Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Ah. I grin, feeling warm and pleased at how easy this has been. “It was during the Threshian War…”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Weeks Later
MELODY
“I am king,” Brux announces, waving his hand at the checker piece he just moved to my end of the board. “Make it so.”
“You can just say ‘king me’ like any other normal person,” I mutter, because I’m a sore loser. “You don’t have to be so pretentious about it.”
“Yes, but when I say it like this, it bothers you more.”
I snort and put a black piece atop his black king, ‘making it so.’ “You’re too good at this game. We need to play something else.”
“I am open to suggestion.”
“Of course you are. It’s because you’re good at everything,” I grumble. I’m not really mad, though. Peeved that I can’t win against him, sure. But Brux is highly competitive and loves every single game we’ve tried, from poker to checkers to Slapjack, to memory matching, where we just flip over cards and pair them. He’s clever and attentive, and that means he’s far too good at everything we’ve tried. It’s fun to try to find something he’s not great at, though. In the last few weeks, I’ve made card decks, game boards, and even a terrible set of jacks. It’s allowing me to stretch my creativity with my scrap metal, and I’ve made a couple of extra game boards for Aithar and his friends at the cantina.
Not that I need extra work. I’ve got someone that’s asked me to make them a rolling refrigerated cart, two more toasters to make, and a woman that runs a couple of stills wants me to help her streamline her business. There’s a woman that lives on a distant farm that sent a request for a human repairman, and as the human repairwoman of the area, I’m going up there tomorrow. As usual, there’s enough to keep me busy for months. Work has never been the problem.
It’s time. It’s always time.
Because every day that passes is another day that I’m aware that Brux might be leaving soon. We talk daily about everything, and he’s mentioned that his job is going to be wrapping up soon.
Okay, maybe we don’t talk about everything, because I haven’t told him just now miserable the thought makes me.
I move a checker piece, not paying attention to where I’m going, really. My thoughts are on the next few days. At some point, one of us is going to have to bring up the fact that he’s leaving. And…then what?
“That was a terrible move,” Brux comments, swiftly jumping my piece with one of his kings and collecting it. “Are you giving up?”
I scoff. “No.”
He gives me a dubious look, leaning back in the rickety metal chair that I’d made from leftover pipe. “You normally play badly, but not this badly.”
I gasp. “You shit! I do not!”
A wide grin curves his mouth and I know he was just saying it to mess with me. “Say what bothers you, then. You know I’ll listen.”
I purse my lips, eye the game board and my lone checker remaining, and move it to a benign space. I jump to my feet and head to my tiny kitchen. “Where are those new snacks I bought?”
“You’re stalling,” he says, almost gleeful. Brux gets to his feet and follows after me, watching as I angrily eat dried, puffed mushrooms that are dusted with some sort of salty powder. “Why will you not just say?”
“Oh my god, quit pushing,” I exclaim, shoving another crunchy mushroom puff into my mouth before pushing the bag aside again. “I swear it’s nothing.”
He grabs me by the waist when I try to move away. “I’m not letting you go until you tell me what it is.” Brux pulls me against him. Not hard, just enough to drag me close enough to press me to his chest.
That small move steals my breath away. I stare at him, lips parted, as he gazes down at me. It’s like we’re both now just realizing that we’ve ended up in each other’s arms.
“I’m not letting go,” he says again, softer this time.
“Promise?” I whisper.
His gaze flicks over my face, and then he cups my cheek. His enormous hand is callused and rough, but I’ve never felt anything better. “I didn’t kiss you five years ago. Feels like I should have.” His expression grows anguished. “Should have done lots of things differently. Instead, I just used you.”
“No, no, hey,” I comfort, putting my hands over the one he has on my cheek. I take it in my grasp and hold it tightly. “You didn’t use me. I don’t regret anything that happened between us. I was overjoyed at my freedom and I wanted to celebrate it. The only thing I had was my body, and so I shared it with you. Shared.”