“My dad is helping him down at the bowling alley—plumbing issue.” His chest rumbles over mine. I can feel his wanting, plain as the heat emanating off his body in waves. Emma is right. I should totally give him a birthday present to remember.
Logan bounces through my mind, and I snap to attention.
“Well, he’s missing all the fun,” I say, making a face.
“Oh, we already had fun.” Giselle is quick to interject. “Mom and Dad took us out to lunch, and we all celebrated Gage’s birthday like one big happy family.”
“And me,” Ellis says, swooping in and giving her a spontaneous face five.
Gage presses his lips together with a remorseful smile.
“My mom arranged it.” His brows dip down like he’s not so secretly pissed at her.
“I knew you’d see him eventually, Skyla.” Emma stretches her limbs. “Well, I’d better get to bed. Night.” She dots a kiss over Gage’s cheek and does the same for Giselle. “Ellis, follow my daughter home to be sure she arrives safe, would you?”
“Will do, Mrs. O.” He hoists Giselle up out of her seat, and in ten seconds flat it’s just Gage and me and a rather malformed cake.
“How about we take this party outside?” His dimples go off. He knows I can’t refuse him like this. Gage’s dimples are my kryptonite.
He picks up the cake, and we head out back. It’s cool out here, dark and damp. Typical Paragon, washing us in its tears, always mourning, always filled to the brim with foreboding.
Charlie, the Oliver’s yellow lab, threads in and out of our legs, and Gage lets him inside before shutting the sliding glass door.
Truthfully, I’m surprised Gage didn’t haul me to his bedroom. The backyard wasn’t even on my list of places I thought we’d hang out on his birthday.
“Sounds like I missed a great party today.” I mean for it to come out playful, but, in truth, it sounded whinny and pathetic.
“You didn’t,” he says, landing the cake on the picnic table before tossing a towel over the grass. The pool glows like a fallen star, but Gage has chosen the dark side of the moon for this private party of ours. “No one had a good time without you. I made sure of it.” A laugh gets caught in his chest, but he won’t give it. Gage places the cake between the two of us as we sit on the blanket, Indian style.
“That’s not possible,” I lament. “You were there, and you’re the star of the show.”
“It is possible. Logan and I got into it. Ellis let a bunch of stupid crap fly out of his mouth. Then my Mom got a bee in her bonnet, and they almost kicked us out of the restaurant. Michelle and Lex walked in and chatted it up with my sister, so things took a turn for the boring. The end.”
“Michelle and Lexy joined you guys? OK, now I’m totally jealous.” And why the hell are Gage and I sitting so damn far apart? “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I let that last bit slip without meaning to.
“Do what?” A minute ticks by before he swipes his name off the cake and sticks his finger in his mouth. “Mmm, that’s good.”
“You know”—I crawl over and land in his lap—“all this distance between us. Especially the part where you spend your birthday with a bunch of cheerleaders that aren’t me.” I run my finger over the outline of his lips. “I want to spend way more of our birthdays together. I barely saw you yesterday and now again today. I demand a Skyla and Gage birthday do-over. One that doesn’t involve either Michelle or Lexy.” Or his mother, but I leave that last part out.
Gage smooths his fingers through my hair. “I may have had a tiny preview of next year’s fun.”
“Really?” I spike up and accidentally knock him in the chin.
“Ouch.” His dimples dip into twin, black spots.
“Sorry.” I touch my hand to his face and linger because I love touching Gage and miss it to pieces. “So what happens next year? Do I get the knockout?”
“Very funny.” He dips a kiss over my finger. “No. But you’re a knockout. You should feel pretty good about that.”
“You’re not going to tell me anything about it, are you?” I know Gage Oliver pretty well by now, and if he has anything in common with Logan, it’s that they both treasure their secrets.
“No,” he says it flat. “I know other things, Skyla.” He stares out at the pool as if the arctic waters had somehow put him in a trance.
“Tell me.” Fear grips me as I grow desperately afraid.
He shakes his head. “Next year will be nice.”
He’s covering for what takes place in the interim. I can tell.
“You know”—I scoot out of his lap and nearly land my ass right in his cake—“I would never do this to you.”
“Do what?” He ticks his head back a notch, genuinely confused.
“If I knew things, and you asked, I’d flat out tell you.”
“You know things, Skyla.” His features harden as he gazes back out toward the water.
“I don’t know jack shit.” There are no truer words.
“You’ve got to know deep in your heart who you want to spend the rest of your life with.” He looks over at me, perturbed, and this catches me off guard.
“I don’t.” I do, but I know for damn sure he won’t like the answer. The truth is, in my own twisted way, I want all three.
“Well, I do know who I want to spend the rest of my life with,” he whispers. “But you didn’t ask me, did you?” His demeanor downgrades to something just this side of a clinical depression. I feel like crap for not gifting him an ounce of hope, on this, his birthday, and now I’m seriously reconsidering the blowjob.
“Is it me, Gage?” I swallow hard, uncertain of what his future prognostications might have revealed to him.
“Yes, it’s you, Skyla. Do you really have to ask?” I don’t remember Gage being so on edge before. I’ve pushed him to the brink, and now he’s falling further away from me by the second.
“I’m sorry. This whole crazy thing is like a game I’m trapped in, and I can’t seem to figure out how to win.” I already have the prizes—two, too many.
Gage ticks his chin back and takes in a breath, incensed and angry with me. We stare at one another a very long time with sorrow glossing our eyes, and yet neither of us is willing to let a single teardrop fall.
“Maybe that’s all this has ever been to you”— his brows swoop in like bats in flight—“one big game.”
My body comes to life with something just this side of rage.
“No, Gage,” I stop shy of charging at him. “I’m not playing games. I’m through with games, now and forever.” I’ve had enough—enough of Emma—enough of trying to walk the line with both Logan and Gage, enough of death, and the threat of hell, even though, ironically, it feels like we’re already in it. Doesn’t Gage know everything I’ve ever felt for him is real?
I go to get up, and he snatches me by the wrist. A tender smile curves his lips just enough.
“Don’t go,” he says it quiet, just below a whisper.
I soften into him, and he reels me back into his lap. Gage takes my legs and wraps them around his waist until we’re facing one another, nose to nose.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “This was never a game. I didn’t mean that. I can’t classify what exactly this is, and only my mother knows why I have visions with all three of you. That’s the part that confuses me the most. I should probably just go home and give you some peace.”
“Don’t, please stay. You can’t leave until we eat my birthday cake. I’ll have bad luck all year.” His brows wiggle, and I let out a tiny laugh. “And don’t worry. I still want you to take your time. I’ll be here for you, Skyla, no matter what. I know what we have is special.”
“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Gage.” I bite my lip a moment trying not to turn this into a sob-fest. “It’s just that I’m afraid of hurting anyone. I’m afraid of saying goodbye. That’s where this indecision comes from. You’ve got to know I love you.”
“I do.” He shakes his head, fille
d with remorse. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“Me neither, and I already know what we’ll be doing next year on our birthdays.” I press my lips tight because the dam is about to burst.
“What’s that, Skyla?” His eyes catch the light from the pool and glow a pale shade of California winter sky.
“We’ll be doing this.” I wrap my arms tight around his waist.
Gage inhales an eternal breath, his chest expanding wide as a football field. I guess I hit the nail on the head.
“Did you make a wish?” I ask.
“You already made my wish come true.” He reaches down and swipes a finger full of frosting. “You want some cake?” He holds it in the air with a devilish look in his eye.
“Oliver, I swear—”
“It’s bad luck not to eat it with me, remember?” He swipes his finger over the cake again and shovels out twice the frosting. “I want us to enjoy it together.” He sticks his finger in his mouth and pulls it out clean.”
“Hey, I thought you were going to share!”
His dimples tremble as he holds back a laugh. Gage pulls me in gently by the cheeks and lands his lips over mine, soft, hesitant. He covers my tongue with his sweet chocolate kisses in long, determined swipes.
A vision comes. It’s Gage and me rocking together in a slow meandering kiss, our mouth filled with love and chocolate.
Gage moans into me. Happy birthday, Skyla.
And I can’t help but wonder if we’ve just started a very delicious tradition.
***
On the calorie-laden feast our country partakes in each year, otherwise known as Thanksgiving, Mom had the oversight to invite the Olivers along with Giselle, Demetri and his ridiculously endowed niece, Brielle and her mother; Ethan dragged in the future carcass of Chloe; and Drake brought Em.
“We’re sort of like a dysfunctional extended family,” I whisper to Logan as the food gets settled and ready to be devoured in less than ten minutes. Marshall brought a turkey that could feed five thousand. Emma brought about six different gourmet dishes that smell like heaven.
“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall steps into our observational huddle. “I gather you think you’ve escaped receiving a gift from me.”
“Please,” I balk. “My birthday was a week ago. Think nothing of it.” In truth, Marshall’s gifts have a tendency to scare the crap out of me, so I’m totally OK with him skipping the gesture.
“This gift might be just what you’ve been looking for.” He nods as if he’s speaking in code.
“A special room of torment in the tunnels for one ex-Celestra?” I shoot Chloe the stink eye.
“Perhaps,” he says it so assuredly I spike with glee at the thought.
Tad ushers Izzy over to the table by the tush. “All right, one, two, three. Let’s get this show on the road.” He claps his hands as if he were a ringmaster, and with this crowd, he sort of is. “The wife and I have an announcement.” He wraps an arm around the wrong woman’s shoulders, and I roll my eyes at his oversight.
Everyone swiftly takes their seats. I land sandwiched between Logan and Gage with Marshall conveniently located across from me.
“This year…” Tad raises the carving knife over the well-tanned skin of the turkey. Things never go well with Tad and sharp objects. He’s like a klutzy version of Ezrina. “Life has been different,” Tad continues. “The Gas Lab isn’t performing the way we would like, what with people refusing to pay money for things they can easily get for free like air.” He glares at the male doofuses he procured from his loins.
Also, instant coffee sort of sucks, but I keep that part to myself.
“But to briefly recap—” he motions with the tip of his blade for Mom to stand beside him, and she eagerly complies with her floral baby doll shirt, making her look twice as inflated as she really is. “Our family is about to be blessed with another beautiful baby this year. First, there was Beau.” He frowns into Brielle as if it were solely her fault Beau sprung into existence. “And now there is, Landon.” He spears the knife into the air victoriously, only no one knows what in the hell he’s talking about.
Mom breaks out into a fit of titters. “Landon happens to be the name of our brand new baby boy!” She gives her stomach a gentle pat, and the table gives way to a generous applause. I watch Demetri like a hawk. His sullen eyes, his tightlipped smile. I predict Tad is about to experience a nasty fall on that knife he’s wielding like some moronic trophy, and Landon Landon will soon be Landon Edinger. Wait…
“Landon?” I ask as the congratulations roll to a stop.
“Yes.” Mom’s eyes enlarge the size of platters. “It’s sort of that new thing rock stars do. You know, having just a single name, but this way it’s official.”
Official? Dear God. Someone has to take the scales from this woman’s eyes. This is Tad’s child she’s having. It will require far more miracles than there will ever be time for before it ever achieves “rock star” status. Hell, he’ll be lucky if he can master the “triangle” by the time he graduates from high school.
“I think that’s a charming epithet.” Demetri slithers. “A mother has the right to name a child anything she deems fit.”
“What the hell’s an epi-fat?” Tad grumbles, the knife precariously positioned in Demetri’s direction.
Mom settles him down and removes his weaponry as Demetri volunteers to say grace.
Figures. The comedy hour continues.
Demetri clears his throat. “Dear Lord God in heaven, who created the earth and all that is in it, reveal to us your divine wisdom so that we may know what is right and wrong. Bless us each day, with just enough, and so that our eyes may be ever cast upon your glory. Shine your light upon our path. Victory and salvation are yours alone. Amen.”
“That was stunning!” Mom marvels.
“Technically he didn’t say thank you,” I’m quick to point out. But knives and forks start flying as the hungry brood dives into dinner, and with Emma preparing most of the meal, I can’t say I blame them.
After the dinner, which I accurately predicted would last all of ten minutes, Chloe volunteers to help me slice the pie and make a pot of coffee.
“Don’t you have a family?” I’m so irritated by her presence. I’ve finally figured her out M.O.—vex Skyla until she’s certifiably insane. Crap, Chloe is so winning.
“We do brunch.” She slits her wicked eyes to the family room where the party has reconvened. “My family couldn’t care less about stupid shit like this.”
“Nice.” I’m betting with Chloe as a member of the Bishop clan, her family couldn’t care less about a lot of things. Chloe is bitter as night without any of the inner beauty the moon and stars can afford. It’s a wonder her parents are still voluntarily taking in oxygen, but, then again, Chloe is here more than she is home, so I suppose they have something to be thankful for. “So, you ready to enter into negotiations?” I blink down at the pendant still secured to her neck.
She belts out a laugh as if I had told the funniest joke in the world, but with Chloe that joke would have to be intermingled with cruelty for her to truly enjoy it, and I suppose withholding the pendant is just the right amount of cruel.
“What did you do that had Emerson up to her eyeballs with ammo?” I ask, and instantly her features darken.
“Emerson never lived to blackmail me Skyla, and neither will you.”
I shove a couple plates full of pumpkin pie in her direction, and she spins to deliver them.
“Girls.” Demetri blocks Chloe from leaving the kitchen. “I have a gift for you—the two of you—come by next week,” he growls it out with one of his ludicrous smiles. “I do hope you’ll both enjoy it.”
“No thanks.” I’m quick to reject a “gift” from the enemy. “Take it back, get a refund, shove it high up your ass—I really don’t care.”
He bleeds his wicked grin at my catalog of suggestions.
I go to walk past him with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand, and h
e catches me by the elbow.
“You will love this gift, Skyla. But you and Ms. Bishop must both be present for me to gift it properly.” He snaps a piece of pie off the counter and an additional one, for my mother no doubt.
Mia and Melissa help pass out dessert while I take a seat at the bar with Marshall and Logan. Gage has been quiet, standoffish, all night.
Mom flicks her wrist into the crowd. “Did you know the Gas Lab can’t pay its rent this month?” She opts to air out our dirty financial laundry in an effort to enliven the conversation.
“And this shocks her because?” I whisper. I’m betting it won’t be able to pay its rent next month either until they run Ethan and his flatulence all the way off the island. Why would she spend my money on something so ludicrous? On second thought, I doubt I’d want her to answer that.
Brielle comes sailing up with her lips pressed white. “They’re going to do it!”
“Who’s going to do what?” There are so many possibilities it boggles the mind.
“All right.” Drake waves a hand in the air, the other one wrapped snug around Em’s ever-thickening waist. She’s got that I-can-kill-everyone-in-this-room look in her eye, and knowing Em she really could take us all if she wanted. “My girl here and me have something to say.”
Crap. I’m sure Tad wants his son to follow in his footsteps, but not quite this literally—not when it entails diapers and breast milk that will run him into the thousands.
“My old lady and me are gonna hatch a chick by graduation. Dig it?” Drake flings his arms behind his neck like he’s flashing some gang signal. An oafish grin settles on his face as the room falls silent.
It would have been much clearer if he drew out whatever the hell he was trying to say in hieroglyphics across the expanse of the living room wall.
Mom blinks into the two of them. “You’re going to raise chickens? That’s fantastic!”
“Oh, hon!” Darla claps up a storm. “Do it in my backyard. Nothing tastes better in the morning than getting something ‘fresh laid’ inside of me with a strip o’ bacon on top.”