“You can’t pretend she was never born,” he said as I narrowed my eyes and pulled out my trusty standby: rage.
I opened my mouth to snap at him, but he continued, gently, saying, “You can’t pretend she never died.”
I actually gasped, drawing away from him in shock, feeling a sharp pain in my chest as if he’d plunged a dagger into me. It’ll be okay, Angel had said the last time I saw her. I’ll be with you always. But it wasn’t okay. She wasn’t with us. She never would be again.
“Shut up!” I croaked.
Dylan put his hand on my shoulder, holding me as I tried to spin away. He pulled me to him firmly, cradling me against his hard chest, one hand on the back of my neck, the other on my back. “We all miss her, Max,” he whispered against my hair. “We’ll always miss her.”
And that was it. A horrible keening sound filled my ears, and it took me several seconds to realize it was coming from me. Then I was clutching Dylan’s shirt, pressing my face against him, sobbing uncontrollably.
He held me tightly, his cheek against my hair, stroking my back and whispering, “I know. I know. Let it out, Max. There’s no one here but me and you. Just let it all out.”
I almost never cry. I keep my emotions on a supertight leash. They normally don’t just burst out of me like that, but once they did, I sobbed and sobbed until my throat was raw and Dylan’s shirt was wet from my tears.
My baby was gone. After everything we had been through, after love and betrayal and fury and love and forgiveness, she was gone. Forever. She’d sacrificed herself to save thousands, and she would never, ever be back.
And I hadn’t let myself believe that, until now.
10
I DREW IN shuddering breaths, my sobs subsiding. I had needed to grieve over Angel. And I had a lot of other things to grieve about, too. I’d been abandoned by my mother, my half sister, my pseudo-father, and the boy I thought was my soul mate.
And so finally, after all this time, I wailed my guts out. In a really loud, out-of-control, sloppy, wet way. All over Dylan.
I pulled away from him awkwardly. I was thirsty and empty and feeling hollow, and imagining the possible humiliation resulting from the revolting scene I had just made was vomit-inducing. “Remember that time you bawled like a baby?” Dylan would say for years to come. “That was hysterical!” I just wanted to collapse on my bed with the covers over my head. Forever.
But Dylan was still looking at my puffy face. “Remember how Angel saved that little kid from the hotel fire?” he asked, his eyes shining.
I did. I could still picture her smile shining victoriously out of her dirty face, the boy clutched in her arms, her wings gray with smoke. Angel, rising from the ashes.
I wiped my nose. “I’m done talking about her.”
Dylan nodded. He was silent for a moment, looking out over the ocean. His hair looked dusty in the afternoon sun. “I don’t know what to do with the sadness,” he said finally, sighing. I looked up at him, surprised at his directness.
“Why do you keep talking about it, then?” I was too worn out to even get angry.
“I don’t know what else to do.” He shrugged. “I have all these hard feelings inside, and I thought talking about them might help. And… I don’t want to forget Angel. I’m scared that if we don’t talk about her, it will be like she never existed.”
I nodded warily. I had my own hard feelings that I didn’t know what to do with. They sat like a pile of rocks in my stomach. Building and building.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Max,” said Dylan.
“Yeah…” I picked at my nails, thinking about my meltdown. I had never been very good at receiving compliments, especially ones that seemed heartfelt.
“Seriously. I’m learning how to be strong just from watching you.” Dylan put his hands on my shoulders. “But I know not everyone can be strong all the time. I just wanted to tell you that if you ever need to not be strong, you can lean on me. I can be strong enough for both of us—for a while, at least.” He gave a slight grin.
Dylan looked into my eyes with such naked trust I had to look away. Below, the waves smashed into the rocks, spraying a cool mist over everything, and I felt goose bumps rise on my arms.
Fang always had my back—that is, until he didn’t. He didn’t have to say it aloud; I’d known it anyway. Dylan was so different. It was like he didn’t know how to be guarded. His emotions were raw, on the surface for everyone to see, and the sarcastic wall that had protected me so efficiently in the past was slowly crumbling in the face of his honesty.
I felt vulnerable, exposed, so out of my element. I shifted uncomfortably.
“Can we fly now?” I asked, my throat dry.
Dylan smiled, his face lighting up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He stuck the motorcycle’s keys under its seat and took my hand, and we climbed up on the guardrail.
I took a deep breath, and together we jumped off.