Free Defiance by C. J. Redwine

living room until I’m less than three yards from her.
    “I know we’re running out of time. But you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
    She jumps at the sound of my voice so close behind her, and shoots a glare over her shoulder before moving toward the wooden box of a pantry resting in the corner. “I know what you’re doing, too. You’re going into the Wasteland with me. I’m sorry about that, by the way.” She opens the pantry and rummages through it.
    Sorry for what? Having to take me with her? Does she really despise me that much? The hurt that follows this thought is a slow, dull ache that takes me by surprise. My voice is sharp as I follow her and ask, “Are you really sorry?”
    This time, she bangs her head when she jumps. Turning, she shoves a sack of mutton jerky into my arms and snaps, “Stop sneaking up on me.”
    I grab the sack before it falls, and frown. “Why are you removing food from my pantry?” I toss the jerky onto the table behind me as she pulls two dusty jars of fig paste from the back of the pantry, knocking over a bag of potatoes in the process.
    “Packing, of course.”
    “Wait a minute.”
    She shoves the paste at me and rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll finish apologizing. I didn’t want you involved. I should’ve made it over the side before they caught you. Then this whole thing wouldn’t be an issue.”
    I slam the paste onto the wooden table beside the jerky. “How can you say that?”
    She fists her hands on her hips and ignores the potatoes rolling across her feet. “I would’ve been gone, Logan. Deep into the Wasteland. And if you’d kept quiet about your reasons for being at the Wall, nothing would have changed for you.”
    “Nothing …” My stomach drops as I realize how little she thinks of me.
    “You’d be free to invent and read and make life better for the citizens here. Duty finished.” She kicks a potato, sending it careening across the floor as something blazes to life within me.
    I glare at her. “And what duty would that be? The one I swore to the memory of the man I consider my one true friend?” I lean toward her as my voice rises. “The one I swore to myself when I could see how lost you are without him?”
    She takes a step back and bumps into the pantry. “I’m not lost.”
    “You’re
lost
. And everyone knows it. Three months till Claiming age. Every available man in the city suddenly looking at you like you’re …” I snap my mouth closed and turn my back before I say what I’m really thinking. What every man who stops to stare at the fiery beauty with the indomitable spirit and glorious red hair is thinking.
    She’s yelling now. “Like I’m what? Pathetic? A poor little girl who needs a man every time she leaves the house? I’m not like that. My father saw to that. You should’ve gone after him with me when I first asked you to. You should’ve gone!”
    I whirl to face her, and step forward until the distance between us can be measured in breaths. She’s trembling. I am too. She stares at me with wounded eyes, and I want to wipe all the ugliness out of our lives, but I don’t know how.
    “Rachel.”
    Her hair is drenched. Glistening drops of water slide effortlessly down her pale skin. I raise my hand slowly, but she doesn’t flinch as I press my palm against her cheek, letting the water slide over us both. My fingertips are calloused and ink-stained, rough against the softness of her skin. She looks fragile and fierce, and I long for something more than the animosity between us.
    “You’re right.” I say quietly. “I should’ve gone after him. Does it make it better to know that I always planned to go? “
    “When?” she whispers.
    “When I finish building the tracking device I want to use to find him.”
    Her skin warms beneath my hand as her anger fades into something tentative and soft.
    “I should’ve told you what I was doing.” My thumb traces a path across her cheekbone, catching another drip