"Forgive me, Kaylene," Michael kept on saying as though he was some kind of broken record played on loop. The tears continued to pour from his eyes that they seemed endless. Though he was muscular and all covered in his gear, he looked like he was a lost boy, sniveling and bawling his eyes out. It hurt me seeing him like that. He was vulnerable. Open. All the strong and sturdy walls that he put up were down. The version I was looking at was a far cry from the formidable Soul Dealer who swept me off my feet, though I knew he was still the same. He was still Michael Riverwoods.
Score upon score of thoughts ran inside my head, each one shambling with another that I found it hard to think of what to say. I heard Michael's apologies as he repeated them over and over, though I can't seem to pr
