Crashing Souls (36 page)

I remembered this place, the very building I walked away from was where I’d said goodbye to Tim. When I heard someone call after me, I continued to waddle away as quickly as I could. I felt like Cinderella running away without my shoes. Except I couldn’t run and there wasn’t a prince following me. Just a man who’d destroyed me more times than I could count.

I stopped at the wooden bridge, feeling déjà vu and nostalgia. Tim was here, the one person I wanted to run to. The rain ran down my body and I cried. I didn’t know where the rain began and my tears ended. I looked out and noticed the river’s water was dangerously high. It rushed on while the wind howled around me. My hair was stuck to my skull, my face, my back. The gray sky divided momentarily as a white bolt of lightning cracked through it. Thunder rumbled and I shivered.

“Noa!” Dexter was behind me and I leaned my head toward him, watching him walk up slowly before stopping a few feet away at the start of the bridge. He’d removed his black suit jacket, and I could see the shape of him beneath his damp clothes. That body that had loved mine, both taking and giving.

I
turned, my hands on my belly.

There had been a time for words.

That blue fire had swallowed me whole until I was nothing but ashes. I hadn’t turned into a phoenix. I’d just been left to scatter in the wind. And in the end, red took the place of blue.

“It’s too late,” I said, hoping he’d stay where he was. He did. “Just leave me alone. Go marry Rachel.” I looked away, my eyes on the water again.

“I’m not marrying Rachel,” I heard him say, his voice full of confusion.

“Stop it. I saw the ring. This thing,” I whipped around to face him again, “it’s
done.
I’m done.” I felt the sob ripping from my throat and it angered me. I’d cried too long and too hard for him. “You’ve left me for the last time, Dexter Andrews.”

“I never gave her a ring!”

I turned to run away from his all-too-convincing lies, and once I heard the crack of metal against wood and the shifting under my feet, I knew that it really was too late. A boat had made its way downriver and crashed into the bridge. I heard Dexter scream my name and then I was under water. I kicked out my feet and reached up, trying to grab something, anything. My hands found what was left of the bridge, and I tried to hang on. I looked up and saw Dexter’s hand. It was too far. Even as I touched his fingertips, my fingers were too wet for him to grab. I was going to die. I looked at his blue eyes that burned like our fire and I cried out for my baby, who would die like Anna had. I couldn’t hold on any longer.

I was submerged, my grip having slipped from the damp wood. I didn’t fight. I’d fought death one too many times. I relaxed and the water rushed around me, carrying me away.

I saw the old man floating closer to me, his arms reaching for me. Peace settled as he took my hand. He smiled and I closed my eyes.

We
were walking tragedies. That was what made us such passionate beings. The unbearable clock ticking, reminding us of our mortality. It made love sweeter, lust headier, and happiness something we wanted to last for as long as we did. We knew our days were numbered, and we knew our individual stories ended at some point. Maybe not in detail nor why or how or when. But at least we could agree that death, in whatever form, always won.

Dexter was right. I didn’t want to die. But some decisions were never really mine to make.

The
love of all man’s days both past and forever: Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.

—Rabindranath Tagore, “Unending Love”

THE
ANGEL OF DEATH

Epilogue

I
am darkness; what you would consider a thief amongst the living. I’ve spent time, so much of it that it seems a trifle word to call it, in that gloom, being swallowed whole by human grief and human tears. I am the Angel of Death. And all was dark until I met a man searching for a woman.

I watch as the woman draws her last breath peacefully. She lived a full and happy life. Her children surround her deathbed. And while her husband’s passing caused her such grief a few years prior, she found solace in the ones they created together and the ones created from them.

I hold my arms out, welcoming her to the other side. She cannot see me, cannot see her children. Cannot hear their cries. But as I speak, I can see them. Their tears are true.

“Welcome back,” I whisper.

Humans find sadness in passing. I see the other side. I know their souls are tired, and when they come to me, there is an unvoiced sigh, an unspoken gratitude. They know it’s resting time, for now. And now is her time. Time for her to meet with her maker and be created once more. To find the soul that belongs with hers.

For all of their lives, I never regretted that single moment I pitied a human and gave him a second chance. I watched them, I worried over them, and I was protective of them. In return, they brought me great joy. But as
time
does, it went on. And while I’m sad for it, I know I will see them again and again.

“Let’s go home,” she whispers, her voice sounding tired in her old age.

And so Noa does.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

F
irst thanks goes to God for giving me my strange and creepy little brain. I’m awake, I’m alive, and I’m sharing my words. Faith gives me courage.

Thank you, to you. Yes, you. The reader. You probably aren’t too happy with me right now. But if you think about it, I gave you the ending you wanted. Just not the way you wanted it. We always seem to be searching and sometimes we find, sometimes we don’t. I challenge you all to search for what it is you’re missing. If you never find what you’re looking for, well, at least you tried. And that’s never time wasted.

Music is my lifeline when writing. You can find the
Crashing Souls
playlist on Spotify. If you don’t have Spotify, shoot me an email and I’ll send you the playlist directly. Trust me, it’s amazing. And eclectic (‘sup, Betty Who).

Rosemi, you are amazing. Don’t ever doubt that. Thank you for dealing with my diva moments and my silly moments. I’m not afraid to tell you how needy I am, and you’re not afraid to let me be who I am. Thank you. For everything. Even the personal things. Especially for that last heavy round of editing this book over WhatsApp. We rocked that sh*t. You are the best one-woman show around. Fo’ reals.

Shelsea, Abbey, Jayline, Solida, and Madii, thank you for letting my words seep into your brain and drive you a little crazy. And thank you for loving this dynamite couple (even if some of you like one of them more than the other). They weren’t always easy to love, but they had this thing that just made you
smile.
Thanks for sharing that magic with me.

Anna (bookobsessedgirl) and Lisa (book_ish_ life), my second round of betas, I can’t even thank you
ladies
enough. Like, if there were a room full of gratitude, it still wouldn’t be enough. You both made people pay attention to me. You loved this story and made other readers want to read it for themselves. I’m so glad I worked up the nerve to privately message you both like a creep and ask you guys to read. Thank you. So, so, so much. You brought beauty to my words with your edits, and your tears made me want to be your friends. Because people who
get
Noa are friends of mine.

Molly Espaillat, sorry I killed you. True pink, you fabulous woman. See you soon. The Army can’t keep us away from each other for too much longer.

Amanda “A.M.” Johnson, some people think that fast friends are insincere friends. Let’s tell them to eff off while we spam each other with inappropriate GIFs and laugh at each other’s lame jokes. *sing talks* Love you! Thank you for trusting me as much as I’ve grown to trust you. You are beautiful.

Anahi, thank you for being my Blue. That will always be your name. Thank you for taking this story so personally. You and I, we are Noa. I love you. With everything I have.

This book was written fairly quickly (but edited slowly, thankfully) and I pulled a lot of my own emotions and experiences. It was a wonderful release. Different from anything I’ve worked on before. I’d like to thank my family for understanding when I couldn’t talk or when I had nothing but words on the brain. Mom, I know you tell your friends how proud you are of me but…this time I’m proud of me too.

Mr. Rodriguez, love. Just…love. It’s fine that I’m the crazy lady wherever we go. Because you still find your best adventures beside me.

Thanks to Matt of The Cover Lure. Your patience and professionalism amazed me. Can’t wait to work with you in the future!

Lastly, to the music. It can set you free.

ABOUT
THE AUTHOR

C
ynthia A. Rodriguez hates writing her own biography. In her downtime, you can find her watching movies, ranging anywhere from classic movies to action flicks (she has a weakness for Marvel adaptations), and reading steamy novels. She is stationed in North Carolina, where she lives with her husband and their Miniature Pinscher, Winnie (as in Pooh).

She loves hearing from her readers! You can reach Cynthia at
[email protected]
. Both her Twitter and Instagram handles are
@socynthsays
. ‘Like’ her Facebook page at
facebook.com/AuthorCynthiaARodriguez
and visit her website,
www.cynthiaarodriguez.com
, where she blogs about books and writing and leaves really great song suggestions.

Forever
searching. Sometimes finding.

Dexter and Noa’s story continues in…

souls

collide

You remember me. You still hide from me, despite my fleeting weakness. Despite seeing my heart. Despite witnessing the miraculous moment I gave to a young man with the purest intentions.

The singular moment that changed everything. Lives hung by threads and I not only cut one, I mended it, changing everything without realizing the repercussions.

I could give them hope. I could even help them fall. But I could not repair the trust they’d damaged. You think you know their story. But you do not know everything.