Lucie

For the ride to the Hornes' place, I let Vinny sit in the front seat. He sat there as Cian drove, marveling at the effortlessness with which he made contact with things. Adjusting the air conditioning was no problem. Putting his feet up on the dash? Sure! Pressing his face to the window no longer zapped his energy. He could hold a cell phone in his hand without even worrying it was going to fall through. It was all I could do not to chuckle at the "oohs" and "ahs" ringing from his direction.

I met Cian's gaze in the rear view mirror, and didn't think I'd ever seen him so at peace. There was no hidden turmoil in his eyes, no frown at his lips. It was the most serene, most content expression I'd ever seen him with. "By the way," I said, leaning over the center console, "You actually have to wear a seatbelt now, Vinny."

He picked up the strap and held it out to show me. "I know. I'm being very safe."

"Good."

Vinny clicked the radio off. "So...what exactly happens now?" he asked, and when Cian and I both shot him interrogative looks, he drew his legs up on the seat and sighed. "I mean, to most people, to everyone, I'm still dead. What happens if I run into one of my old friends, like someone from my soccer team, or something? I mean, hell, they attended my funeral."

"We'll find a way," said Cian, but he seemed unsure. "Anyway. Now's not the time to think about that stuff. Let's just be happy about the fact you and Lucie are both alive and well, and that this mess with the fallen angels is over."

I pounded a fist against the console to showcase my enthusiasm. "Amen to that. Oh! Careful, Cian, you almost missed your driveway."

"Oh. Thank you, muffin," he said, and jerked the steering wheel. We powered up the Hornes' driveway, parking in front of the lofty three-car garage. The first time I'd ever seen this place, I'd been amazed by its grandness and effort—the trimmed gardens and neat paint and dusted glass chandeliers that just oozed expensive. I had stepped inside and smelt the century-old wine and meticulously crafted scented candles and thought...this is what it means to live extravagantly. Cian's world was one I would never understand, one he no longer understood himself.

He'd understood when he was that kid in the coral polo shirt. Looking at him now, I could hardly find the resemblance.

That kid had worn excessively bright colors and had neatly gelled, close-cropped hair, skin untouched by the marks of pain and age. That kid had the gleam of innocence and youth in both of his deep blue eyes, a smile on his face that had never seen grief.

I don't know how be that kid anymore.

Who said he had to?

This Cian, the one in the dark hoodie with the scars on his face and the chip on his shoulder—this Cian was all I wanted.

We stood now at the front door, the three of us shoulder to shoulder, staring down the mahogany. Cian gestured at his little brother. "Go ahead, Vinny," he said, and for a moment Vinny stared at him with round eyes, before he nodded.

Taking Cian's house key in his hands, Vinny turned it and pushed the door in, stepping into the foyer. I shut the door behind the two boys, passing the key off to Cian. He took it, briefly surveying his surroundings. The parlor and office were empty, as was the foyer itself, but muffled voices could be heard from the living room.

His mother's voice: "I just think maybe we should call him."

"Lyssa, he doesn't have a phone."

"Mom? Dad?" called Cian, shooting me a wary look. All three of us knew who the two adults were discussing. The expression on Cian's face told me he was more than a little concerned about it.

There was silence from the living room, and then the noise of heavy footsteps in our direction. I inhaled as his parents rounded the corner, both of their faces tightened unpleasantly, as if they were about to do something they didn't want to. His father, dressed in a suit as lavish as the house that surrounded him, began with, "Cian, we need to—"

He broke off. His eyes had landed on Vinny.

He tugged at his wife's sleeve. She looked as dumbfounded as he, her eyes wide. "Alyssa, are you seeing...?"

"Yes," Vinny said, and they both flinched, like they'd been expecting him to remain silent. "You're both seeing me. You're not crazy. It's a long story, but...I'm back."

More silence. Vinny blinked at his parents, and they blinked back at him, but they said nothing.

Then his mother cried out, "Vincent!" and charged him, pulling him into her grasp and refusing to let go. Vinny squeaked a little, and Cian warned his mother that he wasn't used to his body yet, but she didn't seem to loosen her grip. She just hugged her son and wept into his shoulder, her whole body trembling. Vinny's father stood beside her, resting a hand on his son's back and swiping at tears of his own.

Feeling out of place in such a familial moment, I turned to Cian, who was watching the whole ordeal with admiration written all over him. He looked at me as if he'd just noticed I was there, frowning. "Everything okay?" he asked me.

I nodded, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "Yeah. I'm going to wait upstairs, okay? Come and find me when you're done."

"Lucie, you can stay."

I shook my head, glancing back to the scene. Vinny had been released, but his mother was now kissing him repeatedly on the face. Vinny, for the first time in years, blushed as red as a firetruck and tried to shoo her off. Cian and I both chuckled.

I said, "I really shouldn't."

"Lulu," Cian murmured.

I stared at him. It was the first time I'd ever heard the name in his mouth. I shivered with pleasure.

He pulled at my hand and brought me closer to him, tipping my chin up. So near to him, everything felt warm, like being beside a hearth on a cozy winter night. His voice was low. "Lulu," he said again. "Do you love me?"

I frowned at him. "Of course I do."

He smiled. I could tell he did so because he'd already known the answer. "Then I'm doing the right thing," Cian said, and brought his mouth to mine.

Surprised, I tried in vain to pull away, to no avail. Cian released my hand, sliding his arms around my hips and pulling me closer, locking me in his grasp. We were in front of his parents. What was he thinking, doing this here, now, of all places? I loved him, sure, but he was still a bumbling fool at times. He held me against him, his mouth sliding hotly over my own, then slipping over my jaw and to my ear, where he whispered: "Don't fight me, Lucie. Just go with it."

I went with it.

I went with it because I had no choice. He blinded me with his touch, with his muttered words in my ears, with the passion with which he kissed me. He kissed me like I was the cure to his sickness, kissed me like it was the last chance he'd ever get, kissed me like the song had flourished and crescendoed and reached this thrilling climax.

When he released me, I felt a little dizzy. My skin was burning with pleasure.

His three family members were staring at us. Sheepishly, I adjusted my shirt and tried to look innocent.

Cian said, "Dad. Mom. This is Lucie, the girl I love, and if you want to tell me it's not a good idea, then speak now. Just know I won't be listening. I'll leave, and I'll take my brother with me."

I stared at him. He'd told me his dad had said something to him about me, but I hadn't known it was serious enough that he'd go this far. I felt a little out of place there, under the scrutiny of these people, their eyes searching and curious.

Vinny blushed even redder. He looked away.

It was his mother who stepped forward first, placing her hand in her son's. She gave me a smile that was surprisingly congenial for the way Cian had described her to me—image being her priority—and said, "Don't leave, Cian. I'm overjoyed that you've found someone; I don't care what she looks like. If she's changed you like this, made you the man you are today, and brought my youngest son back—I'm glad you've found her. I'm glad, CJ."

I decided not to argue that, technically, Vinny had brought himself back, and just muttered a quiet thank you. Cian pecked his mother on the cheek, slipping an arm around me, and looked towards his dad. He didn't have to say anything. The inquiry was a tacit thing, manifest in his grim expression.

His father nodded at him. "Congratulations, kiddo. And to your lady too."

Cian's grin grew. When he smiled like that, it was easy to forget all his poor soul had been through, easy to forget the scars on his face and their origin. Cian grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the front door, calling to Vinny and the rest of the congregation: "We'll be back in in a sec."

On the front porch, Cian pulled the door shut and sat down on the edge of the stoop. The porch was broad and homely, complete with an array of ornate patio furniture and a porch swing filled to the brim with artsy pillows. Light fixtures hung from the stone awning, a potted plant or two set against the painted wood to spruce it up.

Plopping down beside Cian, I squinted at him. "You could have just said that, you know. You didn't have to kiss me first."

"Oh, but I did," he said. "It made it more fun."

I punched him in the shoulder for that, and got the satisfaction of hearing him groan, even if I was ninety percent sure he made the noise just to make me feel worthy. "Any reason you brought me out here?" I asked after a beat.

He lifted his arm and wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I sighed and settled against his shoulder, taking in the scent of him as he draped an arm across me and held me tight. His lips met my temple. "To get away," he told me, and I was reminded of the time he'd picked me up from school and given me the same reason. "To be alone. To talk."

"Let's talk."

"Okay."

"Vinny's back."

"Yes," Cian said.

"And we need to take him shopping."

The glimpse he gave me asked the question for him. I clarified, "He can't wear those damn swim trunks forever. I'm starting to get sick of them."

Cian laughed; I felt it grow in his chest like a songbird's lyric, hefty and authentic. I remembered when it was hard to get him to laugh at all, when it was a choked noise that took work and work and more work to get out of him. Now, however, it came as easy as the tides. "Don't hate on him, Lucie. Those are his favorite."

"Yeah, well they're not everyone else's. In fact, as soon as he gets out of them, I'm going to—"

"You cannot burn my brother's swim trunks," Cian said, and I whined. His hands moved through the curls in my hair, rhythmically twining and untwining. We sat there for a while, no words on our lips, watching San Francisco's day turn to San Francisco's night, cars slowly driving by. Lights flickered on, people flooded the street; the bay turned black without the sun to highlight it.

There was laughter from within the house. In the silence, I turned my head, burying it against the skin of Cian's neck. I felt him exhale, listened to the steady heartbeat there, like the drone of a percussionist's strike. "Cian?"

"Yes, muffin?"

"You told me, once, that ever since the accident, you've hated yourself," I said, massaging his knuckles. I let my eyes flutter closed. "That you've been trying to repay Vinny for what you did, what you thought you did."

I waited for him to say something, like, No, what I know I did, but there was only silence.

"Now that he's alive," I went on, a bit wary, "now that you have him, do you think you'll finally give up? Do you see now—that it's time to forgive yourself?"

Seagulls called distantly; the moon grinned at us from its extraterrestrial perch. In this moment, in the night, with Cian against me, it felt as if—just this once—everything was okay.

Cian must have felt the same. I heard the smile in his voice.

"I see, Lulu," he told me. "I see as clear as day."