Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy, #2)

by Lauren Roberts

I swipe the bow through the air, hearing wood connect with the arrow’s shaft before I’ve even registered what’s happened.

“All right.” His voice is strained. “The truth, then?” “The truth, always,” I murmur.

A long pause. “Sometimes I’m envious that you were the one to kill my father.”

“Cut it off.” His brows crinkle at my words, “What?” “I want you to cut it off,” I say quietly. My face is blank despite the tears still clouding my vision. I run bloody hands over the length of my braid, staining it with each swipe.

“I want you to cut it off,” I whisper. “Please.” “Hey, look at me,” he says softly, his hand straying to my face. “I will wash your hair, okay? The blood won’t be there forever—”

He would waash her hair omwwwwww

“You don’t get it. This hair holds memories. And it’s heavy.”

Tears tumble down my cheeks. I cry for my past, for the little girl who held her father’s hand until it grew cold.

I cry for Adena—my sun in the darkness I was drifting toward.

I cry for every time I felt as though I shouldn’t. For every time I felt as though it made me weak.

He sits in silence, washing the blood from my hands. His touch is soft, as though I’m delicate, not fragile.

As though he’s treating me with care because I deserve it, not because I need it.

Everything he does is intentional, a type of intimacy I’ve never felt before.

I’m practically choking on my tears, breathing uneven. “Shh,” he murmurs. “You’re all right.”

Another tear escapes my eye when his lips brush against the pad of my thumb.

But then he takes that thumb and guides it toward my cheek to wipe away a tear there. Then he pulls it back to his lips, kissing it again before using it to wipe away another one of my tears. “You’re strong enough to wipe away your own tears, but too stubborn to let someone care for you,” he murmurs.

In the days since my eye-opening conversation with Gail, I’ve visited the willow tree and apologized to Ava for missing her birthday.

She is my mother in name alone, and I suppose part of me always despised her for not being the woman who died giving birth to me.

I distantly wonder whether Kai has seen that bed without Ava’s body to occupy it.

“Jax,” I say, forcing a smile. “I didn’t know you were up here.”

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I would either.” “I can’t blame you.” Her smile is sad. “I never made much of an effort to have a relationship with you.”

“And now, here I am. Dying because I no longer know how to breathe without him.”

I stand to leave. She coughs. I wince. “Kitt?” I turn back toward her frail form. “Yes?” “Visit me again?” She swallows. “You look so much like him.” My throat burns. I nod.

I don’t dare move, too afraid to ruin the moment when she’s likely frightened of having it.

She shakes her head, hiding a smile as she looks up at me. Short hair suits her.

It feels as though she left a version of herself on the floor of this cave, another ghost to roam the Sanctuary of Souls.

“I won’t ever get it back, will I?” she asks dully. I begin heading for the yawning mouth of the cave. “One day,” I promise. “Bury it with me, will you?”

“I’m talking about the flowers.” I straighten, hand pressed against my stomach as I stare at the sea of bright red. Every petal bleeds into the other, creating a blanket of color to warm the grass beneath.

“Poppies,” I say, smiling when I see the look on her face.

I manage to start running before the chain has the chance to try to yank me off my feet.

I watch her spread out her arms to embrace the wind as her boots find the edge of the field.

I haven’t seen her this carefree since the day I followed her out into the rain, plucking a forget-m...

Seeing her enjoy life makes surviving mine su...

A squeal slips from her lips when I cut in front of her, bending to catch her legs and throw the rest of her body over my uninjured shoulder.

the sound of her laugh is healing, capable of making a man forget his own name, let alone his pain.

“All right,” she pants, “you made your point. You can put me down now.” “But I’m giving you the best view of the flowers,” I say with a smile she can’t see.

I laugh, crouching as I wrap an arm around her back and flip her over my shoulder. Lowering her slowly to the ground, I lay her down so flowers circle her as she smiles up at me.

“Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” she asks softly. “Like I’m worthy of being seen.”

“Dance with me?” she whispers. My heart skips a beat at the timid question.

“You don’t regret it?” She shakes her head, her smile sad. “No.” “Good,” I murmur. “Because I’ve always had a thing for short hair.” “Oh, really?” She laughs as I sway us in a circle.

“It’s true. Among other things, of course.” I shrug a shoulder. “Short hair. Ocean-blue eyes. Twenty-eight freckles. And”—I pause, examining her with a tilt of my head—“how tall are you?”

She blinks in confusion. “Umm, about five and a half feet?” “Five and a half f...

I pull her closer, my hand fitted into the curve of her waist. “Are poets not just fools with fancy words?” I duck my face until our foreheads meet. “I think I qualify, darling.”

We’re swaying in the sunset, her boots atop mine with a field of flowers to witness.

“Last night,” she says quietly. “Last night,” I echo.

He’s lying sideways, propped on an elbow as he wrestles with poppy stems. I snort at the sight of what is supposed to be a flower crown, watching it crumple in his hands.

He nods to the nearly completed crown in my lap. “How is yours not falling apart?” “Maybe,” I say slowly, “because I’m doing it right.”

can wield a sword in both hands, but I can’t get these damn flowers to stay together.”

“To be fair,” I say, twisting the final flower into place, “I’ve had a lot of practice. Adena and I used to make these all the time out of dandelions.”

“Here.” He pulls a half-crushed flower from his hand. Fingers brush my hair as he tucks the stem behind my ear. “Pretend it’s a forget-me-not.”

“But you thinking so means that even in death, he wins. That scar is a testament of your strength. A testament of who you are, not what.”