Chapters (47)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Part Two
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Part Three
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Acknowledgments
- Excerpt from Survive the Dome
- Prologue
- 6 Months Later
- One
- About the Author
- Back Cover
“I don’t…think that’s what he wants or needs, though,” I say. “I don’t think he’s looking for you, or anyone, to fix things or try to replace his brother or anything. I think he just wants to feel like there’s someone who has his back.”
“Someone who will put him first?”
“Exactly.”
The quiet settles once more, but it’s heavy with a tenseness and tenderness I’ve never felt. Should I squeeze her shoulder? Let her sit and absorb what I said? I don’t turn to face her; that seems wrong, like I’m expecting too much from her.
Eventually, Claire sighs. “I don’t know how to do that,” she whispers. It seems like it’s both terrifying and cathartic for her to admit that. “I don’t know how to be that for him. But you obviously do. Case in point: this whole experiment. That’s why I wanted him to teach you time traveling, not me. I thought that being close to his brother might give him, in some way, some closure. Help him work through his feelings. Put his anger and hurt to good use.”
There’s a momentary pause as Claire wrings her hands together.
“I’ve failed at being his mother, haven’t I?”
I shrug. “That’s the good thing about being a time traveler, isn’t it? We get do-overs.”
She smiles, and for the first time, she lets the tears fall down her face. I don’t move to comfort her. I just sit there, we both do, in the moment, listening to the faint sounds of the world outside and silently agreeing to never come back here again.
Twenty-Seven
Together, holding hands, Claire and I jump back to 2021, in a gust of wind that makes the living room shudder. The dizzying feeling of returning to the present is worse this time, and my stomach feels like it’s in my throat. But I swallow the feeling back and push through it, trying desperately to ignore the pain clawing at my side.
“That was a piggyback jump,” she informs me. “You latched on to my jump and came with me. Don’t try that with just anyone. Or, better yet, at all.” She turns toward the stairs. “Blake,” she says with the type of firmness that doesn’t leave any room for disagreement. “Come down here. Now.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, turning to her. I step in front of her, like that would change anything. “He had nothing to do with this.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you calling him? I did this on my own. He’s been doing what you said, training me.”
“Again, I said I know, Andre.”