Free Crossways by Jacey Bedford

somersaults in his gut. “But thank you and good-bye. Is that it?”
    â€œI tried to kill you on Olyanda. Twice. I almost got you killed. Your shoulder—”
    â€œAlmost as good as new.” He flexed it, hiding the stab of pain from half-healed muscle. He’d looked at it once, using a mirror, soon after the dressing came off: a livid stripe, pink meat against brown skin. After that he’d avoided looking at it again. “Ronan says it won’t even need a graft. It’ll barely scar.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make it right.”
    â€œCara . . .” Oh, gods, where to start? He sat next to her, carefully not touching. “I thought we’d worked all this out. I thought we were good. Olyanda was tough, but we survived. Together. What am I missing?”
    â€œAri van Blaiden.”
    â€œHe messed with your mind. It wasn’t you.”
    â€œThey couldn’t make me believe all the things I believed if I hadn’t had some lingering feelings for him.”
    â€œWhat about us, Mrs. Benjamin?” He felt something slipping away that he’d let himself start to rely on.
    â€œDon’t call me that. We lived a lie for a few months. It doesn’t make it real.”
    He’d wanted it to be real. “What do you want me to call you?”
    She didn’t answer.
    â€œCara . . .”
    â€œThat’ll do. Cara Carlinni. I need to find out who I am before I become someone else.”
    â€œAre you saying you’re leaving?”
    She shook her head. “Only if you want rid of me.”
    â€œI don’t.”
    â€œEven though I tried to kill you and had sex with Ari? And, for fuck’s sake, I killed someone with my mind!” There, she’d said it at last. “And I don’t even feel sorry.”
    â€œYou can’t go through what van Blaiden and McLellan did to you without it changing you.”
    â€œFor better or for worse?”
    â€œNot better, not worse, just different. I love you, Cara. I’ve never made any secret of that.”
    â€œI know that, too.” She smiled a small, sad smile. “I think you’re nuts, though.”
    â€œSo sue me.” He reached out and covered her left hand with his right. She froze for a moment and then turned her hand to grasp his.
    â€œCan we just take it slowly for now?” she said.
    â€œAs slow as you like,” he said. The snakes began to settle. Maybe there was hope.

    Cara and Ben lay in the generous bed, not touching. Aware of Ben at her back, his warmth prickling her skin, she thought she’d never sleep, but as soon as her eyes closed, she felt the blackness sucking her down into its warmth.
    With only a hazy impression of fast-fading dreams, she awoke to an empty cabin.
    Cautiously she opened her eyes, stretched and sniffed. Fresh bread and coffee, real coffee by the smell, not just caff or regular CFB, coffee-flavored beverage. On the table at the foot of the bed stood an insulated carafe and a copious breakfast cup, plus a basket of hot rolls and a selection of pots and jugs: cream, milk, fruit preserves, and honey. It looked like Mother Ramona had sent a care package.
    Ben’s used cup stood still half-full, with cream congealed on the cooling surface. That man had no taste. He preferred caff to the real stuff. It probably came from being raised in the colonies.
    She showered and dressed quickly before Ben returned, then grabbed the coffee and rolls with real strawberry jam. Did Mother Ramona and Norton Garrick live like this all the time? Luxury goods were rare on a space station. Theirlifestyle said a lot for their affluence, and the platinum deal was going to add to that considerably.
    She was halfway through her second cup when the door opened to reveal Ben with a carton of caff from the galley in one hand.
    â€œGood morning,” he said. “Good news on Serafin. He’s out of surgery and resting comfortably, though