Dinner gets underway, and I don’t bother asking Mom what the bubbling stew consists of. Gage and I already plan on hitting Taco Bell afterwards, so there’s no need to load up on what looks like Tad’s old socks swimming in tomato juice.
“I’m datin’ again,” Darla announces between bites. She knocks back her wine and points her glass at Tad for a refill. “I tried that Islanders Only website you told me about, Lizbeth.” She motions at Mom with her hand.
I bet Mom “told” her all about it. Hell, Mom probably masterminded the website herself, for this very purpose. I’m sure she’s doing the happy dance under the table at the thought of successfully pointing Darla in the opposite direction. I bet she plans on steering all of Demetri’s prospective girlfriends to questionable dating websites.
“That’s fantastic!” Mom belts it out as if Darla announced she won the statewide lottery. Her smile continues to expand until I’m convinced her lips are about to stretch right off her face. “I bet your Mr. Right is just around the corner. I hear so many great things about those kinds of places.”
“No, you don’t,” Tad grunts. “It’s filled with married men looking to fool around, and psychopaths.” He looks to Darla. “I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if they found your body in a ditch a month from now.”
“Tad Landon!” Mom yelps at him—most likely for exposing her wicked plan.
“Anyway”—Darla is quick to wave off her potential brush with death, after all, she survived Demetri—“it’s time to get my game face on. I gotta watch what I eat—cut down on the bacon and donuts. Maybe I’ll take up smoking cigarettes again.” She nods at my mother as she espouses her new health regime. “Lord knows I need to do whatever it takes to get this girl some booty again.” She lifts her wine in Demetri’s direction as if she were saluting him. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m not expecting much. Heaven and hell both know I’ll never find a summer sausage as depressive as yours.”
I try to turn down the volume on the nauseating smile budding on my face. I’m sure she meant impressive, but I like the detour her brain took. Sometimes there’s nothing like a little wine to bring out the truth.
The babies continue to coo while Beau sits disgruntled in the corner playing with a plastic fire engine.
“Little Ember and Misty seem to be having quite the conversation,” I say. They’re both so stunning with their jet-black hair. Misty has the exact same color eyes as Gage, but Ember has eyes the color of a bland sky, so eerily pale they remind me of my own. I can’t wait until Gage and I have babies. I bet they’ll look just like those two.
“Yes.” Demetri pulls me out of my fantasy long enough for me to smirk in his direction. “They sound as if they have remarkable communication skills, miles beyond their years.” He sears a look into Mom, and she blushes the same vomitus shade as her dinner. If they keep this up, I’ll be vomiting soon for real. His attention reverts in our direction. “Gage, I’m sorry to hear of your injury. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I have access to some of the best sports therapists in the world. I have a bad back myself on occasion.”
“Right,” I say under my breath.
“Skyla,” Mom whispers without moving her lips.
“I mean, right,” I say. “I’m sure you move a lot of manure on that ranch of yours.” By way of your mouth.
I blink a curt smile.
“Heavens, no.” His brows arch. “I don’t have the stomach for manual labor.” And there it is, the one truth Demetri has ever dispensed and it has to do with shoveling shit. It seems appropriate. “I let others do my dirty work.” His lips expand in a greasy smile.
Crap. I give a nervous look to Gage.
“I hear your son is having a great time on the island.” I lie. It takes everything in me not to flip him the finger—heck, flip the table on him. “You should bring him around.”
The muscles in his jaw clench.
Ha! I’ve got him. I bet once Mom sees what a dead ringer Wes is for Gage, she’ll want an explanation like the rest of us.
“I can’t wait to meet him,” Mom coos dreamily. “I have two available daughters.” She waves her hand over at Mia and Melissa.
“One,” Mia corrects before glaring into her sister. “Because, apparently, when you steal your sister’s boyfriend, you’re no longer single.” She gives a little growl, and Drake holds out a hand like he’s about to break up a fight.
“Easy girl,” Drake is quick to admonish her. “The E-man and I have shared a babe or two.” He nods to Ethan who apparently has garnered a nickname reserved for superheroes in purple tights. “And, now look.” He socks Em in the arm. “We’ve got ‘em both in the family.”
Nice. Nothing like a little love pat by your baby daddy to let you know you’re wanted, or in this case, passed off to his brother.
I give poor Em a look that says I’m sorry. Although I think we both know there aren’t enough I’m sorries in the universe to right the wrongs she’s gone through.
“I’m happy.” Em drones it out with all the enthusiasm of a hostage threatened with having her fingernails plucked out one by one if she doesn’t read from the script.
“And”—Brielle giggles in her seat—“I’m happy, too.” She plants a wet one on Drake. “In fact”—she gives a sly glance my way—“I’d like to say that when you’re with the right person, and you just know this is the one you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with, there’s no reason to delay the obvious.” She gives a hard wink over to me.
Oh no.
I shake my head just barely. I’m not ready. Just the thought of blurting out the fact I eloped has my dinner doing a revolution. What Gage and I did was beautiful. The last thing I want to do is marginalize it as dinner conversation, especially on the heels of discussing Darla’s power tool collection and Demetri’s wicked spawn. Nope, definitely changed my mind.
I give Brielle the crazy eyes and try to will her brain into making a U-turn.
“And that’s why”— she leans into Drake—“we went ahead and made it official!”
“That’s not how it went!” I blurt, ready with an entire arsenal of half-truths, when I realize she said, we?
“Hot damn!” Darla pounds her fists against the table so hard the dishes all jump to the left. “I knew it!” She lunges over Ethan and Emily and right onto Drake’s lap. “You’ve made an honest girl of my woman,” she blubbers from his crotch.
“Wait a minute.” Mom calls time with her hands. “What on earth are you talking about? Don’t you dare tell me you did something foolish and eloped.” She nails both Bree and Drake to the wall with her discontent.
“Oh, yes, we did!” Brielle flaunts an impressive rock in our faces.
“Wow, Drake”—Melissa marvels at the oversized princess cut stone, clear as the fog outside the window—“that’s a freaking golf ball!”
“Thanks. I had to sell a lot of pots to put some ice on my girl.”
“You mean it’s real?” Mom yanks Brielle’s hand over to inspect it.
“Damn straight, it’s real.” Drake sniffs. “Best grade of Diameals you can get on TV. I spent twenty minutes on hold before I got my hands on that puppy.”
Diameal? I hold back the urge to openly scoff at my stepbrother. I’ll be the last to tell Bree her Diameal is as fake as that Fem at the end of the table because it’s the thought that counts. And it’s pretty clear to everyone here, including poor Em, that Drake really does love Bree.
“Oh my, God.” Mom fans herself like she might be sick right into her plate. And if she were, it would be difficult to distinguish. “I can’t believe you did this.” She’s in full throttle revolt. “How could you deprive us of your special day?” God, I think tears are in the works. “Skyla”—she reverts her rage to me—“please don’t even think of pulling a stunt like this.”
A stunt?
“What are you saying?” Tad yanks her back into her seat. “This is great news! Drake, I’m proud of you, son. You have your own busine
ss. You spent your hard-earned money on the biggest ring you could find—and the best part is, you didn’t trouble us with a two hour ceremony in a park somewhere.” He beams over at his younger son as if he medaled in the game of life. “I’m old-fashioned that way. I think if you’re shaking the sheets, you should make it official.” He leans in hard toward Drake. “You know what else you should make official? A new address! Sayonara, sweethearts. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out. And if I bought it, you can’t take it.”
“Fuck!” Beau belts the expletive from his playpen.
Mom gives a nervous giggle. “He’s having a hard time pronouncing truck.”
“And take that little rug rat with you, too,” Tad crows. “I’m sick and tired of him cursing up a storm around here. And have I mentioned he’s starting to gnaw on the furniture? In fact, why don’t you scoop up an armful of ankle-biters on your way out the door, so I can finally get some damn sleep around here!”
Crap.
The room falls silent as all eyes focus on the newly minted bride and groom.
“How about you two lovebirds?” Demetri grimaces at Gage and me. “Any plans to create a union of your own? Or perhaps you’ve already done the deed and are keeping things close to the vest for now.”
Oh. My. God. Demetri knows. He knows. I don’t know who to point the finger at first. He could have easily heard Bree yapping about it at some point, or maybe Marshall let it slip, but that doesn’t make any sense. I close my eyes a moment. Chloe.
You ready to do this? Gage squeezes my hand beneath the table, and I shake my head.
“When the time is right,” Gage says to no one in particular. “Skyla and I have a fantastic future laid out before us.” He gives Demetri a simple nod as if to say up yours.
“Indeed you do.” Demetri continues to disturb us with his presence. “I would even venture to suggest you have the brightest future of all. I wouldn’t worry about the little things in life, Gage. Playing rough on the field was never your calling.”
Gage glares at Demetri, distributing death rays with those big baby blues, and any second I expect the violent Fem to combust into a ball of flames. He won’t, but the imagery is beautiful.
“What exactly is my calling?” Gage mocks him with his own words.
Demetri looks from me to my drop dead gorgeous husband.
“Not everyone is destined for greatness. The potter molds some for noble purposes and others for common use. Some people were simply born to love others.”
Gage doesn’t take well to Demetri’s you’re-a-piece-of-useless-clay routine. He’s glaring so hard I can feel the ground trembling next to my seat.
Demetri’s wine glass implodes on itself with a celebratory pop, causing wine to pool over the table like blood.
Mom is quick to mop up the mess, and soon the room is lost in small talk once again, but I can’t take my eyes off Gage.
He did that.
I may have questioned it before, but now I know for sure.
Gage’s powers are taking off in a whole new direction.
Demetri was wrong. Gage is destined for greatness.
I can feel it in my bones.
Gage
Day fifteen of feeling like shit.
It’s a lazy Saturday, no practice for me and my defunct body because I’m officially off the roster. Too bad I can’t shake that freaky dream I had last night out of my mind. It wasn’t a prophecy, or at least I hope not. It was scarier than shit. Skyla and I were in our little hut down at Rockaway, doing what we do best—each other. Our kisses grew more ravenous, more passionate, the moon shed just enough light for me to see that we were happily naked—then things got weird. Rose petals began to fall like rain, dark crimson, almost black. A vine grew from nowhere and wrapped itself around our bodies, caging us in, only we were too busy to notice. Then the thorns appeared. They tore into our flesh, knifing us with their razor sharp blades. We were both covered in blood within seconds. Then Skyla screamed—a horrific scream that I pray to never hear again.
I startle for a minute and shake it away. It was just a dream—a bad dream.
Dad comes down to the living room where I’ve set up shop to watch a steady stream of movies. Giselle invited Skyla to do a little shopping, so I’m flying solo for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’m headed to the country club to play a little racquetball. If you don’t mind, I’ve asked a friend to stop by and say a word or two that might get your mind off not playing ball for a while.”
A while. I huff a quiet laugh. I guess if you throw eternity into the mix my time off the field could be considered a while. I’m never getting on the green again and Dad knows it.
“Yeah sure.” I slump toward the television. Skyla’s been after to me take some of her Celestra blood to see if that would help straighten things out, but I assured her I didn’t need healing—I simply need a new spinal column.
Dad ushers in a tall gentleman with bushy dark brows and thick-framed glasses.
“Gage, this is Dr. Flanders. He’s working with Skyla’s former psychiatrist, Dr. Booth. I thought since Skyla had seen Dr. Booth previously it might be best to have you speak to his partner instead.”
“Good gracious.” Dr. Flanders steps in. “Spitting image is right.”
Dad gives a slight nod. “I may have filled him in on the fact there’s a young man running around Paragon who bears a striking resemblance to you.”
“Wesley,” I say. “Um, you wouldn’t happen to be related to a Cooper Flanders, would you?”
“That’s my son.” His features relax as he sits across from me, studying my face as though I were some strange creature. “Let’s see. You’ve recently injured yourself on the field. Have you made peace with being unable to play?”
“Yup. I have.” It’s true. No use in wallowing in it. As much as I hate to say it, Demetri was right when he said I was here only to love Skyla. It’s funny—I can’t seem to get his ugly mug out of my head. I guess he really got to me that night. I had never considered myself some legendary football player in the making, but I’m pretty sure I’m not useless—and loving Skyla is the best use of myself in any capacity.
“Good.” He slaps his knee. “Let’s get some blood work drawn. I think now is a good time to end a few mysteries.”
“Blood work?” I look to Dad as he takes in a deep breath.
“Dr. Flanders and his son were the ones who deciphered Wesley’s genetic code.”
“I’m a Levatio.” Shit. I shake my head. Why do I get the feeling I’m in the middle of some witch hunt or in this case—Fem hunt. “Can’t shape shift,” I’m quick to point out. “Believe me I’ve tried to render myself invisible a time or two while sneaking out of the house. Just doesn’t work.” Teleporting works, but I leave that part out.
Dad cracks a smile. “I assured him there was nothing he would find.”
Dr. Flanders nods in agreement. “We’re simply ruling out genetic markers.”
“And I’ll run an entire battery of tests to make sure there are no viruses impeding with your health,” Dad offers.
“When will we have the results?” Not that I care—neither this conversation nor the blood tests will get me back on the field.
“Just a few days.” Dad rifles through his medical kit that closely resembles a lunchbox and plucks out a hypodermic needle. “This won’t hurt.”
No, but the truth might.
Mom slaved away in the kitchen all day, working on a bounty that could nourish entire third world countries.
Skyla and Giselle offer to help set the table as I sit my sorry ass down next to Liam. It’s strange having him look so much like Logan. It makes me miss him that much more.
“I’ve got a very important guest coming tonight.” She scoops up each of the dishes that Skyla just painstakingly set out and replaces them with her fine china. “I’ve invited Kresley Fisher over. Poor girl is lonely.” She shoots me a disgruntled look. “Her father would never forgive me if I didn?
??t take care of his baby. He’s a congressman, you know.”
A gentle knock erupts at the door, and Mom quickly scuttles over.
“Sorry,” I whisper to Skyla as she takes a seat next to me.
“What are you sorry about?” Giselle asks, innocent as the day she was born.
I shake my head at my sister because, personally, I’d like to drop it. Besides, I made it pretty clear to Kresley a few weeks back that I’m not into her, nor will I ever be.
“Hi!” Kresley comes in waving as Mom ushers her to the other side of me. Dad strolls in, and we start on the feast my mother prepared to rival any holiday spread she’s ever created. “It looks like the last ferry already left the island.” Kresley bats her lashes at my mother with a manufactured forlorn look. “There was something wrong with the motor, and they had to have it towed.”
“Again?” Mom sighs with equally manufactured frustration. “Not to worry. You’ll stay the night. You can take the spare bedroom upstairs.”
Shit.
“Oh, I’ll take that,” Skyla volunteers. “She can have Logan’s room.”
The spare bedroom shares a bathroom with mine.
“That’s not necessary.” Mom speeds it out. “Liam is downstairs. I don’t want to displace him. And I think it’s fitting you stay in Logan’s room. He would have wanted it that way.” She pats Skyla on the hand.
Crap.
Liam clears his throat while inspecting Kresley and her not-so-veiled cleavage. “She can stay in my room. I won’t mind one bit.” His lids grow heavy. His eyes have already rounded out second base. He’s so damn amped up and frustrated, if he doesn’t fall into bed with someone soon, I might actually start fearing for his balls.
“What about that Michelle girl?” Giselle drills into Liam. “I saw her again at the bowling alley with Logan. She said to say hello.”