“Mommy, look what we made!”
Cupid’s head swiveled toward the staircase, where Mia sat, perched on one of the upper steps, silently observing the scene below. “How long have you been sitting there?” he asked.
“A few minutes.” She made no move to stand. “I didn’t want to disturb the moment. Everyone looks so happy.”
Cupid’s heart split down the middle—at least, that’s how it felt—as if half of him would stay here with Mia and the boys when he had to leave, which could happen any second now.
“Come on down,” Cupid said. “You should be a part of this.”
Mia gave him a tender smile, stood, brushed off her bottom, and skipped down the stairs. “Where’s Lieutenant Goode?”
“He went outside to pull the car up. He didn’t want you and the boys to have to brave the mob.”
“Mommy, look! We made a bear house,” Eli called from under the blankets. Mia dove under and tickled Eli until his wild kicking knocked the roof off. Jonah jumped on top, and the three of them rolled around in the mess of pillows and blankets and giggled until they were gasping for breath.
Lost in the happy scene, Cupid didn’t notice the soggy bear leaving Luke’s pudgy fingers until it hit him in the nose. “You wanna play too, Lukie? Huh? Huh?” Cupid rolled onto his back next to Mia, tossed Luke into the air, and caught him with a silly jiggle and peck on the nose. Luke’s squeals and baby belly laughs started a second round of giggling, and soon Mia was holding her stomach and sighing. The boys went to work rebuilding their house around the grownups lying side by side.
Cupid seized his chance to apologize. “I was wrong to drag the boys out last night, Mia. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
She flipped onto her side and propped up her head in her hand. “God, that guy Reese was such a tool. You tried to warn me, but I didn’t want to listen.”
Cupid itched to hold her hand, but it was both too soon and far too late for all that. “It’s not your fault, Mia. You were beating for him.”
She rolled her eyes and grimaced. “I really hate my stupid heart.”
“Tell me about it.” Cupid didn’t realize he was rubbing his heart until Mia gave him a sympathetic smile. They were in this stew separately and together, united in victimhood against their common foe, Love.
“Oh, Q,” Mia started with watery eyes, “of course I forgive you.”
His thank you caught in his throat, and all that came out was a choked whisper.
“I’m taking a break from men for a while,” Mia said. “I need to get my life back.”
Cupid tamped down his panic and rolled toward Mia, mirroring her modified side plank. “Please don’t let one bad experience throw you off track.”
“One?” Mia huffed. “Q, this isn’t even a track I wanted to be on, remember? Sure, my life was kind of boring before I met you, but the boys and I were doing okay. Now, it’s all . . . well, it’s nuts. I believe last night was the universe beating me over the head with a sledgehammer. This isn’t good for the boys, and frankly, it’s not good for me.”
Earth girls still confused him, but Cupid had learned enough to know Mia needed to come around to the lieutenant on her own terms. Until then, Cupid needed to do everything in his gods-given power to make sure Goode didn’t get too far away.
He leaned in and brushed his thumb along Mia’s cheek. “Try not to give up on Love, Mia.” Gods, he loved her so much it hurt. Wanted her with every inch of his body and soul. What he wouldn’t give for one last, quick kiss—
The doorbell was a bucket of cold water dumped not a moment too soon. Jonah charged to the door, teddy first. “Joe, wait!” Mia yelled, jumping up and overtaking him before he could turn the knob. “Only grownups open the door, remember?”
Mia peered through the peephole before opening the door. Lieutenant Goode stepped inside and pulled off his cap. “You need a childproof deadbolt on this door,” he said. “I’d like to stop by with my toolbox and take care of that for you, if that would be okay?”
Mia’s hands went to her hips, but Cupid could see the tiny grin planted on her face. “I have my own tools, Lieutenant, and I assure you, I’m not afraid to use them.”
He nodded with great reverence. “I believe you, Ms. Barnes.”
“Would you please call me Mia?”
Even from his spot across the room, Cupid saw the tips of the lieutenant’s ears turn pink. “Well, unless you also have a spare deadbolt lying around, Mia, I’d like to pick one up for you and stop by, say, Saturday . . . to install it? I’d do it sooner, but that’s my next day off.”
She backed down, tilting her head and smiling. “Okay, sure. Thank you.”
“Thank the gods,” Cupid muttered under his breath—or so he thought.
Mia turned and gave Cupid the murderous shut-up glare he’d received so many times from Pan. The lieutenant glanced back and forth between the two of them, released a deep sigh, and replaced his cap. “All right, then. The squad car’s out front, and I’ve taken the liberty of installing all the car seats, so whenever you and the boys are ready.”
“Okay. Give us a minute?”
“Of course.” Lieutenant Goode strode to the front door where he took up his post like one of the palace guards, far enough out of earshot to afford Mia and Cupid some privacy but not too far for Cupid to hear the echo beats lining up with Mia’s in perfect synchronicity.
As if the gods needed to drive home the point Cupid was the odd man out—and would, in fact, always be the odd man out in Mia’s life—Cupid’s heart endured an erratic stream of sharp stabbing pains that might have been Hades himself, jabbing his pitchfork around Cupid’s inner chambers for sport. Cupid rose from the floor, scooping up Luke in one arm and pressing the baby against his aching chest.
Mia sprang toward them on tiptoes, barely containing her glee. “What I said earlier about taking a break?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Not that I’m asking your opinion or anything, but if I were . . .”
Cupid raised his eyebrows. “You want my opinion?”
“Maybe.”
Cupid shook his head, chuckling. “Are you actually going to take my advice this time?”
“Q, please.” She set her palms together in front of her belly as if to do a Namaste. Mia’s measured monotone was poor camouflage for the inner storm gathering momentum. “Is . . . he . . . my guy?”
Well, there it was, wasn’t it? Cupid’s Big Moment. The love of his life, searching his eyes with all the hope and faith she possessed, asking him to confirm that another man was, in fact, her divine match.
“Yes, Mia. That is your man.” Oddly, it didn’t slice him open to send Mia into the arms of another man. How could it, when her face radiated pure joy? He’d witnessed enough heartbreak to know his pain would come soon enough. When it did, it would all be worth it. For this.
Mia teared up, and her smile brightened and spread as Cupid told her the rest. “The two of you are beating so hard for each other, I can’t hear myself think.”
“Really?” Mia patted her heart and giggled.
A searing pain filled Cupid’s chest, and he rubbed furiously with his free hand. “Owww.”
“Oh my god, Q? Are you okay?” Mia asked, scooping Luke from Cupid’s arms.
“I’m won—ahh—wonderful.”
“Breathe, Q. We need an ambulance. Lieutenant, call 911!”
“No! Please, no.” There wasn’t a hospital on the planet that could relieve Cupid of his pain now. This was the gods ratcheting up his suffering so he could live out the rest of his days in unendurable misery.
“Mommy, is Q all right?” Jonah and Eli scrambled into Cupid’s view near Mia’s feet, as did a pair of shiny black shoes belonging to Lieutenant Goode.
The throbbing spiked more violently than ever, making it impossible to dra
w a breath. Ravaged and weak, he swayed off balance and was set right again by the firm hand of Lieutenant Goode. Fearful of setting off a fresh episode, Cupid drew a shallow breath, then another and another, until he could straighten up, thanking the lieutenant with a brief nod.
“We should get you checked out,” said Lieutenant Goode, his fingers spread over the radio strapped to his shoulder.
Cupid held up his hand and breathed more deeply, cautiously experimenting with the fragile equilibrium. The piercing agony appeared to have flattened into a uniform ache, painful but bearable.
“I’m okay,” Cupid said, smiling as best he could at Mia, whose face looked as white as her bed sheets. Cupid reached down to high five Jonah and Eli. “Really, I’m good.”
As good as I’m going to get, Cupid realized with a start. The weeklong siege that had knocked him off the treadmill had come to a resolution of sorts. Cupid’s heart would be permanently afflicted with unrequited love for Mia—his new reality and his own private Tartarus.
With the moment of ascension upon him, Cupid had no time for a long goodbye. “Mia, I’ve got to go. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see you again.”
Mia stepped back, cradling Luke against her chest. “Oh.” She shot Cupid a glance heavy with pity. “I understand.”
“No, I . . . I want you to know if I don’t come back, it’s not because I didn’t want to. Okay?”
“Sure,” she answered softly.
Damn, I thought my heart was all done twisting. “You’ll explain it . . .?”
“Of course.” Mia glanced at Jonah and sighed. “We’ll all miss you, but I’m starting to believe we’ll be okay.” Eyeing Lieutenant Goode, she added, “Maybe even better than okay.”
“I know you will.” Cupid gave Mia a brave smile, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek. “Be happy. You all deserve it.”
Mia grabbed his arm before he could pull away. “So do you, Q. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but thank you. For everything.”
Lieutenant Goode cleared his throat. “Q, would you like me to escort you to your car?”
The crowd of witnesses. The car. What the hell was going to happen when he vanished from behind the wheel? Would he go crashing through the roof of the Prius?
“No, but thank you.” Cupid offered his hand to Lieutenant Goode. “Take care of them, Lieutenant. They’re very special to me.” A man of few words, Goode answered with another of his solemn nods.
Cupid squatted down and pulled Jonah and Eli into a hug. “Bye, guys. Be good for your mommy.”
Jonah squeezed him tight, then pulled back with wide-eyed excitement, his pupils darkened bullseyes. “Did you hear, Q? We get to turn on the siren!”
“Sounds like you’re off on another great adventure.” I’m going to miss you all like crazy.
Goodbyes hurt. Cupid set his sights on the door and didn’t look back.
42
Leaving Mia
“GODDAMMIT, FATHER, TALK TO ME!”
The release felt mildly satisfying, though Pan’s outburst would accomplish nothing. The messenger of Mount Olympus wasn’t summonable. He dropped in at the whim of the gods on high, not their lowly servants on earth.
Mortal gadgets with their “up-to-the-minute” news were laughable compared to oracles, but Apollo was “unavailable” as well, so Pan did what any demigod would do in his position—paced like a madman in front of the TV and swore at his cell phone every two seconds. This time, Pan couldn’t be angry at Cupid for not calling; surely, he had his hands full right about now if he still walked this Earth. Pan couldn’t bear to think about the if not.
Some friend you are. You’d rather have him stay and be tortured. For what? Pan slowed his pacing as the memory of their kiss slammed him for the billionth time.
“Let’s cut over to the Barnes residence. Can you tell us what’s happening, Nancy?”
“Yes, Brent. We’re watching Reese Harris exit the house.”
“Fuck me,” Pan fumed. “The little shit came outside to make another speech?”
“Just to remind our audience, Mr. Harris is the fitness model who reunited Mrs. Barnes with her three little boys last night.”
“Fitness model,” Pan huffed. “My goddamn hero.”
“He appears to be heading toward his car.”
Pan stepped closer to the screen. Huh. “Where’s your smug smile now, you arrogant bastard?” Unless Cupid had somehow ascended without being noticed by every media outlet in Tarra, he and Lieutenant Goode were still inside with Mia. Pan had no way of knowing what to think about that.
“There’s movement again at the front door. Let’s cut back to the scene and listen.” Lieutenant Goode slipped out the door and checked the security of the lock before turning to the hungry crowd.
“Why are you leaving?” Pan yelled at TV Goode. “Why is he leaving, Q? And why are you still inside? God damn you, Q. God damn you all. YOU BETTER HAVE YOUR PANTS ON!”
Pan eyeballed his phone, still not a fucking word, and paced and cursed some more. A terrible habit, this pacing, and the wool rug was no match for his size twelve canoes, as evidenced by the rut paralleling the coffee table. With a passing thought that sickened him, Pan imagined furrows of hoof prints instead. Working up a full head of steam now, Pan stroked the ungainly nub at the top of his ass crack.
“Thank you ever so much, you selfish prick.” Speaking of pricks, Pan wondered if his own would ever work again.
“Lieutenant Goode! Lieutenant Goode, can you tell us what’s happening inside the house?”
The officer pushed forward, a man on a mission. “I’m going to need this crowd to disperse so I can bring the cruiser right up front. We don’t need anyone else getting hurt.”
The camera zoomed out to follow Goode jogging to his car, then inching his police cruiser up the street so as not to maim the idiots standing in his path. Goode exited the car, skipped up the walk to the front stoop, pushed the bell, and struck an official–looking pose in front of Mia’s door. Seconds later, he was swallowed up inside the house.
“Well, all right, then,” Pan said to no one in particular, allowing himself a breath of hope. Drained from his sleepless night and the exhausting responsibility of Cupid’s welfare, Pan slumped into the sofa, tossed his phone onto the cushion beside him, and rubbed his eyes. He wouldn’t have traded places with Cupid for anything, even if it meant living with a broken pecker and regenerated tail, though truly, those things were no fun at all.
“Come on, Q. Get these two lovebirds together and get the hell out of there.”
“The man known as ‘Racer Q’ is leaving the house.”
Pan bolted off the couch, heart pounding as if he’d just run a marathon. If this measly TV coverage was to be his last glimpse of Cupid, Pan wouldn’t miss a second. Not that Cupid was easy to track once the paps swarmed him with their cameras and mikes and obnoxious questions.
“How are the boys? Is Ms. Barnes still angry with you? Do you feel like a hero?”
“Get the fuck out of the way so I can see him!” Shit. Pan couldn’t read Cupid’s expression, but he sure didn’t see a smile. Could Cupid have failed again? Had Mia booted him, maybe for good this time?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Pan rocked on his feet in front of the TV, bobbing and weaving as if he might improve his view. Cupid didn’t speak to anyone, just set his chin toward the ground and pushed through the hordes until he reached the relative safety of the Prius. The bastards pressed their microphones into the windows and beat on the glass.
The car started forward. Only Cupid could have successfully woven through the maze of gawkers without injuring anyone, though there were a few he could have put a dent in without drawing any tears from Pan. The Prius shrank into a mere blip and eventually disappeared. With a weary sigh, Pan clicked off the news and paced s
ome more.
He really hated feeling so goddamn useless. This wasn’t at all how Pan had imagined things ending between them. But then, he’d never expected to see Cupid again at all, certainly not this excruciating blend of innocence and hotness that made Pan want to both protect him and fuck his brains out.
And I’ve done neither.
Wallowing wasn’t helping, and pacing only got him more worked up. He threw himself onto the couch again, closed his eyes, and succumbed to the memories of intimate almosts, ending with their goodbye kiss. And he was stiffening. Surely that was inappropriate right now. What the—I’m hard?
Pan plunged his hand inside his jeans to verify what friction had already told him. I’m hard.
Lifting his voice toward the gods, he cried out, “Efharisto! Thank you.” Pan slid his palm up and down his glorious erection, temporarily setting aside his anguish to enjoy the resurrection.
Wait, does this mean . . .? Lifting his hips off the cushion, Pan reached inside the back of his jeans and slid his fingers down his tailbone. No more nub! Just the same hairy, human ass he’d known and loved since he fell to earth and landed on it. Much delighted that his lump had repositioned itself in front, where it could be so much more useful, Pan celebrated for one jubilant moment—Cupid’s done it!—before taking in the full implication of his return to status quo.
Cupid is gone.
Pan ejected his hand from his pants with a guilt–laden groan and shuffled to the kitchen for a beer. He yanked open the refrigerator and reached for a Sam Adams as Connie Francis belted out Pan’s newest ringtone, “Stupid Cupid.”
“Holy shit!” Pan slammed the refrigerator door and sprinted across the room, diving onto the couch for his phone. “Q? You’re still here?”
“Yes,” came the shell-shocked answer. “You are too?”
Tears sprang from Pan’s eyes. “Of course, buddy. Where else would I be?”
First Quiver Page 23