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He rass When he got closer, she could see the tear tracks on his cheeks, and it hurt to kno much she’d hurt hio She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but the words were little and useless So she sat there, staring at hi

He got to the bench and sat down beside her “I want to hate you for this,” he said at last

“I know”

“But you’re the person I wrote that letter to”

“Yes”

He wouldn’t look at her “It must have killed you”

She wanted to take his face in her hands and force hie to touch hih it?”

“Tell me”

She could hear the rawness in his voice, the need to understand “It was Francis He was a gentle, loving soul ould have given his life to save a stranger, let alone his own brother He loved you, Angel, and there was no question about what he would have wanted”

“He was so daood,” he whispered “Even ere kids and I was such an asshole—he always believed the best of me”

“He didn’t give up his life for you It’s important that you understand that He died Period And what caood came out of his death, but it didn’t cause it You didn’t cause his death”

“You don’t understand, Mad…”

This ti him The pain in his voice was like a knife She leaned forward, touched his cheek in a gentle, fleeting caress “Make me understand”

He stiffened, and she could tell that he was grasping for self-control “I don’t deserve his heart I can’t… be like him”

“Oh, Angel,” she breathed “It would hurt him to hear you say that You knoould”