Beneath Wandering Stars Read Online Free

that no sandbag of self-control can stop. Seth Russo is the
last
person I want to see right now, so I march over to my brother’s best friend, to the guy who convinced Lucas to turn down his soccer scholarship and suit up.
    And I punch him in the face.

Chapter 3
    Well, I
try
to punch him in the face. But his hand—the one that’s not in a sling—is larger and stronger and faster than mine. There isn’t even a hint of surprise on Seth’s face as he effortlessly catches my fist before it can slam into his cheek. After six months at war, I suppose his reflexes had better be top-notch.
    “Gabriela Guadalupe Santiago!” my mother yells from the doorway. She only uses my full name when I’ve crossed the line. Most of the time, I can’t help chuckling at the way she pronounces Spanish words with a Midwestern accent, but today I don’t laugh.
    “Nice to see you, too, kiddo,” Seth mutters, clenching my fist like it’s a live grenade.
    I despise this guy. For multiple reasons, but mainly because Lucas never would have joined the Army if he hadn’t filled his head with glory stories and told him about some “buddy program” that would allow them to stay together their first tour if they signed the dotted line at the same time.
    “What are you doing here?” I haven’t seen Seth since we left Texas. We didn’t get along then, and I don’t appreciate his condescending use of the word
kiddo
now.
    Seth’s face is humbled only by scrapes and a severe burn across his forehead. Your typical soldier with a buzz cut, he’d blend into any formation line if not for the dark eyebrows framing his big, doleful eyes, which are clueless and forever in mourning.
    At least now they have a reason to grieve.
    Seth doesn’t respond to my question. His bloodshot gaze drifts across Lucas’s bed, like he can’t even believe I could ask it. Encountering an enemy who’s already defeated diffuses the bomb waiting to go off inside me, and the heat of Seth’s palm absorbs my wrath. He has no interest in fighting back, so I have no interest in him. I let my fist fall and take a seat across the room, where Matteo crawls into my lap.
    “Private Russo, I apologize for my daughter’s disrespect and lack of maturity.”
    Thanks for taking my side, Dad. Oh wait, I forgot. When it comes to supporting me or supporting a soldier—no matter how big of a Neanderthal he is—the Army will
always
win.
    “We’re glad you’re here.” Dad nods at Seth’s arm, cradled by the sling. “Is it broken?”
    “Just a sprain, sir. Nothing major.” He sounds so guilty, like he can’t accept that whatever happened to them downrange didn’t even break his arm when it left my brother with a broken body and maybe a broken brain.
    Good. I can’t accept that either.
    Mom’s bloodshot eyes travel from the tan blanket draped across my brother’s motionless body to the taupe walls behind Lucas’s bandaged head. I know exactly what she’s thinking.
    This drab room needs some color.
    It’s the thought of a seasoned military wife who knows that even the most temporary landing pad should feel like a home. Only this time, she has her work cut out for her. Mom touches the plum swirls of Lucas’s bruised hand, pulling back like she’s grazed a hot stove.
    Hold his hand! Squeeze it! He can’t feel a thing,
I want to scream. But I don’t. I just clench Matteo in a death grip, breathing in graham crackers and Elmer’s glue, which is what Lucas smelled like as a kid. Maybe it’s what we all smell like as little kids.
    “Lucas,” Mom whispers, as though he can actually hear her. She looks up at the rest of us, a hint of crazy on her lips. “He’s so dark. Why is he so dark? His name means
light
. Lucas means light!” As the panic in Mom’s pitch increases, Matteo starts crying again.
    “Come on,
cariño
. Let’s go for a walk.” Dad lifts Matteo from my arms, gently grabs Mom’s shoulders, and guides them both from the room.
    Alone with Seth, I