Labyrinth Lost (Brooklyn Brujas #1)(80)

Nova stands in a blue hoodie and jeans. It doesn’t look very warm, but he doesn’t shiver. I instinctively look at his hands. His fingertips have started to turn black with marks again.

I go to close the door in his face, but he puts his hand on it.

“I know you’ll never forgive me,” he says.

“That’s right.” I don’t look at him. I can’t because I know that a sick, twisted part of me cares for him. I’ll just never be able to look at him the same way.

“But you have to know that I wasn’t lying about the way I felt for you. That was real. Every little bit.”

“I believe you,” I say.

I have so many questions, like: Where have you been? Where did you go while we were all in the hospital? If you love me so much, then why did you vanish? If you love me so much, then why did you still hurt me?

Not all loves are meant to last forever. Some burn like fire until there is nothing left but ash and black ink on skin. Others, like the love I feel for Rishi, stay close to the heart so I’ll never forget.

“What are you doing here, Nova?”

He looks to the side, like he’s being watched. “There is nothing I can do to make you forgive me. But this is a start.”

He turns and runs down the front steps and back onto the street, leaving his footprints on the snow. I run after him, but he’s quick and vanishes around the corner.

“Wait!”

I realize there’s more than one set of prints in the snow.

There’s Nova’s and mine—and a third.

I whip around. Inhale so much cold air I think my insides are frozen. On the porch is a face I thought I’d never see again. It’s like looking through a foggy window.

From the house, my mom yells, “Shut that door! You’re letting out the heat!”

But I can’t move. Every part of my body is locked. I think my heart has stopped beating.

“Alex, what—?”

Lula and Rose run out to see what’s happened, but they scream too. Lula rubs her eyes as they adjust to the dim porch light, and she clamps her mouth shut in disbelief.

He looks older, that’s for sure. There’s recognition in his eyes but also confusion. It’s like he’s trying so hard to remember our faces, like he’s one of the lost souls in Campo de Almas.

I say the word carefully, like it’s made of glass. “Dad?”