The Guardian (16 page)

I sit down on top of the toilet, bury my face in the towel I grabbed from beneath the sink, and burst into the tears that I’ve forced back the majority of the afternoon.
Throat tight and eyes burning.
I can’t pinpoint exactly why I
’m crying: because I witnessed an accident I predicted, because Selena wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to warn her, because Carter believed me—no questions asked, because Seth was there . . . always. . . .
Maybe all of it.

When the tub fills, I shut off
the water, undress and climb in, then cover my face with a hot, wet washcloth, rinsing away the black mascara zebra-striped across my cheeks. I wipe my nose and take a deep breath. My chest shudders. I close my eyes to relax, but all I can see is the gree
n car crossing the intersection, slamming into Selena. I don’t want to shut my eyes. They ache, a dull pain throbbing behind them. I don’t want to see the accident playing out in my head anymore, an endless loop of nightmare. I don’t want to risk seeing so
mething new, either. My temples pound in consternation. 

In my bedroom, I pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top. I brush through my stringy, wet hair with my fingers, and stare in the mirror.

And there’s Seth, reflected behind me. His face replicates m
y hurt. My eyes fill with tears as I spin around, crashing into him. Tears stream down my face as I press my body against his, mingling between our skin.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” I choke, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He sits me down on the
edge of my bed, his brow furrowed, frowning. “It wasn’t you, Genesis. I should’ve never left you like that.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, quiet, holding each other.

When I can breathe again, I swallow hard, swiping my tears away. “Why did you come t
oday?”

“You needed me. It’s my job.”

I move further onto my bed, crossing my legs Indian-style. “It’s not your job to let me see you. And that doesn’t explain why I could see everyone else.”

“Everyone else?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Joshua. And that g
uy in the car.”

He remains quiet for a moment, thinking, before exhaling loudly. “After
your
. . . vision, or whatever you want to call it, I made a few contacts. Just so we would be ready.”

“We.
The Guardians?”

“Yes.”

“The other guy—the one riding with y
ou—was that . . .”

“Carter’s Guardian?
Yes. That was James.”

I smile softly. I like knowing that Carter has a Guardian following him around. “And the girl with Selena,” I clarify.

“There were others, too.” Seth takes another deep breath. “
The truth is . . . they know about you. About your gift, I mean,” he goes on. “Word is spreading fast. This whole thing . . . it’s a bad idea.” He shakes his head, expression grim.

“What? Why?”

He rubs his eyes with the base of his palms. “Because this is
hard enough as it is.
The visions.
You.
Me. . . .” He trails off, allowing the words to hang suspended between us. “We were only able to work together today because of what you saw.” He looks up at me, his dark eyes smoldering. “This sounds crazy, but ther
e’s this thing . . . I guess you would call it a battle. Good versus evil. It’s going on . . . all the time. And I don’t want you dragged in the middle of it.”

I scoff.
“A battle of good and evil?
That’s so completely unoriginal.”

“Why? Why would you belie
ve anything else? Look around you, Genesis. The world is full of evil. Since the beginning of time: evil.
Evil things.
Evil people.
If you’re predicting these events. . . .” He stops.

I sit still, unmoving, waiting for him to finish.
“Yeah?”
I urge after a
few, quiet moments.

“It’s just that, if this keeps happening, the wrong person is going to find out about it.” A pained expression crosses his face, as if he’s picturing something, imagining something terrible.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I whisper.

He grimaces. “It doesn’t matter. People already know,” he reminds me. “People talk. Guardians talk. And there’s always someone listening. You can’t ever forget that. You never know who’s lurking in the shadows. You can’t trust anyone, Genesis.
Ever.”

I swa
llow hard.

He falls back on my bed and stares at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I know you’re upset about all of this.”

I hug my knees to my
chest,
examine the chipped nail polish on my toes, feeling each second as it passes. I remember the accident, and Carter
and Selena. How Carter let me jump into his SUV without a second thought, while Selena laughed in my face. “How do you do it?” I finally ask him. “Make someone believe, I mean.”

His answer is shockingly simple: “You can’t.”

I consider this for a moment. “
You know, that was the worst part about this whole thing. Knowing what was going to happen, but Selena not caring.”

“That’s free will at its best. People make choices. They do things. They don’t. They say things. They don’t. They have an opportunity to do
right, and they blow it. You can’t make decisions for people. You do what you can and hope they make the right choices.”

“I know. I just wonder what would’ve happened if things were different.
If she would’ve believed me and gone another way.”

“What would’
ve happened?” he repeats.
“Nothing.
She would have taken a different route. There wouldn’t have been an accident.”

“But then I wouldn’t know if these visions were even real.”

“The thing is
,
you’ll never know what might have been. Things happen to people ev
ery day.
Bad things.
And then everyone
wonders,
where was God? Why did it have to be this way? I get it, you know, but they never see the entire picture. Everyone walking this planet is half a second away from disaster. Like Selena. If she would’ve decided
to do anything else, to talk to you longer, or to stop somewhere before her appointment, the accident never would’ve happened. But then, it doesn’t matter because no one would’ve known the difference. We do everything we can to make bad things not happen,
but the truth? We’re never fully in control. At some point fate steps in and takes over. Then you deal the best you can.” He gazes at the rivers of plaster stretched across the ceiling.

“So far all of my visions have come true. Does that mean I can see t
he future? Or is it just what
could
happen?
Because if Selena would’ve listened and not gotten into the wreck, then I wouldn’t have seen it in the first place, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“So there’s no point in warning anyone, or trying to stop these things f
rom happening because they’re just going to happen anyway.”

He rolls over onto his side, props his head up with his hand, and stares at me, his dark eyes pensive. “I don’t know. Maybe what you’re seeing isn’t always guaranteed. Maybe the future is somethin
g that’s always happening. If every decision you make alters your course, then why wouldn’t there be a chance that the outcome could be different from what you see?”

I lie down beside him, and a hush falls between us. The light overhead burns my already ac
hing eyes. I cover them with my arm. “I’m sorry,” I finally mumble, hiding my face. My throat tightens, constricting.

“For what?”

“Everything.”
I shrug my shoulders, eyes welling with tears.

He sits up and leans over, lifting my arm from my face. A salty
tear slips down my cheek, pooling at my ear.

“I hate it when you cry,” he whispers, gently tracing the trail of wetness left behind with his finger. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. I laugh nervously and apologize again.

“Why are you sorry? You
don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, voice soft and low. I turn my head slightly to look at him, and catch his deep, brown eyes with mine. They seem to go on for miles. They’re endless.
Full of secrets.

“You don’t,” he repeats.

I reach out to tou
ch him, run my fingers through his smooth, dark hair, fighting against the butterflies crashing in my stomach.

He shifts uncomfortably, moving his shoulders, tearing his eyes away from me.

“The thing is,” he continues, after a deep breath. “What I said ea
rlier? About you being a job? Well, you’re more than just a job to me.” He laughs quietly, but there’s no humor in it. “And I’m pretty sure that’s not good. I mean, there has to be some kind of rule about this, right?” He stops for a moment. My heart pound
s in anticipation. “It’s just that, keeping you safe has become an obsession of mine. More than it should be, even. Screw fate and free will. I hate Carter, and I wanted to kill him for not taking better care of you. And that day in the locker room, I want
ed to carry you away. And when you’re scared, or upset. . . .” Another lingering pause, and then he laughs, hiding his eyes with his hands. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this.” He looks back at me, eyes burning into mine. “Is it selfish of me to want to
keep you forever?” he whispers.

I shake my head. “No.”

He tenderly brushes the hair off my face with his fingers,
then
runs them slowly down my cheek.

I close my eyes, still brimming with tears. “Please don’t disappear anymore,” I beg. I move my face in
to his warm hand. This . . . Seth and I . . . whatever it is . . . it’s perfect. And I’m not entirely sure I can live without it.

I run my finger across his
jawline
. He hesitates for a moment, eyes searching mine. I rest my hand on the nape of his neck, dr
awing him in, closer. He doesn’t pull away as I lean forward, close my eyes, and meet his lips halfway. The world goes weightless, and my body melts into his as the gentle kisses leave my soul twisting, filling the ache inside.

E
IGHTEEN

“Okay, te
ll me the truth. What do you think?”

Stu focuses his gaze, watching as I sample a spoonful of his latest creation: a cheesy potato soup. It’s thick and warm and rich and melts on my tongue. “Wow,” I say, going in for another bite.

“Really?”
Stu asks. “Yo
u like it?”

“It’s the best soup I’ve ever tasted,” I confirm, my mouth full.

“Yes!” Stu balls his fingers into fists and punches the air. He bounces around the kitchen like the little leaguer who just pitched his first perfect inning. I smile. I like when
Stu gets excited. It gives me a reason to feel excited, too.   

“I’m
gonna
do it. I’m going to ask Ernie to put it on the menu.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “It’s good enough for the menu, right?”

I nod.
“Definitely.”

He wipes his hands on his apro
n, which has accumulated a fair amount of grease stains over the course of the afternoon, and heads to the back.

“How good is it really?”
Arsen
asks, moving toward me.

“Very good,” I confirm. “But I’m not surprised. Stu can make anything. He actually conv
inced me to start eating breakfast for dinner.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”
   

Arsen
slips around the counter and climbs onto the stool beside me. “So I was wondering,” he begins. “Do you want to get dinner again? Or catch a movie?”

I don’t answer right away,
feeling a pang of guilt surge through me.

“Or maybe you’re finally ready to take me up on the whole surfing thing.” He nudges me playfully with his elbow, flirting.

I smile tentatively. “No surfing.”

My date with
Arsen
, minus the appearance of an insanely
jealous Guardian and sharing a table with my ex-boyfriend and at least one girl who hated me, went surprisingly well. He’s sexy, funny,
attentive
—everything a good boyfriend should be. But he isn’t . . .

“No surfing,” he replies. “Okay.
But dinner?
Or the
beach?”

I exhale.
“Yeah.
Um.
I don’t know.”

Arsen
lets out a low, nervous laugh. “That doesn’t sound good.”