“The point is”—Ellis barrels on with it—“we get a bulldozer over here and level the shit out of this place. I’m thinking a total rebuild is in order.”
“What’s this?” Liam slaps his hand over my shoulder and pulls me in. “Dude, who did you fuck, and how fast can I get her number?” He offers a congratulatory pat to my arm. “You’re glowing.” The greasy grin of his fades. “Do I want to know why?”
I am glowing—literally, and have been ever since that lightning bolt kissed my forehead.
I’m about to tell Liam all about that peep show I was privy to that involved our nephew and his nefarious future, but Ellis holds up a hand.
“He’s glowing because we’re about to reduce this place to matchsticks. I’m talking bring on the gasoline. This bowling alley is about to turn into the biggest bonfire the island has ever seen.”
Liam scours me with his concern. Staring at my brother is like looking in a mirror, usually one that scowls and drools after girls, so for once it warms me to see him pouring out his worry for me.
“What the hell’s gotten into you, kid?” He smacks the back of my head with his palm. Liam was always more of a big brother to me in the head-thumping sense than Barron was—that’s because I still see Barron as my adoptive uncle—father. He is in many ways just that.
“I’ve gotten into him.” Ellis thumps the back of Liam’s head as if eager to get in on the brotherly action. “We’re turning this place into something people actually want to patronize. We’re revamping the kiddie zone and thinking bigger and better. We’re getting a liquor license and dumping the pizza oven for a five-star chef. What do you think?”
Liam will be the first to protest. He spent his youth haunting this place.
“I’m sold.” He slaps Ellis five, and I’m dumbfounded.
“You’re sold? He’s not talking a renovation, Liam. He wants to raze the entire structure. The bones that our father built—that he designed with our mother—will be for not.”
Liam glances around as if assessing the gravity of my words. “Don’t be such a dramatic pussy.”
“Yeah, Logan.” Ellis smacks me over the arm. “Stop being such a damn pussy.”
Liam winces. “I think change would be good. We can make it modern, make it our own. Whether we like it or not, change is something that’s good for us. And in this case, it might actually breathe a little financial life into the place.”
Ellis has already implemented his fair share of ideas into the bowling alley, and as much as I hate to admit it, all of them were winners. But it still wasn’t enough to push us over that magical black line—not for long at least.
“And there’s a ton of land here.” Ellis shakes his head at me as if this were somehow my fault. “You’re swimming in prime Paragon real estate. I say we pull the bowling alley to the street and put the parking out back. Or hell, let’s build a whole other structure next door.”
Liam gives Ellis a shove in the chest, and personally I’m relieved he’s finally come to his senses. “A gym!”
Shit.
Ellis lets out an ear-piercing whoop that echoes throughout the empty facility like dynamite. “That’s what I’m effing talking about! Finally, an Oliver who speaks my language.” They head over to the table, brimming with erratic thoughts and irrational ideas—all of which spell out the Paragon Bowling Alley’s doom—and all of which happen to be pretty damn good ideas even if I don’t want to admit it.
My heart sinks as I cast a mournful look around the place. The bowling alley as I know it is sitting on the wrong end of the hourglass. I can feel it. Liam is right. Whether or not we like it, sometimes, change is good for us. The word sometimes is my own addition to his newest catchphrase—and Liam is full of them as of late. But Skyla embracing Chloe back into her life is anything but good. Skyla and Gage at odds over anything at all isn’t a good thing, let alone warring over which angelic being will rule the ethereal roost. I’d say let the Fems and Sectors duke it out, but it’s too late for that.
A jag of lightning brightens the world outside our windows as if the sun itself came down to kiss us, and both Ellis and Liam howl like a couple of wolves. Then the thunder starts in, a low demonic growl with the volume set to high, and it mellows them right back down again.
A familiar face stains the entry, tall and brooding, eyes the color of a new dawn that we may never be privy to see again.
“Gage.” I head over and pull him into a partial embrace. It’s been a week since Christmas, and I’ve steered clear of both him and Skyla.
“How’s she doing?” he whispers it low like a secret, but the disruption taking place between Skyla and Gage has been anything but a secret on Paragon. Once Lexy got wind of their marital discord, she ran with it like the wind. And just like the wind, there’s not a damn place on this island that it hasn’t touched. Not that too many people are concerned with Skyla’s love life—outside of the Factions and a few classmates from West. In short, I think Lexy just seems to enjoy annoying the hell out of Skyla.
“I have no clue, man. Give her a call.” I sock him hard on the arm. I want it to hurt. I want to wake him the hell up so he can see what’s happened and then figure out how to fix this pile of shit Demetri landed us in. “I have no intention of becoming the middleman.” There. I said it.
Gage blinks to life with a smile, and those dimples of his dig in deep. Haven’t seen them in a while, and it feels good to know his joy is still within reach. “Dude, I’m the middleman, and we both know it. I’ve always been caught in the middle between you two. Don’t fight me on it.” He rubs his arm before his affect softens. “Look, I mean it. I need you. She’s off the rails, and I need her to be whole. I broke her. I didn’t mean to, but I did. You need to go in and dig deep. Get to the bottom of this Bishop mystery. Skyla knows better than to mess with Chloe.”
“That’s what’s scary. She’s voluntarily messing with Chloe.” A shiver runs through me. “She’s playing with fire—and she will get burned in the end. I can’t fathom what’s going through her mind.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, I’m the reason she’s derailing. She has every right to hate me. But I need in again. I crave those boys as much as I do her. I’d do anything to have my old life back.”
Gage will never have his old life back. There isn’t a chance in hell, and we both know it. But instead of stating the obvious, I offer up a falsely encouraging nod.
“What’s with all the enthusiasm?” He nods to Ellis and Liam who have busted out the legal pad and are jotting down every bad idea that comes to mind.
“They’re deconstructing my life. Nothing new, my friend.” I’ve already swum in the deep end of the insanity pool with Ellis and Liam. And I’m not eager to abandon the conversation. “So, what’s next with Skyla? When was the last time you spoke with her? When did you see the boys?”
“I just left the house. As soon as I showed up, Skyla took a shower so I had a chance to spend some time with them.” He winces. “I can’t live apart from my boys, Logan. Skyla has to hear me out. She has to know I would die to protect my family.”
Ellis and Liam abandon their brainstorming efforts and head on over.
“New Year’s Eve—my house.” Ellis points to the two of us. “I’d have it here, but dude, this place is deader than the effing morgue. Get it? Deader than the morgue?” He offers himself a robust round of applause. “It’s going to be huge. This is bigger and better than anything I’ve ever done before. I’ve got an all-star lineup. Live bands imported from Host will be rocking us all night long. Get someone to sit on those kids, would you?” he shouts to Gage while walking backward toward the door. “I want Messenger’s fine ass over there, too!”
Gage growls at Ellis for his inability to keep it clean. That’s exactly why I love Gage with Skyla. Contrary to what she believes, he is protective—right down to Ellis’ foul mouth.
“So, you good with the teardown?” Liam gives me a shove as if my opinion didn’t really matter. It p
robably doesn’t, or shouldn’t at this point, considering I’ve been administering CPR to the place for as long as I can remember and I can’t get it off go.
“I’m rooting for the bonfire.”
Gage shakes his head ever so slightly. “You’re not tearing down this place.”
“Yes, we are.” It’s nice to see Liam doesn’t give much credence to Gage’s opinion either. “We’re rebuilding and putting in a gym next door. Ellis Harrison is brilliant.”
Gage and I groan at the thought of Ellis’ brilliance. It’s heresy at its finest.
“Maybe so.” Gage pumps a small laugh from his chest. “For my sister’s sake, he’d better be. Anyway, I’m up for some construction myself, so maybe I can use whoever you hire to help out with the old Walsh place.”
Skyla and Gage just purchased their very first home a few months back. Skyla’s not crazy about it. And it’s not the fact it’s virtually a haunted fixer-upper that’s making her skittish. It’s the fact it’s planted smack next door to Barron and Emma that has her spooked. Can’t say I blame her. Emma has proven to be every bit the nightmare when it comes to my ex-wife.
Ex-wife. A dull laugh rides through me. That sounds bitter and cold, and that’s not at all how Skyla and I are—with the exception of this very moment. I narrow my gaze at my nephew for getting me into this bitter cold pickle to begin with.
“Back to Skyla.”
“And I’m out of here.” Liam throws his hands in the air. “I’ll see you clowns tomorrow night at Harrison’s. Leave the drama behind and let’s start the new year fresh. There’s a lot to be said about forgiveness.” His voice trembles through the walls as he ducks out into the dark armpit of the storm.
“Skyla isn’t going to forgive me anytime soon,” Gage muses. “Maybe not you either.”
That dry smile materializes on my face once again. Deep down, it’s me Skyla should resent, hate—not Gage. Never Gage. I’m the one who singlehandedly turned her life upside down and tossed her to the celestial wolves. But life doesn’t have a rewind button, and time travel doesn’t work that way either. This is the shit hole we’re in, and both Gage and Skyla Oliver are going to work this damn thing out. I’ll make sure of it if it’s the last thing my dead body accomplishes on this planet.
“I know what you’re thinking, dude.” He smacks me over the arm before giving my shoulder one of those bionic squeezes. Same ones he used to dole out in high school before a big game. Gage always gave the best pep talks. In fact, the coach gave him the floor more often than not. “You’ll get your time with her.” He looks past me, his eyes wide and vacant as if drifting into some invisible horizon that erases his existence altogether. “It will happen much sooner than you think.”
I kick his foot out from under him, and he stumbles a moment before righting himself. “Snap out of it.” I sling an arm around his shoulder. “You are, and always will be, the love of that woman’s life. You have given her a gift—two gifts—for which she is eternally grateful. The two of you have bonded your souls, through love, in ways that most people wish they could experience for just a moment in this life. This heartache, this heartbreak sponsored by the Fems—it too shall pass. Mark my words, Gage. By this time next year, this will all just be a blip on the radar.”
“Blip on the radar, huh? Sounds like something—or someone is about to bite the big one.”
“Are you saying I’m not a good cheerleader?”
Gage scuffs my hair up and rubs his knuckles hard over my head. “I’m saying you’re a good prognosticator. Trouble is coming, Logan. I can feel it in my creaky bones. My days are numbered, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.” He heads for the exit, and I follow him to the door.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart,” I tease at a weak attempt to add levity to the situation. “My days are over, and I’m still parading around this planet like I mean it.”
“So, you’re saying it’s not over even when it’s over?” A dry laugh pumps through him. “In that case, you might be a better cheerleader than you think.”
“I’m also a bit delusional.” I turn back and look at the empty bowling alley with its tired paint job and well-worn floors—the shoes lining the counter in bad need of repair themselves. Hell, even the ratted-out loafers look poised to run the hell out of here. “It’s over for this place, isn’t it?”
“It is, but you and I both know what lies ahead. A fresh beginning is the only real cure.”
“So, I cut my losses?”
“You have no more losses—only victories from here on out.” He pulls me into a tight embrace. “You always were the winner between the two of us.”
Gage ducks out into the storm, the downpour flattening his hair, bouncing off his jacket as if he were bulletproof. In a lot of ways, Gage Oliver is just that—bulletproof. His demented father will make sure Gage emerges the winner, but it’s not Skyla’s heart he’s concerned about. I just pray Gage can rise above the wickedness bubbling in his veins, stay strong enough to fight, to resist the evil he was wrought from. Gage cannot lose Skyla. That is something he would very much not survive.
That chilling vision I had the night of the christening comes back to me. Gage on a throne. His body morphing into a demonic creature, a living, breathing dragon.
Yes, much like the mascot with its ironic moniker on Host, it was an omen. A horrible, horrible truth that must be stopped before it ever comes to fruition.
Skyla and Gage could survive a lot of things, but his reign of wickedness would not be one of them.
Gage is right. His days are very much numbered. The only thing he doesn’t realize is that he holds the key to life and death—to Skyla’s heart, to her love and her hatred for him.
Skyla and Gage will survive.
I hope.
2
Fear No Evil
Skyla
New Year’s Eve has always been one of my favorite holidays. No gifts, no expectations, no gluttony, no greed, no need to do hard time with the family. That’s not necessarily true. Back when my father was alive, we held fast to our New Year’s Eve traditions. My mother—Lizbeth—cooked up a boatload of crab and lobsters. I’m not sure why crustaceans were on the menu at the close of each year, but nonetheless, it was a feast we didn’t partake in for the next twelve months. We watched television, and as soon as Dick Clark announced it was midnight, we banged pots and pans loud enough to wake the living and the dead. Back when my father was alive, the promise of a bright new year seemed plausible, possible, and wholly immanent. And after he passed away, each new year felt dim, a regretful waste, unyielding in the horrible ache he left in his wake.
I scoop Nathan and Barron into my arms. Two tiny perfect beings who I would die for, sacrifice anything for—and just like that, Gage weighs heavy on me like granite. In his mind, I’m sure he thinks he’s done this for us. I can only imagine his reasoning, but I’m quick to push it away. My concern is the welfare and happiness of these twin angels, these dark-haired mini studs that will soon break hearts all over Paragon just like their daddy. Will they love Gage as deeply and spiritually as I love my own father? They must. Deep down, I love Gage that way—the old version, the one I thought I knew. This new version feels more like a disruption than a reality, but the truth is, he is still their father. I want that special bond to form quickly and permanently. If I can’t save Gage from himself—Chloe lights up my mind, and I blow her out like a birthday candle—then these boys will reach him. They will keep him grounded, keep his compass honed to true north, to good and not evil. They must, and they will. With Gage under the cloak of the Steel Barricade, there is no more immediacy to save him than there is now. Demetri’s words come back to haunt me. The hour of the Dragon is upon us. The age of the Serpent has arrived. Gage is a lot of things, but he is no monster. Please, dear God, don’t let it be so.
The boys begin to fuss in turn, and I head downstairs with my tiny crew. I’ve already fed and changed them, but it’s noon and Emma
hounded me within an inch of my sanity that she and Gage needed to see the boys today for a visit. I know for a fact she’s already sniffing around Ellis’ legal eagle of a mother because she informed me of this custody drama herself. God, custody. It sounds awful. It sounds like something just south of prison, and if Gage and I can’t make this work, then I’m up for a lifetime of regular separations from my boys. My heart bleeds just thinking of it. There is no way in hell I will ever share custody of my babies—not with their father, not with anyone. I can’t go an hour without missing them. I can’t imagine them being carted off for an entire day—worse yet, an entire weekend. I can see it now. I slave away all week, and Gage and Emma swoop in and take all the fun days. No way. Hell no. Fuck no. Not happening on my partial human, Celestra-blooded, overseer of the Factions celestial watch.
I clutch the boys extra tight as I descend the stairs and hear a bevy of voices rising in a panic coming from the kitchen—Mom and Tad specifically, but it sounds like a riot even if it is just the two of them.
Just as I’m about to break out into a full sprint with the boys in hand, I spot Gage and Emma sitting in the tranquility of the living room—if you can call it that with a week’s worth of old wrapping paper still strewn around the room, a pile of unwanted gifts rotting in the corner, and dear God, has that bowl of eggnog really been sitting out for seven solid days? Emma’s OCD must be silently killing her on the inside.
“Hello,” I say, trying to sound amicable, but as soon as she spots the boys, her face brightens and she’s quick to snatch one from me and hand him off to Gage and then take the other for herself.
“Why hello, little mister! How are you today?” She wiggles her brows into poor Barron’s face until he starts to fidget and cry. “Oh no, you don’t, Mister Fussy Pants! Your grandmother is here to save the day—that’s right. I am saving the day.”
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