“What? No!”
“If I’m going to lose control, better there than here. My tiger could do a hell of a lot of damage to Apex before they take her down.”
Ethan broke in, horrified. “That’s crazy. I won’t let you.”
She spoke louder, ignoring him. “And if I lose control on the way, I won’t hurt anything but deer.”
“Destiny. Stop it. I’m not afraid. I’ve seen your tiger before.”
“That was my calmed-down tiger! Not the one inside me now. That one’s a predator. A beast.”
“I’m still not afraid. I believe what you’re saying, but I don’t think you would ever hurt me.”
“It’s not me!” Destiny shouted.
“Fine!” Ethan yelled back. “But you’re not going anywhere alone! We go together, or we stay here till the cows come home, or you stay here and I go. Actually, why don’t I do that? You sit here, and I’ll come collect you on my way back.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed and alarmed. “Ethan, no! We’re really pushing it even trying this mission with two people. With just one, it’d be a suicide mission.”
“Exactly.” He patted her shoulder. “So we go together. Trust me, mudpuppy. You and your tiger will be fine.”
Instead of looking encouraged, she sagged with defeat. “You’ve never had an animal inside you. You can’t understand.”
Ethan wasn’t sure which he wanted to do more, take her in his arms and comfort her, or shake her until she promised never to say that again. Since obviously he couldn’t do either, he said, “I understand that you’re the strongest, bravest person I know.”
She gave him an incredulous stare. “You’re the one who’s strong and brave and, and perfect! I’m just good at putting up a front.”
“Whoa. Have you really been thinking I’m perfect?”
With a shrug and a toss of her braids, she said, “Apart from being a total weirdo and secretly a Zork-playing nerd… Yeah.”
Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it. He could prove otherwise. Or he could tell her some other story about himself, one that did show some flaw in him that he didn’t really care but that wouldn’t be quite so… revealing. Then he was ashamed of himself for even considering it. She had bared her soul to him. He couldn’t hold back with her, even if it did make her think less of him.
“Destiny, let me tell you about my parents. I guess they must’ve loved each other once. But I never saw it. None of us could do anything right as far as my father was concerned. If we set the table without being asked, he’d tell us the spoons were crooked. Then Mom would say they were fine, only she wasn’t talking to us—she was glaring at Dad. She was contradicting him, not supporting us. Then in private she’d tell us how terrible Dad was and how much she regretted marrying him. This was when we were, like, eight. It was totally inappropriate.”
Ethan stopped suddenly. He’d never told anyone about any of this—at least, not in more detail than “My parents divorced when I was ten. We’re not really close.” He’d always imagined that if he ever did, they’d give him a stare like he was way too old to still be bothered by stuff that happened when he was eight and he needed to man up. He knew Destiny wouldn’t do that, but he worried that she’d pity him. He hated pity.
She didn’t. The expression in her warm regard was one he could only interpret as sympathy, and the desire to ease his pain, even a pain years by gone. She turned her hand over so she could squeeze his. “That’s terrible, Ethan.”
“Ellie and I used to hope they’d get divorced,” he went on. “Then they did. The first thing they both decided to do was move to opposite ends of the country. We ended up in custody court. To this day, I don’t think either of them really wanted us, they just wanted to mess with each other. Ellie and I begged the judge to keep us together, but that asshole gave me to Dad and Ellie to Mom. Dad took me and moved to the East Coast.”
“What was it like just being with him?”
“Same, only I was all by myself. I remember the day I learned to ride a bike—which a neighbor taught me, by the way. No congratulations. Just a critique of how much I was wobbling. I was a star baseball player in high school, and all he ever talked about were the games we lost. It made me feel like nothing was worth bothering with. I started cutting school, skipping games, flunking classes. I finally got busted for hanging around a liquor store trying to get people with IDs to buy me beer. In retrospect I think I was trying to get Dad’s attention. I did, but it was the same kind of attention I got for everything else: telling me how much I sucked.”
Destiny sighed. “Man, Ethan. I know Ellie was the one you really needed, but I wish I’d been there. We could’ve hung out and done stupid nerd stuff together. I know it wouldn’t have helped with your dad, but at least you could’ve had someone to talk to.”
He’d never before imagined knowing her as a teenager. The idea made his heart ache. His life would’ve been so different. “I wish so too. Anyway, big surprise, he didn’t approve of me joining the Marines. Said I should’ve gone to college instead.”
“I bet if you’d gone to college, he’d have said you should’ve joined the Marines.” She sounded angry—on his behalf. That sure wasn’t something he was used to.
“Yeah. I finally had to admit that to myself. It didn’t matter what I did. Nothing would ever be good enough. Anyway, Destiny, I didn’t tell you all this to make you feel bad for me. You thought I was perfect—that’s how perfect I’m not.”
“That’s your parents. That’s not you. What your family’s like doesn’t say anything about you.”
“Doesn’t it? Because that’s not what I’ve heard. Everyone says you grow up to become your parents. Or if you want to know what someone’s really like, pay attention to how he talks about his parents. Well, my mom is cold and bitter, and my dad’s a fucking asshole. No matter what Ellie or I has ever done or said, neither of them has ever changed. I haven’t seen either of them in something like eight years. Everyone says you have to forgive your parents and find some way to reconcile with them. So what does it say about me that I hope I never see them again?”
His voice rose to a near-shout. He shut up, hoping she wouldn’t feel like he was yelling at her.