I was traumatized. I wasn’t blind to that fact. But admitting it and dealing with it, was a different story entirely. I didn’t think I was strong enough to face those months I’d lived with Lucifer, to face the things I’d done for him, all the things I’d lost there.
And I’d lost so much. Bethany. Blue. Beau. I could barely think their names without choking on a sorrow so deep and vast I feared I’d drown in it. I’d missed Bethany’s funeral. Noel had gone in my stead, shielding so as not to be seen by the humans. He’d told me it was a beautiful ceremony. It didn’t comfort me like it should have.
I had yet to speak with Danny. I’d tried to call him a few times since being home, but every time I picked up the phone, I chickened out. Through a bizarre and juvenile game of telephone, I was told by Gideon that Xavier said that Danny told him that he missed me. But all I remembered was his look of absolute horror on Halloween night.
Not that I was speciesist, but he was human. He didn’t understand this world. He wouldn’t understand any of this. How could I look my friend in the eye knowing my hands were stained with blood? So much blood.
If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t want to add Danny’s name to the list of casualties resulting from my very existence. I had already gotten enough friends killed. It was better if he distanced himself. He needed to move on and live his human life without me in it. Even if it hurt us both.
“Here, Riles.” Jai jogged me from my thoughts, handing me a plate of scrambled eggs. I took it automatically, shaking the cobwebs from my mind. I’d spaced out again—I did that a lot.
“Thanks.”
Sitting on a stool on the other side of the kitchen island, I ate my eggs. Noel added a small bowl of Greek yogurt mixed with a whole grain granola that included nuts and other things that tasted like cardboard. I ate it without complaint.
I’d just finished my last bite of granola-yogurt grossness when the front door opened. Gideon’s heavy footfalls echoed in the entryway, and I curled as small as possible on my stool. I felt the moment he stepped into the archway of the kitchen. His gaze was heavy on the back of my head. I stared at my empty plate.
“Morning, Gid,” Jai said.
“Morning,” Noel chirped, sipping at his mug of black coffee.
“Good morning,” Gideon rumbled behind me. I hunkered lower on my stool. “Riley,” he said expectantly, then his footsteps faded back the way they’d come.
I understood the unspoken command. I glared at Jai for being a stupid tattletale, and he stared unapologetically back, chewing his toast. Noel studied the design on his mug like it was the most interesting thing in the room.
“You guys suck,” I growled as I reluctantly slunk off the stool and dragged my feet across the kitchen.
“I thought you liked it when we sucked,” Noel said, and Jai choked around his bite of toast.
“Dick jokes. Classy,” he coughed out, and Noel snickered under his breath.
Scowling at them both, I flipped them my middle finger. It only made them laugh harder. I almost smiled. Because even when I hated them, I loved them more than anything in the world.
“Riley,” Gideon barked from the hall, and I steeled myself before following the sound.
Gideon stood by the front door, dressed in khaki slacks and a blue button-up shirt. His dark blond hair was longer than ever. If he were so inclined, he could probably fasten it into the tiniest ponytail at the nape of his neck. I was glad he hadn’t cut his hair when Noel offered last week. I loved running my hands through his waves while he slept beside me.
My fond thoughts dissipated as our gazes clashed. His green eyes were hard and unreadable. I withered.
A large rectangle covered in protective paper leaned against the wall beside him. He pointed to it and said, “Grab that end.”
I obeyed, and he counted to three before we hoisted the heavy mirror into the air. I struggled under the weight, but Gideon steadied it long enough for me to secure my grip. He backed down the hall toward my room like the mirror weighed no more than a throw pillow. At least I could enjoy the view as his biceps bulged with the effort, straining against his dress shirt.
After some finagling, we made it to my attached bathroom, and we set the mirror against the wall beside the toilet. Gideon inspected the broken mirror above the sink, then pulled a roll of thick tape from the back of his pants.
“Here.” He offered me the tape. “Get the remaining glass taped up.”
“Why?”
“When we take the frame down, the glass could fall out or cut our hands. We’re going to tape it in place before moving it.” Tearing the packaging away from the new, nearly identical mirror, Gideon nodded toward the ruined one still on the wall. “Go on.”
Like a chastised child, I hung my head as I climbed onto the sink counter and proceeded to tape the fractured glass to the frame so it wouldn’t be knocked loose. Gideon prepared the new mirror as I secured the old one, shoulders hunched in guilt and shame.
He didn’t ask me why I broke the mirror. He didn’t lecture or berate me. He simply held me responsible for my actions. I broke the mirror in a fit of temper, and now he expected me to fix it. Period.
In a way, I loved him for it. He didn’t coddle me or act like I was incapable or weak. He treated me how I assumed he’d treat Noel or Jai if they had been the ones to shatter the mirror. Granted, he probably wouldn’t help Jai or Noel since they would know how to hang a mirror themselves, but still. As embarrassed as I was over the whole debacle, I appreciated Gideon’s forgiving yet fair-minded attitude.
“Shit happens, Riley,” he said as we anchored the new mirror to the wall. “Sometimes, it’s an accident; other times, it’s purposeful. But it’s always our responsibility to fix what we break.”
I wanted to cower away from his somber stare, but I forced myself to face him, to face this. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, and saying sorry is important for forgiveness and healing. But an apology without a change in behavior is empty, don’t you think?” His voice was quiet and gentle, yet the words sliced through me like a sword.
Nearly tumbling from the counter, I shuffled away, hugging myself tightly as I curled into myself. “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll be better.”
More graceful than me, Gideon ensured the mirror was secured, then closed the distance between us and lowered himself to one knee. I was taller than him now, but I still felt small and insignificant. He cupped my face in his massive hands, thumbing away tears I didn’t realize were falling.
“Riley, wait. That’s not… you know we care about you, don’t you? That we would do anything for you. And our affections, our acceptance, is unconditional.” He drew one of my hands away from my chest and kissed my palm. “You don’t need to be better to earn or deserve your place with us. You don’t need to be better because you already are better.”
He waved at the broken mirror leaning near the open door. “You are better than this. You always have been. Now it is simply a matter of self-control, a choice to act in a way that reflects who you already are. Here.” His palm rested over my hiccupping heart. “Do you understand?”
I didn’t think I was better, but I wanted to be. More than anything, I wanted to be the man Gideon believed I was.