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And then Maxwell had slammed his thoughts down. Love him? He was starting to think Garrett had feelings for him, not loved him. He had clearly gone off the rails in the middle of the night, so Maxwell had forced himself to go to sleep and hoped that the morning would bring steadier thoughts.
It hadn’t.
Or rather, it had, but they’d been steadier on the side of telling Garrett everything. Because even if Garrett rejected him, he couldn’t stand knowing that Garrett was falling for him while Maxwell could still pull the rug out from under him.
But there hadn’t been time before the mission, and it felt too risky to drop that sort of bombshell right beforehand, and then they’d gotten into the ship, and Garrett’s tension had started to ratchet up, and it was definitely too risky now, and so here they were, Garrett staring at Thule’s skyline and Maxwell gritting his teeth on his secret.
With several minutes still to go, the radio crackled again, and Patrick’s voice came through. “Twal.”
Garrett’s hand tightened on the control stick, and he bared his teeth. “Everybody’s got something to share today.” Then he hit the reply button. “What?”
“We think a ship got through.”
Garrett sucked his teeth. “You think?”
“We counted five, and we chased off four. So yeah, we think.” Patrick managed to keep his voice on just the professional side of irritated. He and Garrett had had a spat that morning. Patrick wanted to come down to the surface, saying the mines were a rat warren that could have a lot more than just survivors. Garrett had refused, pointing out that the last thing terrified former miners in a powder keg of a mine needed were their oppressors stomping in to grab them.
Then he’d crossed his arms and asked whether the Klah’Eel were interested in helping the survivors or just getting their hands on the stockpile of uranium they’d left behind when they fled the Barzen fallout. Patrick had bristled with offense but dropped the topic.
Garrett tapped his fingers several times on the control stick. “Maybe the fifth ran away on its own.”
“Maybe.” Patrick paused, and Maxwell glanced at Garrett to see his reaction to Patrick’s inevitable follow-up. “But we’re descending into the thermosphere anyway.”
“What?” Garrett spat.
“We’re descending into the thermosphere so we can escort your ship through the stratosphere,” Patrick replied firmly, and Maxwell thought the vein in Garrett’s temple might burst. “The pirate ship could be hiding just inside, ready to take you down before you get into the debris field where we can protect you, and you don’t have any guns.”
Garrett closed his eyes and rubbed his free hand over them. It was a reasonable compromise, and if Garrett hated Patrick a bit less or was less keyed up, Maxwell didn’t doubt he’d let it slide and move on. But this mission was doing something to him. Or, more accurately, the image of Thule’s spire growing to take over their windshield was doing something to him.
“Fine,” Garrett finally snapped out, and then he ended the call.
Maxwell stayed quiet and let Garrett seethe as they flew over the small town of Thule and toward the mine. He jumped when Garrett spoke.
“That was my house.”
“What?” Maxwell whipped his head around to look out the windshield in the direction Garrett pointed.
“That little building at the base of that hill. That’s where I grew up.”
Maxwell had just a few moments to make out a small blur of blue far out from the outskirts of the town before it went out of sight. “Farm?”
“Yeah.” Garrett nodded, and they swooped down toward the base of the spire. Maxwell had never heard him speak with such a flat affect, and it made his skin crawl. “Until the Klah’Eel put in so many mines, it became a death trap. That’s how we lost Mom.”
Maxwell’s jaw dropped, and he grabbed Garrett’s wrist. “Garrett. I’m so sorry.”
Garrett shrugged a shoulder and then flipped a bunch of switches. He lowered the landing gear and brought the ship down on the smoothest landing strip they’d seen on Tava yet. He didn’t speak until he’d taxied to the front of the tower and powered off the engines. “Yeah.” He looked out the windshield to the endless bars of metal crisscrossing each other up, up, up above them. “So, my brother, my dad, and I came to work here.”
Then he unbuckled himself, stood, grabbed his pack, and walked out of the cockpit, leaving Maxwell to scramble after him. Maxwell hadn’t known any of this. He hadn’t known any of this, and he felt overwhelmingly guilty about it now.
He’d always considered Garrett and him to be friends. Despite the flirting and the yearning and whatever else sometimes seemed to spark between them that Maxwell was quick to kill, he’d always thought they were friends. But yet he’d never asked about his past. He’d never wanted to know Garrett’s hurts or his fears of his pains. He’d never wanted them to get that close, and he’d done it for his own protection, maybe, but that didn’t excuse the fact that it meant he’d left Garrett to fight his demons without him.
Maxwell had cared about Garrett, but he’d never let him close enough to support him.
Garrett led him down the gangway and toward the building at the spire’s base. On approach, the building had looked tiny compared to the tower of metal above it, but up close, Maxwell realized how huge it was in its own right. It stood at least two stories tall, maybe three, and had a garage-style door in the front large enough for a heavily loaded hauler to cruise easily in and out of it.
Maxwell slowed as they came to the heavy metal door. “How do we get this open?”
“Joan got me the override codes.” Garrett flipped open a hatch on the left and pressed several buttons. In a few moments, the sound of heavy machinery creaking and groaning to life filled the air, and the metal door began to lift. “Get back.”
