“How’d it go?” I asked.
After Chase and I had arrived at Sanctuary, we’d volunteered to help the carriers transport refugees over the border. There was a time we’d considered going ourselves, but we’d never made it. Now I ran the check-in station in Tampa, and Chase served as the liaison on the Mexican border.
“Just as planned,” said Chase, swinging his long legs over the side and finally toeing the dock. I reached to help him automatically, habit from the early days after his injury when he needed it.
When his feet were firmly planted, his hands rose, cupping my face. I touched him, too: his rough cheeks, the straight line of his jaw down to his chin. His gaze found mine and held, and I remembered dozens of times I’d felt the world slow, just like it did now.
When I was six years old and he’d walked me home from the haunted house up the street. The first time he kissed me, in the woods after he’d been in Chicago with Jesse. In my bedroom, the night before he was drafted.
A tent in the woods. A truck in the Red Zone. An abandoned building the night before we’d gone for Rebecca.
A barn loft in Endurance.
And now. I would add this to my collection, and carry it with me always, as he had once carried my letters, as I now carried his ring. Our someday was now, not some distant point on the horizon. Almost losing him had taught me that.
He smiled—that small, secret smile he saved just for me.
I wet my lips, preparing for him to move closer, wrap me in his arms, and kiss me, but a second later I was twisting through the air and landed with a heave of breath over his shoulder. Frantically I gripped at his back.
“What are you doing?” I screeched. “Put me down!”
He walked to the edge of the dock. Through my mess of hair I could see the water softly slapping against the algae-stained concrete, ten feet below.
“No, wait,” I said. “Wait, hang on.”
“Didn’t miss me, huh?”
“I missed you!” I giggled, legs bicycling uselessly through the air. “I missed you, all right?”
I hit the water feet first, a half second before he jumped in after me. Sputtering to the surface I found him grinning from ear to ear, and soon we were splashing each other, kicking through the waves toward shallower water. When my feet could touch the ground, I launched across the space between us and tackled him.
He didn’t let me go.
The water was warm as a bath, and as I shoved my hair back he pulled me close. My legs wrapped around his hips and his arms around my waist. The collar of my shirt swelled open in the water, and he kissed the corner of my scar. The mark forever reminding me that I was, under it all, an Article 5.
Somehow, when Chase’s lips pressed against it, I was proud of what it stood for.
His mouth rose up my neck, a path of saltwater kisses that found my lips and left me flying. My blood heated, and I inched closer, tightening my grip around his neck.
“Get a room!” called someone from the shore.
Chase smiled against my temple as we pulled apart. On the beach was a horse with white stockings, and on her saddled back sat Rebecca, her blond hair already growing back to her shoulders. Against her leg leaned Sean, cackling at his interruption.
He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Are we going to get breakfast or what?”
I giggled into Chase’s ear. “If you ignore him, he’ll go away.”
With that, Chase turned back, and kissed me again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing this is harder than I thought. Five years ago I was convinced I would never be published; I’d accepted that this dream of mine was going to forever remain my little secret. And now Chase and Ember’s journey is over (at least my part in it), and I’m thanking the people involved with making this trilogy a reality. It’s a teensy bit emotional.
I am so grateful to the team at Browne & Miller—Joanna and Danielle—for everything they have done for me, but most especially for pulling a poorly written query letter from the slush pile and seeing potential.
I’m enormously lucky to have Melissa Frain on my side—I can say for certain Sean is, too. Without her, I would probably, be drowning, in a river, of commas, and poor Sean would probably be sulky and, well, less cute. She’s a rock star editor—the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas (but please don’t tell her I said so, I’d never hear the end of it).
The people at Tor have been ever amazing from the very beginning of this series. Kathleen Doherty, thank you for your kindness and support. Alexis Saarela, you are absolutely the best publicist I could ask for. Seth Lerner, these covers have made the books. Well done and thank you.
I couldn’t have done any of this without my husband. I’m not sure I would have wanted to. There are certain people who just make you want to be your best self, and I will be thankful every day of my life to have found mine. As I write this, my son is attempting to scale the bookshelves—I take this to mean he’ll be a reader. It’s hard to believe it was only eleven months ago I was frantically trying to finish the last scenes between contractions. If anyone thinks the end of Three is too scary, blame labor. If you feel hopeful, as I hope you will, blame my son. He’s taught me all about it.
Once upon a time, I met another local author for bagels at a Panera in Louisville. I should have known that first day that she’d end up being my biggest cheerleader. A special thanks to Katie McGarry for holding my hand through this entire journey. We did it, Katie! Can you believe it?
And finally, thank you to the ladies at Jazzercise who sweat extra hard with me when I was in revisions, to the bloggers and authors who have been so supportive and inspiring, and to the people who have written me letters about Chase and Ember, about books, and about your own struggles and triumphs. I am deeply humbled, and grateful for you all.
BOOKS BY KRISTEN SIMMONS
Article 5
Breaking Point
Three
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KRISTEN SIMMONS has a master’s degree in social work and is an advocate for mental health. She lives with her family and their precious greyhound, Rudy, in Tampa, Florida.
www.kristensimmonsbooks.com
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THREE
Copyright © 2014 by Kristen Simmons
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Nekro
A Tor Teen Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Simmons, Kristen.
Three / Kristen Simmons.
p. cm.
“A Tom Doherty Associates Book.”
ISBN 978-0-7653-2960-8 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4299-4803-6 (e-book)
1. Government, Resistance to—Fiction. 2. Fugitives from justice—Fiction. 3. Science fiction. I. Title.
PZ7.S591825Thr 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2013026344
e-ISBN 9781429948036
First Edition: February 2014
Kristen Simmons, Three
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