by Staci Hart
I remember the first time I saw you. It was summertime, and you were walking with Anne down the sidewalk outside of the station. I don’t know what it was that made me stop, that stopped my breath and heart and time itself. Maybe it was magic. Maybe it was fate. But I knew right then that I would love you.
I’ve thought about you every day, wondered if I’d ever see you again, wondered if you’d ever forgive me as life passed by around me. I was a thousand miles away, far from anything that would remind me of you, but I found you everywhere. I’d see you at a restaurant or walking down the street. I’d hear a song or catch a scent, and you were there.
I thought I would get over you, but in all truth, I think I grew to love you more.
I hoped I could get a second chance, though it’s the last thing you want. But I can’t give up, not until you understand I never meant to hurt you. I need you to know that all I’ve ever wanted was to give you everything, myself included.
Because I love you, Jo. I’ll love you until I take my last breath.
—Jon
Josie set the notebook down and looked up at him from behind her tears, his eyes so full of love and longing that it stole her breath. She moved to sit next to him, to brush his hair from his face and trace the line of his jaw, so strong and covered with stubble.
When she cupped his cheek, he leaned into her hand.
“I’ve been a fool,” she said softly, quietly, the words touched with regret.
He reached for her face, mirroring her. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Just love me. Just say that you love me.”
She looked into his eyes and told him the truth, “I never stopped loving you, and I never will.”
Jon closed his eyes, his brows furrowed as the words sank in, and he pulled her down to him to mend their hearts with a few words and a promise and a kiss to seal their forever.
Dita walked the path to Artemis’s pond with her hands in her pockets, the only sound around her the wind in the trees as she thought over the last day, the last week, the last month, and how everything had changed. Jon was alive, the competition was over, and she had won, the alarm sounding its hurrah and the game coming to a close.
Not that she’d even cared about winning at that point. Jon had had to live, and thank the gods he had. He and Josie could be together, and they’d be together forever, if Dita had her way.
She smiled down at the path.
The empty camp stretched out before her when she rounded a bend. Artemis sat atop her stone perch, and she looked down at Dita with a smile, motioning for her to come up. It was awkward business, climbing the rock, but she made it to the top without getting winded, which she considered a win.
“Aphrodite.” Artemis bowed her head.
“Artemis,” Dita answered, sitting on the warm slate next to Artemis.
“I suppose you came for this?” Artemis held out her token.
“Why, no, that’s not why I came. But I will take that. Thank you.”
The token lay in her palm, the twin to Apollo’s sun token. The moon hung inside, bright on one side, black as pitch on the other. It glowed dreamily, and when she held it to her ear, it played the songs of crickets chirping so slowly that it sounded like a symphony.
“And did you bring that humble pie I promised to eat should I lose?” Artemis asked.
“No, but I did bring this.” Dita snapped her fingers, and a bowl of Cheerios appeared between them, next to a spoon on a napkin.
Artemis laughed, the sound genuine and merry.
“You weren’t in the theater room when the competition ended today,” Dita said as she closed her fingers around the token and hooked her arms around her knees.
“No, I was not.”
“Are you all right?”
“You care?” she asked with a glance and a raised eyebrow.
“Artemis, of course I care.”
Artemis smiled. “I am well. I knew I would lose the moment Apollo saved Jon. Before that really.”
“You saved him,” Dita insisted.
“Semantics,” Artemis said with a shrug.
“Thank you. It’s not enough, but thank you.”
Artemis looked away. “I couldn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
Her eyes were on the distant mountains. “Jon was lying in her arms, and I couldn’t let him die. I gave Josie something I cannot have. Love.”
“Artemis—”
“I loved him, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Dita said quietly.
“I didn’t know what to do about it at the time. I never was able to be with him, but he was mine, and I was his. I am his. I will forever be his, but my life has not been full of living since he’s been gone. I have been blinded by my anger and hurt for so long, I lost myself. But that changes now.”
“It happens to all of us, even those of us who should know love better than anyone.”
Artemis met Dita’s eyes. “I am sorry for what I said and did to you. I was cruel.”
“You were right.”
“Knowing the truth is the first step to moving forward, I’ve found. Once you know a thing, you cannot un-ring the bell. The knowledge is yours, and the knowing changes you.”
“Wise words,” Dita said with a nod.
“From a stubborn goddess.” Artemis smirked.
Dita snorted. “Uh, have you been to Olympus recently? Because I’m pretty sure the first synonym for goddess is stubborn, right next to incorrigible and shortsighted.”
“Well, let us be sure to do our namesake proud,” Artemis answered with a laugh.
And, as the goddesses sat in the sun, Dita found hope that they would both survive their past.
Dita waited until Artemis had eaten her entire bowl of cereal before she climbed down the rock and walked up the path and into the elevator, bound for Ares’s apartment. She smoothed her shirt and wiped her sweaty palms on her back pockets. It was the day of the awkward talks, and she was determined to get through it, doing her best to convince herself that she was prepared.
But when the door opened into Ares’s foyer, she froze. It took all her willpower to force her to take a step instead of pushing any or all buttons on the elevator to get it to close so she could vacate the premises.
He came out of his bedroom and stood stock-still when he saw her.
“Dita?” His eyes on her were like cold, demanding fingers against her skin, running a chill up her spine.
“Can we talk?” she asked with more confidence than she felt.
“Of course.”
She watched him as he walked across the room and sat on the couch, and she followed, keeping a wide distance. He was graceful and muscular, beautiful and deadly. She moved to sit on the couch opposite him with trembling hands.
Dita braced herself, repeating her speech in her mind before opening with the disclaimer, “I don’t want to fight, and I don’t want you to touch me. Can you agree to that?”
He nodded.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry and sticky. She held her chin up and sat straight. “I’m not going to hide in my apartment for eternity because I don’t want to see you. We’ve got to live with each other. But I need to know that you won’t hurt me again.”
His face was blank as he watched her, not hearing her, just like Perry had predicted. “I don’t know what to say, Dita. You know how I feel about you.”
“I do know. But we’re through. I need you to let me go.”
He slung his big arm over the back of his chair and shook his head. “How do you suggest I do that? I haven’t been able to shake you for my entire eternal life.”
“You’ve got to find a way. I need you to leave me alone. If you love me, can you do that? For me? Can you let me heal?”
“I can give you time.”
“Time can’t fix what you did,” she fired back. “You can’t go back and leave Adonis alive. You can’t undo the countless lies you told. You can’t turn back the clock to a time where you didn
’t hurt me. You can’t erase it, and I can’t love someone who would betray me the way that you have.”
“You say that now—”
“I’m not going to change my mind.” The finality in her words surprised her, but she felt them all the way through her, knowing they were honest and real the moment they’d left her lips.
“I can wait to see if that’s true or not.”
He was patronizing her, she realized. He still didn’t believe, couldn’t grasp it, though she had always known it was an impossible thing to ask of him.
“You’ll be waiting forever.”
“We’ll see.”
She pursed her lips and took a breath, allowing him the last word even though it killed her not to argue. “Can we agree to a truce?”
“You need time and space, and I will give you that. For now.”
“Someday, you will understand that this is it.” She stood and left for the elevator. “See you around.”
“Yes, you will.”
Day 21
JON FOLLOWED JOSIE INTO her apartment, and she dropped his bag next to the door. He reached for it as she closed the door behind them.
“Ah, ah!” She slapped his hand. “Doc said no lifting anything over five pounds for two weeks.”
“It’s a duffel bag full of socks and underwear. I think I can handle it.”
“You got shot in the chest, asshole,” Josie said with an eye roll and a smile.
“And then made a miraculous recovery because I am just that epic.” He smiled smugly, and that single tug of his lips practically made her panties burst into flames.
“Okay, Mr. Epic Man of Steel, you indestructible favorite of the gods.” She grabbed the bag and made for her bedroom. “Jeez, I can’t leave you alone for two seconds.”
“You’d better not.” He looked around as he followed her. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” He motioned to the wall where the crime shrine had been replaced with paintings and a framed photo of her and Anne.
“Yeah,” she said over her shoulder, “that wall was creepy. How come nobody told me?”
“Ha, ha.”
She winked at him.
They’d spent a week in Washington while he recovered, and it had indeed been miraculous. She was partly convinced he was superhuman after the doctors had insisted he’d be there for two weeks, but he’d healed well enough to go home after only one. The nurses had made a huge fuss about it, but they’d loved to fuss over Jon anyway. It was a rewarding business.
The Spokane police had recovered Rhodes’s belongings, the most notable being the jewelry box that housed every trophy from every kill. It would mean closure for so many families and loved ones, and his death meant safety for countless more.
Josie had flown back while Jon was recovering, just for a few days, long enough to pull down the crime shrine and enter Anne’s room again. She had dropped to the floor at the end of her bed and cried until her tears ran dry, remembering her friend.
Letting her go.
Josie passed the threshold of her bedroom and set his bag next to the bed.
“Damn, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about being in this room again,” he said from behind her.
She turned to find him leaning against the doorframe with his arms across his chest and a crooked smile on his face.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Mmhmm.” He pushed off the door and walked across the room to where she stood, stopping close enough that they were almost touching. He looked down at her as she tilted her face to his.
“Well, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you in this room.”
“That so?” He slipped a hand into her hair.
“Mmhmm,” she said through a smile.
“Well, you’ve got me here now through my recovery. What should we do?”
“I don’t know.” She looked up and shook her head. “The doctors said very clearly no strenuous activity.”
“Guess that means you’ll have to do all the heavy lifting,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
She ran her hands up his chest and wound them around his neck. “Oh, I don’t mind that at all.”
“Goddamn, I love you,” he said smiling as he bent down to meet her lips, sealing their forever.
Dita looked over the top of her couch when the elevator dinged to find Athena walking through the foyer, the sound of her heels marking her entrance. Her glossy blond hair was short and neat, red lips smiling curtly on her porcelain skin. She looked every bit as powerful as she was—her tailored, high-waisted black slacks and a white button-down, pristine and perfect—like she could walk into a boardroom and eat a dozen CEOs whole.
“Hello, Athena.”
“Hello, Aphrodite. I hope I find you well.”
Dita put down her worn copy of one of her favorite bodice rippers and smiled. “Quite. And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“May I?” Athena motioned to an armchair, and Dita nodded. “Thank you.” She took a seat, crossing her long legs. “I wanted to come by before our competition starts. Shake hands, as it were.”
“Ah, good form. Have you chosen your player yet?”
“I have, and I’m optimistic.”
Dita chuckled. “That’s what they all say.”
“Yes, but I’m one of the few who makes you work for your win.” Athena’s blue eyes sparkled. “Oh, and we haven’t spoken much since you’ve been back. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for what Ares did to you. I suppose none of us should be surprised at my brother’s behavior, but really, he outdid himself.”
“Yes, well…thank you. I appreciate the thought. I shouldn’t have expected more from him.”
“We all do, especially Zeus. Expectations are an impossible thing. You can’t help but want those you love to rise above and earn the love you’ve given them. Because we all love him, in our own ways. Just far less than we hate him.” The words were as practical and matter-of-fact as the goddess who spoke them.
“You speak in truth and wisdom, Athena,” Dita said lightly.
“Yes, I do. It is my blessing as it is my curse.” She stood and extended her hand. “May the best woman win.”
Dita shook her hand with a smile. “I always do.”
Epilogue
SWEAT ROLLED DOWN HEPHAESTUS’S bare back and chest, the familiar heat from the forge clinging to him, as much a part of him as his hands and his heart and his soul.
The only light in the room came from the coal in the stone pit, highlighting everything it touched in oranges and casting the rest in darkness.
In his hand, he held a crucible with metal tongs, the gold in the tray first bending, then softening, then melting into a pool of white-hot liquid that he could shape, that he could make something new from, that he could mold and change and create with.
He knew the moment before it was right, could tell from the color and the consistency that it was time. He poured the molten gold into a mold in the shape of a small bar and stepped back, leaning against his workbench as he waited for the metal to cool, staring into the coals.
This was the place he’d found solace for thousands of years, and tonight was no exception.
Dita crossed his mind, as she so often did, and he wondered where she was, what she was doing, how she felt, and when he would see her again. Because he wanted to see her again, wanted to reassure her, to reassure himself that she was all right, to make her all right if she wasn’t.
The game had taken a toll on all of them, each round a domino that fell into the next, a chain reaction that had the fabric of Olympus altered, their lives turned around and upside down. But through the pain, through the hurt, things were changing.
He saw her in the fire, saw her freedom, saw her strength—strength she didn’t even realize she had. For so long, he had wished for her happiness, and he could see her finally realizing that what she’d mistaken for happiness was false. He could see in her eyes that she wanted to know something
real.
She was changed, and her change brought him hope.
Heff pushed off the table and to the mold, flipping it over to drop the gold bar into his hand. With his tongs, he nestled it in the coals until it was hot and soft, and when it was ready, he laid it on his anvil and reached for his hammer.
The metal flattened, each stroke of his hammer sure, the pressure and movement needed to shape it second nature, muscle memory, steady and without error. When it cooled, he rested it back in the coals to heat it again, repeating the movement until the gold was flat.
He moved the small strip of gold to his vise, slipped the end in, and tightened it. He rested a rod the size of Daphne’s fourth finger, left hand, next to the gold and hammered the loose end to bend it until the circle of the ring was as close to complete as it could get, trimming the excess metal off with a delicate saw.
Apollo had commissioned the ring, to be inscribed in Greek—My soul, my life I give to thee.
Apollo would ask for Daphne’s hand, and she would say yes. Their union would be a celebration where they could all find joy, a date that would move them all forward, beyond the pain of the past, and Heff found himself humbled and honored to be a part of their bond, to forge the ring to bind their love. The ring that would join them after so much suffering.
He took the ring, now almost complete, to the fire until it was pliable. And then he hammered it to close the gap, the ends pressed together, melting into each other. As he watched it cool, watched it fuse together to close the circle, to make a whole, he thought of his wife who wasn’t his wife, whom he had loved for eternity. Who had hated him at first, hot and angry as the molten gold. Who had loved him when she cooled.
But he could never close that gap between them, and she stayed just far enough away that he couldn’t reach her, the space between them so small but impossible to breach.
As he filed down the seam, it disappeared as if it were never there, as if the circle were just as it had been for eternity. It was the union, the creation of a whole from what had once been two, separate points, a circular path that went on forever. It would be Apollo and Daphne’s future, and hope sparked in his heart when he thought of Aphrodite, wondering if his chance was finally near, if he could be her forever and if she could be his.