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“You think I forgot the fact that you snitched me out to Mayday? Tried to get me out of Gilead; didn’t give me a choice?” Daisy said harshly, chest heaving and her eyes flinty; steeled with righteous anger.
They were nearing the canopy of the trees, hidden by the cover of his vehicle… but he knew they couldn’t remain unseen for long. That they had to be careful.
It was difficult to be careful under wrongful assumptions, like he was somehow a bad guy for trying to keep her safe. For doing exactly what she’d been pleading for originally—to get her out.
Garth leaned down to answer her, frustrated because surely, surely, she could understand why he did what he did. That he hadn’t had a choice when he made the call. She had been a liability not only to their entire operation, but most importantly to herself. “You were being reckless; I did what I had to do.”
“To protect yourself… because you’re a coward,” she spat at him, eyebrows furrowed and a livid flush high on her cheeks.
His mouth tightened. “To protect the mission; to protect you,” he said cooly. “Not that you’re particularly grateful. Or that it even worked. You’re still here, clearly,” he muttered, wholly irritated by her presence that it was just b u r n i n g through him like kindling for a campfire. He desperately tried not to let that information slip, tried his best to keep his wits about him, because to lose that was dangerous, especially in front of Daisy.
The corners of her mouth tilted up like she was pleased that he was upset with her. He evidently needed to get better at schooling his expression. “You can’t get rid of me so easily now.”
“Like a thorn in my side,” he answered, deadpan. “I’ve accepted it, don’t worry.”
“Oh, I wasn’t,” she replied sweetly.
He forced himself to fold his arms rather than—whatever else he wanted to do. Something, he was sure. Something wild and thoughtless—something that almost felt violent in nature; coursing through him.
But he wasn’t his father. He wouldn’t lay a hand on her. The thought made him suddenly nauseous—the idea of her on the ground swiping blood from a busted lip and cowering below the looming shadow along the wooden floorboards, just like his mother. That’s not what he wanted. Because as much as he was frustrated, it felt… different. It wasn’t a typical anger. He felt more alive than he had been in years, ever since he joined Mayday and had been hoping for swift progress, much like Daisy presently.
Perhaps he felt inspired by her spirit. That had to be it. He just wanted that same fire that she had and to nurture it within himself. It’s like he wanted to learn from her.
Maybe he could be doing more. The only reason he’d even married Becka was after being begged to by Agnes, who was usually soft-spoken and so very passive, but he’d seen something different in her: a familiar fiery resolve outside the barracks in the dead of night, that same spark that he saw every single day—since the very moment he met her—in Daisy, too.
He had to assume, then, that Daisy wasn’t only inspiring to him, but to all of the girls surrounding her. Her presence here could mean certifiable danger, sure… but, truth be told, he was starting to believe that progress, specifically in Gilead, could only be earned with boldness.
He licked his dry lips, his eyes darting between her own. They were such a striking shade… so blue, as blue as the sky on a summer’s day.
Bold.
“Agree to disagree, then.”
Her gaze narrowed at him, so deadly that it was like she wanted him to offer his sincerest apology on a silver platter.
He huffed a breath, not quite a laugh; he’d rather her not know that he found it a unique way to pass boredom to rile her. Sometimes, it was the highlight of his day when he was so otherwise consumed with his new responsibilities as a Commander, and the preconceived judgement for marrying Becka.
Interesting still that she was letting him rile her when she could just scoff and storm away as inconspicuously as possible, like she was wont to do. Instead, she refused to budge, and they continued to stare, as though they were trying to find a chink in each other’s armour.
Surprisingly, she was the first to look away, gnawing at her bottom lip. Even though it should have felt like he’d won some sort of match against her, he didn’t enjoy the fact that she wasn’t looking at him anymore. That her attention had been snagged away by some pending, likely dangerous thought.
Their conversation was coming to an end, as it had to.
“Daisy,” he breathed, and her attention swerved at once, her striking blue eyes focusing in on him, and his chest felt rather tight. “Be careful.”
Her attention lingered before she nodded once; a careful, slight inclination, like it was more so a suggestion that she’d maybe take on board, and he was burning up with the urge to make her promise.
He just barely refrained. She would likely take it as an insult anyway, no doubt.
Hopefully, she would soon trust him enough again to reveal whatever next harebrained scheme she had up her sleeves.