“You will not take him from me!” Cal bellows, rocking his head back. Griggs rises behind him, my Colt .38 Super in his hand, pointed at Cal’s head. “Griggs,” I whisper.

Cal flashes out his right wing, which knocks into Griggs. The gun flies from his

hand and lands in the river. Cal growls as the wing wraps around Griggs like a snare, holding him tight. I expect the vortex to return and Griggs to be flung into the black. I don’t think I’ll have the words to stop him.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Cal brings his wing in toward himself, until Griggs’s face is inches from his own. Griggs screams at the black fury on Cal’s face. Above his cries, I hear Cal’s words. “You are not welcome here any longer.” Then the wing snaps away and Griggs is hurled into the river.

He lands with a splash toward the river’s center. He disappears under the rushing water momentarily but comes sputtering to the surface. He slams into a boulder whose top is exposed. He finds a crevice and grips it tightly, choking on water as he cries for help. His grip slips, and he’s about to be swept away when a massive tree slams into the boulder. The crack of bone is audible above the water and rain. He screams in pain and tries to move. The tree’s strong branches have caught on the boulder and it’s stuck, pinning him against the rock. He struggles weakly and spits out the rising water from his mouth.

I close my eyes. It’s dark again.

“No,” Cal moans. “Wake up, Benji! You gotta wake up!”

I hear my father singing about a river.

“Benji!”

I hear Abe telling me he’s going to take care of me.

“Father!” Cal bawls. “Why won’t you answer me! I’m begging you! Don’t you

take him from me! Don’t you dare!” I hear great wings spreading, and suddenly I’m lifted off the ground, rain and wind rushing over my body as the angel Calliel takes flight, hurtling toward the sky.

“Stay with me, Benji. Please just open your eyes.”

I want to tell him it’ll be okay, that I just need to sleep, but I can’t find my voice. I want to tell him how I feel, and that I’ll wait for him, no matter what it takes. I’ll find him, again. If I go to the place known as Heaven, if it is a real and tangible thing, then I will tear down his Father?

?s door until my voice is heard and we are together again. This, I promise him.

“I love you,” he whispers as he weeps.

I know. I love—

I am swallowed into the dark.

the white room

I open my eyes in a stark white room. There is no pain. There is peace, but it

feels fragile, hard-won. It feels like it could be taken away with just a word. This thought causes me to ache. Now there is nothing but pain. My chest hurts, though there’s no wound there. My wrist hurts, though the skin is unblemished. My ankle hurts, though it’s not swollen. My shoulder hurts, thought it has mended.

My heart hurts because it is broken.

“Just breathe,” a strong voice says.

I can’t help the bitter tears that fall. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

I turn my head, pressing my ear against the bright white floor.

The archangel Michael sits in a white chair, looking strangely dapper in a deep

blue pin-striped suit. His leg crosses the other at the knee. His white wings spread out behind him, almost blending in with the room itself, but they’re just off enough to be noticeable. They’re a beautiful thing, the feathers shiny and silky smooth. Michael himself is as handsome as I remember. There’s an empty chair next to him.

“Breathe, Benji,” he says kindly. “I know it’s difficult, but I need you to breathe.”

I need to get away from him. I need to get out of this place. I push myself up, ignoring the twinges in my body, almost blinded by tears. I gag and taste river water at the back of my throat. I press up against the walls, sliding my hands along the smooth surfaces, trying to find a catch, a handle, a door, anything that would allow me to escape this room. I go from corner to corner, again and again. Michael says nothing as I circumnavigate the room. The only thing in the room that’s different, aside from the chairs and Michael, is the faint outline of a child on one of the walls, like their shadow has been flash-fried into the wall.

Eventually, I can move no more, and I stop, leaning and panting against the wall, sweat dripping from my brow. Michael looks at me and nods to the empty chair beside him, then sits back and waits.

Tags: T.J. Klune Romance
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