unRepentant by Bridget E. Baker

Author:Bridget E. Baker [Baker, Bridget E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Purple Puppy Publishing

16

1962 & 1980

“I don’t recommend turning one-hundred and forty-five. I give it two thumbs down.”

“It’s too late for that advice to help me,” Gideon reminds me. “I’m two-hundred and fifty-eight.”

I roll my eyes. “You think I’m senile? I know that.”

“You’ll get through this.”

I collapse against his chest. “I don’t even want to survive.”

His hand against my back is strong. “You will, eventually.”

I doubt he’s right. “How am I even supposed to survive tonight?”

“What does that mean?”

I realize I never told him about Mother’s threat. “I should have warned you before, but I didn’t think I needed too, since I was going to name Eamon.” My shoulders slump. “Mother told me that I had to choose a Consort by today. She said if I didn’t—”

“If you didn’t?”

I step back from him. “She said she’d name you.” Part of me wants her to do it. It might hurt Eamon, and I want to hurt him. But I also want to keep him safe, and I want to fling myself into his arms and beg, and I want to run away, and I want to swim into the ocean and never stop swimming.

Eventually I’d have to drown, or a shark would eat me and this would all be over.

“A little more warning might have been nice.” Gideon backs away from me slowly.

“It’s been a weird week,” I say.

“This is a big deal,” he says.

“I guess I figured—”

“You figured I’d be giddy.” Gideon’s words are bitter.

My eyes snap toward his. “No, not giddy, I’m not—”

“You figured, why bother warning Gideon, since that’s all he’s ever wanted, to marry me, so you know, if everything else falls apart, and my heart is totally broken, and I’m borderline suicidal, no reason to worry. There’s always good old Gideon.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t think that—I mean, yes, you’re good, and I know you’re always there for me.”

“I don’t want to be a consolation prize.” He straightens and I take a good look, for the first time in a long time. His face is rugged. It’s severe. It’s sharp angles and flashing eyes and warrior scowls. He’s not beautiful like Eamon. He’s not smooth, or polished, or effortlessly charming.

But he’s fierce, he’s brave, and he’s solid. I do care for him, so much. “You would never be—”

“You are—” He chokes. “You have no idea what you are to me. You’re air. You’re sunlight. You’re baby animals and chocolate cake and birdsong and everything beautiful in the world. You’re—” He cuts off and shakes his head. “I deserve to be that to someone. I deserve not to be your fallback.”

He’s right. “I’ll tell my mother this morning that I can’t choose anyone, and she can’t name you,” I say. “I’ll figure out something.”

“And even now, what I want more than anything in the world is to tell you never mind. To beg you to name me, to want me, to look at me like you look at him.” His voice breaks. “But I can’t do that. It would shatter

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