Page 17 of Sorrow & Strangers

“If he’d never have met me, he’d still be alive.”

“And if he’d never met me, he wouldn’t have killed someone at the age of fourteen.” Rafe’s eyes haze over. He’s revisiting a memory, but I know it’s not a pleasant one. “The dagger he gave you, the one he gave you to keep you safe, he manifested it that night. The night when . . .” The words get caught in his throat, and I take his hand again. Whatever Rafe went through, it’s not something he can think about right now, nor should he have to, especially not for my benefit. “It’s my fault.”

I cup his cheek, needing to absorb some of his pain. “You were his favorite,” I say, definitely not a lie, but also not something Connor would have ever said out loud.

“So were you,” Rafe says, and we just stare at each other. Neither of us is saying what we’re thinking. Connor was so wildly unlucky as to favor the two sprigs of nightshade when he was surrounded by glorious bouquets.

“I can’t stop crying,” Rafe says, brushing tears from his face.

“Me neither.” How desperately I miss the inability to cry that I was suffering from this time last year.

“Are you staying?” he asks, with a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

I nod. “For the rest of the week and the weekend.”

Rafe’s shoulders relax a little. “They want me to come down for dinner.”

“They do, and so do I.”

Rafe watches me. “You’ll be there?” he asks, almost as if he is afraid I will disappear. Sadly, I understand.

“I’m here for the next few days, Rafe. I promise.”

He exhales and then sits up before climbing out of bed. I go to his bathroom to wash my face so I don’t look like such a crying mess, not that it helps. I’m half convinced the tearstains are now permanent. After I’ve cleaned myself up as best I can, I wait for Rafe outside his room while he changes.

The moment he opens the door, his eyes search for mine, and I can see the relief in them that I am still there. “Ready?” he asks, though I think he’s more asking himself.

“Together,” I say, holding my hand out for his. Rafe pauses for a long moment and then slides his hand into mine.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” Zane says when he sees Rafe and me coming down the stairs. His tone is meant to be snide, but he’s not fooling anyone. The relief in his voice is obvious.

Luke simply walks up to me and pulls me into a hug. I cup his cheek as I tell him how much I missed him. He looks thinner, but not as thin as Farrah. Uriel is already sitting at the table, and he almost manages to mask his surprise at seeing Rafe, but I still catch it. Farrah comes in from the kitchen, and she stumbles a little when she sees Rafe.

Rafe and I sit next to each other, and I take his hand again in a silent offer of support.

Uriel watches Farrah as she serves the plates, and now that I’ve calmed down a little, I can truly see the toll this has taken on her. She is so thin, and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. There is a fragility about her that is so wrong that it hurts to look at her. She’s broken, like all of us, but I think the toll of having to still care for her family has made it even worse for her.

The boys chat quietly, but I watch Uriel and Farrah, trying to see what is broken with them. Uriel watches Farrah, and something seems to have shifted even in the brief time I have been here. When Farrah puts down the last plate, Uriel catches her on her way to her seat, pulling her into his lap. Farrah blinks, obviously surprised, and the boys fall silent, all their attention turned on their parents.

Uriel leans in, pressing a sweet, soft kiss against her lips. “Full house,” he murmurs against her mouth. When Farrah pulls back, her cheeks are a little flushed, her eyes darker, and I notice a small smile passing between the twins. The smallest taste of normalcy has a massive effect.

“Hi,” Uriel says, running his fingers through his wife’s long black locks.

Farrah’s cheeks brighten a little more. “Hello,” she says, and while it’s a short greeting, there is more feeling in it than there was in her voice before. I force myself to look away, not wanting to intrude on such a private and intimate moment.

Rafe puts a spoonful of potatoes on my plate. “Eat,” he says, and I can feel that he is a lot less tense.

I look at the plate, and my stomach turns. It is absolutely no reflection on Farrah’s cooking, which smells divine, but my appetite has been nonexistent since Connor died.

Rafe puts a piece of chicken on my plate. “You need it,” he says quietly.

“I-I can’t,” I whisper, preparing for their disappointment.

“Do it anyway.” Rafe squeezes my hand and turns his attention to his own plate.

I manage to take two bites before Zane saves me from having to force down another.

“So how is Avalon without us?”