I didn’t begrudge him his happiness or quiet satisfaction, I just wished I got to be there with him, listening to him record, because there’d been a couple times that these anecdotes popped up on his fan boards, and while I’d heard them first, they weren’t any more exclusive and personal for me than any other rando.
Case in point, the leaked song tracks that didn’t include any mention of “Slay,” the tune he’d written for my birthday when I was still his world. His home. Now, I wasn’t sure that song was going to be on the album at all.
“How’s Dev?” I said. Topic number two on our phone call countdown.
Rohan snorted. “Driving everyone crazy because he thinks he can go back to work full-time. Mom actually paid Liam fifty bucks to get him out of the house before she murdered him for pestering her.”
“I’m glad she didn’t have to incorporate prison orange into her wardrobe.” I wrapped my arms around myself, pretending he was the one holding me. “But your dad’s health is good?”
“Yeah. The doctors are really pleased with his recovery. What’s tonight’s T-shirt?” he asked.
I debated whether to press for more than the minimum of personal information about Dev, but I didn’t have it in me to beg for scraps, so I let Ro steer us onto our final topic–and the end of this awful call.
After Ro had gone back to L.A., I’d slept in one of my many snarky T-shirts, like that could somehow armor me up against the night. My discerning taste in quips had always amused Ro, so I’d mentioned it, as part of my “entertaining persona,” a.k.a. conversation topic number three.
“‘I licked it so it’s mine.’”
Right on cue, he chuckled, strained though it was. It was kind of forced, this little ritual of ours. No longer the easy banter that had always flowed between us, more a cautious, careful feeling our way through. I kept telling myself that careful was good. Careful reminded you that you had something precious to lose.
Careful was killing me because it was too close to indifference.
“Hey,” I said brightly, “did I mention I flew ass-first out a plate glass window? I don’t recommend it.”
“Never a dull moment. How badly did the demon bite it?”
Right. I hadn’t actually intended on telling him about today. He’d stepped away from all Brotherhood conspiracies and I hadn’t wanted to drag him back into all that when he was still sorting out his music, his dad, and us. I didn’t want to remind him that I was the one exposing corruption in his Brotherhood, that I was a witch, that I was more trouble than I was worth.
“Same as always,” I hedged.
“You worried that she’s listening?” Ro’s words were measured.
“Lilith?” I did a thorough body scan, but didn’t sense my occupant. Too bad I couldn’t collect rent. My body was valuable real estate. “No. I don’t feel her at all.”
“She’s incredibly powerful. You don’t know what she’s capable of. She could be influencing you without you knowing.”
I sat up. “Is that what you think? That you’re speaking to Lilith or some brainwashed version of me? Is it a phone thing or would you still be wondering if you were looking into my eyes?”
“Don’t blow this up.” He paused for a fraction of a second too long. “I’m sure I’m talking to you. I was just checking you were okay.”
Magic flared off my skin, scorching a hole in his damn hoodie.
“You want to know why I really went through the window? So you can decide if it’s me or not?”
Cue his barely veiled annoyance and alpha posturing that I was about to make his head explode with something dangerous that he didn’t really want to hear but that he would ultimately support because Ro always had my back.
The seconds ticked by.
“Well?” he said.
I pressed my lips together tightly for a breath to compose myself, then I launched into my Ilya encounter, the fake torture session, and everything I’d learned. I left out the part about Ilya recognizing me. What was the point? I’d dealt with it. Rohan was probably worried enough that I’d encountered Ilya at all.
It was a terrible way to dump the details on him. I’d have freaked if he dropped a story like that on me from hundreds of miles away.
“Sounds like you’ve got it handled,” Ro said.
I shot the phone the finger.
“We need to find Sienna before Mandelbaum does,” he said.
“Top of my To Do List.” I switched the phone to my other ear and stretched out on my back. “We also need to make sure that he doesn’t learn about Lilith.”
“Do you have any less shitty news to share?”
Fuck you. I wasn’t the harbinger of doom.
“Nope,” I said breezily. “You should actually consider this a mitzvah, Snowflake.”
“I should, huh?”
“Absolutely. If it wasn’t for me, all this info might have been a surprise for you at some later date, blindsiding you.”
“So I should thank you for ruining the surprise?”
“Well, yeah.”
He gave an aggrieved sigh. “You understand that this is not a typical surprise.”
“I’m not a typical girl. Plus, I don’t like surprises.”
He laughed. “It wasn’t your surprise.”
It was the first time I’d heard him laugh unguardedly in a month. My treacherous heart kicked up, while my brain cautioned me to get off the phone before I begged him to care about me again.
“I don’t like them for anyone.” I pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over my hands. “Listen, I gotta run,” I lied. “Meet Leo.”
“It’s almost three am.”
“Pride weekend. After party thing. You know how I roll.”
“Right. Have fun. Be safe.”
Safe like don’t run into a demon in a dark alley because I worry about you or safe like use a condom because I am totally banging all these other people? Had I been friendzoned and not even issued a memo? Ro was a decent enough guy that he’d tell me if we were officially broken up, wouldn’t he?
I burrowed deeper into his blankets, shivering violently. “Rohan…”
“I’ll let you go. Talk soon.” He disconnected.
I couldn’t keep living in this limbo. I had to know where we stood but I dreaded it at the same time. We were very different people and our relationship had had its share of challenges, but I thought we’d make it. Had that deal with Lilith proven to be one thing too many for him to accept? If we were reunited, would he always look at me and see her?
Had all my previous fears about us being us until we weren’t come true and Ro had ditched the relationship persona for the singer-songwriter one?
Or had he found someone else in L.A.? Someone easier to be with?
I don’t know how long I lay there, staring at nothing, feeling everything. Clinging to the thought that at least I hadn’t fallen in love with him like I had with Cole. At least I hadn’t been that stupid.
My own silver lining.
The lights flicked on and I was crushed by a heavy, sweaty body making kissing noises.
“Get off.” I shoved Kane away. “I’m still injured, you jerk. And you’re getting gold sparkle dust all over Ro’s bed.”
Kane rolled off me, sprawled out on the mattress, hogging all the space. He was dressed in blue skinny jeans hanging low on his hips, exposing a strip of taut abs between them and the red tank top that had ridden up.
Ari lounged in the doorway in his usual all-black attire, Mr. Dangerous with his stubble and blond hair that was slightly scruffy. He looked up from his phone long enough to raise an eyebrow at me in concern.
I shrugged. “How was the party?”
Kane shuddered. “It was all children.”
“Says the ancient twenty-five-year-old.” I poked him. “What’s with passing for normal?”
Kane vibrated with outrage. “Breeder is not normal.”
“Calm your tits. I meant normal, fashion-wise. Your choices are usually diametr
ically opposed to the rest of humanity. But this? It’s almost like you’re not trying to impress the masses for some reason.” I cast a pointed look at my brother.
“I don’t try, babyslay. I just do. My blessing and my curse.” He rubbed his eyes. He looked haggard, shuttered, and totally unlike his glittering self.
I nudged his shoulder with mine. “How you doing there, buddy?”
His answering smile was too bright, too stretched. “Glorious as usual.”
Before I could press him, Ari let out a soft, “Damn.”
“What’s up, Ace?”
My brother frowned at his screen. “Gary Randall was hit by a car. It’s bad.”
Kane dug his own phone out. “How bad?”
I groaned. “Whatever.”
“You don’t understand,” Kane said. “Gary Randall is–”
“Left wing with record number of assists,” I said. “Picked by the Ducks in the lottery round, threw around a bunch of tantrum slurs on social media about how he was going to dominate that team and they’d better keep up with him. Subsequently traded to Tampa Bay, his dream pick with an astounding contract, especially for someone straight out of Junior League. Did I miss anything other than the fact that you’re one of the many fanboys who thinks this dude bro is the second coming of hockey?”
Kane propped himself up on one elbow. “You like hockey?”
“Nee hates hockey,” Ari said.
“Our mom loves hockey and I was forced to watch.”
“I willingly watched,” Ari said.
“Because you’re defective. If I never see another puck drop, I’ll be a happy girl.” Still, I peered over Kane’s shoulder to watch the viral footage of Randall drunkenly celebrating his signing, then stepping off the curb and crashing into the front of a car so hard he cracked the windshield. There was even lift off. The footage cut off with him slamming onto the cement while people screamed.
I winced. “Yikes.”
“Will he play again?” Kane was frantically scrolling through his news feed.
“Doesn’t say yet,” Ari said.
Kane rolled off the bed and trudged out the door. “This is a sad, sad day.”
I made a shooing motion at Ari. “Go. Comfort him.”
“I’m not… I wasn’t the one Kane was trying to impress tonight.” His hand tightened on his phone, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he peeled himself off the doorframe and followed Kane.
That left me lying alone in my absentee maybe-boyfriend’s bed, wearing his clothes like a pathetic security blanket.
Romantically, the Katz twins were nailing it.
Chapter 3
You had to love a guy who had the balls, literally, to go fully regimental in a kilt while walking on his hands.
Welcome to the Vancouver Pride Parade, the happiest place on earth this sunny Sunday.
My father squinted at the underwearless, upside-down, dangly man keeping pace alongside the float ahead of us for Numbers’ Cabaret, a longtime popular gay club here in town. “How does he keep his balance?”
Hips shaking to the infectious disco groove pumping out of the float’s speakers, I tossed more rainbow-packaged condoms from my beribboned basket at the deliriously pumped-up crowds that lined both sides of Robson Street.
“That’s the question you want to ask?”
“Really, Dov,” my mom, Shana, chided.
One of the barely-clad boys gyrating on the slow-moving Numbers platform, all buff in tight shorts and rainbow beads with dewy skin like silk, tossed my mom a whistle. She caught it one-handed like the star softball player she’d been in her youth, blowing it in time with the beat.
“Okay, my little raver,” I said, clamping a hand over it. “I know you’re pumped up for Pride, but let’s remember that hearing is also important. You taught me that.”
Mom laughed. “No. I taught you listening was important. Admit it, you’re just jealous you don’t have one of my magnificent homemade T-shirts.”
“I’m really not.”
My parents had donned matching bright pink shirts proclaiming “I love my gay son.” Mom was even wearing rainbow-colored leis around her neck. This was the only time of year my mom was less than impeccably groomed, so points to her for how much she loved Ari.
I, however, was wearing the fantabulous “I’m not gay, but my boyfriend is” shirt that a drag queen had bestowed upon me years ago. Technically, I identified as heteroflexible, but that didn’t make for a catchy T-shirt.
I’d already texted Ro a photo, in hopes that the phrasing on the shirt might get me some answers about our status. Also to show how busy I was having fun this weekend. No moping around for me.
My goal for Pride? Find mine because it had gotten sadly lost this past month. It was time for me to move forward with my life and today was the day I decided whether Rohan was going to be part of it.
“Ow!” The burly man who I’d just winged on the head with a condom glared at me.
I waved weakly. “Sorry, safety first!”
Mom nudged me. “Put whatever is worrying you aside and enjoy yourself.”
“You’re right. Today is a happy day.”
It really was. My family had started marching in the parade when Ari was fourteen with the PFLAG group at the University of British Columbia where both my parents taught. It had embarrassed him almost as much as he’d loved it.
I loved it, too. Paradegoers were packed ten deep: everyone from elaborately decked out drag queens to buff women from the Dykes on Bykes contingent in sleeveless tuxedo shirts, to burly men in tank tops and flip flops, and families with toddlers holding melting ice creams as they waved at the floats. Rainbows abounded and smiles were wide. Even the harsh heat couldn’t dampen spirits, and I was determined that no demon would change that on my watch. I tracked loud voices from my left, but it was just some people jostling for premium front-row space.
Behind us, the crowd broke out into hooting cries of appreciation. Mom and I turned around in unison.
“What are they doing now?” I asked, rising onto tiptoe for a glimpse of the LGBTQ fire fighters in full uniform behind our group.
“Ohhhh.” Mom’s eyes widened and she actually stopped walking to stare.
“Mom!” I tugged her forward, her head swiveling around like The Exorcist baby’s. “Multitask. Move and describe in accurate detail.”
“They got out the hose, drenching each other. Very well-built, these first responders of ours.”
Dad sucked in his small gut with a wry look, and then shrugged and let it out, hoisting his “We love all our kids!” sign higher.
“Bitch!” Blair Lisowski, a gorgeous diva who was the only millennial in the world who could speak to my mother that way, bounded up to us in a cloud of vanilla perfume, and gave us both loud smacking smooches. She wrinkled her nose at my still faintly nicked-up skin. At least I wasn’t limping anymore. “Did you go through a windshield?”
“Kind of?” I said.
“Happy Pride, darling,” my mom said. “You look fabulous as always.”
“Yeah, great look.” I nodded in approval at her crocheted bikini top and the flower swizzle sticks threaded through her hair. “Very Love Boat Lido Deck.”
“Finally. Someone who understands what I was going for.” Blair, who had been Blake when I’d met her years ago at a faculty party for our mothers’ history department, clapped her hands. “Brava, sister from another mister.”
It wasn’t really a stretch. I’d been forced to watch that show with her as teens more times than I could count when our families had our semi-regular dinner parties.
“What am I, chopped liver?” my dad huffed.
“Never. Happy Pride, Studly!” Blair threw her arms around my dad, who hugged her fondly. “What’s shaking in the fascinating world of law?” she said. “Unleash any new courses on an unsuspecting student populace?”
Dad rubbed his hands together, spinning the sign he was holding. “I’m doing a second-year course
on the reality of reopening cold cases with their exhausted leads and lack of probable cause versus advancements in technology and how fresh eyes, contemporary methodology, and information sharing can be valuable tools.”
“Love it!” Blair declared. As a social activist, her and Dad bonded over the geekiest topics. “I’ll fill you in on my chat with City Council about the zoning permits for the co-op later.” She rolled her eyes. “Oy vey.”
I threw a handful of condoms to a particularly boisterous group of women coming up on my left, blessing our alternate girl-child for sparing me these yawn-inducing chats with my father.
Dad cracked his shoulder to stretch out a kink. “Where’s your mom?”
“Italy,” Blair said. “That workshop opened up at the last second. You’re my parents today.”
“You got it, kid.”
Blair tossed her gorgeous mane of pin-straight blonde hair. The motion caused her enviable boobs, that were more spot-lit than encased in her tiny bikini top, to jiggle. Female heads in a thirty-foot range swiveled in her direction.
“Where’s your Alphabet person to bestow my glad tidings upon?” she said. “You’re missing the second component of the LGBTQ equation, Katzes.”
“The component was making friends,” Ari said, catching up with us and hugging Blair. He’d lost his boring shirt but gained a plastic red fire hat, a rainbow flag cape, and a sunburn on his nose.
“Way to level up on the attire, bro,” I said, adding in a lower voice, “See anything?”
Ari shook his head. He and Kane had been doing sweeps of the parade ground as they marched.
“Yowza,” Blair squealed. “When did you get hot?” She ran a hand over the tattoo of a roaring lion he’d had inked on his shoulder as a late birthday present to himself. “Me like.”
“‘Like’ from a distance, girlfriend.” Kane locked into step with us, smacking Blair’s arm off Ari. He wore white short shorts that showcased his approximately 600 cut leg muscles, a too-small, pink T-shirt that read “Gay as fuck,” and a purple feather boa slung jauntily around his neck.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 116
