me to be able to face what Malcom did that day, and to a certain degree, I will always blame myself for what happened at that food court. But forty-eight people gained their angel wings that day. And it seemed like a tragedy to allow guilt to steal a life that had been spared. I got this as a reminder that I have a lot of angels I need to live for.”
I physically ached, and tears welled in my eyes as I silently counted each feather, ticking off all the names I’d memorized shortly after the shooting. My therapist had told me that it wasn’t healthy to obsess about the victims. But how could I not?
Caven turned his arm over, palm up, as I gently tapped each one, working my way around.
My parents would be last. My father was the first to die in that shooting, but as a girl, when I fell asleep at night reciting that list of victims like most people would count sheep, I’d hoped that somehow, someway, when I got to the end, my parents’ names would no longer be there.
They always were.
And it was no different as I got to the last few feathers on Caven’s arm.
Robert.
Keira.
I stilled my finger, lingering over the longest feather that ran from wrist to elbow on the blade of his ulna. I’d seen that tattoo countless times over the last few months, but for the first time, I noticed that this particular feather was a deep red instead of black.
“Forty-nine,” I whispered, peering up at him in question.
His face warmed as he stared down at me, his blue eyes twinkling with unshed emotion. “That one’s for a different kind of angel.”
“Your mom?”
He shook his head. “I tried to help this little girl when the shooting first started, but she ended up saving my life. I’ve always thought of her as my guardian angel of sorts.”
My.
Heart.
Stopped.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My entire body felt like it was shutting down.
Everything except for my head, which was screaming for him to say my name.
But if he said it, I’d be forced to take the final plunge. Dive into the deep. Past the point of no return.
There was no hiding that my supposed sister’s name was Willow. When I’d told Beth that I wanted to come back for Rosalee, she’d argued with me tooth and nail, determined to point out every possible angle in which my plan would fail.
She came up with nothing.
But the one thing she’d repeated over and over again as we flew back from Puerto Rico was that if I went to Caven—if I became Hadley Banks—Willow would have to be gone. Forever.
And that meant, if the day came and Caven realized Willow Banks was the girl from the mall, I was going to have to sit back and lie to the only man who ever deserved the truth.
At the time, I didn’t think it would matter. As far as I knew, Caven had never thought of me again after that day in the mall. I’d spent the better part of my adolescence trying to get in touch with him, but he’d never reached out to me. I’d gambled on coming back thinking he wouldn’t even make the connection with my last name. And for months, he hadn’t.
But there it was.
A red feather on his arm.
Proof that he remembered me.
Thought about me.
Cared about me.
He thought I was his guardian angel.
A pained chill traveled down my spine.
I had known that this day would come, but I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t ready for Willow to be gone forever.
I wasn’t ready to lie and watch the man I owed everything mourn for the girl sitting directly in front of him.
If he said her name, I’d have no choice but to tell him. And that couldn’t happen. Though I wasn’t sure what was going to come out of my mouth if and when I opened it.
My mind told me to stay on track. To focus on Rosalee.
But my heart—it screamed at deafening decibels to confess it all.
I’m Willow.
I’m Willow.
I’m Willow.
In the end, I said nothing.
“Christ, do I know how to ruin a night or what?” He dragged me on top of his lap, cradling me as tears dripped from my chin. He lifted the bottom of his shirt, bringing it up to wipe my face. “You know, one of these days, we’re going to hang out and I’m not going to make you cry.”
I wasn’t so sure about that.
“Good tears,” I lied.
He shot