Surrender by June Gray

noticing for the first time the faded tattoo of wings on his shoulders.
    I hesitated by the door, taking note of the glass balcony walls and my distinct lack of clothing.
    He sensed my hesitation and held out his hand. “Fly with me.”
    I walked out onto the balcony, surprised to feel the concrete warm beneath my feet, and came to a stop before the nearly invisible railing. He came up behind me and lifted my hands to the sides, and it was almost as if he were leading me to the edge of the world, two birds ready to soar.
    I closed my eyes to the thousands of sparkling lights around us just as the breeze picked up, feeling it sift through my hair and wrap around me like a promise.
    â€œSometimes I feel like I’m weighed down here on earth,” I found myself confessing with my eyes still shut. “But being here with you . . . for the first time in a long time I feel . . . light.”
    â€œWhy?” he asked so softly I almost didn’t hear. “What is it that’s dragging you down?”
    I took a deep breath and let it out, along with the worries and doubts. Here, thirty-eight floors above the world, it was just Neal and me, without adornments or armor. “Five years ago, I was engaged,” I said, rubbing the phantom ring on my left hand. The day Jason had suggested we get married, I’d put on a silver band in anticipation of a real engagement ring and had worn it through the months he was deployed. “We were going to get married after he came home from deployment.”
    Neal nodded, maybe sensing where this story was headed.
    â€œBut he died before he could come home. Killed by a sniper in Kabul.” Even after I found out about his death, I’d worn the ring, kept spinning it around and around on my finger while I prayed that the reports were wrong.
    Neal’s eyebrows drew together, his lips growing tight.
    â€œLife was . . . tough after that. I didn’t leave my room, my apartment, for weeks. Eventually my mom came and tried to snap me out of it. It worked for some time. I stayed with her and she tried her best to make me forget. But you can’t forget something like that.” I swiped at the tear streaking down my cheek.
    â€œBut you’re here right now, doing well,” he said in a pained voice.
    I didn’t know if he meant it as a statement or a question. It didn’t matter either way. “I haven’t felt the same since his death. Like he took the best of me with him to the grave. And I’ll always resent him a little for that.” I opened my eyes and stared down at the streets below. “I probably shouldn’t say that about someone who died. It wasn’t like it was his choice to go.”
    â€œThat’s bullshit,” he said so roughly I whipped my head around in surprise. “Why aren’t we supposed to speak ill of the dead? Why should we romanticize their lives, as if they were perfect? If his death took away your chance at happiness then no amount of whitewashing will make that go away.”
    My chest threatened to cave in on itself, making it difficult to say anything.
    He moved away from me and leaned on the railing. He put his head in his hands and was silent for a long time. When at last he looked up, the gloom was gone and in its place was grim determination. Without warning, he lunged forward and took hold of my face, kissing me hard and deep. There was a different texture to this kiss—a new, more desperate kind of need—but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what had changed.
    He kissed me on that balcony for a long time, grasping the back of my head to bring me closer, pinning my body against the railing with his own.
    His chest was heaving when he pulled away, his gaze almost frightening in its intensity. “I’m sorry,” he said before stalking off inside.

4
    â€œDon’t go,” I said, holding out my hand, hoping this time