Silence, then static, then, “What?”
I wanted to say so many things. Things like how much I loved him and that he was the best thing that ever happenedto me. I hope I told him to take care of Rocket. My sweet, ugly little pup deserved to be loved.
I know I said, “I love you, Eli. I always did.”
The explosion didn’t sound like anything I’d ever heard. It was too loud for that. It was sound weaponized, turned to air and shrapnel and pain, packed into every nerve ending at once. It sucked the breath out of the world, then spat it back into roaring fire and debris. The stairwell dissolved, and I dissolved with it. Then darkness.
Then silence.
There was a sudden calm. Bright sunlight. But not. Just brightness. A light. And then I saw her.
My mother.
She was standing in the backyard of our old house in Dairyville, wearing a blue sundress I remembered only from photos. The sun behind her turned her hair to flame. She looked younger than I remembered, but also older. She emanated peace. Every good feeling I’d ever known as a child was wrapped up in this beautiful woman.
I ran to her, even though I thought my legs wouldn’t work. I crashed into her, clinging to her like I was six years old again. She smelled like sugar cookies and freshly laundered sheets. Her arms wrapped around me, strong and solid. I sobbed. I couldn’t believe how badly I had missed her. How much I’d needed her. She felt like home.
“Am I dead?” I asked, snotty and pathetic.
She ran her hand through my wavy hair. “No, sweetheart,” she said, her voice the sound of early mornings and rain on the roof. “You’re not dead. You’re just resting.”
I pulled back, searching her face. “I don't understand. I know there was an explosion. I was there. In it. I know you’re no longer alive, so how can I be? Did I mess everything up? I screwed up didn’t I?”
She smiled, and it was the saddest smile in the world. “No, Parker. You did everything right. I’m proud of you.”
I wanted to believe her, but it hurt too much. “I’m scared. I didn’t want to die. Don’t want to die. I just found my mate. Wrecker. You remember Wrecker? He’s my mate, and I love him so much. We’ve just found each other again and realized. And even though it feels so wonderful here, to be able to rest finally, I don’t want to leave him.”
She laughed, low and bright, her eyes shining. “Oh, I know, baby. I always knew he was yours.” She wiped the tears from my cheeks with her thumb. “He’s been lonely too long. You’re supposed to be withhimnow, not here. Not yet.” She squeezed my shoulders, gentle but immovable.
I looked past her, expecting to see a tunnel or a white light or something. But there was nothing but the soft green of the grass, the lemon tree in bloom, the old rusty swing set I remembered Axel falling from when he was four. I wanted to sit there forever, but I could feel something pulling at my heels, a tether dragging me backward.
The pain started up again, behind my ribs and in my throat.
“I don’t know how to get back,” I whispered. “I don’t know if I can.”
She took my face in her hands. “Just listen,” she said. “You’ll know. And I’ll see you again someday my sweet girl.”
As she faded from sight, I listened.
At first, there was nothing but the sound of the wind through the lemon tree. Then, underneath it, a hum—low and electric, like an engine or a heartbeat.
Then I heard him.
“Parker!” Wrecker’s voice, ragged, desperate. “Little bird, where are you? Wren?”
The hum got louder. I felt the earth shiver. The world started to come apart around the edges.
I fell through the blackness.
Someone was pulling at me—lifting, dragging. The pain was back, worse than before, but it was good pain, genuine pain. I clung to it. I took as many breaths as my lungs would allow.
I heard men yelling. The sound of boots on concrete. Hands scraping at brick and plaster. A crash of something heavy being thrown aside.
“Here!” a voice shouted. “She’s here!”
Strong arms closed around my chest, squeezing the breath back into my lungs. I couldn’t see. My eyes wouldn’t open. But I knew the arms. I knew the shape of the hands. I knew the heartbeat.
“Got you,” he whispered into my hair. “I got you, little bird. Don’t you fucking die on me. Don’t you dare.”
