on the coastal highway, with rocky cliffs on one side and the Oregon coast in front of us. The ocean looked gray- blue and choppy, and the air temperature had dropped about fifteen degrees. Seagulls wheeled above the waves, cawing, and I wanted to join them.
I moved to the railing, ready to jump off.
“Wait, Max.” Suddenly, Dylan’s dazzling smile was nowhere in sight. His face was solemn, his eyes a darker shade of teal. For a second I thought he’d spotted some kind of trouble far in the distance, across the cliffs. You could say Dylan didn’t just have the eyesight of a hawk—he had the eyes of the Hubble Space Telescope. His gift for seeing faraway things, especially in space, was a little mutant DNA bonus from the mad scientist-slash-genetic engineer who created him.
“I found this place the other day, when I was out flying,” he said, shifting to a less guarded, more emotional tone. “I feel closer to the clouds here, more than anywhere else. I wanted to share it with you because… I feel closer to… to Angel here, too.”
My eyes flew to his face, my mouth partly open in shock. Angel. The youngest member of our flock. My littlest bird.
I was assaulted with memories: Angel smiling sweetly at Total, her pale blond curls making a halo of fluff around her head. The depth in Angel’s eyes when we witnessed disaster, way more knowing than any seven-year- old’s should be. The way she’d get into my head, under my skin, inside my heart, always. And then—
Angel disappearing in a cloud of smoke. I grimaced, thinking of Paris and the explosion.
“We do not talk about that,” I reminded him tightly.
He gave a sad smile and gestured out at the vast ocean, the craggy cliffs behind us. No one was around—it was me and Dylan, water and rock and sky. And my bleeding, ripped-open heart.
“You can’t pretend she was never born,” he said as I narrowed my eyes and pulled out my trusty standby: rage.
I opened my mouth to snap at him, but he continued, gently, saying, “You can’t pretend she never died.”
I actually gasped, drawing away from him in shock, feeling a sharp pain in my chest as if he’d plunged a dagger into me.
“Shut up!” I croaked.
Dylan put his hand on my shoulder, holding me as I tried to spin away. He pulled me to him firmly, cradling me against his hard chest, one hand on the back of my neck, the other on my back. “We all miss her, Max,” he whispered against my hair. “We’ll always miss her.”
And that was it. A horrible keening sound filled my ears, and it took me several seconds to realize it was coming from me. Then I was clutching Dylan’s shirt, pressing my face against him, sobbing uncontrollably.
He held me tightly, his cheek against my hair, stroking my back and whispering, “I know. I know. Let it out, Max. There’s no one here but me and you. Just let it all out.”
I almost never cry. I keep my emotions on a supertight leash. They normally don’t just burst out of me like that, but once they did, I sobbed and sobbed until my throat was raw and Dylan’s shirt was wet from my tears.
My baby was gone. After everything we had been through, after love and betrayal and fury and love and forgiveness, she was gone. Forever. She’d sacrificed herself to save thousands, and she would never, ever be back.
And I hadn’t let myself believe that, until now.
10
I DREW IN shuddering breaths, my sobs subsiding. I had needed to grieve over Angel. And I had a lot of other things to grieve about, too. I’d been abandoned by my mother, my half sister, my pseudo-father, and the boy I thought was my soul mate.
And so finally, after all this time, I wailed my guts out. In a really loud, out-of-control, sloppy, wet way. All over Dylan.
I pulled away from him awkwardly. I was thirsty and empty and feeling hollow, and imagining the possible humiliation resulting from the revolting scene I had just made was vomit-inducing. “Remember that time you bawled like a baby?” Dylan would say for years to come. “That was hysterical!” I just wanted to collapse on my bed with the covers over my head. Forever.
But Dylan was still looking at my puffy face. “Remember how Angel saved that little kid from the hotel fire?” he asked, his eyes shining.
I did. I could still picture her smile shining victoriously out of her dirty face, the boy clutched in her arms, her wings gray with smoke. Angel, rising from the ashes.
I wiped my nose. “I’m done talking about her.”
Dylan nodded. He was silent for a moment, looking out over the ocean. His hair looked dusty in the afternoon sun. “I don’t know what to do with the sadness,” he said finally, sighing. I looked up at him, surprised at his directness.
“Why do you keep talking about it, then?” I was too worn out to even get angry.
“I don’t know what else to do.” He shrugged. “I have all these hard feelings inside, and I thought talking about them might help. And… I don’t want to forget Angel. I’m scared that if we don’t talk about her, it will be like she never existed.”
I nodded warily. I had my own hard feelings that I didn’t know what to do with. They sat like a pile of rocks in my stomach. Building and building.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Max,” said Dylan.
“Yeah…” I picked at my nails, thinking about my meltdown. I had never been very good at receiving compliments, especially ones that seemed heartfelt.
“Seriously. I’m learning how to be strong just from watching you.” Dylan put his hands on my shoulders. “But I know not everyone can be strong all the time. I just wanted to tell you that if you ever need to
Dylan looked into my eyes with such naked trust I had to look away. Below, the waves smashed into the rocks, spraying a cool mist over everything, and I felt goose bumps rise on my arms.
Fang always had my back—that is, until he didn’t. He didn’t have to say it aloud; I’d known it anyway. Dylan was so different. It was like he didn’t know how to be guarded. His emotions were raw, on the surface for everyone to see, and the sarcastic wall that had protected me so efficiently in the past was slowly crumbling in the face of his honesty.
I felt vulnerable, exposed, so out of my element. I shifted uncomfortably.
“Can we fly now?” I asked, my throat dry.
Dylan smiled, his face lighting up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He stuck the motorcycle’s keys under its seat and took my hand, and we climbed up on the guardrail.
I took a deep breath, and together we jumped off.
11
THICK, HEAVY CLOUDS had rolled in, blocking the sun, and it felt like Dylan and I were the only two people on earth. Our wings took us high over the water, up and up until the cars on the highway looked like shiny beetles, bustling to and fro.
We wheeled freely through the air, no destination in mind, copying the gulls, seeing dark schools of fish in the water below. My chest expanded again, after being all crumpled up from crying. I felt my heart beating hard, felt the cool mist against my skin, and I felt fresh and alive and somehow lighter. Like I’d dropped some of those hard, heavy rocks I’d been carrying around.
Dylan was good for me, in some ways. I had to admit it.
“What?” he asked, raising his voice over the wind.
