we sleep at sunset | 18+

24 | Lightning

By the time we reach his house, the sky has darkened to an early twilight, and the rain has settled into a steady pour.

He's stirred up feelings in me that I didn't know were around. What are we now? Friends? More?

Greyson's grip on my hand is tight, tugging me faster than I want to go.

I want slow and I want time. I want patience! Why's that so hard?

As we round the final bend, the sight that greets us is...odd. It's a man, standing by a sleek black sedan, holding a large black umbrella. His skin is dark, his hair cropped close, and he's dressed entirely in black, as if he's attending a funeral.

He's holding something small and oval in his hand, and it's not until we're almost upon him that I realize it's not a rock, but a small urn.

"Mr. Greyson Scott," he addresses, nodding slightly. His voice is deep, calm, clear.

Greyson halts, releasing my hand to stand squarely in front of the man. "Mr. Soren?"

"Indeed." The man extends the urn toward Greyson, who takes it with both hands, cradling it.

I stand there, drenched and shivering as I blink away the rain, staring at the urn. It's small, made of polished stone.

"My mother's ashes." Grey's eyes are locked on the urn, his expression unreadable. "They finally released them." He looks at me, his eyes dark pools of pain. "Dad didn't want to file the paperwork, so I did. I want to put her to rest, properly. She deserves that. I've been waiting to... to say goodbye."

Because he never got to.

When we got home that day from school, the day Serena left, she was already gone. Grey was eight, I was six, and both of us thought she'd be back. Groceries, maybe. A walk. A drive around the south end—she liked to take us on drives, listen to music, laugh, point out the birds flying above the lake.

But she never came back, not that night, not the week later, and not ever. Grey never got his goodbye.

Mr. Soren reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope, shielded from the rain by his broad umbrella. He hands it to Greyson.

The front is adorned with elegant cursive that reads, To my beautiful boy.

"From Serena," Mr. Soren adds quietly. Greyson's hands tremble as he takes the envelope, his eyes wide, lips parting slightly in a mix of confusion and shock. "It was with her personal effects. She left it two years ago."

Greyson stares down at the envelope. His eyes flicking up to Mr. Soren then back to the script on the paper like that little boy who waited all those years ago on the front steps, holding my hand tight, not letting go.

Mr. Soren clears his throat. "I'll be on my way."

The man is gone as quick as he was here, driving away.

I glance around. It's eerily quiet. It makes my stomach knot up.

"Your dad's not back," I murmur.

He shakes his head, preoccupied, and nods to the house.

We trudge inside, the heavy door thudding shut behind us, sealing off the sound of the rain. Grey doesn't bother to take off his shoes; he just walks right through to the living room and collapses onto the sofa. His shoes leave muddy prints on the carpet, and he doesn't seem to care.

I pause by the door, slipping off my own sodden shoes, squeezing water from my hair.

Teeth chattering, I go to the hallway closet to grab towels. I rub one briskly over my hair, then I lay the other on Greyson's shoulder. Then I touch my lips, noting their slight puffiness.