Page 80 of The Last Love Story

“Ripley,” Callum tries again.

But I’m saved from answering by the grinding of gears as the copter under my left foot lurches, a rug pulled out from under me.

With a horrifying whir, the copter blades dip, and cut, as the entire aircraft bends, tilting, racing toward Callum’s head.

I don’t think. I just dive, pushing Callum to the deck beside me.

The Hammers move with surprising efficiency. And once again, Callum is lugged off into a bigger, better, safer copter while I’m left behind.

His forehead is bandaged from where the blades sliced an even line along the skin, but his eyes are brighter.

“You saved me,” he says.

And I realize I did.

“I knew it,” he calls as the Hammers rush him into their backup aircraft. Our original ride is still smoking, copter blades piercing through the deck, body sideways. Flames are barely licking the shape; a window shatters with the heat.

“I love you, too, Ripley Hart,” Callum says, and the assembled crowdawws like this is some sort of grand gesture.

But he’s whisked away, and I’m left standing in the center of the crowd.

Somehow, I find President Graves’s eyes across the deck. He nods at me once, slowly, barely a dip of his brow.

Once again, I’m reminded that this is a game of chess, and I’m always six moves behind. And I don’t even know what side I’m on anymore.

Chapter 19

When we get back to New Washington, I request Becka to be my personal security on a walk. The second we step off White House grounds, I take off sprinting. Apparently even she knows better than to follow me.

The subway entrance where Ettie pretended to lose her necklace just a few days ago lets me into the same abandoned subway track and for once the darkness isn’t scary or oppressive. It means prying eyes can’t see me.

Callum lied to me. He used me.

I love you, too, he’d said.

Can I believe anything he’s said or done? Or has it all been an act, him pretending to be Orion?

I shake my head. It’s absurd. Orion is him. He can’t pretend to be a character based on him.

Or can he?

“You’re not supposed to walk on that,” a warm voice calls from behind me.

I turn, keeping my face in the shadows. Hux stands in the middle of the tracks, his hands in his pockets. He motions to my leg, which does throb. When I glance down, I see that it’s bleeding through the gauze, a trickle of red. Somewhere between nearly being sliced to bits by a hovercopter and making it back to the White House, I finally got some first aid for my daring rescue attempt.

I don’t look away. I don’t have to pretend I want to. “How’d you find me?” I ask.

“Seriously?” Hux asks. “There are—”

“Cameras everywhere,” I finish. The streets must be crammed with them. I purse my lips and nod. “I’m not very good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff, am I.”

I face him dead on, and his expression tightens at the sight of my tears. With three assured strides, he’s in front of me. A hand presses my jaw up to force me to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally.

“Thanks, but this one actually isn’t your fault.”

“Except.” He works his jaw. “Except it is. After I saw you sneaking out that night, I... checked in on you. I saw you’d been getting messages from Lyceum, but there was something else. Your home network had been compromised. I’m a hacker, Ripley. I needed to know who it was. I thought I could stop them. And I thought Ididstop them. But then two days later... you were brought here.”