Free Crash by Eve Silver Page B

it’s already morning.”
    I look at him, startled. “Don’t you have to go home? Your parents—”
    â€œDad’s out of town. Mom knows exactly where I am. You got a spare toothbrush?”
    â€œDownstairs bathroom, the drawer under the sink. There’s toothpaste there, too. And soap.”
    When I come out of the bathroom, teeth brushed, face washed, my clothes changed out for blue plaid flannel PJs, Jackson’s in my room, wearing a pair of faded sweatpants and a loose T-shirt.
    â€œThat isn’t what you were wearing before.”
    â€œI had extra stuff in the Jeep. Workout clothes.”
    I make a face.
    â€œClean workout clothes. I did laundry yesterday.”
    â€œYou do your own laundry?”
    He arches one brow. “You think I want my mom washing my boxers?”
    I laugh, but the sound’s thin and strained.
    He pulls back the covers, pats the mattress, and says, “Into bed.”
    I walk to him, my feet leaden, my entire body sagging under the weight of my fatigue. I feel like I’m slogging through quicksand.
    I sit on the edge of the bed. He sits beside me and our fingers intertwine. There’s a slump in his posture I’ve never seen before.
    â€œYou okay?” I whisper.
    He offers a shadow of his killer Jackson smile. “Sure.” His fingers tighten a little on mine. I tighten mine right back.
    It hits me that he isn’t just comforting me; I’m comforting him, too. Because no matter how much he’s trying to be here for me right now, he has to be thinking about the girl we saw in the white room. The girl who can’t possibly be his sister. Because Lizzie is dead.
    According to Jackson, he killed her.
    But maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe she’s somehow trapped inside the game, has been all this time. Maybe—
    â€œDo you want to talk about Lizzie?”
    â€œNot right now.” He draws his hand from mine, scoops my legs up, and stretches them out on the mattress. Then he drags the covers up over me and orders, “Sleep.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œThen just close your eyes.” He lies down on top of the covers, his front against my back, his arms around me like a barrier against the world, against nightmares and the monsters under the bed.
    Except they aren’t under the bed. They’re in the game and in my head and there are moments I’m not sure who the monsters are. The guy who got drunk and ran his car into Dad’s?
    The Drau? The Committee?
    Kendra? Me?
    I can’t forget that Drau, begging for its life.
    I close my eyes and see the white room, the nanoagents, Lizzie. “I think it’s really her,” I whisper. “Lizzie. I think she somehow got trapped in there, in the game, likethe guy from that movie Tron .”
    He doesn’t say anything. I feel his chest moving with each steady, slow breath.
    â€œJackson,” I whisper.
    â€œSleep,” he orders. Last word.
    I open my eyes to sunlight peeking through the slats in my blinds, hitting me square in the face. There’s a heavy weight across my shoulders. My first thought is that Carly slept over, got sick of the hard floor and crawled up on my bed. Wouldn’t be the first time.
    I blink against the light.
    Carly.
    Dad.
    The hospital.
    I jerk upright but don’t get far. I’m trapped by Jackson’s arm and the covers twisted around my calves. He groans and rolls onto his back, throwing his forearm across his eyes. His sunglasses are on my bedside table.
    â€œNot exactly how I planned for us to spend our first full night together,” he says, his voice raspy with sleep, his eyes still covered.
    â€œThat wasn’t our first full night together. We slept together one night in the caves.”
    He drops his forearm and pins me with a look. “I think I’d remember if we slept together.”
    A flush heats my cheeks. I shove aside the covers and drop my legs