Finding Me (Another Falls Creek Romance Book 2)

by SF Benson

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jeremiah

  The days blur by, but I don’t care. I haven’t worked. I barely sleep. Who knows the last time I showered and changed clothes. Colton left me with a deep, aching sorrow I can’t shake. It sours me like an old, still festering wound. Overindulgence is my constant companion. If I’m not losing myself in alcohol or stuffing my face with my favorite foods, I’m working out like a maniac attempting to replace one pain with another. Memories of Colton haunt me constantly along with the images The Najex planted in my head. I can’t get past any of it.

  Sure, I could give in. It would be the mature thing to do. Call Colton and tell him how much I miss him. To what end though? Our relationship was doomed from the start. Whoever heard of an angel hooking up with a demon? The prophet who told me that load of bullshit deserved to lose his wings. He’s probably having a good laugh at my expense: A demon walks into a bar and walks out with an angel on his arm.

  The greatest joke ever told.

  Despite it all, Ezekiel has been my salvation. No lectures, apart from my first night here, or attempts to tell me what to do. He’s let me stew in my funk. But after three days of no showers, I can’t stand the stench. Grabbing a fresh pair of boxers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt, I head to the bathroom.

  The steady stream of hot water acts like a catharsis—clearing my focus. Moving forward is a necessity. Deep down, I want to make things right with Colton. I simply don’t see how we could work. We’re right and wrong. Up and down. Yin and yang. Heaven and Hell. That last barrier is the one that’s the major obstacle.

  Angels, even fallen ones, don’t associate with demons. We definitely don’t screw them. It’s a simple principle. The light doesn’t chase down the darkness. Too bad my heart can’t understand what my brain, so eloquently, tries to tell it.

  Says the angel who lost his wings standing up for his convictions.

  When I step out of the bathroom, I find Ezekiel leaning against the wall. He’s dressed to go out—leather jacket and motorcycle boots. For the first time in a few days, I notice he’s growing his hair out. I remember when he used to sport shoulder-length waves. Drove the females, and possibly a few males, crazy.

  “What’s up, Zeke?”

  “I smelled shampoo and wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” he quips.

  “Not funny.” Pushing past him, I make my way to the living room. “If you’re going out, don’t let me stop you.”

  “Actually, I’m just getting back from the shop.” Ezekiel follows me and goes to the window. “You were asleep when I left. Wanna go eat?”

  My jaw drops as I stare at him. The appliances in my brother’s kitchen must still have that brand-new smell as much as they get used. “Why did you bother getting an apartment with a full-size kitchen? You never cook.”

  “Gotta keep the beer cold.” Ezekiel shrugs his shoulders. “Come on, I’m dying for a burger.”

  My brother wouldn’t eat healthy if you paid him. Actually, a nice thick burger and a cold beer sound good. “I can eat. Let me put on my jeans, and we’ll go.”

  Of course, Ezekiel would insist on eating down the street from the bar. This is as close as I’ve gotten to Colton’s apartment since the breakup. The temptation to leave is strong, but the smell of burgers is mightier. My grumbling stomach seals the decision.

  Our footsteps echo across the wooden floor. It’s still early at Fáilte’s—an Irish whiskey bar with an exposed wood-beam ceiling and gnarled wood tables and chairs. We grab a corner table in the back. The fireplace casts a warm glow to the dark, cozy atmosphere. Unfortunately, as soon as we sit down, a redhead with far too much cleavage showing comes over.

  “What can I get…” Her voice trails off before a smile breaks across her face. “Hey, Zeke. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Hamburger platter and a Guinness? Burger cooked medium well. Did I get it right?”

  Ezekiel chuckles. “You know it, babe. But make it the cheeseburger today. Have you met my brother?” He jerks his chin toward me. “Abby, this is JJ.”

  She rests a curvy hip against the table. “I’ve heard him play at the bar down the street plenty of times. Never had the pleasure of an introduction.”

  Abby holds out a plump hand with spiky, long red nails. Reluctantly, I shake it. “Nice to meet you. I’ll have what he’s having.”

  “Great.” She pushes off the furniture. “I’ll be back with your drinks.”

  She sashays away from the table with Ezekiel’s eyes glued to her backside. I kick him in the shin.

  “Ow! Was that necessary?”

  “Do you have to ogle everything with a pulse?”

  My brother answers with a hearty laugh. “Perhaps. I told you, you’re not a monk. And I’m definitely not one.”

  “At the rate you’re going, you won’t be a saint for much longer either.”

  “But sinners have more fun.” There’s a subtle upward quirk to his mouth as he smothers his laugh.

  Our waitress chooses that moment to return with our drinks. “Zeke, do you have any room on your schedule next week? I want a new tattoo,” Amy declares, pointing to her chest. “Right here.”

  My brother’s eyes widen. “Baby, I’ll do you myself. Call me before you come, and I’ll squeeze you in.”

  “I can’t wait.” She leans down, giving me an unwelcome view, and says, “Your brother does such amazing work. No two designs are ever the same.”

  Thankfully, the front door opens, and more customers pour in. Abby excuses herself and hurries over to them.

  Ezekiel kicks me. “Damn, Brother, lighten up. Abby had her tits in your face, and you didn’t even notice.” He takes a sip from his glass. “I guess you’re not over Colt.”

  Scowling, I lift my glass and choose to stay silent.

  “You really should call him, Brother. What would it hurt?”

  “He would think there’s still a chance between us.”

  “And how is that a bad thing? The way I see it you have two choices. Swallow your damn pride and get back together with him. Or, you fuck someone else and move on. Get him out of your system.”

  Neither option appeals to me. With the first, I have to put aside a lot more than pride. I’d have to ignore the whole principle behind the situation—angels and demons don’t mix.

  “How about you mind your business and I’ll mind mine, Brother?” I say and gulp my beer.

  A few hours later, I’m back at Ezekiel’s cleaning up my act. First, I strip the funky-ass sheets from the bed and give the room a thorough cleaning. My stinky clothes go in the hamper, and all the food wrappers go to the trash. The last thing I do is stick a load of dishes in the dishwasher before collapsing on the sofa, desperate for a way to kill time. Ezekiel left me alone, claiming he had business to take care of. Knowing him, he’s probably with Amy from the pub.

  The quiet is killing me. It takes me back to the time before I met Colton—drab, secluded days and nights. My guitar shines in the corner like a beacon. For the first time since I moved into Ezekiel’s, I pick it up. With no particular song in mind, I let my fingers play readily over the strings. As my fingers strum, Colton’s damn tune comes to mind. Before you know it, I’m playing the dismal melody.

  You miss him.

  Thankfully, my phone rings before I do something stupid.

  Like calling Colton.

  Ezekiel’s name displays on the screen. I fumble to answer it before he hangs up. “Yeah?”

  “Brother, I know you’re sitting there feeling sorry for yourself, but can you come by the shop?”

  Scrubbing a hand across my face, I say, “I’d really rather not.”

  “Do it for me? You said you wanted to train. Crew’s leaving early tonight. We can go up on the roof.”

  I press my lips together and glance around the apartment. Do I really want to spend another night alone? “Fine. Should I bring anything with me?”

  “I have everything you need.” His voice brightens. “See you in a few minute
s.”

  Ezekiel ends the call, and I’m staring at the darkening phone screen. Then, my gaze settles on the instrument. To be honest, Colton’s tune is still rambling through my head. I’d rather not continue playing it all night. Maybe training with my brother will take my mind off of my memories. It sure couldn’t hurt.

  Much.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Colt

  Before Ezekiel called Jeremiah…

  Opening my door, I receive a pleasant surprise. Nick said he could get Jeremiah’s brother to come see me, but I doubted it. Shortly after I asked for Nick’s help, I told him to forget it. Thankfully, Nick didn’t listen to my protesting.

  “Thanks for coming by,” I say, closing the door behind Ezekiel.

  The towering angel takes a seat on the sofa and crosses an ankle over his knee. He’s a big male compared to Jeremiah, but I can see the family resemblance. They have similar eyes—Ezekiel’s are more intense—and jaw set. Maybe angels who haven’t fallen are larger than the rest of their kind.

  Ezekiel tilts his head to the side and asks, “What did you want to talk about, Colt?”

  Sitting on the chair, I ask, “First, how’s Jeremiah?”

  “Miserable as fuck.” Ezekiel taps his fingers on his leg. “He’s pretending nothing matters to him. Worst of all, he won’t talk about it. I don’t like seeing my brother in pain.”

  Ezekiel’s words break my heart. Marjorie told me Jeremiah takes rejection hard, but his behavior makes no sense. After all, he dumped me…even though I said I loved him.

  All of this could be over if Jeremiah would forget my damned DNA. I know it won’t be easy—a relationship between two supernaturals from opposite ends of the spectrum. In my short time as a human, I’ve learned one important thing. Nothing in life comes easily—be willing to fight for what you want. The sad truth is nothing in this world will matter without Jeremiah by my side.

  “I miss him too,” I offer. “Listen, I was talking to a friend about your brother. I want to know more about this so-called prophecy.”

  Ezekiel makes a face like he’s sucking a lemon. “Here’s the thing with me, Colt. I won’t blow smoke up your ass, so don’t do it to me. I’m guessing that nosy Nephilim shot his mouth off. What do you want to know?”

  Tilting my head, I consider my words carefully. After all, nobody has given me the truth about this woman yet. “What is Azaria’s role in all this? I understand she found a scroll containing the prediction. Personally, I don’t believe shit written on parchment. If no one else saw it, it might not even exist. Then why does it matter so much to her?”

  Ezekiel exhales loudly before his gaze rocks to mine, holding it steady. “If I tell you, you can’t share this with anyone, including the Nephilim. Understood?”

  “Not a problem.” My entire existence has been one fucking secret. I think I can keep one more. “Go ahead.”

  “The prophet…” Ezekiel’s hands curl into fists and then straighten. “Before I left Heaven, I discovered that the prophet was Azaria’s brother.”

  Hell, there’s a shocker. Wait, that can’t be right. “Wouldn’t Jeremiah have known?”

  “I doubt it. The two of them worked really hard to keep it a secret.”

  I cock my head to the side.

  “Surprised, incubus? It always amazes me how everyone, even supernaturals, think the Realm is all gold and perfection. Shadiness lurks in every corner of the universe.”

  Glad he clarified that for me. I suppose that myth ranks up there with the one about angels being cloud-lolling, cute cherubs.

  “What happened to the prophet?” I ask.

  “Kicked out along with Jeremiah and the others.”

  “He’s Fallen?”

  “Yeah.”

  Now, the puzzle makes sense. Given the relationship between this prophet and Azaria, it’s easy to see her motivation. And I believed demons dealt dirty. “If the prophecy is false, does Azaria’s brother get to return to Heaven?”

  Ezekiel’s eyebrows knit together. “Who knows? I guess it’s possible.”

  “Think about it, Ezekiel. What other reason would Azaria have? Destroying Jeremiah’s relationships serves her purpose.”

  Ezekiel runs a hand through his longish hair, and I’m reminded of Jeremiah. Whenever he was deep in thought, his hand went to his hair. It didn’t matter if he was figuring notes on the keyboard, or staring at my mouth…

  Concentrate.

  Jeremiah’s brother speaks and snaps my attention forward. “Zeke. I prefer being called Zeke.”

  “Okay, Zeke, do you honestly believe a revelation will change anything for mankind? You’ve seen human behavior. People believe what they want to believe.”

  He rubs his chin.

  “Oh, come on.” Tapping my fingers against the chair arm, I say impatiently, “This can’t be news.”

  Minutes tick by as I wait for the truth of my words to sink in. Surely, they’re not lost on an angel. The various religious tomes humanity clings to are full of prophetic words. Yet, mankind continues its reckless spiral, committing acts against God’s Word.

  “I see your point, Colt. Naysayers will only speak louder.”

  “Exactly. Azaria is only concerned about her brother. If Jeremiah remains alone, then the prophecy looks like a hoax. Maybe she’s hoping her brother will find redemption—get his fucking wings back and live out his days in bliss.”

  “In the meantime…” Ezekiel scowls. “Jeremiah continues alone and miserable.”

  Nodding, I say, “Zeke, I need your help. Somehow, I have to fix this. Jeremiah’s suffering hurts me more than our breakup.”

  “You got a plan?”

  “No,” I admit. “I have to do something, but he’s avoiding me. He hasn’t even been back to the bar.”

  “He won’t come to the shop and work either. Instead, Jeremiah’s been spending his days either on the sofa or in bed.” Ezekiel clears his throat. “We’ll fix this together. I’ll take care of Azaria. Any ideas about what you want to do with my brother?”

  Every damned night.

  Somehow telling Ezekiel how I want to love his brother and apologize for my secrecy seems wrong. Awkward even. Instead, I choose to keep my emotions to myself. “Before I do anything, I have to go home. There are a few loose ends I need to handle.”

  Ezekiel leans forward. “Can I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Go see Jeremiah before you leave. Tell him your side of the story.”

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, “I wish it were so easy. But your brother doesn’t want to hear it.”

  “Trust me, he does. He needs to hear it.” Ezekiel pauses for a beat or two. He nods to himself as if he’s justifying this course of action. “After you talk to Jeremiah, give him a little space. Go handle your business. It’ll give my brother time to think.”

  “I seriously doubt it will make a difference? He hates me.”

  Ezekiel brushes the hair off his forehead. “You’re wrong there. He isn’t a loner. This existence has been forced on him. Jeremiah is happiest when he’s sharing his life with another soul. Talking to him won’t hurt. It’s better than him moping and funking up my apartment.”

  Jeremiah and I are kindred spirits. Prolonged solitude is our enemy. The difference between us? He internalizes his agony. I cast it upon others. As an incubus, I partied hard and fucked harder when shit bothered me. Neither approach is good.

  “Look, I’ll do anything for my brother. Shit, I left Heaven to keep him protected. Nothing you do to him can be worse than what he’s already experienced. Trust me, Colt, if I considered you a threat, I’d end you right here.”

  A chill sneaks down my spine. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I wouldn’t last one round with a warrior angel. Yet another reason why I have no business ruling over Hell. I don’t have the stomach for violence nor torture.

  “Don’t worry.” Ezekiel shoots me a grin, which has Jeremiah written all over it. “You’re onl
y a threat to yourself. Maybe that asshole who calls himself your father should be worried. Other than that, you’re good in my book. Demon or human. I don’t care about the title. I only care that you genuinely love my brother.”

  The depth of concern from Ezekiel stuns me. I don’t have siblings. If I did, I doubt if they’d express such compassion for me. Demons don’t support each other.

  “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

  “Not a problem. Let me call him.”

  Ezekiel pulls out his phone, and I take the moment to go to the bathroom. Thoughts of seeing Jeremiah again follow me down the hall.