He puts his hand on the door when I try to close it.

“I saw your face,” he says.

He means earlier. I stare at him. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

He shakes his head. “No. You still love me.”

Trust Tucker to just come right out and say it.

“No,” I say.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “You are such a bad liar.”

I take a few steps back, lift my chin. “You really should go.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Why do you have to be so pigheaded?” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. “Fine.” I turn away from the door and let him follow me inside.

He laughs. “Back at you.”

“Tucker! I swear!”

He sobers. He takes his hat off and puts it on the hook by the door. “The thing is, I’ve tried to stop thinking about you. Believe me, I’ve tried, but every time I think I’ve got a handle on my heart, you pop up again.”

“I will work on that. I will try to stay out of your barn,” I promise.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want you to stay out of my barn.”

“This is crazy,” I say. “I can’t. I’m trying to do—”

“What’s right,” he fills in. “You’re always trying to do what’s right. I love that about you.” He comes closer, too close now, stares down at me with that familiar heat in his eyes.

Then he says it. “I love you. That’s not going away.”

My heart flies up like a bird on wings, but I try to clobber it back down. “I can’t be with you,” I manage.

“Why, because of your purpose? Because God told you so? I want to see that written down somewhere, I want to see it decreed, that you, Clara Gardner, can’t love me because you’re part angel. Tell me where it says that.” He reaches behind him, and to my shock he pulls what looks to be a Bible out of the waistband of his jeans. “Because I want to read you this.”

He opens it, thumbs through to find the right passage.

“Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. See, right there in black and white.”

“Thank you for the Sunday school lesson,” I say. “Don’t you find it a little silly that you’re quoting the Bible to somebody like me, who receives divine instructions straight from the source? Tucker, come on, you know it’s more complicated than that.”

“No, it’s not,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be. What we have, that’s divine. It’s beautiful and good and right. I feel it….” He presses his hand to his chest, over his heart. “I feel it all the time. You’re in here, part of me. You’re what I go to bed thinking about and what I wake up to in the morning.”

The tears start to slip down my face. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and crosses the room toward me, but I stumble back.

“Tuck. I can’t,” I breathe.

“I like it when you call me Tuck,” he says, smiling.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sudden understanding dawns in his eyes. “That’s what this breaking-up business was all about for you, wasn’t it? You thought I was going to get hurt. You pushed me away to protect me. You’re still pushing.” He shakes his head. “Losing you, that’s the worst kind of hurt there is.”

He reaches out and touches a strand of my hair, tucks it behind my ear, then backs off a little, tries a different approach. “Hey. How about this? You’re home for a couple more days, right? I’m home, as usual.” I see the news of his college situation rise up in his mind, but for some reason he doesn’t tell me about it. “Let’s go fishing. Let’s climb a mountain. Let’s try again.”

I’ve never wanted anything so much.

He sees the uncertainty on my face. “I should have fought for you, Clara, even if I would have had to fight you to fight for you. I should never have let you go.”

I close my eyes. I know that any minute now he’s going to kiss me, and my resistance is going to melt away completely.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper. And then, out of self-protection more than anything else, I bring the glory. I don’t warn him or anything. I don’t damp it down. I bring it. The room fills with light.

“This is what I am,” I say, my hair ablaze around my head.

He squints at me. His jaw juts out a little in pure stubbornness. He stands his ground.

“I know,” he says.

I take a step toward him, close the space between us, put my glowing hand against his ashen cheek. He starts to tremble. “This is what I am,” I say again, and my wings are out now.

His knees wobble, but he fights it. He puts his hand at my waist, turns me, pulls me closer, which surprises me.

“I can accept that,” he whispers, and holds his breath, and leans in to kiss me.

His lips brush mine for an instant, and an emotion like victory tears through him, but then he pulls away and glances toward the front door. Groans.

Christian is standing in the doorway.

“Wow,” Tucker says, trying to grin. “You really know how to cramp a guy’s style.”

His legs give out. He falls to his knees.

My light blinks off.

Christian’s clutching a DVD copy of Zombieland in one hand, the other hand clenched into a fist at his side. His expression is completely shut down.

“I guess I’ll come back later,” he says. “Or not.”

Tucker’s still catching his breath on the floor.

I follow Christian to the door. “He just came over. I didn’t mean for you to—”

“See that?” he finishes for me. “Great. Thanks for trying to spare my feelings.”

“I was trying to prove a point to him.”

“Right,” he says. “Well, let me know how that turns out.”

He turns toward the door, then stops, the muscles in his back tensing. He’s about to say something really harsh, I think, something he won’t be able to take back.

“Don’t,” I say.

Dizziness crashes over me. I hear a strange whooshing sound, like wind in my ears, accompanied by the distinct smell of smoke. Christian turns, his face all scrunched up like he’s confused by what he sees in my head. He looks suddenly worried.

That’s when I pass out.

The black room is filling up with smoke.

I jolt into future Clara in the exact instant that the darkness explodes into light, and in that moment I understand: This light’s not glory. It’s fire. A fireball streaks over my shoulder and strikes the wall somewhere off to the side, behind me. Then Christian screams, “Get down!” and I drop just in time for him to literally leap over my body, his glory sword out and bright and deadly, blinding me. Everything’s a jumble of black-and-white flashing: Christian and the figures circling him, the swift movement of his blade against the dark. I scramble backward until my back hits something solid, glance over my shoulder to see what’s happening with the fire.