Page 159 of Caught in the Crossfire

“Piccola,” he whispered, crouching in front of me. “Tell me.”

I broke out sobbing again. “The cages. The cold.”

He nodded, not needing any other explanation. His hands cupped my cheeks. “Come here. Just like on the ship. You’re going to be fine.”

He maneuvered us so he sat against the wall where I used to be, and I hid my face against his chest. His arms circled me, and my muscles began to relax.

Cas stood above us, looking completely devastated. I didn’t just want Max. I wanted him too. I needed them both. My best friends. I would die without them.

“Cas,” I whimpered, reaching for him.

He met my outstretched hand and sat down, crowding against my back. They formed a protective barrier around me. Their combined warmth began to burn away the cold.

“Now would be a great time for that astronaut nightlight,” Max said lightly while he held me. He craned his head to look at the ceiling. “It would actually look pretty cool in here.”

I closed my eyes and let Max’s words wash over me. The memories faded into the distance. They weren’t real. They were still there, but not all-consuming.

“Keep talking,” I murmured.

“Remember that one time when you put toothpaste in my Oreos?”

The memory was so random, so different from what we weredealing with. It was like the shock of a defibrillator to my brain instead of my heart.

Behind me, Cas chuckled. “You ate two before you even realized. I’ll never forget that stupid look you had on your face.”

Max scoffed. “Forgive me for enjoying a tasty treat now and then, and thinking my best friends wouldn’t tamper with it.”

“You never bought the big Oreo sleeves after that.” I smiled, remembering his outrage. “Only the packaged sets.”

“I wonder why,” Max returned. “And then, after that debacle, the two of you decided to put shaving cream in all my shoes.”

That time I chuckled, picturing how much of a fit he threw when his socks got soaked. “Your new loafers! You were so mad.”

“They were brand new,” he deadpanned. “You ruined them.”

“They matched your dad’s,” Cas said with a laugh. “You wanted to be just like him. You were so sad your new pair wasn’t the same shade.”

At the mention of his dad, Max stiffened. “It’s not my fault I have impeccable fashion taste and you don’t.”

“Oh, sorry we don’t all wear designer,” Cas snorted. “Some of us were poor, you know.”

The two of them kept bantering, and every second that passed felt like I gained a firmer grip on who I was and where I was. I was Leona Vero. I was in the tunnels underneath New York City. This was real.

What happened on the ship was over. That pain was old. It was behind me now. I was fine.

Cas’s hand traced patterns on my arm. Max’s hand rested on my lower back.

“How are you doing,piccola?” Max murmured.

Their touches grounded me. The onslaught of panic subsided. My breathing slowed. My hands stopped shaking. “A little better.”

“Good.”

The quiet stretched between us. I stared at his father’s blue-faced watch and how the hands ticked the seconds away.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I said against Max’s chest, the same words I’d whispered to the space between us when he comforted me on the boat. Cas squeezed my hand.

“I know,” Max answered, following his assigned script. His fingers were so gentle as they cradled my head.