Page 131 of Gabriel
Sailor made a soft sound—half laugh, half gasp. “And you said yes?”
“I did.”
“Even though you’re in here because of her?” Raphael demanded.
“She didn’t do this to me. I could’ve ended up in Albania regardless. Jet was always a step ahead.”
Silence followed, heavy and complicated.
“You’ve always been an optimist,” Raphael muttered. “You’re blind because of her and her fucked-up family.”
I sat up straighter in the bed, despite the weight pressing down on my body. “Look. I know it’s a mess, but I love her. And she loves me. I’m not made of glass, Raphael. Vision or no vision, I’ll recover. You don’t need to protect me from my own choices.”
“You’re my brother,” he said, voice thick. “You think I’m just going to sit here and play nice with all of this?”
I swallowed hard. “I’m not asking you to like it, but Iamasking you to accept it. Let me fight this fight and live my life with Amara. Even if I have to do it blind.”
There was another long pause.
“Can I walk you down the aisle?” Raphael asked dryly. “Since I got robbed of that with Anya.”
“If you try it, I’ll kill you,” I deadpanned.
Sailor choked on a laugh. “Oh, Lord. We better make sure it doesn’t come to that.” She paused, then added softly, “Raphael…you have to admit. Gabriel and Amara—somehow, in the chaos, they really are perfect for each other.”
Laughter filled the room, breaking the tension like sunlight breaking through fog and somehow I knew things would end well.
Amara
The hospital waiting room was starting to look way too familiar, suffocating in its familiarity. I’d been taking shifts with Raphael and Sailor, keeping watch over Gabriel like he might vanish if one of us so much as blinked.
They had just arrived to relieve me. I gave them a small wave, traded the kind of half-hearted pleasantries only exhaustion could birth, and ducked out into the early evening.
The revolving door gave way with a soft whoosh and the cool air slapped my skin. God, I needed a shower—a hot one—and preferably followed by real clothes and four uninterrupted hours of sleep.
I was halfway down the steps when I collided into something—or rather someone. A very solid chest.
I blinked, took a step back, and glared upward. And upward.
“Dammit,” I muttered. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Well, well,” came the reply. “What kind of language is that, coming from a supposed mermaid?”
I tilted my head. “Huh?”
He sighed. “Dios santo, I’ve never seen a mermaid so confused. I guess I should be grateful you’re not singing.”
“Funny. The psychiatric wing is on the third floor. You’re only a few yards off. Might want to check yourself in.”
He didn’t so much as blink. He leaned lazily against one of the tall cement columns just outside the ER doors, like he had all day to argue.
“Gabriel,” the man said sharply, like his patience had a short fuse. “How is he?”
I stared at him, confused by the demand. “And you are?”
“Luis DeLuega.”
I tried to step around him, but his arm shot out, blocking me.
