No, I want to ask how long he’s thought I’d choose Zion over him.
“Tell me,” I say instead. I hold his gaze until he understands what I mean. “Eli, I’m listening.”
And that’s what sets him off. He sobs through a story I know—when Zion came out, the Robertses’ world changed. Silence overwhelmed their cozy life. The image of a strong Black family in a political landscape grayed. Everything Zion said or how he moved was observed with judgmental eyes from his parents.
Eli didn’t understand any of it.
Wasn’t Zion still... Zion?
A week after coming out, Lashae stopped speaking to Zion.
A month later, Carl said, “Maybe you could look at moving out. Start fresh. You’ll be in college soon. This’ll be good for you.”
He meant to sayGood forus andA gay son isn’t part of a mayor in the South’s plans.
He meant to say they were kicking Zion out.
That’s when I came along. Humans are assigned a Guardian at different points in their lives. Some at birth, some later. That whole “everything happens for a reason” saying is kind of true. The Glorious One has a divine plan none of us know about.
Eli tells me another thing I know—he’s terrified of incurring the same fate as Zion. He knows he’s not straight. He fears his mother’s cold silence. His father sending him away. He knows that there are far worse things in life than getting into a silly fight at school or dumpster diving or not waiting for a crosswalk signal to change.
Sometimes, the most harm happens in the places you’re supposed to feel the safest.
According toThe Guide, I’m not supposed to have physical contact with my charge other than to protect them from potential threats or healing. But right now,The Guidecan’t fix Eli. I’m starting to think it can’t fix me either.
I tug him in until his sobs dampen my shoulder. I allow everything else he needs to say to fall from his mouth. Then I whisper what I should’ve said earlier: “You don’t have to come out. Not to your parents or your classmates or Zion, if you don’t feel he’ll keep you safe.”
I brush a hand over his hair, missing the Eli from before.
“Protect yourself,” I say quietly. “Just like I’ll protect you. Sometimes, telling one person who’ll be there for you is enough.”
“Will you be—”
“I’ll be there,” I confirm before he can finish.
When he’s shivered out all the tears, I cup his jaw. Heat floods from my fingers to his skin. Slivers of bluish glow, like the light of a new moon, surround us. Eli finally lets me heal his bruise.
It’s a shame I can’t heal myself and what I just left behind.
Eli called Zion. Not by my suggestion. He wanted his brother here. Truth is, I do too.
They sit together on an unmoving merry-go-round. Eli’s shaking again. But he’s letting it all out. Moonbeams cover them as Zion nods along.
He’s finally listening.
“You’re going to pick the brat, aren’t you?”
I smell Gabe before I see him. Cinnamon and the blackened tip of a used matchstick. He appears next to me, skin pale like a frosted lake. His eyes—gold pools surrounded by obsidian—trace my face, a sleek grin perched on his lips.
“He’s not a brat,” I say.
Right now, anyway.
Gabe laughs. It’s acidic like venom to anyone close enough to hear. Except me. I like his laugh, his companionship. Friendships with a Fallen aren’t forbidden. More frowned upon. I’ve certainly done worse to annoy the Glorious One.
“You should tell him,” insists Gabe. “The other boy.”
“Would it work?” I whisper. Eli and Zion are far too immersed in their discussion to hear me. Plus, only the Above can see Fallen. “Me and him?”