“Anyway,” Kaleb starts again, his tone less of a storyteller and more of someone who’s trying to get everything out before being interrupted. “The two gods, creators of their own realms, found answers to their troubles with each other. When her creations perished, the goddess would send these beloved souls to the heavens, where he would give them safe harbor until the goddess could create new vessels for the souls to inhabit. These souls would bring new life and constant change to the heavens, and the souls would remain intact until they could return to Earth. Everybody wins.”
“Except for the part where the soul doesn’t remember who they are,” Felix comments quietly. “Maybe the souls would prefer to stop existing as themselves rather than be reborn as someone else.”
“Is that why you won’t move on?” Kaleb questions, his tone soft. “You’re afraid of forgetting who you are?”
With his back still facing us, his hands flex against his thighs while his gaze is riveted to the hardwood floor. “I don’t have a lot of control over my life right now, but I have control over this. Even knowing…all that stuff, I still want to stay, and that’s my choice. You don’t have to understand it…” Finally, he lifts his eyes and meets our gazes over his shoulder. “But as my friends…please respect it.”
I can almost feel Kaleb’s thoughts as he droops back in his chair. After everything he’s confessed to me, all the turmoil he feels about his duty to Felix, I’m sure guilt is eating away at his insides. I want to tell him that this isn’t his fault, that he didn’t fail, but to murmur those words right now would be a violation of his trust. All I can do is try to communicate it to Kaleb with my eyes…but unfortunately, his gaze is pointed at the ceiling, and he’s looking like a lost island in the middle of a damning sea.
Donovan grips the back of the couch, his thick fingers digging into the soft leather. He swallows heavily, but remains silent. Out of all of us, he may have the best understanding of what it means to have limited choices about one’s own future.
“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” Felix apologizes, his shoulders hunched against the ringing silence.
Nolan gulps the remaining liquid in his cup, and sets it down on the side table between the couch and one of the armchairs. He walks around the furniture, then settles on his knees near the TV, before pulling the case ofUntil Dawnfrom its shelf.
“You gave up heaven to be here,” he murmurs, glancing up at Felix’s drawn face. “I couldn’t ask for a better birthday present.”
Felix’s mouth pulls up in a hopeful smile. “No place I’d rather be.”
Connor, seemingly deciding that the matter is closed, reaches around me to dig into his backpack beside the couch. After a moment, he pulls a plainly wrapped package out and holds it out to Nolan. Apparently, it’s time for presents.
Nolan grins when he sees the package, and after quickly popping the disc into the PlayStation, he takes the gift and immediately tears into the paper. I’m both nervous and intrigued about the gifts the guys procured for Nolan. How do they come up with things every year for a person who can buy anything he wants? How will my handmade bracelet measure up?
“Nice! This will look perfect with the others,” he crows, holding out a black and white photo of an older looking car in a black frame. Written underneath the image in a script font is, “1969 Boss 429 Mustang,” which I recall is the car he and Connor are working on in their auto shop class.
Glancing over at the kitchenette a few feet away, I smile at the matching pictures on the wall, realizing that each one is a gift from Connor over the years. Nolan said that the cars they work on are normally given away to those who would appreciate them since his parents won’t let him keep them. He jokingly shared that he was allowed only a single hangar to store his favorite cars in…needing the other for the family jet. Knowing how much Nolan loves those cars, Connor must have started taking pictures to remember them by.
Then I look closer at the picture in Nolan’s hands and notice a scribbled signature in the corner. Connor’s signature. These aren’t photographs. They’re drawings.
“Amazing,” I breathe when Nolan places the frame into my outstretched hand. “You’re so talented.”
Connor shrugs and rests his chin on top of my head, his arms tightening around my waist, probably to keep me from looking up at him. The last time I commented on his artistic skills, he fidgeted and looked embarrassed—like his abilities as an artist were a shameful secret.
Are the guys the only ones who know? Are shifters not allowed to like art?I sigh and pat his arm, my small assurance that I’ll leave my future inquiries for later.
Kaleb hands over his gift next.
Nolan stills when he unwraps a vibrant red book with gold embellishment on the cover. “Is this what I think it is?”
Kaleb smiles indulgently. “The human didn’t know what he had. Thought it was a collection of folklore. He was happy to trade our first edition copy ofDraculafor it.”
Nolan snorts, his fingers trailing along the worn pages. “Trading true vampire history for fiction.”
“I thought it was rather poetic,” Kaleb chuckles, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I believe the Campbells are mentioned in one of the stories, but I didn’t read it past verifying it was real. Thought it was better if you saw it first.”
“Thanks,” he replies, his expression soft. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
I raise my hand, no more than a few fingers in the air, and surmise, “From context clues, I’m guessing that’s a book on vampire history?”
Nolan nods then holds up the cover, but all I can really see is some type of gold seal that vaguely looks like a family crest. “Unlike humans, vampire history isn’t something written down in textbooks. It’s kind of a mix of written accounts, oral traditions, and hearsay that may or may not be true.” He hesitates, as if weighing how much to share—exposing the depth of how much he cares about what’s inside those pages. Finally, he admits, “Since I’m…my family are the only vampires around, it’s harder to learn about it.”
Over the past few weeks, I’ve come to understand there is an ebb and flow to how the guys share what matters most to them. It’s done in pieces, their vulnerability shown in flashes that are left as ticking bombs depending how they’re handled. So, instead of digging deeper like I want to, asking to be brought on this journey of discovery with him, I tease, “And yet I can’t get you to even pretend to be interested in our U.S. History homework.”
I know I said the correct thing when he smirks and quips, “What can I say? I like a challenge.”
“Or he likes things that are about him,” Donovan taunts, earning a one-finger salute from Nolan.
Even as I play along, I’m both impressed and befuddled by the way the guys can seem to argue one minute then move on to the next, as if nothing happened. Even Kaleb, who overthinks things to death, seems to be able to compartmentalize all his feelings about Felix’s decisions in the name of salvaging Nolan’s birthday traditions.
