Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

days didn’t a new life make. It was only the start, and maybe he really didn’t realize everything that was involved. If she agreed to stay longer, could she handle the agony if he changed his mind? How long would it take before she was strong enough to handle a setback like that? And if he realized it was a mistake, and tried to stay with her out of pity, she’d just die. It was easy to say she wasn’t a coward; far harder to prove it to herself.

He was taking her around the back, through a pool area. Though she smelled the chlorine, he described the area to her in precise military detail. His friends were at a tiki bar about forty feet away, mixing drinks. Vaguely, she picked up greetings, and clearly heard Peter’s response. As he guided her along the concrete, he had a hand at the small of her back, one of her hands in his. Despite that, she tucked her other hand back to touch his fingertips on her hip, trying not to cling or show fear of tripping.

Then another, uncomfortably familiar scent came to her nostrils. Her steps slowed and she cocked her head. “Is there someone to our left?”

“Yes. Cassandra’s brother, Jeremy. He’s sitting in one of the pool loungers, about ten feet from you. I was going to introduce you to him, but he appears to be dozing.” The cautionary note in Peter’s voice needed no translation. She’d been in a hospital long enough to recognize the stench of medical treatments, IVs, and sickly sweat. A

combination impossible to erase, no matter how often the nurse bathed her.

“I’m awake.” She heard a sluggish voice, raised to catch his attention and therefore reaching her ears. Then a murmur of sound that Peter translated.

“Jeremy said it’s nice to meet you, Dana.”

God, she hated that, when someone had to repeat something to her. But she supposed it wasn’t the end of the world. Following an impulse, she moved toward the lounger, taking Peter with her by holding on to his hands. He stopped her, guided her around something in her way. Another lounger, according to what brushed her thigh.

Leaning down as the scent grew stronger, she found a thin leg, a drape of cloth that might be a robe. “I’m fine, Jeremy,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.” See, Gram, I rememberedmy manners, even while being led around like a cart horse.

“You might not want to touch me.” Jeremy cleared his throat, spoke a little more loudly.

“AIDS leper here. In fact, I could kick off at any time. Sis has to check with a mirror to see if I’m breathing, or if it’s time to take out the garbage.”

Peter winced at Jeremy’s usual caustic take on things. Though he could tell Dana had heard him clearly, her hand had not moved from its position on his leg. Cassandra was walking toward them. From her expression of quiet pain, he knew she’d heard her

brother’s comment, though he was sure she’d heard his cynical humor before.

Lucas came with her, sliding a hand around her waist. He shot Jeremy a

guys-giving-each-other-shit look. Peter thanked God for his sensitive friends when Lucas took his voice up several octaves. “Yeah, knowing his inconsiderate ass, he’ll stay alive a day after the usual trash pickup, so we have to put him on ice for a week.”

Dana sank down on the edge of the lounger, found Jeremy’s sleeve, followed it to his hand, and slid her fingers in between his. “Your voice,” she mused. “It sounds a bit like my brother’s. You’re too young.”

“You’re too pretty to be a jarhead.”

“That’s a Marine term,” she said primly. “But thanks.”

As Peter watched her, the way her hand moved carefully over Jeremy’s thin fingers, he suspected his curiosity mirrored Jeremy’s. The young man stared at their hands.

“You must really like your brother. You’re touching me, and you don’t even know me.”

“He died some time ago. That’s why I needed to touch you.” A faint smile crossed her face, but there was no humor in it. “Sometimes when you can’t see, you have to touch to be sure. I hear his voice sometimes. I heard his voice for a while. . . .” Her voice drifted off and Peter saw the moisture gather in her eyes, but even as he stepped closer, she shook it off, gave Jeremy an arch look, despite her inability to look directly at him. “You think after being blown up, I’m really worried about you sneezing on me? If someone wanted to kill me, they’ve already tried hard enough. I could show you some scary scars.”

“Though I much rather you didn’t,” Peter put in, instigating a competitive spark in Jeremy’s face, cynicism briefly replaced by wry humor.

“Hey, she may find the emaciated look sexy, versus your beef-cake routine.”

“No doubt,” Peter said dryly.

Aside from Jeremy’s sickly aroma, the subtle sadness in Peter’s tone told Dana the boy looked bad. It was amazing how much she could pick up from voices, even when she couldn’t always hear the words clearly. Ironically, her comprehension improved when she stopped worrying about hearing the response, instead focusing on the emotions she was hearing. Jeremy was frightened. Perhaps that was why, though he was obviously close to slipping into sleep again, he’d wanted to be out here, around people, voices and light, because darkness was closing in.

She’d had the opposite reaction, wanting to withdraw when she knew the loss of light would be a permanent fact of her life, not a transition to death. Gram had always said,

“People ain’t happy with nothing. God blesses them, they complain. Bad things happen, they complain. They can’t think about nothing but themselves, though the whole world’s full of people worse off they could be helping to feel better.”

Following impulse, she found Jeremy’s face with her fingertips, leaned in to press her lips against the gaunt cheek, holding herself there. His hand came up, gripped her arm.

Long, skinny fingers. Cold. The