by Cara Bristol
“I never said goodbye.”
“What do you mean?”
“In my dream, the morning I left my village, I’d said goodbye to my mother and father and then stopped to see Lissa. What really happened was that I awakened early and decided to watch the sunrise. Everyone was asleep, so I didn’t talk to anybody. Then Xeno Consortium struck. ’Topians never knew what had hit them. Lissa and my parents were killed while they slept.” In the dream, he’d had a premonition of doom; in reality, there’d been no warning at all.
“It doesn’t change the horror, but it sounds like they died suddenly.”
He nodded. “The ones in my village did.” As the bombardment swept across the planet, people in other villages had emerged from their homes to see the Xeno ships in the sky. They’d experienced the full terror of anticipating their own deaths.
“I tried to save Lissa and my family, but I couldn’t.” He’d tried to get to the school, to his cottage, but the flames engulfing the valley had made it impossible. Although his wings had been singed, they hadn’t caught fire. He hadn’t fallen from the sky.
No one could have lived, and his survival instinct had kicked in, and he’d fled—running into Tigre, Inferno, Psy, Shadow, and then Chameleon, who’d delivered them to the Castaway.
A still-naked Delia hugged him. He folded his wings around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” The nightmares occurred intermittently—but this was the first time he’d been with someone, had endangered someone. What if he critically wounded her the next time?
“I’m fine. I wouldn’t have gotten cut at all if I hadn’t tried to restrain you from hitting your own wing.”
If he flailed in his sleep, she could be injured by sleeping next to him.
She cupped his face, staring into his eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I beat you up.”
“I wasn’t hurt. It was an accident.”
Exactly. He was an accident waiting to happen.
* * * *
They spent the day together. At her suggestion, they rented a paddle boat on Lake Argent and explored hidden coves. He tried to have a good time, and, during some rare minutes, he did, but he couldn’t escape the worry dogging him.
Afterward, they picked up Izzy who talked nonstop about Molly, the other girls she’d met at camp, a craft project she’d done, games she’d played, and an upcoming field trip. Her chatter provided a welcome distraction from his morose thoughts.
They had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and then cleaned up. He washed, Izzy dried, and Delia put away the dishes and the leftovers. They watched TV, Izzy lying on the floor, Delia curled up next to him on the sofa. She apologized for the “boring” evening, but if that represented an ordinary life, that was what he yearned for. He desired a family, a home, the day-to-day comfortable routines comprising a life well lived.
But when Izzy went to bed, leaving them alone, the effort of maintaining the pretense of normalcy became more difficult. The idea of injuring anyone was anathema to him, and to inflict it upon his genmate? He had to come up with a solution to this dilemma, and he needed to be alone to figure it out.
When she returned after putting Izzy to bed, he stood up. “It’s late. I’d better go.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I could tell you’ve been distracted since…this morning. You suffered a huge trauma—it took me years to recover from Josh’s death—it will take time to process what you went through.”
He hoped that was all it required, but how could he risk her safety on a hope?
* * * *
He’d intended to slink into his room, but all the castaways, even Chameleon, were assembled in the living room when he arrived at the farmhouse. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Tigre stood over Shadow, seated at a desk. “But I’m glad you’re here. We bought phones today. Shadow is installing some apps.” He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“I have apps. Bunny Parade, Dolly Doll…” he said but handed his device to Tigre, who added it to the pile on the desk. Except for Chameleon’s silver phone, and Wingman’s pink one, all the devices were black.
“Bunny Parade?” Shadow raised his eyebrows when he worked on Chameleon’s phone. “What does that do?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t used it yet, but it was recommended to me.”
He wanted to hole up in his room and mope, but he plopped into a chair.
“Everything all right?” Psy asked. Did his eyes seem more piercing than usual? Of all of them, Psy resembled humans the most—until you noticed his eyes.
He averted his gaze. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Psy steepled his fingers. “You seem troubled.”
“Are you in my head? Get out!”
“Chill, dude!” Inferno said. “I’m sure Psy isn’t reading your mind. You don’t have to be Verital to see what’s written all over your face. It’s obvious something is bothering you. And you’re never home this early.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped but glanced at Psy. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“Everything okay with Delia?” Inferno asked.
“What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ don’t you understand?” Projecting his turmoil outward in anger rather than inward in self-recrimination did little to ease the knot in his stomach, and he knew he was being unfair.
Undaunted, Inferno persisted. “The part where we’re your friends, and, if you have a problem, we’re here to help.”
Tigre, Shadow, Inferno, and Chameleon eyed him with concern. Except Psy. He managed to appear unaware. Wingman regretted snapping at him. Anger deflated. “You can’t help me.” They couldn’t stop him from dreaming. “I’m fine. It’s nothing a little time won’t cure.”
Time was the only thing he had. He counted on Delia being right because he had no other solution. With time, processing, maybe the horrors would fade, and he could put what had happened out of his mind.
“If you decide you want to talk, we’re here for you,” Tigre said.
“Thanks.”
“Okay, all the phones are done,” Shadow announced. He handed the pink one to Wingman and the silver one to Chameleon then glanced at each black one before handing it to the rightful owner.
Wingman waved his phone. “I’m uh, going to bed. Good night.” He fled.
Chapter Thirteen
“Molly has her very own horse.” Swinging a gift bag, Izzy skipped as they left the house.
“Makes sense. Her father and mother own a ranch.”
“Can I have a horse?”
“No. You have Charlie, and we don’t have a place to keep a horse.”
Delia glanced at Trudy’s as they passed and wondered how the visit with her son was going. Other than the one time she’d glimpsed Scott mowing the lawn, she hadn’t seen either one of them. I should call her. Go over and introduce myself.
“Are you sure Angel will be at Millie’s?” Izzy asked.
“Yes.” She crossed her fingers she hadn’t told a lie. Since Monday’s mishap, she hadn’t seen him, although they’d kept in touch via phone and text. He’d said he’d needed to “work things out.” Already he’d become such a steady fixture, she missed him. They’d made love, and it had been like their spirits had merged. Then he’d had the dream, he’d accidentally nicked her, and she’d been unable to reassure him. She wished she could alleviate his anguish. Josh’s death had been traumatic; she could not imagine losing everybody and under such circumstances.
When Wingman asked her to meet him after work Wednesday, her spirits had soared—and then crashed. “You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” She faked a laugh.
“Herian, no!” The strength of his outburst reassured her.
They’d arranged to have dinner at Millie’s. On the way home from work, she’d picked up Izzy at camp, fed Charlie, and showered. It was a beautiful evening for a stroll.
&
nbsp; They turned onto Main Street. Izzy’s gift bag smacked Delia’s leg. “So, what did you make for Wingman?”
“I told you—I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”
“Not from me,” she teased. Izzy would never spill the beans.
“You’ll have to wait to find out when he does.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy with it, whatever it is. I love the potholder you made for me.”
“Do you think I should make one for Mrs. Beckman?”
“She would like that, I’m sure.” She hugged her. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”
At Millie’s Diner, Wingman had already arrived. Seated at a table, he scrolled through his phone. Her heart picked up a beat, an amused smile tugging at her lips at her big, buff guy using a girly-girl pink phone. She recalled him and Izzy discussing phones one day. If she’d had any idea he’d been seeking advice, she would have steered him in a different direction. He put down the device and stood up to hug her.
“I missed you,” he said softly.
“I missed you, too.”
Izzy threw her arms around him in an exuberant hug. “I missed you, three! I brought you a present.” She dangled the bag.
“You did? Thank you! What is it?”
“Open it!”
“Let’s sit down,” Delia suggested.
The plastic-coated menus were already at the table, but they’d no sooner taken their seats than the waitress hurried over. “Can I get you some drinks?”
“Diet Coke for me. A milk for Izzy and…”
“Iced tea,” he supplied.
The waitress left.
“Now, let’s see what this is.” He put on a great show of peeking in the bag and digging through the tissue paper. He pulled out a hoop, the center covered by a web woven from string. Colorful yarn had been wrapped around the hoop itself then trailed in long, beaded strands. Dangling from each strand was a feather.
“I made it for you at camp.”
“It’s beautiful! I love it. Thank you.” He leaned over and hugged a beaming Izzy.
The waitress brought their drinks. “Are you ready to order?”
“We’ll need another minute.” They hadn’t even looked at the menus.
“No problem.”
He examined the surprise. What is it?
She could see the question in his eyes. She gave a little shrug and a shake of her head. She didn’t have a clue, but this problem she could fix. “What is it, sweetie?” she asked and sipped her Diet Coke.
Izzy snorted. “It’s a dreamcatcher to protect him from bad dreams.”
She choked on her soda.
Wingman handled it better. “This is exactly what I needed. How did you know?”
She shrugged. “It’s the only thing I learned how to make other than a potholder.”
“Well, it’s perfect.”
“You’re supposed to hang it over your bed.”
“I’ll do that.”
When the waitress came by, he chose the Swiss steak; she got grilled trout with steamed vegetables for herself and the chicken finger kid meal for Izzy. After placing their order, she caught Izzy playing on her phone under the table. “Hey, hey. Not at the dinner table.”
“Angel has his phone,” she argued but set down the device.
“A, he’s not using it. And B, he’s not my child. You are.”
Swinging her feet, Izzy kicked at the table legs.
“Stop, please,” Delia said.
Izzy peered at Wingman. “Did you play your games?”
“Not yet. I’m still figuring things out.”
She picked up her phone. “I can show you how—”
“Isabella!” She suppressed a grin. That kid. Too clever and sneaky for her own good.
“I don’t want to get into trouble with your mom.” He winked. She loved him all the more for his support. He’s a keeper.
Their meals came, and Wingman ate with gusto, his enjoyment evident. “Earth food is the best in the galaxy.”
Sure, Millie’s served a decent meal, typical diner fare, breaded and fried food—her fish one of the few exceptions—tasty, but gourmet it was not. Although she would have loved to learn more about his planet, including the food, she thought it wiser to avoid mentioning ’Topia, which had tragic associations.
Izzy dipped a chicken nugget in ranch dressing. “What other kind of food is there?”
Leave it to a six-year-old. She stole a peek at Wingman’s face. He looked okay.
“The laboratory-formulated kind,” he replied. “Nutritionally balanced but tasteless.”
“That sounds icky.”
“It is,” he agreed.
“You know what else tastes icky?”
“No, what?”
“Dog food,” her daughter announced with an air of authority.
“How do you know what dog food tastes like?” Delia swallowed a mouthful of fish.
“I tried it.”
She choked. “You didn’t!”
“Charlie likes it. He likes people food, too, so I tried some of his. It’s gross.” Her face scrunched up, and she took a big gulp of milk as if to wash it down.
“Isabella.” She laughed and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Buy me a pony?”
Delia pinched her daughter’s nose. “So you can try horse food?”
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. A car outside the restaurant backfired.
“Get down! Get down!” Wingman leaped to his feet, upending the table, sending food flying and dishes shattering on the linoleum. Stilettos sprang out of his wing tips. “Xenos! Get down!” Before she could do more than gasp, he grabbed both of them and threw them to the floor. He piled on top, covering them with his wings.
Chapter Fourteen
“I am so sorry…” He couldn’t apologize enough, not to Millie, to the other patrons, to Delia, to Izzy. That the talkative little girl hardly uttered a word indicated how his actions had disturbed her.
“It’s all right.” Delia touched his arm. “It’s embarrassing, and people will talk for a while, but then they’ll move on to something else.”
What happened was more than embarrassing. It was disturbing. First the dream and now this. He’d heard the loud pop—a combustion engine misfiring Delia had explained—and blood and smoke had clouded his vision. He’d smelled the fire. Burned with the heat. He’d been certain Earth was under attack.
Using his body as a shield, he’d covered Delia and Izzy. Delia had managed to convince him they weren’t under attack, and he’d stood up to discover every person in the diner slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
To his intense relief, she had insisted on leaving. His offer to compensate the restaurant for the broken dishes had been declined, but he’d paid for their meals and given the waitress a huge gratuity. Delia glanced at the restaurant where diners still gawked, and their waitress cleaned up the mess. “Let’s move up the street a little bit.” She ushered them away from the window.
“I thought Earth…it was…under…another bombardment. I’m so sorry.” No apology could undo or fix the way he’d freaked out.
“What’s a bombar-bombar…” Izzy spoke.
Delia opened her mouth, hesitated, and then said, “Like a big fire.”
“Oh. We had fire drills at school and at camp. You’re supposed to leave the building.”
“Well, we left the building, didn’t we?” Delia pointed out.
“I didn’t get to finish my chicken fingers.”
“I’ll get you something to eat at home.”
What was he going to do? He wasn’t safe to be around at night or day. The car misfiring had sounded so much like a blast from a Xeno ship, it had triggered a flashback. His eyes had burned, and his throat had closed up. Stilettos had burst from his wing tips. Fortunately, he hadn’t cut anyone.
Delia linked her arm through his. “Let’s go home. We’ll have a glass of wine.”
He clutched the dream catcher. Constructed of willow, strin
g, yarn, and feathers, the talisman had no magical properties, but what a coincidence Izzy would give this to him now.
A resilient bundle of energy, she skipped ahead.
“When you get to the corner, wait for us,” Delia called.
“’Kay.”
“I could have hurt her. Or you,” he said in a low voice.
“You didn’t. You protected us.”
“From something that wasn’t happening!”
She hugged his arm, her breast brushing against him. “No harm, no foul.”
“What about next time?” There’d been two incidents now. He stopped and faced her. He motioned to the covered cut on her arm. “I did that.”
“It’s a nick.” She dismissed the injury as if it was nothing.
“This time.”
“I’m no psychologist, but I think you’re suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. What you experienced on your world would freak out anybody. Recovery will take time. I love you. I’ll be with you every step of the way.
His throat clogged with emotion. He’d known she cared, but she hadn’t spoken it aloud before. “I love you, too. So much. You’re my genmate, which is why I couldn’t stand it if I did something—”
“Listen to me, you big lunk!” She thumped his chest. “We’re in this together. If you go through something, then I go through it with you. That’s the rule.”
Despite his dismay, he quirked his mouth in a small smile. “Like no phone at the table?”
“Like no phone at the table.”
They headed toward Izzy who hopped from foot to foot at the corner. “Now, cut yourself some slack,” Delia ordered. “We’ll take this one day at a time.”
“You’re pretty fierce sometimes.”
“With children and men, you have to be.”
He laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m fortunate to have you.”
“Yes, you are.” She tilted her head and grinned up at him.
He was, and he knew it.
Argent’s lone signal light glowed red when they got to the corner. The town didn’t have much traffic, and there were no cars at the moment, but they waited for the light to change. He clutched the dream catcher. He didn’t know what had happened to the gift bag. My phone! Did I get my phone? Everything had gone flying when he’d knocked over the table. He patted his back pocket and found a reassuring lump. Now he remembered. Izzy had picked it up and given it to him.
