“It was a long time ago,” he said into his wine.
“Your wife…” I cleared my throat. The unwarranted little pang of jealousy seemed to be attached to that word. “Do you remember loving her?”
He whipped his head to me. “Why do you ask me this?”
“You said there was no love left in you. But if you loved her once, maybe it’s still there. Maybe—”
“There is none left,” he gritted out, as if each word cut him like knives. “Because I refuse to allow it to infest me like a sickness ever again.”
“Love’s not sickness. It’s—”
“Lucy,” he snapped. “Leave it. I have no patience for greeting card sentiment.”
“I know you’re angry,” I said after a moment. “God knows when I’m really missing my dad or thinking about how he suffered in the last weeks of his illness, I don’t want any grace or trite sentiment either. I’d burn it all to the ground to have him back.”
Cas wasn’t looking at me but seemed to be listening with his entire being.
“But sometimes, not very often, the grief kind of mellows,” I said. “The sharp edges soften for a little bit, and I feel real beauty in it. I know that might sound crazy, but it’s true. Beauty in his life, who he was, and who we were to each other. How much I loved him. In those times, the grief still hurts, but instead of getting angry or mad or scared, I feel grateful.”
“Grateful?” he asked, disbelieving.
“Yes. Grateful that I had the privilege of knowing him. That this pain I’m feeling is strong because I loved him. I wouldn’t trade it if it meant not having him. The bad stuff…it hurts. Sometimes, it hurts so much, it’s almost impossible to see the beauty in life. But if we just take a deep breath and get really quiet, we can feel how alive we are. We’re here, experiencing it all, and the good stuff is all the more precious if we understand it might not stay as long as we want it to. My loss is not the same as yours, but that’s how I think about it, and it makes me feel better. Maybe it would make you feel better too.”
Holy moly, I didn’t know what it was, but something about Cas got me talking more than my shyness usually allowed. He was watching me with a strange expression on his face. Maybe later I’d blame it on the booze, but I reached to take his hand. A scar sliced across the back that I hadn’t noticed before. He stiffened at my touch, then softened into it. His fingers—a warrior’s fingers, rough and calloused—curled around mine. Light at first, then tighter. He was pure power—masculine and hard and dangerous but not to me.
My hand belongs in his.
My thoughts, greased by whiskey, skidded off into slippery territory. How it would feel to have more of his skin touching mine. How other parts of us might fit together as perfectly. How there might be a kind of bliss waiting when the size and shape of every scar on his body was no longer a mystery to me.
For long moments, we sat together in that crowded, noisy pub, an oasis of silence. Then he gave my hand a final squeeze and let go.
“Your capacity for love is bottomless, Lucy Dennings,” he said in a low voice. “I know what might help me.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “Earlier today, I wasn’t moved to offer that homeless man money or clothing, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me that he needed human contact. But it occurred to you. You saw that man’s plight and felt…what do you call it?”
My lips quirked. “Empathy?”
“Yes, that. And empathy cannot be taught. Neither can charity or compassion. Not to someone who has lived in darkness for centuries—and certainly not in the few days I have left.
“This puts us in a bit of a tough spot, Cas,” I said, taking another pull of my whiskey.
“Indeed. Helping me is a waste of time. The key to my redemption lies in helping you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I said. “But love has to factor in somehow.”
The alcohol was hitting me hard; my head felt like it was floating off my neck.
I giggled as a stray thought skittered across my boozy mind. “A fake relationship.”
“Come again?”
“The ‘fake relationship’ is a trope in romance books where two people pretend to be together in order to achieve separate goals, like earn an inheritance or make someone jealous.”