Page 11 of Sorrow & Strangers

“No matter the dream, I can hear you.”

“Why are you here, Max?” I ask again, my voice as sharp as a blade.

“Because you’re trying to die,” he growls.

I look down at my hand, at where my engagement ring should be, my wedding ring, and turn away from him. “I trust you can see yourself out,” I say, walking toward the stairs.

“I heard what he asked you,” he says, and I pause. “Even as he was . . .” He stumbles over the word. That foul, heinous word. Dying. “He was only thinking of you.” My entire body tenses. “He was always a golden boy, but man, he loved you.”

The anger surges in that delicious way it does, burning through the sadness, the desperation. “You hated him. Don’t fucking talk about him.” My words are laced with the most lethal venom, but that blissful flare quickly dissipates, and then the anger is just gone, only the ashes of pain remaining. I go upstairs, leaving him there with my evil, cruel words. I hope they make him feel a fraction of the pain I feel and that he will stay away from me.

I hear the front door slam as I curl up in bed, pulling my pain back around me.

Chapter Eight

Summer

The anger is long gone. All that is left are frozen scorch marks that hurt more than when they were singed. I’ve barely settled back in bed, eagerly awaiting the numbness to claim me, when there is another knock at the door.

He’s gone.

Go away, Max. Leave me alone.

I don’t move, hoping he’ll get the message and just leave, but he knocks again, this time more insistently. The fire flickers again inside me, the flames licking at the edges of the sadness. Still I ignore it, pushing down the anger. It’s so tempting to allow it to flare, but every time I sink back into the sadness, the pain worsens.

He knocks again, this time even louder, and before I know it, I’m out of bed and storming downstairs. I yank the door open, ready to throw some more venom at him, but everything stops. It’s not Max. I blink and nearly whimper as I stare up at the man who looks so much like Connor. Every part of me aches, and my knees almost buckle from the initial sight of him, but I can’t look away. The man in front of me is not Connor. I know that, but I still take comfort from the older, harder eyes of his father.

I stand uselessly in front of him, watching him, and he watches me, his eyes void of any Morningstar sparkle. There is only sadness. I recognize his grief as a reflection of my own, and I do not doubt that his pain goes to his soul.

“I thought I should knock,” he says. There is something so familiar about his voice, so comforting that my eyes sting with tears. “Can I come in?” he asks, and I nod, not trusting my voice. I move to the side on shaky legs. Has he come to scream at me, to hurl insults at me? To blame me for his son’s death? He should. I wouldn’t blame him.

He calmly walks through the door, and I push it shut behind him. I wrap my arms around myself, needing comfort and protection from what is about to happen.

Uriel looks around the room, and then his blue eyes land on me. They are so similar to Connor’s, if a little lighter. Although he still appears young, thanks to his immortality, his eyes betray his actual age. They are etched with life experience.

“Connor came to me in a dream,” he says. His voice is soft, but I’m tense, waiting for it to rise, for him to yell and scream. But he doesn’t. His lips soften into a gentle smile. “He said you needed me.”

A whimper escapes, coming from the deepest part of my soul, where all light has long since been ousted.

Uriel moves closer, and I flinch. I’m not sure why I’m expecting him to be cruel. He has never been cruel. He pulls me into his chest, his large arms wrapping around me. A spike of agony rips through me, and I completely combust. He just holds me until my sobs soften, and then he pulls back to look at my face. He cups my cheeks in his large hands, brushing my tears away with his thumbs, his own eyes red from emotion.

“You haven’t answered Farrah’s calls,” he says. Again, there is no air of admonishment, just a statement of fact. Farrah has called me a few times over the last few months, but I was never brave enough to answer, not brave enough to hear the hatred from her.

“I thought they were accidental,” I say finally, my voice raw. It’s not a lie. The first couple of times, I thought she’d selected my name by mistake, and then I was just too afraid to face her censure.

Uriel looks over my face, assessing me, and I don’t try to hide from him. I want him to see how devastated I am, to know how sorry I am. He pulls me to him again. “I’m so sorry, Summer,” he says, and the words shatter me, even though I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for. “We should have pushed more,” he continues, and once again, I completely break down in his arms. Uriel kisses my head, holding me tighter. I feel his body start to shake with sobs as he succumbs to his pain.

“You know, I always wanted a daughter,” he says, his voice clogged with emotion. “Connor granted me that wish too.”

Sobs rip out of me, feeling as if they are tearing me apart. I wrap my arms around him as tight as I can, holding him together just as he is holding me.

“It’s been impossible to . . . breathe,” he says, clinging to me as my entire body shakes. After a long moment, he pulls back and wipes his tears and then mine. “Kiddo, we’ve got to go upstairs,” he says, and fear claws at me. “He said we have to.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

He releases me and slips his hand into mine. “We have to. Connor asked us to.”

I squeeze his hand, the sobs still coming hard, but I nod. I know I have to do this for him. Connor came to Uriel in a dream for me. He gave his life for me. He loved me even when I didn’t deserve it. I owe him this. I owe him more than this at least, but this is all I have to give at the moment.