Photo Credit: Instagram – ViewsOfEmeralds.

Title: True Angels Fly Without Wings.

I blow out a heavy breath. And then another. And another. All while I blink back my emotions. Push back my tears.

“Do you like it?” she signs, her hands low so I can see them.

I look up at her, my bottom lip between my teeth to stop the trembling. “It’s beautiful, Becs. You captured your grams…” The lump in my throat prevents me from saying anything more, but she knows what I mean, because she nods, her hands cupping my face, thumbs swiping at my closed lids, removing the tears caught in my lashes.

When I open my eyes, she’s smiling at me. Her hands leave me to sign, “Have you seen that couple before?”

I shake my head. “Never.”

She switches to her phone again, knowing what she wants to tell me might be too advanced for my sign language skills. I took it when I was with her during spring break. They’re a homeless couple from the park. Did you know she goes there often to hand out food?

I nod. “She’s always done it. Tommy and I have gone with her a few times, but not for a while.”

We stole a bunch of shoes and clothes from your garage and spent the day handing them out on the streets and in shelters. Sorry. I meant to tell you… She chews her lips, peeking up at me, waiting for my reaction.

I laugh once. “I don’t care.”

She seems to relax. So you really like it?

“I really do, Becs.”

Good. I want to make Grams proud. And you, too. I know how much she means to you.

“Becs…”

She curls her hand around my neck and pulls my face to her bare shoulder, letting me use it to wipe the stupid tears away. I can handle most things life throws at me, but not this. Not the life He seemed to choose for Chaz. “It’s not fair,” I murmur, forgetting for a moment we may possibly have an audience.

Becca presses her lips to mine, soft and warm, and she leaves them there. Not kissing. Not really doing anything but letting me know she heard me.

I’m the first to pull away, eyes scanning the table to find fifteen sets of eyes watching us. I clear my throat and sit up higher, throwing an arm around Becca’s shoulders. “We should celebrate,” I mumble.

I order a round of tequila shots for everyone. Followed by another. Then four more. Until we’re that table at the restaurant. Young, drunk, and obnoxiously loud.

“Are you any good?” Pete yells across the table, his eyes glazed from the alcohol.

“Good?” I ask, leaning forward so I can hear him. “At what in particular?”

He rolls his eyes. “At skateboarding! Are you good?”

I rear back a little, confused by his question. Becca settles her hand on her stomach to ease the ache of her continuous laughter.

The guy next to me, I have no idea what his name is. Let’s call him… Bob. So Bob yells, “He’s a pro skater, asshole. Of course he’s good!”

Ah, so Becca did tell them about me. I was beginning to wonder if anyone besides Pete knew about me or if I was just Becca Owens’s boyfriend from out of town. Not that I’d care.

“I skated once,” he tells me. “Figure skating. On ice.”

The table erupts with laughter.

The That’s-So-Becca girl—Fuck, I should really learn their names—yells, “Not at all the same thing, douche hole!”

“I want to see you skate!” Pete yells, waving a finger between us.

“You can just type in my name on YouTube,” I tell him.

He repeats my words mockingly, and maybe I should be offended, but the laughter around me has me guessing this is just Pete being Pete.

The waitress approaches, asking if we’d like to order anything else. I lean in close to Becca and ask, “Are we here for the rest of the night?”

She rubs my newly shaved head. I don’t know why. She’s been doing it all night. Then she signs, “We normally close out the place.”

I order a few pitchers of beer for the table and another round of shots. “Actually, just leave the tequila bottle here,” I tell the waitress.

She scoffs. “The manager’s going to want you to pay for your meals and drinks and keep a card at the bar before I can get you anything else.”

In unison, everyone at the table moans as they reach for their wallets.

“I got it,” I shout.

Becca grasps my arm. “Sure?” she mouths.

I hand the waitress my card. She stares at the black American Express I just handed her, cocks an eyebrow, and then looks at me. “Yeah, I’m going to need to see some ID.”