him to throw a ball and ride a bike."

I've heard before that pregnant women cry all the time because of hormones or something. Like at cheesy commercials and stuff like that. Sure enough, she tears up at my words. I don't know what to do with a crying girl so I tug her arm and pull her into a hug, squeezing her until I no longer hear her sniffle next to my ear. I squeeze her shoulder as I pull away.

"We should get back to the party," Marlene says, breaking the minutes-long silence.

We don't have to drive far to return to the party, but as we near Phillips's lakehouse, I see the red and blue lights flashing off the surrounding trees and my heart starts to pound. "Don't stop. Keep driving," I instruct. "Turn onto that side street there."

She maneuvers us away from the busted party and we begin to weave our way back into the town. "Did you see that?" she asks, shakily. I shake my head no. "There was an ambulance."

I curse under my breath and dial my brother's number, praying that he and our friends are all OK and made it out before the cops could catch them.

TRIS

The boat, docked at the wooden deck extending from the back of the boathouse, rocks gently as we climb in. "Tris, the cops are going to find us here," Tobias pleads quietly. "They're smart enough to look under the cover."

I squeeze his hand, pulling him along behind me toward the bow. "Just trust me, Tobias," I whisper. I hear his deep inhale as he lets me lead him down a short flight of stairs without further argument. It isn't until I spot the passage to the other cabin and begin to crawl through it that he finally digs in his heels.

I look over my shoulder and see him stand, hunched but frozen and tense, behind me. "Tobias," I sigh. "If you don't want to get caught, we don't have time for second thoughts. Please?"

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. Slowly exhaling, he finally drops to his knees and follows behind me.

The tunnel is only about five feet long, but by the time we are through, Tobias's breaths are labored and loud, a series of short, ragged pants. The bunk on the starboard side of the cabin is only a narrow single mattress, but its long, narrow porthole looks out onto the lake rather than the dock. Unless they get into the water, the police won't be able to spot us through it. I pull the curtain closed to be safe.

Tobias joins me on the mattress, pulling the musty patchwork quilt over us from the bottom of the bed. In the little bit of moonlight that filters in through the curtain, I can see his tensed jaw, his eyes squeezed shut tight; when I pull him closer, I find his forehead hot against mine and damp with sweat. "Tobias?" I whisper. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

I think I know what is bothering him, just like I did when I discovered his fear of heights, but his answer confirms it. "Don't like… confined spaces," he says through his gritted teeth. He presses his forehead into my neck, hiding his face, and I lower my arm to around his back.

"Marcus?" I ask.

Tobias nods against my neck. "He would lock me in... the coat closet... under the stairs. Sometimes it was part of punishment...usually it was to… to keep me out of the way."

I squeeze my eyes shut. I hate Marcus Eaton more with every new tidbit of information Tobias shares. I know that Tobias's mother was treated just as badly; it wasn't until she abandoned Tobias at the age of ten that the beatings became frequent. But now I am imagining that little boy ― my Tobias ― terrified, locked in a dark closet, hearing his mother's abuse, panicking just like his 17-year-old counterpart is doing right now. No one to hold him, no one to help him. I have to bite my cheek to hold back my tears, my anger ― no, rage ― before I can speak again.

I focus my attention on thinking of a way to calm Tobias down. Even if I weren't worried about the police hearing him when they search the boathouse, I wouldn't be able to stand seeing him this way. I hyperventilated a couple of times right after my mom died, and Hana taught me some ways to calm myself down.

"Tobias," I whisper in his ear, quiet. "I want you to try something, okay?" I can just barely see him nod in the little bit of moonlight that shines through the porthole curtains. "Okay, open your eyes and look around you, and notice five different things that you can see. You'll have to look pretty hard to find that many, it's so dark in here." Tobias groans and he reluctantly drags his eyes open. His gaze darts wildly around the room, and his breaths only get faster and louder. He squeezes his eyes shut. When he reopens them after a long pause, Tobias's eyes look more focused.. He looks up to the only source of light.

"The window," he says. "Porthole. Whatever." He immediately begins looking for another item to list off to me, but I stop him. "Slow down," I say. "Take the time to look at it. What do you notice?"

He breathes in deep, eyes closed, then sort of hiccups a few breaths in, each in quick succession, before returning to his previous breathing pattern.

"It's short and wide," he observes. "The curtains have a rip in them. And it must be facing the lake or we wouldn't be getting so much moonlight."

"Mm-hmm," I hum. "What else do you see?"

"The quilt," he pauses for a breath, "crumpled up at the end of the cot." He goes on to find a decorative pillow and Cubs hat Ben must have left behind here. As he talks his breathing begins to gradually stabilize.

Finally his eyes focus on my face. "And I see you," he whispers. "Your hair… shiny. Always looks so soft. Feels even softer. Your skin... so smooth and you never overdo the makeup… beautiful. And your nose―"

"It's too big," I interrupt softly, covering it with my hand.

"No," he pulls my hand away, and then his index finger trails down my least-favorite facial feature as he continues, "your nose is cute. It's perfect." His finger drops lower, and his middle finger joins it and runs lightly across my lower lip. "These lips… I'm always thinking about these lips. I don't think I have stopped thinking of them since I first saw you in math class. I can't help wanting to kiss them. But my favorite thing is your eyes… they drew me in from the start. They're big and round… mesmerising. People always say that 'the eyes are the window to the soul', but yours really are. Sometimes you look at me and I feel like the luckiest and most important person in the whole world. Sometimes they shine with joy; when you're sad, I look at your eyes and feel my heart break. I never want to look away."

My cheeks burn. "Thank you," I whisper. "Nobody has ever looked at me...quite like that, before," I admit. I clear my throat and quickly cover my mouth, trying to muffle the sound. My heart pounds. What if the cops are close by? If they hear us, then they won't give up easily. We could be discovered. Tobias's anxiety seems to be slowly dialing down as he focuses on observing the world around him, but he is still miles away from calm. Even in his distress, Tobias kisses my forehead before resting his own against it, both of us holding the other tight.

"Now do the same thing," I continue on, trying to sound like I'm not freaking out myself. "But finding four things you can feel." Realizing that knowing what to expect will help his anxiety, too, I add, "Then it will be three things you hear, two you smell, and one you taste."

"Okay," Tobias breathes. His eyelids flutter shut. I reach out and begin to run my fingers through his hair; he seemed to calm more quickly when he was focused on my face, maybe the same will be true if I distract him with touch. Hell, I could use the distraction, too. I feel like there is a band around my chest as I wait to hear the police come and search the boathouse. I'm just praying that they don't search the boat itself too thoroughly.

"I feel your fingernails scratching my scalp. Feels good," Tobias whispers. His hand slides up from its spot on my hip and creeps under my shirt; his thumb brushes the skin of my lower back.

"Just take a minute to pay attention to the feeling," I instruct, but my breath hitches as I feel his warm, calloused fingers travel up my spine.

"I feel your soft skin," he tells me next. I can hardly concentrate on the task now, but I vaguely and distractedly notice that his breathing seems to have stabilized. "I smell your shampoo… it smells like coconut and some sort of flowers."

His fingers follow the band of my bra around to the front, and just as they move on to touching my breasts, he leans in and kisses me. It is slow and languid, our tongues lazily caressing one another.

Just as he pulls away and says, "I can taste―"

Tobias cuts off abruptly and both of us freeze when we both hear the clomping of boots and the echo of deep voices. My heart pounds, not with anticipation but with fear. The police are searching the boathouse.