Ignite The Shadows by Ingrid Seymour

Author:Ingrid Seymour [Seymour, Ingrid]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PenDreams
Published: 2020-04-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

After they made me rest and warned me not to meditate alone—as if I was crazy—I leave The Tank and head home in a daze.

I’ve almost made it there, driving my bike through busy roads, when I remember the fight with Mom and the way Luke seems to pop in and out when I least expect it. My day has been bad enough as it is. Right now, after being brought back from the dead, I feel too vulnerable and in need of comfort and a bit more of that tenderness Kristen bestowed upon me as she laid a hand on my forehead and soothed me. For years, there’s been only one person who’s offered me that.

I turn the bike around, knowing where to find him.

As I drive, I can’t help but think of how, over time, I’ve pushed everyone away, friends, family, teachers—all those who ever tried to get close, including Xave. Especially Xave.

Something tightens in my chest as, for the first time, I look inwardly and recognize the way I’ve driven him away. He’s supposed to be my best friend and half the time he doesn’t even talk to me about what he’s thinking and feeling. And it’s not all him being from Mars and me from Andromeda or wherever. No, it’s my fault. I’m an idiot. How didn’t I see that before? How did I expect him to have the warm-fuzzies about our friendship when I’ve given him so little? The more I think about it, the more I wonder how he has endured the way I’ve treated him all these years. It’s amazing we’re still friends. I really need to change that, especially now that we’re in this mess together.

I turn on my blinker and take a right. After a few blocks, Millennium’s neon sign comes into view. The pinball travels around the edge of the sign’s frame and its colorful pool balls light on and off, one at a time.

Leaving my helmet hooked to the handle bars, I walk toward the front door, feeling unexpectedly lighter. A few steps past the front door, I stop and look around, assessing the crowd. Regulars mostly, including the one I’m looking for. A smile touches my lips.

The smell of junk food hits me like a heavenly slap. Rolo’s manning the food counter tonight. Unusually ravenous—a meditation side-effect, I suspect—the idea of a greasy dinner at Millennium Arcade seems like a good excuse to be here while I search out Xave’s company.

“Heya, Rolo,” I say, slapping my palm on the counter.

He takes his eyes away from the deep fryer. “Marciiii, what’up girl?” He tips the baseball cap that sits on his bald head.

“Not much. Hey, you got something good cooking back there?”

“Nah, not tonight. Just the regular stuff,” he says, giving the fries a good shake before setting them back down in the hot oil. He wipes large hands on his white apron. He’s so tall and wide, he makes all the appliances look like toys.

“No Cajun fish tacos? Crawfish etouffee? Gumbo?” I plead.

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