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“And if I’m honest”—Garrett kissed up to Maxwell’s elbow and then cupped his cheek and pressed their foreheads together—“I want it for the rest of my life.”
Chapter Twelve
Two Months Later
“It’s here!”
Garrett kicked the screen door of their little house shut behind him as he wrestled the giant and deceptively heavy box into the entryway. He tried to set it and its precious cargo down gently, but it still hit the floor with a disconcertingly loud jangle.
“Maxwell, it’s here!” Garrett called again as he pulled the utility knife from his belt and started slicing open the packaging. They’d been waiting on this delivery for weeks, and while he wasn’t surprised how long it had taken, that didn’t stop him from being both grumpy about it and giddy about it finally arriving. “Maxwell!”
“I heard you the first time.” Maxwell finally knocked open the door down the hall that led to his clinic, still drying his hands with a small towel. He raised his eyebrows at the huge crate on the floor of their entryway. “It’s not as big as I thought it would be.”
“Yeah, except for the logo.” Garrett tapped the sprawling Turner Corporation logo with the flat of his blade. “Did they have to cover the whole box with it?”
“Considering that half the reason they’re even manufacturing these is for the PR, yes, I think they did.” Maxwell knelt beside him and lifted up the plastic lid of the crate, revealing the sleek, dissembled pieces of a turbine. “Did it come with assembly instructions?”
“I don’t need instructions.” Garrett scoffed and heaved one of the blades out of the box: a huge metal plate the length and width of his leg but hollow and light for its size. He started carrying it to the stairs that led up to their second floor and from there to the roof. “I used to work with my hands for a living, remember?”
“I remember it was in a mine, and it was a decade ago,” Maxwell snorted but grabbed one of the bags of smaller parts and followed him up to the roof. “Are you going to want any help with this?”
Garrett put his back to the door at the top of the stairs, pushed it open, and carried the turbine blade out into the cool Southern Tava air. “No, I know you still have a lot of new patient files to make.”
Maxwell dropped the bag next to the blade, and his skin shimmered a dubious gray as he eyed Garrett rolling his shoulders. “Should I ask Mal’ik and Oliver to come over early? I’m sure they can help you.”
Garrett scowled and then clapped his hand on Maxwell’s shoulder as he passed him to haul the rest of the turbine up. He dropped a kiss onto his forehead. “I don’t need Mal’ik and Oliver’s help. I got this.”
Seven hours later, he wished he’d asked for Mal’ik and Oliver’s help. Truthfully, he’d started wishing for it at hour two, but by then, he’d already been working at it so long it felt like it’d be more trouble than it was worth to explain everything he’d learned to someone else. By hour four, he’d realized how wrong that logic was, but pure pride prevented him from admitting he’d labored for four hours by himself when this was clearly a multi-person job. Somewhere around hour five, he’d stopped wishing for anything at all and had gone numb with the acceptance of his situation.
But by hour seven, the sun low on the horizon, he screwed in the last bolt of his and Maxwell’s brand-new atmosphere-cleaning turbine and could admit to himself that he should have asked for help. He leaned against the low wall around their roof and sighed. Next time. He’d ask for help next time.
“Garrett?” Maxwell poked his head out onto the roof. “Mal’ik and Oliver are here.”
Garrett threw back his head and laughed. “Of course they are.”
“Oh, you’re done.” Maxwell came out and circled the turbine. “It’s surprisingly pretty. Oliver’s brother really does have an eye for design.”
Garrett lifted his lip. Oliver’s brother also had an eye for evil—the fear gas the turbine was meant to clean out of the air had been his horrible invention in the first place.
Maxwell finished circling the turbine and let his hand drop down from the shiny metal. “Have you just been out here admiring it?”
“It and the view.” Garrett crossed his arms and nodded his head to the rolling hills stretching out west. They didn’t look quite like Thule’s, but Garrett wouldn’t have wanted them to. He had wanted to return to the country and to Southern Tava, but that didn’t mean he’d been ready to return all the way home. He wasn’t sure he ever would be, and Maxwell hadn’t sounded eager to return to Jute either.
Maxwell raised an eyebrow and mimicked Garrett’s crossed arms. “You just finished, didn’t you?”
“I just finished.” Garrett gave him a sheepish smile, and Maxwell laughed.
“You should have let me call Mal’ik and Oliver.”
“I should have.” Garrett snaked an arm around Maxwell’s waist, pulled him into his body, and then turned him to look at the proud turbine. “But look, I did it.”
“We’ll see.” Maxwell settled back against Garrett’s chest. “There’s supposed to be a storm tonight. I’ll believe you’ve done it when the storm doesn’t rip it off our roof.”
“Fair enough.” Garrett kissed Maxwell’s temple. “We’ll spend one last storm hiding in the freighter with everyone else, and if when we get back, my turbine is still here, then we’ll spend the next one at home.”
Maxwell laughed. “Oh, it’s your turbine now?”
“It’s mine until you believe in it.”
