Page 64 of His Angel

“He was there for me so many times. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren't for him.” I sniff. “I miss him.”

“Fuck,” Isaia lets go of me and stands, “I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Sit there, holding you while you talk about him.”

I narrow my teary eyes. “He was my friend, Isaia.”

“And the man who tried to take you from me.”

I get to my feet, wiping at my wet cheeks. “He thought I was in danger. He was trying to protect me. That’s all he ever tried to do. And you—” I still, biting my tongue, and Isaia studies me.

“And I what?” he grits out. “I killed him for it?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what?” He holds out his arms, his face etched with hard lines and bitterness. “That I didn’t apologize? I told you, Everly, I will never fucking apologize for?—”

“Isaia, stop!” I cry. “Please. Anthony was mybestfriend, and I lost him.”

His jaw clenches as I say his name.

“No matter how it happened. No matter who told the lies or pulled the trigger, I lost him. And I’m allowed to grieve. I’m allowed to cry. I’m allowed to miss him without worrying you’ll go off the rails because of it.”

Isaia's face pales, and the stillness in the room is punctuated only by our ragged breaths. He looks stricken, caught between his jealousy and his need to comfort me. I see the struggle etched in his handsome features, in the way he clenches his fists at his side.

“You are my world,” he starts, lips pulled tight. “I love you, Everly. And I’m allowed to hate him. I’m allowed to feel anger, and jealousy, and resentment. I’m allowed to despise every memory you cherish of him. And I’m allowed to be relieved that he’s gone.”

The room seems to shrink, the four walls bearing down on us like the weight of our truths is bleeding into our souls.

“Do you resent me?”

“No.” I lift my gaze to meet his. “I don’t resent you. I resent myself…for loving the man who killed my best friend.”

His eyes flash a swirling medley of emotions too complex to name, and for a moment, I fear he might argue, that he might raise his voice, that he might turn his back and walk away.

“It’s hard,” I continue. “To think of him, and miss him, and wish I could see him just one more time while I’m so deeply in love with you, Isaia, that the thought of living without you is far worse than the reality of living without him.”

His eyes soften slightly, and he takes a step closer. “Everly?—”

“Don’t you get it?” I lean my head to the side, hoping he can see the truth in my eyes. “I don’t blame you for what you did. I can’t…not when you were doing the same thing he was.” I sigh, wiping at a tear. “Trying to protect me.”

It’s like time stands still, his gaze never leaving mine, my words adding weight to the air around us. It’s never easy to read him, to try to figure out what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking. The emotional script in his eyes offers a vague inkling, but the deeper context remains shrouded.

Maybe that’s part of the allure, the mystery, the excitement of the unpredictable. But as the silence stretches, an unease seeps in, his gaze growing darker, shadows starting to cling to every line on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and fractured.

My heart slams to a dead stop, a hollow thud echoing in my chest as I watch him turn and walk out. The words slice through me—sharp and merciless—each step he takes carving deeper, his silhouette swallowed by the hall’s shadows.

I’m frozen, breath snagged, my mind clawing at his apology, ripping it open. Sorry for what?

For not being able to comfort me when I grieve my friend?

For hating that I miss him.

Or—God help me—did he just whisper regret for pulling the trigger, for spilling my best friend’s blood across that church floor?

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