by Tamar Sloan
Kadence leans back. “So, what do we do now?”
I take a sip of my forgotten milkshake, but barely taste it. “I’m not sure.”
“We could just check the place out a bit.”
Except I haven’t told Kadence exactly who Damien Black is… I open my mouth, determined not to have any more secrets, when someone stumbles through the front doors. It’s a man. A very drunk man.
A teenage boy is hot on his heels. “Dad, slow down, will ya?”
He shoves the boy’s hands away as he tries to hold him. “I’m fine, Dom. I’ve got this.”
He stumbles, rights himself, then almost crashes into one of the freestanding information boards. Using it to stabilize himself, he mumbles an apology to it, then heads for the sliding doors in the back.
Dom, frowning as he ignores the stares of the people around him, slips under his father’s arm again and walks with him, ignoring any slurred objections. They reach the uniformed woman, who’s already ramrod straight and holding her clipboard like a shield, and I feel sorry for Dom. These health centers are here for referrals, not treatment, and from the look of clipboard chick who’s now standing in front of the frosted doors, he’s about to be turned away.
Kadence’s hand tightens around mine. “He reminds me of Tyler.”
I glance at the boy. Probably fifteen or sixteen, he has dark hair and features that look far more comfortable with a frown than a smile.
“He’s a kid from Pontiac Point. He’s had it tough, too.”
The woman is shaking her head, and the man puffs out his chest. “You can’t stop me, lady.”
I’ve just stood up, finding Kadence beside me, when the glass doors open. Damien Black is stopped short as he goes to stride through.
Slamming my butt back into my seat, I yank Kadence down. Seeing as there’s no other seat around, she has no choice but to plonk in my lap. We glance at each other in surprise, but neither of us move. Having Kadence so close feels…great.
Almost unconsciously, I wrap my arms around her waist, breath hitching when she shuffles closer. In the space of a breath, she tucks herself in. Kadence this close is like holding a dream in your arms.
Her gaze flicks over my face. “We should be okay like this.”
I’m not sure what she means—I feel more than okay like this. It’s only when I have to glance around her shoulder, that I realize she’s trying to protect me. With Kadence on my lap, most of me is obscured.
Something in me tightens, feeling very much like a frown. I don’t like that she feels the need to hide me.
But then again, it’s too dangerous for me to be seen here, of all places.
Kadence seems to relax, almost melting into me. “I like being here.”
My unease dissolves as my chest expands. “Always.”
Kadence blinks, and I realize I’ve spoken without thinking again. I’ve said too much, too soon. Scaring Kadence away with my intensity wasn’t part of the plan.
Before she can say anything, the man at the door belches.
Damien Black smiles at him. “Sir, welcome to Matthew’s. How can we help?”
The man wobbles, and Dom slips his shoulder back under his arm. “I…ah…came here…to…”
“He needs help.”
Damien turns to look at the teen. “This is your father?”
The man tries to push Dom to the side. “Dom’s my stepson. Thinks he knows better than me. I don’t need no help.”
Damien hasn’t looked away from the boy. “Dom seems to think otherwise.”
The woman in the navy suit clears her throat. “I tried to explain we’re not a rehabilitation service, sir, and they’re welcome to return another time when…he’s feeling better.”
The kid’s stepdad has puffed up like a rooster again. “And I told her I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with a couple of drinks here and there.”
Dom’s shoulders have sunk. He knows he’s about to experience another disappointment in his life.
Dom’s stepdad must sense something through his drunken haze, because he shakes the boy’s arms off, almost shoving him when Dom tries to hold him again. “You all think you’re too good for me, don’t ya? Just ‘cause I don’t have no fancy clothes doesn’t mean you get to look down on me.”
Damien Black steps in front of his employee slightly.
Every muscle locks, and my arm tightens around Kadence. Not only is Dom about to be disappointed, he’s also about to be humiliated.
Damien Black reaches out a conciliatory hand. “Sir, maybe you’d like to come in and have a cup of coffee?”
Did I just hear that right?
The man looks just as shocked as I feel. “A—a coffee?”
Damien’s smile grows. “Of course. We have a lovely sitting area where you can relax.”
The man grunts. “Well, I am kinda tired.” He glares at Dom, weaving slightly. “What with getting dragged all over the place, and all.”
The woman looks the most surprised out of all of us, but she’s the quickest to recover. She glances at Damien, who nods surreptitiously, and pushes open the door.
The man stumbles through, leaving Dom standing there, shock rooting him to the shiny tiled floor.
Damien holds open the door, waiting for Dom with a smile. The boy seems to straighten and soften all at once, like he’s relaxing and finding confidence simultaneously.
I can’t help but frown. Damien Black just gave Dom hope, and that doesn’t sit well with me.
With the spectacle over, movement picks up around us again. The mother walks past, hurrying her kids. The waitress rushes over to clear their table.
Kadence and I remain still, the eye of this quiet storm. My awareness slides back to the fact her lean curves are sitting like a gift in my lap.
“The coast is clear.” Kadence keeps her voice low, the whisper sounding a little breathless.
I swallow. I don’t want Kadence to get up, and it has nothing to do with the need to stay hidden. So much heat is pulsing and building along the tracts of touching. It’s like discovering fire after spending a lifetime in the arctic.
Except I’m bringing attention to myself. A girl wrapped up in a guy’s lap is enough to have people looking twice.
I clear my throat, leaning back when I hadn’t realized I was angling forward. “Ah, thanks.”
Kadence smiles. “Always.”
She climbs off and takes the seat across from me. By the time she’s facing me again, a smile that feels like it could touch the opposite corners of this massive building has spread across my face. Surely, I can’t be so lucky that she feels the same way, too…
Kadence meets my gaze squarely, no blush, no looking away. It has the words climbing up onto my tongue. She’s already told me how she feels about me. I want to tell her, too—
Kadence leans forward. “And you’re sure Damien Black is the bad guy here?”
Blinking a little at the change of topic, I nod emphatically. “My mother’s told me all about him.”
“Why would the goddess of fate be so interested in him?”
I pause. It’s only four words, and I don’t want any more secrets, but I’m still nervous. What will Kadence think of this next bombshell?
“Because he’s my father.”
Kadence pulls back, curling into the seat like I’ve just shocked the spine right out of her. “Damien Black is your father?”
I wince at hearing it out loud. “Yes. My mother won’t talk about it. She visits Earth periodically—they must’ve met during one of those times.” I shrug. “Maybe she assumed she couldn’t get pregnant.”
She looks from the door, to me, and back again. “The surprises just keep coming, Micah. Anything else you need to tell me?”
“I believe that’s everything.”
I hold my breath as I wait for her to process it. It feels good to be free of secrets, but I’m conscious of how much I’ve just lumped Kadence with.
She nibbles the side of her lip. “And you t
hink he’s up to no good with the centers?”
I shrug. “He’s built five of these centers, all on Crossroads. Hades’ demigod son made sure he stayed alive.” Rather than be sent to the Underworld where he belongs. I wave my arm in the direction of the frosted doors. “Plus, who knows what happens behind there?”
Kadence looks at the frosted double doors thoughtfully. “I suppose the only way we’re going to find out is to go in there.”
“What?”
Maybe I was hoping it would take her a little longer to adjust to all this new information. I certainly didn’t expect her to stand up and start walking over. It takes precious seconds for my legs to remember how to function, so by the time I’ve already caught up with her, she’s almost there.
I grasp her hand, pulling her to a halt. “Kadence, I can’t go in.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to.”
I frown, confused.
“You’re right, Micah. It’s too risky for you to go in there, but there’s no reason I can’t.”
My heart thumps painfully in my chest. She’s the one person who understands.
She’s also the one person I don’t want to watch go and walk behind those doors.
I frown. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea…”
Kadence smiles. “What’s going to happen? My shots get up to date?”
She plants a quick kiss on my lips, then smiles. My heart’s beating uncomfortably fast and unevenly, but I don’t know what to say.
She releases my hand and walks up to the woman, who smiles at her warmly and pushes open the door.
My feet have turned to lead. How can I watch her go in there? I chafe against the invisible bonds holding me here, hating myself.
I tell myself Kadence is strong. She’s a demigod.
But still, the tight feeling in my chest climbs up my throat.
With a brief glance over her shoulder, Kadence disappears inside.
Kadence
Leaving Micah so soon feels wrong.
I’ve only just found him again.
It’s why I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder before I disappear through the doors. It’s like taking a photo of a precious moment you don’t want to lose.
I pause on the other side, the door whooshing closed behind me, my mind still reeling. Micah is alive. Micah is a demigod.
Micah is the son of Damien Black.
A big part of me wants to turn around and run back into his arms. There’s still so much to talk about, so much more I want to touch and taste and discover.
But I know it’s going to have to wait. Right now, there’s nothing I want more than to make sure there’s a future with Micah, and any growing darkness is a threat to that.
Taking another step in, I notice the cool color scheme has continued, but now there’s more furniture. Just like Damien said, there are multiple armchairs situated around the room. Drunk Dude is there, head tilted back at an odd angle as he snores. Damien and the teen are nowhere to be seen.
Another woman in a navy skirt and top approaches me with a smile. “Welcome, how can I help you?”
Crap. I’m in a health center—people come here for health-related stuff. I’ve barely had a cold my whole life. I wrack my brain for something plausible. “Ah…”
The woman’s smile softens. “I understand. We all have personal issues from time to time.”
I feel my cheeks heat, not really sure what she’s alluding to, but not really wanting to know. “Ah, thanks.”
The woman passes me a tablet. “All you need to do is fill out the questionnaires and we can see how best to meet your needs.”
I take the tablet. “Sure. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” She waves an arm toward the seats. “Take as long as you need.”
Feeling like I’ve just been checked in as a VIP, I take a seat where I can still see the drunk dude. His snoring is so rhythmic, you get the sense he’s not waking up any time soon.
The place is busy, with people of every age and background pacing or sitting around. Some have a tablet like me, some are on their phones as they wait. The room splits off into corridors, all dotted with doors in the same neutral color scheme. More people, most wearing the center’s uniform colors in some shape or form, bustle in and out.
One of the doors open, and an elderly man shuffles out, and the woman walks up to him. “All finished, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.” His voice is gravelly with age.
“Will you be needing another appointment?”
“No.” He barks out a laugh. “I think I was diagnosed with old age.”
The woman’s smile softens. “We all need peace of mind.”
The man reaches back to pull out his wallet. “Now, where do I—”
“Oh, there’s no charge, sir.”
The man stops. “I know, but I’d like to. I can afford it, you know.”
“We appreciate it. But Matthew’s Center is here for people to access health services, irrespective of whether they can afford it or not.”
I focus back on the tablet. A health center that isn’t income-based? Damien Black is definitely loaded.
Not to mention generous.
Swiping my finger across the screen, I get started, quickly discovering that when the lady said “questionnaires,” she wasn’t kidding. There are pages of them. My details. Vocational history. Health history. Education. There are even questions about how much I enjoy meeting new people (not so much), and how much I like helping others. The last question has me pausing. A few weeks ago, I would’ve chosen “disagree.” The question would’ve triggered an avalanche of pessimism and statements that said, “helping won’t make a difference.”
I like the person sitting in this chair who ticks “strongly agree.”
The whole thing takes about thirty minutes, which gives me plenty of time to keep an eye on the dude snoring, but also enough time to start feeling edgy. Micah’s going to be wondering where I am.
Plus, I’m not sure I’ve learned anything of value. I haven’t seen Damien Black or Dom, or snoring guy do anything else apart from snoring.
I’ve just looked up and stretched my shoulders when the woman returns, her smile back in place. “All finished?”
I pass her the tablet, suddenly conscious as it now holds a whole lot of personal information. “Yes, thank you.”
“Wonderful. Now if you’d follow me, I’ll take you to the photo booth.”
Now standing, I stop before I take a step. “You want to take a photo?”
“It’s standard procedure. It allows us to create the most comprehensive and current profile of you we can. It means we can tailor your health plan as closely as possible.”
Right. I’m not sure why they need my photo for that, but I’m not here to make a scene.
I follow her down one of the corridors, and we stop at the first door on the right. Thank goodness Micah didn’t come in. I noticed the hood coming up the moment we left the alley. He couldn’t have filled out those forms to begin with, but having his photo taken would’ve been impossible.
There are two photo booths in the room, and they’re as high-tech as the rest of this place implies. Big and white, they’re the sort with curtains drawn across so you’re in your own private photo session. The hostess, as I’ve come to think of her, indicates with a smile toward the one whose curtains are open.
I’m about to step forward, thinking this is all a bit weird—you’d think I’m getting my license or something—when the curtains are yanked back on the second one.
Dom steps, no stumbles out. He looks around the room, blinking. Must’ve been one hell of a flash in there…
Without acknowledging either of us, he comes toward us, lurching hard enough that the hostess has to step out of his way. He doesn’t bother to apologize, instead frowning at her. And here I thought he was a nice guy like Tyler.
Dom seems to find his feet as he walks out of the room, leaving without looking back. I glance at the hostess, but she
doesn’t seem to think anything is amiss. Maybe she’s assumed Dom has helped himself to his stepfather’s flask.
Curious, but not sure why, I turn to watch. Dom’s already in the waiting area, and he strides straight past his stepfather to the doors. The hostess must notice, because she rushes over.
“Ah, sir. Your father.”
Dom stops, the frosted doors sliding open. “He’s not my real dad.”
“Of course, I understand. But you’ll need to…ah, take him with you.” She finds her smile like the consummate hostess she is. “I can help wake him, if you like.”
Dom looks over to the snoring lump in the seat, his lip curling. “I didn’t see no rules about having to leave with the person you came with.”
With that, Dom is gone.
The hostess’ smile falls from her face. She glances back at me. “Ah, the instructions are on the wall of the booth. It’s all straightforward, but I’ll be there to assist in a moment.”
“Sure, I’ll be able to figure it out.”
Nodding in a way that tells you the person isn’t really listening, the hostess turns away. Poor woman. Now she has a drunk stepdad to wake and explain that his son has left without him.
I glance at the photo booth, deciding I didn’t really want my picture taken, anyway. I wait a minute or two, pretending I’m part of the selfie generation, and that I just smiled for the camera, then head back out.
The hostess is looking at the snoring guy, who hasn’t moved from his position, obviously unsure what to do. A door opens behind her somewhere, and she turns, an expression on her face that says she recognizes the direction.
Damien steps through and comes down the hall.
“Mr. Black.” The hostess has raised her hand as she tries to get his attention, but Damien waves her away, a deep frown darkening his features. Without looking at anyone, he barely waits for the frosted doors to slide open before he steps through.
He looked…angry. Not just angry, though. It’s the sad-angry that had become my constant companion. One borne of disappointment.
Not sure what any of it means, or whether it means anything at all, I follow him out, glad the hostess is too preoccupied to notice me. I’m not surprised to find Damien already gone by the time I’m out in the overinflated foyer. Those angry strides would have him halfway to Pontiac Point by now.