“To where? The Pit is full, and Butch and V swear like truckers. They’re worse than me.”

“Well, I thought maybe we could ask Trez if he’d be willing to switch rooms with us? We could be up on the third floor in those bedrooms he and iAm use? I mean, both suites are their own spaces and have their own bathrooms, but we’d be so close if Bitty needed us.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Holding his Mary against him, he became curiously aware of the great space that surrounded them. In the dim lighting, the gym’s contours and corners were mostly obscured in shadow, the bald bleachers, the ropes that hung from the ceiling, the basketball markings on the shiny pine floors nothing but footnotes in the cavernous interior.

Rhage frowned, thinking there was a metaphor here.

The world was kind of like this, vast and empty except for who you loved, nothing but a warmer version of space filled with random junk you bumped into. The grounding was your family, your friends, your tribe of like minds. Without that?

He broke away and started to walk around.

No pirouettes for him.

“Rhage?”

He thought about what she’d said, about those meetings with the social worker, him with his beast, her with her . . . unusual situation. And then he remembered lying on the field of that abandoned campus, him on the ground, her over him, his Mary fighting to keep him alive even though they had an out that in a moment like that was a miracle, indeed.

When he stopped, it was on the free-throw line. No basketball in his hands, no hoop to shoot it through, no line-ups of teammates and opponents. There was an urgency, though.

He stared up to where the basket would have been, if the great metal arm with its glass square had been lowered from the ceiling into place.

“Mary, I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

Looking over at her, he found it difficult to speak, and he had to clear his throat. “If we . . . if you and I end up with Bitty? If we take her in as our own, I want you to promise . . .” The center of his chest began to burn. “If I die, you have to stay here with her. You can’t leave her behind, okay? If I go, you stay. I won’t have that little girl losing another full set of parents. Not gonna happen.”

Mary put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, lowering her head.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said hoarsely. “If I die, I’ll wait for you in the Fade just like everyone else does. Hell, I’ll watch over the two of you from the clouds. I’ll be an angel to you both. But you . . . you have to stay with her.”

Bitty, after all, was going to live longer than he would. That was the way you hoped and prayed it worked. Children succeeded their parents, took their places, walked in future paths carrying on the traditions and the lessons so that that which had been passed down could be passed on again.

It was immortality for the mortal.

And that was true whether you birthed your young or opened your arms to them.

“You stay here, Mary.”

As the implications of Rhage’s request started to sink in, Mary felt her heart pound and her body break out in a cold sweat.

Even though she had confessed a desire to keep him on the planet for exactly the rationale he was laying out, to hear him put it like that? The whole thing made her queasy, returning her to that moment when she’d thought she was going to lose him—even though, at that time, she’d been aware she could go find him in the Fade.

It was as if he were once more lying there gasping for breath he could not quite catch, bleeding inside his chest, slipping away even as his body stayed before her.

Then she thought of Bitty in the back of the GTO, crying, lost, alone.

“Yes,” Mary said roughly. “I will stay. For her. For however long she is alive, I’ll stay with her.”

Rhage exhaled long and slow. “That’s good. That’s . . .”

They met in the middle, each walking toward the other, and when they embraced, she put her head to the side of his heavy chest, hearing his heartbeat right next to her ear. Staring off across the dimly lit gym, she hated the choice she had just made, the vow she had just taken . . . and at the same time, she was so very grateful for it.

“She can’t know,” Mary blurted as she pushed back a little and looked up. “Bitty can’t know about me—at least not until after she makes her decision. I don’t want her fear of being alone coloring the choice she’s going to have to make. If she wants to come with us, it has to be because she chooses to freely. All the death in her life can be part of it, but it can’t be all of it.”

“Agreed.”

Mary went back to being close to him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They stood there in the gym for the longest time. And then Rhage switched his hold on her, extending one set of their arms out to the side, and snaking his other around her waist.

“Dance with me?” he said.

She laughed a little. “To what kind of music?”

“Anything. Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Just dance with me here in the dark.”

For some reason, tears pricked her eyes as they started to move, swaying at first, the shuffle of their feet over the smooth floor and the rustle of their clothes the only auditory accompaniment. Soon, they found a rhythm, and then he was leading her in a waltz, an old-fashioned, proper waltz that he was far better at than she was.

Sweeping around the empty space, she discovered that a symphony started to play in her mind, the strings and the flutes, the timpani drums and the trumpets giving majesty and power to their dancing.

Around and around they went until she was smiling up at him even as a tear fell.

She knew what he was doing. She knew exactly why he had asked her to do this.

He was reminding her that the future was unknown and unknowable.

So if you had the chance . . . even if there was no music and no ballgown, no tuxedo or gala . . . when your true love asked you to dance?

It was important to say yes.

Vishous stood outside of the gym, looking through one of the steel doors that had the glass windows with chicken wire running through them.

Rhage and Mary were dancing in the empty space, twirling around, the female’s smaller body held tightly and led by her male’s much, much larger one. They were looking at each other, staring into each other’s eyes. Shit, you could swear there was a quartet or maybe a full orchestra playing in there, the way they moved so well together.

He wasn’t much of a dancer himself.

Besides, you couldn’t waltz to Rick Ross or Kendrick Lamar.

Taking out a hand-rolled from the ass pocket of his leathers, he lit up and exhaled as he leaned a shoulder on the jamb and continued to watch.

You had to respect the two of them, he thought. Going after that kid, trying to make a family happen. Then again, Rhage and Mary were always on the same page, nothing ruffling their relationship, everything always perfect.

Which was what happened when you paired a levelheaded therapist with Brad Pitt and Channing Tatum’s love child: cosmic harmony.

God, in comparison, his and Jane’s relationship seemed kind of . . . clinical.

No dancing in the dark for them, not unless it was the horizontal kind—and when was the last time that had happened? Jane had been flat-out at the clinic, and he’d been dealing with all kinds of shit.

Okay, this was weird. Even though he was not one for envy—it, along with so many emotions, was just a waste of fucking time—he did find himself wishing he was a little closer to normal. Not that he apologized for his kink, or the fact that he was predominantly a head guy, not a heart guy. Still, when he stood like this on the outside looking in at what his brother had, he did feel broken in some unnamed way.