I motion toward the booth. “Want to sit down and talk about it?”
“Nah, not yet,” she says, looking around the empty diner. She shifts on her feet before wiping her hands on her pants.
She’s nervous. Good. So am I. “You know, if you couldn’t stop thinking about me, you could’ve ended the torture and come to me sooner.”
“I could’ve.”
“But you were still convinced I wouldn’t make it two weeks in a small town?”
She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. It’s clear Juliette has been hurt in her life, and I refuse to add to that.
“Do you want to know what I did to pass the time?” I ask her.
“What?”
“I read your book.”
Her jaw drops. “You read my book that you stole?”
“Technically, I didn’t steal it. Louise did. But don’t worry, your bookmark is still on the page where you left it.”
“‘One more step would mean certain death’,” she says, mimicking the last words she read—the words I interrupted.
“You really should finish the book. It’s an amazing story.”
Juliette looks flabbergasted.
“Go out with me,” I say.
“You don’t even know me.”
That’s where she’s wrong. “I know your best friend Colin—who you’ve known since kindergarten—owns a coffee shop and feeds your addiction for caramel macchiatos. I know you love to read. I know every single person in this town admires you and loves you. I also know you’ve had your heart broken, and you’re terrified to open yourself back up again—”
“Mason.” Juliette lowers her head.
I lift her chin until she’s looking at me. “And I’m selfish enough to ask you to give me a chance.”
“A chance to what?”
“To prove to you that not all men are like your ex. There are some of us out there who are good, responsible, and trustworthy. I won’t hurt you. I’m better than that.”
Jules laughs and wipes away the wetness around her eyes. “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. “Just hopeful.”
Her eyes drift over my shoulder. I’m not sure what she’s looking at or what she’s thinking, but she takes a small step forward, and that has to be a good thing.
“There’s something else I know,” I add to drive the point home.
She pulls her eyes back to me. “What’s that?”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I’ve looked for you around every corner, on every street, in every building I walked into over the last two weeks.”
She draws in a shaky breath and takes my hand. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either.”
“Go out with me?” I ask again.
“Okay,” she says immediately.
I feel my heart rate spike. “Okay?”
She smiles and nods.
I smile.
And I swear someone in the back, maybe Brittany, gives a little whoop.
Juliette laughs and presses in closer. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Because I could be a serial killer?” I say, hooking an arm around her waist, suddenly glad she didn’t take my offer to sit down. If she had, I wouldn’t be able to do this. I pull her forward until her body is snug against mine and curl my free hand around the back of her neck.
“Something like that.”
“Juliette?”
“Yeah?” she breathes.
I brush my nose against hers. Her sweet, minty breath fans my face. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Make it good.”
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FIRST FLIGHT
* * *
JESSICA SORENSEN
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2020 by Jessica Sorensen
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ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death.
I could feel it in my bones.
“You cannot feel it in your bones,” my best friend, Trystan tells me as we stand on the ledge, peering out at the city below.
Way, way below.
“That’s not what I was thinking,” I lie. That’s exactly what I was thinking.
And it's creepy he knows that. But he has been my best friend forever. We were raised together. Went to school together. Are going to college together. We learned how to fly together.
Wait... did I not mention we were death angels?
Hmm... Maybe I should’ve.
But anyway, Trystan and I are death angels that live in a world full of all sorts of different magical creatures. We have wings and everything. Mine are lavender while his are silver and black. And despite contrary belief that probably stems from our species name, we can die. In fact, there have been many reported deaths among my kind.
“There haven’t been that many deaths,” Trystan says, the feathers of his wings moving against the wind along with wisps of his inky black hair.
“There’s been some, though.” I blast him a dirty look, knowing I’m being kind of ridiculous, but my fear is owning me right now. “And will you stop doing that?”
"Doing what?" he says innocently, but I can see all over his face that he knows exactly what I'm talking about.
Because I can read him as well as he can read me.
I put my hands on my hips, my violet hair dancing around. “You keep saying everything I’m thinking.”
He chuckles softly, squinting against the silver sunlight. “Yeah, well, it’s not my fault you’re so easy to read.”
“I’m not easy to read.”
“You are to me, little angel.”
My jaw ticks. “You know I hate it when you call me that. I’m not even little anymore.”
I was once, though. Like really small. In fact, the other angels at school called me a runt. I was teased relentlessly. And bullied. And there was one incident in particular that led to my phobia of heights.
I had been around eight years old when a group of angels I went to school with decided they didn't really believe I was one of them. I was so small, and I rarely took my wings out, mostly because I'm the only angel with lavender wings. That made me seem like more of a freak and they believed that because of this, I must not really be one of them. After an argument, they decided the best way to find out if I was a death angel, would be to grab me, drag me up to a cliff, and toss me over the edge to see if I’d fly. They didn’t think about—or maybe they did and just didn’t care—that most death angels can’t fly until they’re sixteen. I had kicked, screamed and fought the entire way, but it did nothing. And eventually, they tossed me off the cliff.
I’d like to say it turned out I had a hidden badassery talent for flying, but that would mean I wouldn't really be here right now, freaking out over flying for the first time. But obviously, I didn't plummet to my death either. No, Trystan had been nearby and had heard me scream, and apparently, he did have a hidden badassery talent for flying since, you know, he was flying at the age of eight. He also had a kind heart, and not only did he save me, but he also kicked the asses of the angels that tossed me over that cliff. With my help, of course. I may be terrified of f
lying, but I can fight like a pro and refuse to be a damsel in distress.
But anyway...
Trystan and I have been best friends ever since then. Not that we haven’t had our fights. And if he keeps calling me little angel, we’re about to have another one.
“Which makes it more appealing,” he says, drawing me back to reality, the corners of his lips quirking. “Little angel.”
Irritation weaves through me.
“I think I’m done for the day.” I tuck my wings away as I turn and start up the path that leads me to my home.
He follows after me. "Haven, wait. We need to get this done today. School starts tomorrow, and you won't pass the flight entry test if you can't fly."
"I know that," I mutter, quickening my pace, my anxiety skyrocketing. "I don't need to be reminded."
This happens every time I think of that stupid test. I panic. I’ve known for years this day would come, and I've also known there's a good chance I won't be able to pass the test.
I still have nightmares about that day I was pushed off the cliff, as I fell through the sky and let my wings come out. But they had done nothing when I’d tried to fly. They were weak. Or I was. I wasn’t sure. What I was sure about was that I was going to die that day. I had even mentally said my goodbyes as I fell. Then I had shut my eyes, preparing for the pain and darkness. But instead, arms had enveloped around me, and I’d felt warmth. Trystan's warmth. And even now, when I'm in my darkest moments, I can still feel his warmth.
"Haven." He continues to walk behind me. "I'm not trying to freak you out. I just want you to understand how important it is that you do this—"
I whirl around so suddenly that he nearly runs into me. But he skids to a stop, his silver eyes are wide, and his wings are tucked away.
“I know it’s important,” I tell him. “But again, I don’t need reminding.”
“Don’t you?” he questions. “Because you’re walking away from your last chance to do it. We won’t have time to practice tomorrow morning.”
I take a deep breath and another, deep down knowing he’s right. But I also know there’s a good chance this won’t happen for me.
So, I shrug, pretending to be more okay with what I'm about to say, even though I’m not. "Then I guess I won't be going to school."
The corners of his lips tug downward as he steps toward me. “Don’t pretend like you don’t care. I know you do. It’s all you’ve talked about for years.”
“Only because my parents made me think it’s what I wanted to do,” I lie.
While my parents have encouraged me to go, they’ve never pressured me. I know that. I’m just being a brat right now because I’m angry with myself.
Realizing this, my shoulders slump. “I’m going home. I’ll see you in the morning.”
His lips part, but I don’t wait to hear what he has to say. I just turn around and walk away.
And for the first time, he lets me. Usually when we’re arguing, he makes us hash it out. But this time he let me go. It's probably a good thing since tomorrow morning, he's going to leave for school, and more than likely, I won't.
• • •
My mom is reading a book when I arrive home and smiles up at me when I enter.
“So, how did it go?” she asks as she sets the book down.
“It didn’t,” I say flatly as I make my way into the kitchen to grab something to eat.
She gets up and follows me in. She doesn’t say anything right away as I slam cupboards, looking for something to eat, even though I’m not hungry. She’s probably trying to choose her words carefully. She’s smart like that.
“Can I ask what happened?” she finally says as I snatch a box of cookies.
I start stuffing my face with cookies. “The same thing that always happens. I suck.”
“You don’t suck,” she assures me as she leans against the counter with her arms crossed. “In fact, you’re the least sucky death angel I know.”
“And you’re the weirdest mom ever,” I tell her as I shovel more cookies into my mouth. “You’re the only mom I know that uses words like sucky.”
“Because I’m awesome.”
“Yeah, you are.”
She smiles at that, and I can't help smiling just a little.
But my smile fades as she asks cautiously, “What did Trystan have to say about all of this?”
I shrug. “That I needed to do it. That it was important. That if I didn’t, I wouldn’t pass my flying test tomorrow and wouldn’t get into school.” I sigh as I set the box of cookies down. “Like I didn’t already know of all that.”
“I’m sure he knows you know all of that,” she says. “He’s probably just worried.”
“I know,” I tell her. “And I get that he doesn’t want to go to college alone, but he can make new friends. He’s got one of those personalities that angels love.”
Not that I won't miss him. I will a freakin' ton to the point that my chest is actually hurting right now just thinking about it.
“I think there might be more to it than him worrying about going alone and making new friends,” she informs me.
My brows dip. “Like what?”
She smiles softly. “Like he’ll miss you.”
“I know that. And I’ll miss him too. But like I said, he’ll make new friends. Plus, it’s not like we won’t ever see each other. He’ll come home to visit on holidays.” Again, my chest aches thinking about those few times I’ll see him throughout the year.
“Hmm...” my mom studies me. “I still think there may be more to it than that.”
I arch a brow at her. “Like what?”
She just smiles, pushes away from the counter, and pats my head. “One day, you’ll see,” she says, leaving the room.
Yeah, she’s definitely the weirdest mom ever.
• • •
Late that night, I’m sprawled out on my bed, flipping through the college brochure. I’m wearing pajama shorts and a tank top, which basically is like admitting defeat since tonight is the last night for me to get over this fear of trying to fly.
It’s put me in a sour mood, which is probably why my family has been avoiding me. Eventually, though, someone knocks on my door; mom or dad, I assume.
“Come in,” I call out as I turn the page.
On it are photos of the campus: sparkling trees covered with glittery flowers, the grass looks like crystal, and the building is very castle-esque. It also has photos of the inside of the classrooms, the massive library, the domed ceilings. As I look at everything, I admit to myself that I want to go. Badly. I want to walk around and breathe everything in. I want to read every book on the shelves of the library. I want to learn, fill my mind with knowledge.
But in order to do so, I have to fly.
Le sigh. Why, oh why did those angels have to throw me over the cliff that day?
Although if they hadn’t, I might not have ended up becoming best friends with Trystan. And that leaves me wondering: will our friendship survive him going off to school? Or will I end up alone?
Speaking of being alone, why didn’t the angel that knocked on my door ever come in?
I turn around and peer over my shoulder to find Trystan standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching me.
My initial instinct is to ask him why he’s here. But then I remember what my mom said and remind myself that I’m not really mad at him—I’m mad at myself.
“Why are you just standing there watching me like a creeper?” My brow teases upward as I jokingly smile.
The corners of his lips tug upward. “I’m the creeper? Need I remind you of the lake incident.”
I let out a groan as I sit up. “How many times do I have to tell you that I was not checking you out?” It’s a total lie.
I was full-on checking him out.
We were sixteen at the time and had gone swimming down at the lake. He had worn only his swimming shorts, and while I'd seen him shirtless before, it'd been a while. And during t
hat while, he'd gotten a lot muscular. I couldn't help but stare, maybe more than I should've.
It was the first time I realized my BFF was sexy.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
And not like he’d ever want to hear me tell him that either.
Trystan and I are just friends, and he's never shown any interest of being anything else.
“Liar,” he teases with a grin. But then he grows solemn. “I actually came here to apologize to you, not watch you. Although, that part does have its perks.” His gaze purposefully scrolls across my bare legs all the way up to my eyes.
I make a big show of rolling my eyes, but inside I feel a bit warm. Why is he looking at me like that? “Liar. Well, not about the apology part, but about the watching me. And what was that look in your eyes just barely...” I trail off as he smiles amusedly.
“You’re nervously rambling,” he remarks. “And blushing.”
My lips part with a lie, but the warmth spreading across my skin is an indicator that I’m blushing. “So, you wanted to apologize, huh?” I completely and noticeably change the subject. “For what?”
His amused smile fades a little. “Can I come in?”
“Into my room?” I question. “Um, yeah, you know you always can.”
“Yeah, but you’re mad at me right now.”
I sigh. “No, I’m not. I’m mad at myself.”
His expression is guarded as he pushes away from the doorframe, walks into my room, and shuts the door behind him. “Why are you mad at yourself?”
I shrug. “Because I’m a failure.” It’s the first time I’ve said the words aloud, and it makes me very aware how true they are, and that all this pretending I'm okay with not flying is fake. I want to be able to spread my wings and soar off, leaving the past behind me. I want to break free of that moment long ago when those angels tossed me over the ledge. I don’t want to let that moment control me anymore because it is. Even now, years later, that single moment still controls me.
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