Dragonfly by Jax Hill 

He was smiling at us, the picture of health, of something beyond health, the picture of resurrection. Maggie had been right! His jacket was golden, his wounds were healed, and if anything he was more alive than we’d ever seen him before. He was ultra-alive, to the point where he was almost too much, too big, to be in the wheelhouse.

Maggie threw herself into his arms, then Phyllis did. I think my knees buckled, because suddenly I was sitting on the bench opposite Pete, and I think this time my jaw had dropped. I was just staring. I wasn’t alone, though. Bruiser was staring, too, and Franz and Mateo.

It was as if the sun had come up behind us ... and climbed right into the boat with us! The two boys and the ladies came running from the bow, with Jack leading them, and he threw himself at Torstein as shamelessly as Maggie and Phyllis had. Torstein was embracing them all, somehow, when Marigold and Caroline and Tawny piled in.

I’ll tell you something. At a moment like this, you don’t really have the time or ability to think: This can’t be happening. And it’s not at all like those dreams you sometimes have of dead people where it seems normal they’re there, and you ask them about being dead, but they’re real casual about it. You knew, in some remote and impoverished corner of your mind, that this can’t be, and yet at the same time, you were overwhelmed by the warmth, the brightness, the life, the love — everything that used to emanate from Torstein before — now just poured out of him in waves. It swept us all up in him.

Pete, he had just been sitting and staring, like me. But he was squinting, almost as if Torstein were too bright to look at.

Torstein was kissing everyone on the forehead, and then pushing them, gently, away from him. He turned to Bruiser and me, and kissed us, too. It felt like the touch of a cool breeze, it smelt like the salt of the sea air, and then, I think, I slumped back against the wall, amazed, and happy.

“Mateo, you came,” Torstein said. I watched as he took Mateo’s face in his hands, kissed his forehead, and smiled at him. “I knew you would.”

Mateo’s eyes began to shine. The pale and desperate man from the previous morning was completely banished, and the former mobster’s man looked like Sully or Van, like a kid at Christmas.

Then Torstein was standing in front of Pete, who was still looking down at his knees where he sat.

“Pete, Pete,” Torstein said softly. “Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I love you,” Pete said to his knees. “But I —”

“But nothing! Do you love me?”

“You know I love you.”

“Do you — more than the rest of my friends?”

“Yes! Of course, yes,” Pete said, looking up miserably now.

Torstein was smiling at him, that brilliant smile now kicked up a thousand watts. “I know you do,” he said. “Do you know what your name means, Peter? It’s from petra, Greek for rock. You’re my rock now. I think before, you thought you were a rock because you were strong, and you were tough, and you were fearless. But that’s not your foundation Pete. That’s not what makes you a rock. It’s love. Love is your greatest weapon, and love is your firmest foundation. Forget what you used to believe about yourself, and embrace this instead. Embrace love.”

He reached out and gripped Pete’s shoulders, pulling him up to standing, hugging him hard, slapping his back.

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Not far to go now! Read Chapter Eighty-three!