Paper Fools (Hearts and Arrows Book 1)

by Staci Hart

  “In your what?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my love. In the bag.”

  “I do hope so,” he said, clearly bothered. “I could not bear that he should be given Daphne when he’s done everything to keep us apart.”

  Dita bristled. “Adonis, he has suffered for so long. You and I, we have each other. Apollo has no one.”

  He pushed himself up to sit, glaring at her. “This has been discussed.”

  The finality of his words were ignored.

  “But we have never agreed. Keeping them apart is cruel. If I were Apollo and it was you I could save, I would do anything. Can you not put yourself in his place?”

  “Stop,” he said, eyes blazing.

  “I cannot.” She huffed, and her brows stitched together. “You have heaven in your hand. You even still have me, which goes against all the rules. Yet, you will not relent.”

  “I do not wish to discuss this,” he said through his teeth.

  And then he did his best to silence her by way of his hands on her face and his lips against her, hard and hot.

  It was one way to keep her from talking.

  When he broke away, he trailed heavy kisses from her ear, to her neck, and down the neckline of her robe.

  She sighed, frustrated, unfazed by Adonis’ lips, which was unusual on its own. But she was fixated on Apollo and Daphne, the parallels of their relationships too close to ignore. Apollo had paid his dues, had earned liberation — once her hurt and anger burned away, she’d come around.

  But Adonis wouldn’t let it go.

  He sensed her distraction and nipped her breast through her robe. She gasped, her attention turning to him as he threaded his arm under the small of her back and jerked her down so she lay flat on the mossy ground. With his weight on his forearm, his free hand moved to her face and turned it to his, his blue eyes bearing down on her with warning and anger and love and fear.

  And that look alone was enough to break her.

  Adonis covered her mouth with his own and trailed his knuckles down her neck, between her breasts, and to the tie of her robe. His fingers wrapped around it, and he pulled, disrobing her with a single, forceful tug.

  His lips followed the path that his hand had taken as he kissed her dove-white skin down her body. She closed her eyes in anticipation as he kissed her stomach, her breath trembling when he pulled her leg out of his way and slung it roughly over his shoulder. His hand trailed up the outside of her thighs, and he grabbed her hips, pulling hard to angle her to him.

  His breath against the center of her sent the air from her lungs, and when she looked down, when she met his eyes — that was the moment that he closed his lips over her, sweeping his tongue.

  She sighed, winding her fingers in his hair as he sent shock after shock up her body, so tuned to his touch that she was more his than her own. Every second relayed his need to erase the dissonance between them and the need to own her.

  And so he began to tease her with his lips and his hands, her body trembling and shaking as he brought her to the edge. But he wouldn’t let her fall, slowing before she could fall, over and over again until she ached.

  “Please,” she begged.

  He broke away and climbed up her body, hovering over her, but she wouldn’t be teased — she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed, but he kept the distance of their hips, bending to kiss her instead.

  So she wound her arms around his neck, flexing her legs to lift her body to his. He moaned into her mouth, slipping his arm under her back to lift her as he stood and braced her against the tree, meeting her eyes.

  His jaw was hard, his brows heavy, the tip of him at the edge of her.

  “You are mine,” he said, driving into her.

  Her mouth hung open, her body already pulsing, her legs locking tight, and in seconds she came with a shuddering cry, and he whispered her name in answer.

  She laid her head against the tree as her heart raced in her chest. And as he slowed, he buried his face in her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, “You will always be mine.”

  Dita’s eyes snapped open, and she melted into the bed with heavy limbs in the early morning daylight. Her heart slowed, though it ached again, as it always did when she woke without him.

  But as she came down, aggravation slipped over her. He’d used sex to shut her up, that ass. And though she was relieved their argument hadn’t gone on for very long, she found herself annoyed at being claimed and silenced. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known he’d need a minute to get used to the idea of discussing it again, but still.

  She sighed. At least the ice had been broken, though she wished he would come around rather than fighting her on it. But that was only a pipe dream, an illusion, and she knew it.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t comfortable anymore. She rolled over, and Bisoux lay next to her, curled up on the pillow. He cracked an eye at her when she stirred, and Dita pulled the pillow close, nuzzling his furry head. When he twisted around to lick her ear, she felt a smidge better.

  The only way she could give Apollo his wish and not anger Adonis was to throw the competition, which was unimaginable under the best of circumstances. But something had to give. Because having it all wasn’t an option, and it never would be.

  Apollo shot up in bed, his heart pounding, eyes flying wide open from shock of his vision. He gasped for air and ran a hand over his face, groaning as he lay back with a thump, trying to calm his racing heart.

  But it was no use.

  He climbed out of bed and made his way into the bathroom, resting his hand on the cool granite countertop as he turned the faucet and splashed icy water onto his face.

  His reflection was bedraggled, the water dripping from his chin with a steady plink, worry written across his face. The reality of the vision was crisp in his mind, like snow against bare skin, so cold, the burn seeped into his bones.

  Apollo picked up his toothbrush, loaded it, and started scrubbing, trying for something routine to erase the dread.

  It was bad news on bad news. Lex and Dean were already googly-eyed over each other in the present, and the vision of the future was the nail in the coffin for his chances at winning the competition.

  It came back to him in a rush. Lex resting her head on Travis’s shoulder as they sat silently on their couch. Apollo felt every emotion in the room and knew what had happened without a single word spoken.

  Travis had cheated on her, and they had most definitely broken up.

  This is bad.

  Apollo’s eyebrows pinched together, and he scrubbed his teeth with a little more vigor. If Travis and Lex broke up, she would run straight into Dean’s arms. Travis was the only thing keeping her away from him now — if he cheated on her, she could be with Dean guilt-free.

  The deepest of shit, he thought as he spit into the sink, his mind working over it all.

  There had to be a way to turn it around. There had to be a way to use this to his advantage.

  Apollo ticked through Lex’s personality checklist, looking for any thread he could pull. She was superstitious. She’d never been in love. Abandonment issues galore. Travis would cheat, but Dean was the player …

  His face lit up.

  A prophecy.

  He gave his reflection a smile, the sun shining a little brighter as his worked through the beginnings of a plan.

  Lex would never peg Travis for a cheater, but she’d jump to the conclusion that Dean would be unfaithful faster than you could say manwhore. So if Apollo could make Lex believe Dean could never be faithful, she would avoid him like gonorrhea. Apollo was sure of it. He could set Lex up with a prophecy that applied to Travis but made her think it was about Dean. He’d have to be vague enough that it could work for each and both, that it could be misconstrued. That was key — he couldn’t lie.

  Lying would ruin his cred as an oracle.

  But he knew he could pull it off. Prophets and oracles didn’t interpret his visions with precision when he didn’t want
them to.

  Apollo rolled through his mental list of standard prophecy tricks. Back in the day, he’d used human oracles, but through the last century, his prophecies had been delivered in the form of fortune tellers, tarot card readers, horoscope writers, and less effective methods like Ouija boards and Magic 8 Balls.

  Lex was superstitious. Apollo was the god of prophecy. The ploy would be a piece of cake.

  And just like that, he was on top again.

  Dean tried not to stare at Lex as he sang at practice that afternoon, glad that he knew the lyrics and music so well that he didn’t have to think about what he was doing. He wondered absently if it would be weird to ask her to sit in an armchair off to the side because, with her sitting straight in front of him, looking like she did, staring at him with those eyes, he was having a hard time concentrating.

  He had no idea what was wrong with him, but whatever it was, it had gotten worse. It was the first time he’d reacted to a woman like she was the only thing in the world, the only thing he could see or think about. He felt … affected, changed by her presence alone.

  It was confusing. Confusing and frustrating — the easy answer was to meet her head on. But that was the last thing he could do.

  The song ended, and Roe turned to Travis, giving him instructions by way of mouth drumming. Dean stretched his neck, trying to get his composure.

  When he turned back around, Lex was gathering up her things. She stood and pulled her coat on, waving to Travis, and Dean couldn’t stop watching her. He got the feeling she was avoiding making eye contact with him, and when she turned and left the warehouse, he felt like a tether had been snapped.

  Dean blinked. What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?

  They started the song over again, and Dean tried to get his head right. But her face was on his mind — he wondered where she went, what she liked to do, where she worked. What did she want out of life? In relationships?

  Could he give that to her?

  His heart lurched as he threw on the brakes. He didn’t even know her, didn’t know anything about her, and the fact that he was thinking about any of this, the fact that he cared at all, nettled him.

  The whole thing was ridiculous.

  She was off limits.

  But he couldn’t keep her from creeping back into his mind like tendrils of smoke. If he tried to grab her, she’d slip through his fingers — she wasn’t his and never could be, not in any context. And he couldn’t ever hang onto her anyway — he didn’t know how.

  He’d lose her along with Roe and the band.

  Dean had gone through much of his life like a robot — unfeeling, not knowing if he could feel, not sure if he wanted to.

  Even when his mom had died, he’d been numb, cold, separate. Years of neglect warred with the thing everyone wanted, but Dean never got.

  Love.

  Dean was sixteen at the time, climbing the steps to his mother’s apartment as familiar dread crept its way into his chest, just like it did every time he went home. He stayed with Roe most of the time, only going home every few days to sleep and pack a fresh bag, and each time he came back, he hoped she would be gone. They rarely saw each other, and when they did, they only spoke when necessary. She didn’t ask about him, and he didn’t ask about her. They just stayed out of each other’s way, and it suited both of them just fine.

  As soon as he opened the door, he smelled the cigarette smoke. She was sitting on the couch with the television on, and he stared at the back of her head for a minute before closing the door behind him. The sound made her turn and she gave him an apathetic once-over before looking back to the television.

  The end of her cigarette flamed as she took a drag, never saying a word.

  He had no reaction — it had been a long time since she’d incited one — just walked past her and into his room where he packed his things in a hurry, thankful that he had to go to work at the record store so that he had an excuse to leave, somewhere to go. Roe would be there, and they could listen to music all night, then he could just sleep over at Roe’s. There was always dinner ready for them when they got in, and a smile from Roe’s mom, with questions about their days. If he could stay there forever, he would. It was the only place that felt like home even though he didn’t really belong there. He didn’t belong anywhere.

  Once his bag was packed, he headed straight for the door, but he stopped when she turned to him.

  Something was off. It was her face — she didn’t look right, her expression frozen, drooping on one side. She tried to speak but only made partial sounds, almost grunting.

  His brows dropped. “What?”

  She tried to speak again but couldn’t.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as cold adrenaline shot through him.

  Her mouth moved, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

  He hurried around the couch, dropped his bag, and knelt in front of her. “Mom?”

  She reached for his hand and squeezed it, and he fumbled for his phone.

  “I’m calling 911. Hang on.”

  His eyes didn’t leave her as he relayed what had happened to the dispatcher and gave the address, but when her eyes rolled back, and she slipped further down on the couch, her body jerking erratically, he dropped the phone.

  “Mom?” He touched her face. “Mom, can you hear me?” His heart hammered in his chest as he frantically looked for his phone, bringing it to his ear, though he could barely hear. “I think she just had a seizure. She’s not answering me.”

  “Does she have a pulse?”

  He touched her neck just under her jaw and found a heartbeat. Relief swept over him. “Yes. Yeah.”

  “Okay, stay on the phone with me. You said your name was Dean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Paramedics are on their way. How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “I don’t want you to worry, okay? We’re going to do whatever we can to help your mom.”

  He stopped really listening, answering automatically as the dispatcher kept him talking. It wasn’t long before he heard the sirens, but time was a vacuum as he sat with his mother on the couch, not knowing if she would live or die and not knowing if his life would be better or worse for it.

  Then, the paramedics were there, putting her on a gurney.

  Then, they were in the ambulance, the sirens blaring as he stared at his mother, her head bobbling with every bump, the motion exaggerated by the oxygen mask over her face.

  And then Dean sat on an uncomfortable chair in a waiting room in the hospital, staring at a stain on the industrial carpet as he listened to a doctor tell him they had done everything they could, that she’d had another stroke as they tried to repair her aneurysm, that they were sorry for his loss.

  But he didn’t know what he’d lost. You can’t lose something you never had in the first place.

  Dean pushed the memory away as the song ended, his chest aching. He turned to Roe. “Hey, let’s take five.”

  Roe’s brows dropped with worry — there was no hiding from him. “Yeah, okay.”

  Dean walked to his bag and pulled out water and his notebook.

  Of all the things that had happened to him, the one good thing in his life was Roe. Dean’s life had been otherwise empty, vacant. He wondered what his life would have been without Roe in it.

  There was no scenario with a happy ending.

  But at that moment in his life, Dean was the closest he’d ever been to one. They had a record deal, his dream come to life. It was their chance, their break. And he wouldn’t fuck that up, not for a muse.

  That’s all she can be, he told himself over and over, as if the words could somehow manifest the truth.

  Kara sipped a beer at Lex’s dining room table as she watched Lex zip around her kitchen, making dinner. Her long white neck and bare shoulder peeked out of the wide collar of her oversize sweater, her hair in a loose bun as she chopped vegetables and rambled a million miles a minute while attempting to cook.

>   She was failing pretty miserably, by Kara’s estimation.

  Lex turned to Kara, gesticulating as she went on about the band, and her hand whacked the salt. The shaker skittered across the counter and toppled over, spilling salt over the surface.

  Her eyes bugged as she grabbed a pinch and tossed it over her shoulder.

  Kara laughed and shook her head. “You’re a mess.”

  With the meat of her hand, she swept it off the counter and into her waiting palm before dusting her hands off in the sink. “Whatever. I’d like to avoid all the bad luck I can, thank you very much,” she said. “Anyway, Travis’s new band is fantastic. Dean, the lead singer, is completely mesmerizing.” She rolled her eyes. “God, that sounds so cheesy, but it’s true. Travis said that he’s a super slut, but I can see how he’d get all the ass he’d ever wanted.”

  Kara leaned back in her chair and tried to keep her face straight. Oh my God, she likes him. No wonder she’s amped.

  “How much coffee have you had today?” Kara asked. She threw her hands up to avoid getting hit in the face with a dish towel. “You’re really excited about this band, Lexie.”

  “They’re just so good. Travis didn’t even have to convince me to go back to practice today. I actually came from the warehouse to make you dinner à la Lex.”

  “Aw, you tore yourself away on account of little old me?”

  “I did. Lucky you. Oh, speaking of, did I play that song for you? I keep meaning to.”

  “Yeah. You posted it on my Facebook and emailed it to me. Oh, and you sent me a text.”

  “Goddammit. I’m sorry.” Lex’s hand touched her flushed cheek.

  “It’s okay. I love you anyway. So,” Kara leaned forward with a smirk, “tell me more about this mesmerizing lead singer.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean it like that. Travis is fantastic too. I mean, how can you not watch him when he has his shirt off?” They both giggled. “Seriously, Kara, will you please come with me to practice? You have to hear them live.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll go. And this lead singer had better be as captivating as you say, or you’re going to owe me one. Uh, Lex?” Kara pointed to the stove where a pot was boiling over.