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Nora sat so close to the fire it scorched her legs through her trousers. Her clothes were long since dry, but she was still cold. Down deep inside, in her marrow, in her heart. She’d sent her sister away, and she’d probably never see her again.
For Miles.
And for Charlie and Danny, because she’d almost blown him up and in her imagination the doe-eyed angel-child of Charlie’s stories looked at her accusingly, and even grumpy, bumbling Aaron. Except tug her ties to them and Miles would look up. He was the centre of it all.
She wasn’t sure she was ok with that. Picking up a stick Nora poked at the fire, pushing the half-burned firewood into the centre to catch. Last time hadn’t exactly gone so well had it? She’d loved him so ridiculously, it embarrassed her to look back. Stupid, reckless Nora Clayton, so drunk on the idea that General Matheson had chosen her – her –over...everything...she hadn’t been able to see how that would poison everything they had.
And Miles...hell, she didn’t know. Mia hadn’t been kidding that he wasn’t much of a one for talking. Not to her anyhow. She tched at that sour little turn of jealousy, it was childish. Not then, she edited the thought.
So she didn’t know what he’d been thinking, but she’d been there. They’d been fevered, out of control, fighting and fucking and then passing out drunk. Blowing up militia supplies and way stations like it was some big joke, nothing serious that would come back to bite them.
It had been like Miles was scared to stop, to let the adrenaline rush fade long enough to realise what he’d done. Just in case he was sorry, now it was too late.
Until Rock Hill and the planted/wrong/unreliable info and the hospital. She still tasted bile and cinders at the memory, her eyes prickling with tears she’d never shed.
If they’d ever had a chance, back then, that had killed it dead. Miles had given up fighting and fucking, dedicating his time to drinking. She’d tried to get him back, for a long time, but...
Maybe it was different now. He was different now, with Charlie’s hero-worship poking him into doing the right thing no matter how much he grumbled. Except they were going back to Philadelphia, and it didn’t matter what happened when they got there. No way Miles was leaving without his heart broken again, and he didn’t cope well with that.
Charlie was a helluva lot steadier than Nora had been at that age, and didn’t have the fucking part to complicate things – but it was going to be bad. Nobody knew that but her and Miles, and he wasn’t going to tell.
The sad thing was, none of that mattered. Nora snapped her stick in two and tossed it in the fire, watching it burn with dry, itching eyes. She’d made her choice and now she’d see it through. It could be different this time. Memories weren’t prophecies.