A/N: I'm not loving how this chapter turned out, but I've messed with it enough. Time to admit defeat and just move on, so here it is. Big thanks to those of you who are still reading and especially those who have let me know by leaving a review for the previous chapter! Oh, and I don't remember when I last did a disclaimer, but I still don't own Divergent.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
SHAUNA
Zeke and I are hand in hand as we run from Ben Phillips' lake house. We cut through gardens, stumble over tree roots, but we don't stop until we can't hear the shouts of the busted party in the distance any longer. Finally, hidden behind some bushes, we stop to catch our breath. I lean forward, supporting myself with my hands on my bent knees, while Zeke leans back against the back wall of the darkened house. Hopefully this is a vacation home, like the one we just left behind.
Zeke wraps his arms around me. My heart is pounding, more from adrenaline than from physical exertion. But Zeke's firm hold feels warm and safe and I lean into him, accepting his comfort, while my heart rate gradually slows. For a little while, tonight was perfect.
Flashback:
Zeke pulls me away from the game to a corner. He tries to say something, but we are too near the speakers and I can't hear what he is saying. He starts dragging me off again and I let him.
We find a stairwell and make our way down to the basement. The whole time I am glancing at his face every two seconds. I can't read him. Is he freaking out? I'm freaking out. I feel the moisture where our hands meet. Is it my palms that are sweating, or are his? It has to be me, Zeke doesn't get nervous about girls.
It is less crowded here, but there are still several groups of people milling about the room. He tows me toward a door left ajar, leading into a dark room. Is he taking me somewhere private to let me down easy, so I won't make a scene? Four might be the unattainable quarterback, but when it comes to girls, Zeke is the king of the eleventh grade ― hell, he is the king of Dauntless High. If he was interested in me like that, he would have done something about it by now. I have probably ruined everything. Eight years of friendship, eight years I have managed to keep from letting my crush get in the way of things, and I blow it with one stupid, impulsive move.
Why did I kiss him in front of everyone? What the hell was I thinking?! He's still holding my hand… that has to be a good sign, right? Or maybe he is only holding onto my hand so he can make sure to have the chance to make it clear where we stand: friends and nothing more.
He pulls me through the door, switches on a lamp with his free hand and kicks the door shut. My heart pounds in my ears as I obediently sit on the bed in the middle of the room, perched on the edge with my feet on the floor. Beside me, Zeke sits angled toward me and just stares.
The tension builds with every second of charged silence. "Zeke, please say something," I whisper.
His eyes focus on mine. I couldn't look away if I tried, but his eyes flick south. I am giddy at the thought that he is looking at my lips, then I frown. Of course he is looking at my lips ― he is probably thinking about the fact that I just publicly kissed him five minutes ago.
"Look, I know I shouldn't have done that, not in front of everyone, I just―"
Zeke cuts me off mid-ramble. "No. I should have."
For a long moment, I am just staring at him, speechless. I run his words over and over in my head, trying out every possible meaning. "What?" I choke out. "You mean…" I can't finish the sentence, I feel like I would be jinxing myself.
"Yeah." The corners of Zeke's mouth turn up in a shy smile that makes my heart flutter. I can't believe it ― Zeke Pedrad, nervous? Because of me? "I wanted to ask you out. I was waiting for the right moment. You stole my moment," he admits.
I'm still dumbfounded. "What?"
"Can you say something besides, 'what'?"
"Um…" Um? All you can come up with is 'um'? Brilliant, Shauna, just brilliant.
Zeke has begun to fidget with the frayed edge of a hole in his jeans. "Say something, Shauna. Please."
My brain still feels like mush. "I want to kiss you again," I blurt out.
The tension melts right off his face. "Oh, that can most definitely be arranged," he grins.
We are full on making out, Zeke's hand wandering up my shirt. I cover his hand with mine, wrapping my fingers around his and gently lowering his hand. After a minute I let go and let myself relax back into kissing him, letting my hands wander and explore his backside over his jeans, letting him lean me back on the bed and hover over me. His hand rests on my bare skin just above the waistband of my jeans, calloused palm a contrast to the soft skin of my stomach.
But before long, Zeke's hand begins to slide higher up my stomach. I try to subtly change positions, but he is not deterred. The butterflies in my stomach are turning into more of an anxious knot. I am not afraid, or frigid, and while I look like like a nun compared to Zeke's dating history, I am not inexperienced. But that's just it: I can't help but remember just how experienced he is. How many girls have been swept up in his charms… how he is used to getting whatever he wants… and I am not going to be one of those girls.
Before I know it, his fingers are brushing the band at the bottom of my bra once again. I slide my hand up his arm and weave our fingers together before gently lowering our hands and placing them firmly at my waist. After a moment, I let go again, but before I know it his hand is wandering not up my shirt this time, but around to my stomach, his fingers sliding past the waistband of my jeans. This time, I push him away completely.
I sit up, leaving Zeke propped on one elbow, blinking up at me with a look of bewilderment. "What's wrong?" he asks me.
"Zeke," I pant, out of breath from his kisses, "can we slow down?"
He stares at me. God, is this going to be a deal breaker for him? What if he decides he doesn't want me anymore if I'm going to make it this difficult? He could have any girl he wants; maybe I should be counting myself lucky that he wants me at all, and giving him what he wants?
Suddenly he perks up, listening, and that is when I notice the shouts coming from outside our door. "Fight!" someone is yelling.
Zeke seems to silently debate between two options for a moment, but when we hear the yell again, curiosity wins out. He pulls me up and, never letting go of my hand, leads me toward the unexpected source of entertainment.
Of course, we aren't the only ones curious, and the route upstairs is overcrowded. Zeke pulls me instead out the sliding glass door to the backyard, around the side of the house. When we have climbed the hill and come around the corner of the house, we see that outside was where we needed to be, anyway: the fight is taking place right there on the front lawn.
Maybe it started out as a fight, but Peter's opponent is no longer fighting back. He barely lifts his big arms in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself from Peter's fists. Lynn is standing across the lawn from me with a stony expression. Next to her, Will is visibly cringing while Christina hangs off his arm, looking sick. It is only when we get closer that I realize the identity of this bloody lump on the grass.
It's Al.
End Flashback
"I gotta call my brother," Zeke mumbles. His right hand reaches into his pocket for his phone, but he keeps his left arm still wrapped firmly around me. I can only hope that this means my interruption to our make out session didn't scare him off.
Uriah and Marlene pick us up in Tris's truck. The ride back into town is crowded and awkward, but none of us dare to ride in the truck bed under the circumstances. Uriah sits squished between Marlene and Zeke, his casted leg leaving little room for Zeke's. I sit on Zeke's lap, his arms wrapped around my waist, feeling his warm breath on my neck every time he speaks.
It is one o'clock in the morning and the only place open is an old diner. It's the kind with the black-and-white checkered tile floor and red vinyl covered booths, like they're trying to imitate the 1950s but not quite making it. A rip in the vinyl pokes at my thigh; I wish I had worn jeans instead of this dress. The night, however, hasn't exactly gone as planned.
"No answer still," Marlene says, hanging up her phone again.
"Did you guys see her anywhere?" Uriah asks, eyebrows drawn together. We haven't managed to reach any of our friends and I am forcing myself to wait a while before trying Lynn's number again, but Uriah seems to be obsessively concerned about Tris' whereabouts.
I shake my head and Zeke grunts a negative, though we both have already answered this question twice before. I sigh, finally realizing that I'll probably have to give Uriah every detail I have if I want to satisfy him enough to shut him up. "I remember seeing Christina and Will... Lynn ... um, I think Lauren was around and obviously Al and Peter, and Drew was close by..." I shrug again.
"I didn't see Tris anywhere," Zeke confirms.
Meanwhile Uriah is counting off our friends with his fingers — the four of us at this table, Will, Christina, Al, Lynn... and no Tris or—
"So where could she be?" Uriah worries. "Should we go look for her? Why did she go off alone?"
"Maybe she's with Four," I remind him.
Uriah's face twists for a second. "Oh yeah. I forgot about him."
Marlene has been staring down at her plate, picking at her scrambled eggs, pushing them around with her fork, but she looks up now. I barely catch the weird look she exchanges with Zeke before she turns her attention back to Uriah. "I'm sure she's fine, Uriah."
"Yeah, how many times has Tris kept us from getting caught in a dare?" Zeke adds. "Chill and eat your pancakes."
"What I want to know is where Lynn is," I say. I hover my thumb over the call button, then give in a few seconds later. It rings out and voice mail picks up again. I end the call and lower my phone again as Zeke puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him.
Across the table from me, Marlene makes eye contact with me and waggles her eyebrows. I give her a small nod and can't hold back my smile. I lean into Zeke, and he kisses the top of my head.
Uriah is not as subtle as Marlene. "Zeke! You finally grew a pair and made a move? About time," he chortles. Zeke lets go of me to lean across the table and try and smack Uriah upside the head. Uriah ducks away, grabbing onto Marlene's arm for better balance. "Hey! You can't beat on a cripple!"
"You can if he's your brother," Zeke informs him. "There's a special exception for annoying siblings, I reserve exclusive rights to torture you. But maybe instead I should drop you off on the side of the highway somewhere."
"Mom would boil you alive," Uriah grins just as Zeke's phone chimes a notification.
FOUR
The clomping of heavy boots echoes near our hiding place in the cramped aft cabin of the Phillips' boat. "They're in the boathouse," I whisper to her. The tight band of anxiety squeezes my chest. The officers are loud, no effort to keep their deep voices low. We can tell where they are and what they are doing.
"Just stay quiet and still, and they won't ever know we're here," Tris whispers. Slowly I nod, hoping she's right. It gets a little easier to breathe.
That's when the phone rings. Tris's hand goes into her pocket at lightning speed and at the first press of the button silences the phone. My heart is pounding and my hands shake as I fish my own cell phone out of my pocket. I quickly turn it to silent while Tris just powers her phone off completely. My head is swimming I can feel the panic taking hold again.
Clomp, clomp, clomp. The sound of boots on the wood dock echoes out over the lake. Voices, mostly an indistinguishable murmur, with the odd shout. I can't process even that while I am so overwhelmed by my heart pounding in my ears. I feel like I am about to pass out before I realize that I have been holding my breath since we first heard them out there, and I gasp in fresh air and try my best to quiet my now-labored breathing.
My eyes focus on Tris in the dark, and she pulls herself closer to me, careful not to move too much and rock the boat. I bury my face in the crook of her neck and breathe in her scent — the coconut and flowers smell of her hair, but her skin is more like cream and honey and something that's just Tris.
My eyes close as her fingers run through my hair, sending tingles all over my scalp and down my spine. "Just breathe." I listen to the barely-there whisper in my ear. "In slowly…. Hold… And out." I am following the breathy words, focusing every bit of me on her in this moment and then suddenly I realize that I can't hear my heart pounding any more, and it's easy to breathe slow and deep.
That changes quickly when I hear the snap of the boat cover being ripped back. "You check down below," a deep voice orders. When I begin to hear the thump of footfall right over my head, my breathing suddenly gets louder and faster. Clomp thump thud. He's heading for the stairs that go below deck, he'll be at our little tunnel in no time—
Tris startles me out of my building panic when she suddenly holds my face in both her hands, and I let out a little yelp.
"Did you hear something?" I hear the cop above me shout to the other. Tris is looking right into my eyes and shaking her head at me
"Somethin'… could you tell where it came from?"
I can't keep my eyes focused on hers any longer, distracted by the ever-building doom I feel stronger and stronger with every step the cop above deck takes.
"You know how sound echoes on this water."
"Check below deck." I hear him on the stairs and try to pick something to focus on, but all I can hear is the thump-thump of his boots until out of nowhere, Tris's lips are on mine. Her kiss swallows my reaction, my too-quick breaths, every sound I was making and I don't want to get lost in her, not with that cop looking for us, but I push that away. Tris hasn't steered me wrong yet.
I haven't been lost in my kiss with Tris long before I hear the sudden and distinct yowl and screech of an angry cat.
"Ow!" I hear. "It scratched me." It's the cop that's on the boat with us.
"At least we know what we heard now. Just a cat. Whatever kids were here, they're long gone now."
"Come on, I need to clean this scratch." The thud of their footsteps becomes more muted as he speaks.
His partner's voice is fading as he answers with obvious sarcasm, "Yeah, I know you don't wanna get cat scratch fever."
"Hey! I told you, it's a real—" the door to the boathouse slams shut and muffles the rest of his words as they walk away. I let my clammy forehead fall against Tris's cheek, panting like I just ran a set of wind sprints.