Both Skyla and I open our mouths with surprise. “Is this Gage?” I step in and look at those serious eyes, those hovering thick brows present even in this, his very first hours of life. And then, as if to confirm Dudley’s suggestion, his dimples dip in, and Skyla and I share a quiet laugh. “Damn, he’s cute.” I give a wistful shake of the head. And like an unwanted blast from the past, I remember the moment Liam told me that Barron had a son. My gut wrenched with jealousy before it ever did with joy. I remember wishing I could trade places with him. Trade my twisted wreck for his shiny new body, unblemished and untouched by the Counts—more importantly unwanted by them. Gage Oliver would forever fly under the radar of the enemy, and I found it grossly unfair. And now I know it wasn’t true at all. He was in the limelight. We just didn’t know it yet.
“That baby!” a woman screams from the nurses’ station, and Skyla lands a kiss to his tiny lips before setting him back down safely.
A group of nurses storm in to find all is right with the world, and the one who shed that scream looks physically ill.
“I would have bet my life I saw that baby levitating in thin air!”
The other two share a biting laugh. “I think it’s time for your sixteen-hour shift to come crashing to an end. Why don’t you look up that cute boy from psych? He oughta set your head straight.”
“You mean Doctor Dreamy, Eugene Booth?” The three of them share a chortle. “I think I’ll do just that.”
Skyla chokes out a laugh. “Our Doctor Booth? Wow, I can’t wait to rib Doctor Dreamy about this.”
“Eugene?” I shake my head at her. “That mildly explains why his son’s name is Revelyn.” A thought comes to me. “I seem to recall his ex-wife was a nurse. I guess he has Gage to thank for that.”
“That means”—Skyla’s eyes widen—“Gage is indirectly responsible for Rev, the bane of my sister’s existence at the moment. And here I thought he was older than us.”
Dudley gives a passive nod. “The butterfly effect at its finest, wouldn’t you say?” He sharpens his gaze over her shoulder. “Or perhaps we should ask him?”
Skyla and I follow his eyes to find a dark figure lingering in the corner of the viewing window. I recognize those wide shoulders, that dark cape-like coat he’s chosen to cloak himself in.
“Demetri,” I grumble.
“Of course, he’s here.” Skyla lets out a heated sigh. “He is the father.”
Another group of men step over to the viewing window, closer to the center of the show, and I’m quick to recognize the one closest to the glass, with the most jubilant look on his all-too-familiar face.
“And there’s Barron.” I lift a hand as if to wave even though he can’t see me—even if he could, his prideful gaze would never pull away from his precious son. “That man is the only father Gage Oliver will ever accept as his own.”
“You sure about that?” Skyla whispers as Demetri lifts his chin, those tar-colored eyes rising in our direction. And just when we thought we might actually blend in with the scenery, he pins us with his stare and offers a brief three finger wave.
“I’ve got a finger I’d love to show him.” Skyla lifts her hand—but just before she lets the bird fly, the scenery goes fuzzy, and Dudley has us off and running once again through time and space. But the scent of Gage as a newborn still clings to us. It holds the scent of hope, nothing at all close to destruction as Dudley has suggested. No, Gage Oliver doesn’t have an evil bone in his body, and to Demetri’s chagrin he never will.
“Where to?” My voice sounds distant, disembodied, and wholly not my own.
“As close to hell as any of us will ever get,” Dudley thunders, and I land with a thud over the cold mattress in my bedroom at Whitehorse. I pick up my phone and text Skyla.
Everything okay on your end?
She texts right back. I’m home. The boys are here. Gage just left.
My heart breaks at the thought of Gage making his exit upon her arrival. It’s as if in a small way they’ve both accepted this new divide as the new normal. They shouldn’t. They’re meant to be together. What do you think that interstellar field trip was all about?
A bubble of dancing ellipses lights up as I wait for her response. What in the hell do I think it meant? Hell if I know. Dudley is just as good at head games as Candace is. Yes, she fished me out of the past. Yes, she favors me over Gage, but only because she thinks Skyla and I can move Celestra forward to where it needs to be—and ironically, that would be right where it is, sans the disturbance in the force otherwise known as Wesley.
I don’t know. But one thing is for sure. I feel closer to you than ever. My mother handpicked you as my suitor. Liam sacrificed everything to get you to where you needed to be—in my world, on this island right by my side. All the signs in the universe always seem to point to you, Logan Oliver. You say you love me more than the heavens love the sun and the moon, but the heavens, the sun, and the moon, and all of their affection are no match for the bond the universe has secured for us. Time may have framed us in two different tiers, put us in two different places on the planet entirely, but destiny stepped in and moved the heavens and her precious heavenly hosts just to bring us together. I can’t help but think we are so very special. We are meant to be. We are willed to be. We will be. After all, my mother always gets what she wants.
Tears run down my cheeks as I stare at her words. The poignant irony of the very last line. If she had omitted that last doomed sentence, I would have thought it was poetic gold—something to pen in calligraphy and frame for generations to marvel. But those last few words, those barbed truths make the very bond between us seem questionable at best.
I slip the phone onto the nightstand and stare up at the darkness, up past the ceiling, past the stratosphere, and into Ahava where that twisted celestial being wrings her hands over what comes next in this earthly game of chess she’s indulging in.
Skyla and I are pawns. That’s all we’ve ever been. But is that all we will ever be?
I’ll be damned if I let that happen.
Candace Messenger broke a few hundred celestial rules to get me where I am today. Maybe it’s high time I break a few rules of my own to make sure my destiny, that of my nephew and the great love of our lives don’t come to ruin just to please the powers that be. No. I think it’s time we went off the rails to ensure we come to a very amicable end of our own choosing.
But who would I pair Skyla with? Gage—or me?
That is the question.
That is always the damn question.
When the idea came to me to throw a big party as a way to commemorate the end of a bowling era, it never occurred to me that I would have strict fashion guidelines dictated to me by Lexy. She’s neatly laid out a pair of ridiculously loud parachute pants on the bed for me, along with something that looks like a fish net to be worn as a shirt. And as if that wasn’t enough fashion-based humiliation, she’s set out a gold sequined glove—just the one, of course.
“No,” I flatline as both she and Kate observe from the door expectantly. Lex was so eager for me to see my special gift she hauled me up here in haste. “Trust me, I’m fine the way I am.” I hold out my arms so they can both garner an appreciation for my Levi’s and flannel combo. “I’m pretty sure jeans were standard fare in the ’80s. In fact, I know they were. I’ve brushed up on my John Hughes’ movies this past week just to verify the fact.”
Kate titters because she knows it’s true. She sat right there next to me as we downed one after the other as if they were neon-coated chocolate confections. Ezrina has her head secured about as good as it’s going to get, and Kate’s resigned to the fact she’ll have to wear a scarf for her remainder of time here. Speaking of which, I need to talk to Skyla about our dear, once headless friend. Kate has no real right to be here. I didn’t realize Skyla’s guilt over the fact she inadvertently took Kate’s life ran so deep. Candace can’t be pleased with this—and God knows if Candace is pissed, we’re all doomed to a life of fru
stration.
Lexy grinds her teeth. Come to find out, it’s something she does quite often when she doesn’t get her way, and the more she hangs out with me, it’s quickly becoming a habit. “Wear the shirt. It’s the least you can do to fit in. It’s your party, Logan. You can’t be the host and a killjoy.” Lexy’s hair is standing on end as if she stuck her finger in a light socket and then deep-fried every last follicle in a vat of oil just to complete the look. She’s wearing a hot pink dress that makes my eyes bleed for a pair of ’80s-inspired Wayfarer sunglasses, and her neon green shoes add the right amount of garishness that the decade requires.
“I was born a killjoy.” I snap my keys off the dresser along with my wallet and phone. “You two ready to head out?” I lead us downstairs and note Ezrina and Nev’s sedan is already gone from the carport.
Kate comes up next to me and gives a quick thumbs-up as she pulls a lipstick from her purse. Lexy has her dressed like a homeless woman who happened to fall into a pile of lace and black rubber bangles. Kate’s voice box isn’t quite up to snuff, so in her defense, her ability to protest the clown outfit was greatly diminished.
“I’m ready,” Lexy says to her reflection as she dusts the tip of her nose with powder. “You know, this is officially our debut as a couple.”
Kate and I exchange a quick glance. Apparently, even someone who’s been clinically dead for the last few years realizes this thing with Lex just isn’t happening. In fact, the only person on the planet even capable of fostering that delusion is Lexy herself.
“Lex.” The tone in my voice says it all and manages to elicit an eye roll from her in the process.
“You’re just not up to speed on how things work.” She gives a quick wink to Kate as we step out and I lock up after us. “I practically live here, Logan. Even you have to admit that there’s something brewing between us.”
“I have a habit of taking on boarders in the event you haven’t noticed.”
Lexy roars with a laugh as she takes a step toward the truck.
“We’re taking the Mustang tonight.” There’s a touch of pride in my voice as we head over and climb on in.
“Are you kidding?” Lex scoffs. “We look like assholes. This car is a deathtrap.”
I choose to ignore Lex’s sentiment. I love the Mustang. The scent of the past lingers here, fresh, unable to dissipate, and I appreciate the hell out of it. My father loved this car as much as I do. Up until I met Skyla, my heart lived in this ode to vinyl and the past. The engine roars to life with the enthusiasm of a lioness about to devour her prey, and I back out slowly with one eye on the bowling alley and the other on the road. The bowling alley may be across the street for the most part, but the road is wide and long and it’s not fun to walk, let alone in heels for the girls. Hell, I much prefer the shuttle service to the front door myself.
A few cars already litter the parking lot—Ellis’ monster truck and Brielle and Drake’s new econo clown car that’s small enough to fit in my back pocket. I’m glad they’re there. I want everyone I’ve ever known to set foot in that place one last time. Bree begged me to let her decorate. As much as I want this old place to go out with a big bang, the last thing I wanted was for Bree to crop-dust it with oddball decorations. Humiliating the poor place before I chop it off at the balls seems too cruel of a fate for the spot I’ve come to know as my second home, but I relented, and sure enough, judging by the old vinyl records hanging from every free space I spotted earlier in the day, the neon flashing lights, she’s crop-dusted the shit out of it.
The rain starts in as we make our way inside, and as soon as we crest the arcade, my stomach sinks. This is it. The last normal hours of operation.
“I’ll line the doors with wrapping paper so we don’t get any looky-loos!” Lex volunteers as she stalks off toward the kitchen. “And I’ll make sure to put a note outside letting everyone know we’re closed for a private event!”
“Sure.” I glance at the meager crowd already wrapping up their final game, taking off their shoes. I’ve already decided to trash those old, worn-out leather scuffs. Hopefully, when I reopen in the fall—God willing—I’ll actually have enough cash left over to start off with a pristine supply of fresh shoes. I’m not proud of the fact that some of those leather monstrosities have been around as long as the bowling alley has. I used to romanticize it. I couldn’t take any of the shoes out of commission because my father, my mother might have worn them on their feet. The feet that the Counts saw fit to burn to ashes. My stomach churns at the thought.
Bree jumps in front of me with just the right amount of exuberance on her face to pull me out of my morbid funk.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” she shrills a little too loud. “My playlist is going to like totally rock the house.” She gives a hard wink, exposing strata-like layers of yellow and pink eye shadow. She’s decked out from head to toe in a Madonna-inspired bustier with cones for tits and a skirt so short it requires a double take to verify its presence.
“That’s great. I’ll gladly let you be the DJ, and I’ll play bartender tonight.” I give a wink right back.
“With those shit sodas you serve?” Bree has been after me for years to fix the syrup lines that lead to the drink machines. “You may have wasted our youth feeding us your bullshit, but the sober buck stops right here, buddy. Don’t worry. My man has you covered.” She nods toward the shoe rental, and I’m horrified to find an array of tall amber bottles, one svelte white bottle with the word vodka etched into the glass. “We’re playing with big kids tonight, Oliver. Consider it a parting gift. I’ll even give you half the take.”
“The take? This place is headed for the wrecking ball, my friend. Keep every last dollar for yourselves. I’ve never made more than a dime here. Why start now?”
Bree zips off toward the newly minted bar, and I spot Coop coming in so I head on over.
“Where’s your better half?” I glance past his shoulder, but the entry sits empty.
“Trying to catch up to your better half.” He gives a shit-eating grin, and it dissipates just as quick. “I talked her into maintaining a friendship with Skyla. She’s still pretty pissed about Chloe. Maybe she’ll find out what the hell that’s about. Have you cracked that code yet?”
“Nope.” I shake my head at this alternative version of myself. Coop looks like he could be my brother. “As far as I can tell, it’s not happening anytime soon either. Skyla’s pretty pissed about a lot of things—what Chloe’s put her through, apparently, isn’t on the list anymore.” I know that’s not true, but to the naked eye it feels about right. “Can I get you something? Pizza, soda? Jameson?” I tick my head over to where Drake is shaking up a cocktail like a seasoned pro.
“I’m good.” His demeanor hardens as he folds his arms across his chest. “Ezrina’s been acting strange lately. Have you noticed anything odd going on?” His eyes narrow in on mine, and I can’t tell whether or not he’s calling bullshit on the fact I know about that Laken lookalike she’s Frankensteined to life.
“She and Nev are having a baby.” There. That alone accounts for half of Ezrina’s mood swings lately.
“I heard.” He frowns because we both know I’ve just offered up the wrong answer. Coop leans in, good and pissed. “You know. When Skyla said that you and Gage specialized in keeping secrets from her, I assured her there must have been a damn good reason each and every time.” His voice is low, but you can feel the anger shaking just beneath the surface. The corners of his eyes crease with a controlled sense of rage, the same way mine have been known to do. “Are you keeping something from me, dude?”
It’s like he’s got a sixth sense, and a part of me doesn’t understand why the hell I’m keeping anything from the guy. Coop has been a great friend. Hell, at this point, he’s family. I take a breath, ready to spill what I know, and he gives a hard shove to my chest.
“Go to hell, man.” He blows past me and hits the exit before I can stop him.
Shit. I pull out my ph
one, and just as I’m about to text him to get back here, in walks my tall, dark, and dangerously good-looking nephew. His hair is slicked to a shine, and he’s decked out in a suit. A thin bright blue tie pops off his dress shirt, and those sharp-looking shoes finish off the polished look on him. There is no doubt in my mind Gage Oliver is gunning to get laid. Skyla is in for it, and she hasn’t even hit the door. A knot settles in my stomach because a small selfish part of me wondered if the cold front was something that might last. And just as fast as that nosediving sense of self-pity comes, it dissipates. I want Skyla with Gage. They’ve come too far, have too many children to give up now.
Before I can head over to him, Graham Smite comes over and offers me a congratulatory pat on the back. “Why so forlorn, young son?”
It’s odd to hear him crown me with the youthful moniker since he looks to be in his early twenties himself. I know for a fact both he and his twin brother died from dysentery a couple of years apart.
“I’m fine.” I try to shake Skyla out of my head.
“Skyla?” He gives my hand a quick squeeze before letting go. He does have Celestra lineage, so it only makes sense he got the green light into my shitty subconscious. “She is a looker. Married though from what I hear—and not to you.”
“All of the above is correct.” I grimace over to Gage who happens to be waylaid himself a moment with Ellis and Giselle.
“But you love her.” He folds his arms over his enormous chest. Both Graham and his brother played ball for old Paragon High when the island just had the one school. “I once loved a young lady myself.” He gives a wistful shake of the head. “My brother had his sights set on the young lady as well.”
“What became of it?” The truth is, I’m almost afraid to ask. Two brothers, one girl. The equation sounds a little too close to home for my liking.
“One of us had to cave, and I figured it should probably be me. I’m the oldest. And I love my brother. I knew she would make him very, very happy.” A forlorn look of his own infiltrates his features. “And she did for the short remainder of his life.”
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