Soul Screamers Collection. Rachel Vincent

      “The soul song.” My father pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if to physically hold back tears, but his face was still wet when he looked at me again. “I thought it was for me. You needed your mother more than you needed me, and I was ready to go. But as I stood there holding you, the reaper showed himself.”

      “He let you see him?” Nash interrupted from my side. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

      My father nodded. “He stood in the grass, on the shoulder of the road. He smiled at me, with this creepy little grin, like he knew what I was thinking. I told him I was ready to go. I gave you to your mother, and you were still singing this beautiful, high-pitched song, like a bird. I felt so peaceful, thinking that the last thing I would hear was you singing my soul song.” He paused, and this time the tears actually fell. “But I should have known better, because your mother wasn’t singing with you.”

      I stared across the countertop at my dad, mesmerized, my supper forgotten.

      “The bastard took her instead.” My father’s fist hit the tile hard enough to shake the whole bar, and his jaw bulged with fresh fury. “He just looked at Darby, and she collapsed. I had to lunge for you, to keep you from hitting the ground when she fell.”

      “Kaylee, breathe,” Nash said, rubbing my back. At some point during the story, I’d stopped inhaling, and didn’t even realize it until Nash spoke.

      “She died because of me?” My hands fisted, and my fingernails bit into my palms.

      “No. Baby, no.” My dad leaned forward then, to look directly into my eyes. “She died because of me.” He took my hands and wouldn’t let them go, even when I tugged halfheartedly. “Because I insisted on going out. Because I swerved to avoid the deer. Because I wasn’t strong enough to make him take me instead. None of it was your fault.”

      But nothing he said could make me feel better. I was supposed to die, and because I hadn’t, my mother had. And even if she hadn’t, my father would have. Or maybe one of the people in the other car. The bottom line was that I was alive when I should have been dead, and my mother had paid the price.

      “So … borrowed time?” I twisted the knob on the stove to turn it off, and moved the pot onto a cold burner, acting out of habit, because I was numb with shock. “I’m living my mother’s life now? Is that what Aunt Val meant?”

      “Yes.” My father sat back on his stool, giving me plenty of space. “You’ll live until she was supposed to die. But don’t worry about that. I’m sure she would have had a very long life.”

      And that’s when I burst into tears.

      I’d held back until then, my sorrow eclipsed by overwhelming guilt over being the cause of my mother’s death. But thinking about how long her life should have been. That I couldn’t handle.

      Nash cleared his throat, drawing our attention. “She knew the risk, right, Mr. Cavanaugh?” He stared at my father with a blatantly expectant look on his face. “Kaylee’s mom knew what she was doing, right?”

      “Of course.” My dad nodded firmly. “She probably didn’t even realize I’d planned to make the exchange myself. She was willing to pay the price, or she would never have sung for you. I just… wanted to save her too. It was supposed to be me, but I lost you both that night. And I never really got you back, did I?”

      I forced back my next sob, rubbing spent tears from my cheeks with my palms. I was getting really good at not-crying. “I’m right here, Dad.” I set the strainer in the sink

      and dumped the pasta into it, then slammed the empty pot

      down on the countertop. “You left.”

      “I had to.” He sighed and shook his head. “At least, I thought I did. He came after you again, Kaylee. The reaper was furious that we saved you. He took your mother, but then he came back for you, two nights later. In the hospital. I would never have known it was coming if your grandmother hadn’t come in from Ireland after the wreck. She practically lived in your room with me, and she got a premonition of your death.”

      “Wait, I was supposed to die again?” My hand hesitated over the strainer.

      “No.” My father shook his head vehemently. “No. Your mother and I angered the reaper when we saved you. He came back for you out of spite. Your mother wasn’t hurt in the accident, and you were living on her time. There’s no way she should have died two days after you would have. So when he came for you the second time, I called him on it.”

      “Did he show himself?” Nash asked, and I glanced to my right to see him staring at my father, as fascinated as I was.

      My dad nodded. “He was an arrogant little demon.”

      “So what happened?” I asked.

      “I punched him.”

      For a moment, we stared at him in silence. “You punched the reaper?” I asked, and my hand fell from the strainer onto the edge of the sink.

      “Yeah.” He chuckled at the memory, and his grin brought out one of my own. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my father smile. “Broke his nose.”

      “How is that possible?” I asked Nash, thinking of his sort-of-friendship with Tod.

      “They have to take on physical form to interact with any physical object,” he said, fiddling with the long cardboard box the cheese had come in. “They can’t be killed, but they can definitely feel pain.”

      “And you know this how.?” I asked, pretty sure I knew the answer to that one too.

      Nash grinned. “Tod and I don’t always get along.” But then he turned back to my dad, serious again. “Why did the reaper come after Kaylee a second time?”

      “I don’t know, but I was afraid he’d do it again.” My father paused, and his half grin faded into a somber look of regret. “I sent you to Brendon to keep you safe. I was worried that if I stayed with you, he’d end up taking you too. So I sent you away. I’m sorry, Kaylee.”

      “I know.” I wasn’t quite up to accepting his apology

      yet, though the fact that he clearly meant it helped quite a bit. I dumped the pasta back into the empty pot and followed it with two fistfuls of cheese cubes. Then I turned the burner on medium heat and added salt, a little milk, and a spoonful of Aunt Val’s low-calorie margarine.

      I stared into the pot as I stirred. “How long are you staying?”

      “As long as you want me here,” he said, and something in his voice made me look up. Did that mean what I thought it meant?

      “What about your job?”

      He shrugged. “There are jobs here. Or, if you want, you could come back to Ireland with me. I’m sure your grandparents would love to see you.”

      I hadn’t seen them since the last time I’d seen my father, and I’d never been out of the country. But.

      My gaze was drawn to Nash. When he saw me looking,

      he nodded, but I wasn’t fooled. He didn’t want me to go, and that was enough for me.

      “I’d love to visit Ireland, but I live here, Dad.” I sprinkled some pepper into the pot and kept stirring. “I don’t want to leave.” The disappointment on his face nearly killed me. “But you’re welcome to stay here. If you want.”

      I’d like to think he would have said yes. That he was considering a house for the two of us, hopefully not too far from Nash’s, but plenty far from Sophie and her fluffy pink melodrama. But I’d never know for sure. He didn’t get to finish because the front door opened, and something thumped to the floor, then Sophie groaned.

      “Who left these stupid bags right in front of the door?” she demanded.

      Amused