Angel's Mark

Epilogue

I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone to a party, or an event, as Mom liked to call them. I couldn't remember the last time I'd put on a pair of slacks and ironed a dress shirt and gelled my hair back. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been an honored guest—not shut away behind a door, prohibited from being seen. It was monumental.

In one respect, this was sort of terrifying.

In another, there was no other way I'd rather be spending my night.

Outside Alan's door, I waited a while, hopping up and down on my toes. Months and months had turned the air from crisp and cool to warm and humid, and I could feel sweat already beginning to dampen my armpits. The sky was clear; I tipped my head back, watching the stars, white blots against a midnight blue background.

Ever since Alan's bomb had blown the Destiny to bits—and Nick with it—the following months had been insane, in the sense they were so normal. Alan and Lucie graduated high school. Cian still worked at the Pizza Palace, but he'd stopped wearing graphic T-shirts, thank goodness, and was enrolled in night school. At the end of the summer, Nura was starting ninth grade—Mom and I had helped to catch her up. And Zev and Caprice were...happy. There was no other way to put it, I guess, that wouldn't make me throw up in my mouth.

Exhaling into the night air, I rung the doorbell. I remained on the front stoop for another few moments, before Mrs. Fitch opened the door, her whole face lighting up when she saw me. "Vinny! Oh, come in, come in. I'll grab Alan for you."

"Oh," I said, as she took my hand, practically dragging me into the foyer. "Thanks."

The brightness of the front room nearly blinded me. Where it'd been pitch black outside, the Fitches' grand chandelier produced enough light for three whole cities, bathing the air in a gold shimmer.

Mrs. Fitch strode to the bottom of the winding staircase, calling Alan's name. A moment later, she was in front of me again, pressing out the wrinkles on the front of her blouse. "Can I get you something while we wait? Water? A cola? My boy—he's so slow, you know, with these things—"

"Oh, I'm fine. Thanks, Mrs. Fitch."

Her face blossomed into a grin, a dimple just like her son's forming in her cheek. The relationship between Alan's parents and me had started out a little awkward. They'd treated me like I was just a visitor, someone who'd be out of Alan's life as soon as he figured it all out. Time passed, however, and I stayed, and I was still here now. Eventually they'd realized I'd be sticking around for a while, and maybe they'd even grown to like me.

That being said, I was still itching for Alan to get downstairs, just so I could be free of his mom's company. I was terrible at small talk.

I glanced down at my watch; we were already late. If I knew Cian at all, he was probably already starting to worry.

"You'll have him back at a reasonable hour, I expect?"

I glanced up, barely hearing Mrs. Fitch's voice amongst all the other noises clamoring within my head. Late. Late. God, how I hated being late. "I'm sorry?"

"Mom," came a voice, Alan's, from the top of the staircase. He was wearing a tie, even though I'd told him before he really didn't need a tie, and not to mention, it was awfully crooked. I smirked at him, and he rolled his eyes at me, descending the steps and pecking his mother on the forehead. "I'm eighteen. You can stop babying me now."

"Oh, Alan, you know it's just because I love you—"

"Mom!" groaned Alan, but he spared her an admiring grin before reaching his hand out to me. I let him twine our fingers together, his hazel eyes like the rarest of gems as he looked at me. Those eyes were hazardous. So easy to get lost in. He told me, "We should go."