Free Landing by J Bennett Page B

gloves, and look at the woman. Blonde
hair, dark roots , orange Halloween sweater, mid-40s .
    “Brother, right?” she asks.
    I stare at the grinning pumpkin on
her chest. In ten pages or less?
    “Yes,” I respond.
    “I can always tell,” the woman
chuckles. “Same eyes. You must be proud of him.”
    I follow her gaze and watch Tarren
move — the epitome of precision, grace, and confidence. When he’s in his
element his energy can turn such soft shades of blue. Tarren has moments of
beauty, I know this, but I still always see him as he was that first night when
he and Gabe rescued me—how he stood over me covered in blood, pointing a gun at
my head.
    “Does he compete?” the woman asks.
She leans toward me just a little, and I flinch back.
    “Excuse me,” I say and walk out of
the gym. Outside, I sit on the curb and roll up my pant legs to absorb the thin
stream of sun. Weak winter rays, and Gabe took all the rats with him.
    Half an hour later, Tarren is done.
We drive home. He’s all sweaty and smelly, because he refuses to shower at the
gym, so I put my window down all the way and let the wind whip against my face.
    Silence pervades, and it’s a heavy,
dragging sort of silence, like quicksand. I hate how Tarren always makes it a
point to control his energy whenever we’re together, how he hides his emotions
away lest I begin to understand any little part of him.
    I consider turning on the radio to
some funky country station just to annoy him, but I’m not in the mood.
    “Do you know why Gabe was upset?”
Tarren asks when we’re halfway to the house.
    “Probably because you whupped him
in front of all those people.”
    “No, before. He was upset when he
came in.”
    “You should really loosen up
sometimes,” I snap back. Tarren looks at me. His mouth sets tight, and I can’t
help but follow the sweep of the broad, glossy scar that starts under his left
ear, traces his jaw, and curves up his chin, ending just below his bottom lip. It’s
not that the scar is even that bad really, it’s just that his face would be
perfect without it.
    Tarren surprises me. “Maybe.”
    He sighs. I sigh. We both stare
straight ahead out the windshield.
    “Were you okay in there? With all
those people?” Tarren’s question is anything but casual.
    “I didn’t go berserk and kill
anyone if that’s what you’re asking.”
    “It isn’t.” Tarren’s jaw tightens.
We stop at a light, and he gazes at me. Could he tell that I was struggling?
What would he do if I told him the truth? How very hard it was, how loud the
song can get sometimes?
    I know what Tarren would do; he’d
finish what he started that night they rescued me from Grand. I slouch against
the window and shrug. “I felt fine.”
    The light turns green, and Tarren’s
eyes move back to the road. We don’t say anything the rest of the ride, and
that’s just the way it is between us.

 
     
    Chapter 9
    My rats and clothing purchases are
waiting for me on the kitchen counter when Tarren and I get home. Tarren
retreats to his lab, and Gabe won’t emerge from his room, not even when I put
in his favorite movie, Forced Vengeance, and turn it loud. I’m left to
watch Chuck Norris roundhouse kick his way through the flimsiest of storylines
on my own.
    Later that night I’m in my room
downloading my first book onto my Kindle, Principles of Energy , a beginner’s
guide , when I hear Tarren climbing the stairs. He pauses, and his aura
flickers. I put down my Kindle and wait. He knocks on Gabe’s door.
    “Go away,” Gabe says. I can feel
his energy too, strong and angry, through the walls.
    Tarren stands in front of Gabe’s
door for a full minute. Just stands there. Finally, he turns and goes to his
own room.
    I decide that I need to fix this.
    Gabe stays up half the night, and
his energy is all fritzy and angry. I read, and I wait, and I try, really try,
not to stare at the bathtub. Finally, Gabe turns everything off and goes to
bed. It takes another