by Erin Hayes
“They don’t accept that here,” she says, pushing my American Express Black back into its pocket. The kid doesn’t miss the sight of it, and his eyes widen. I guess he’s never seen one before. “It’s a cash-only joint, anyway, and they don’t take anything bigger than a twenty.”
Well, shit. My money truly is no good here.
She pays, and we’re left alone while our desserts are made.
“What happened between you and Gotham’s father?” I ask. Max stiffens at the question, and I immediately regret bringing it up. She doesn’t like to talk much about her own private life, especially when it comes to her son’s father. It’s like some huge elephant in the room that she refuses to address.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just…want to understand more about where Gotham came from.”
And that’s the truth. I’ve been around the kid a few times since that first trip to the hospital, and I really like him.
Her jaw works as she trains her green eyes on ice cream machines. “His name was Logan. I met him when I was in college. We were both older than the other students, trying to make it through our courses while working part-time. I got pregnant and dropped out. And then he did as well.” She crosses her arms. “We separated not long after Gotham was born.”
“I’m sorry.” I mean it. Although I’ve lived a life of glitz and glam during my time on earth, I know that there are a lot of people who are in her shoes. Unexpected twists in life. Hard decisions that had to be made.
Choices that were made for someone other than themselves.
She shakes her head. “Don’t be. He gave me the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Gotham.”
She laughs softly. “Although if I had to redo everything, I’d change his name. I’ve always hated it.” A pained look crosses her face, and she sobers. “I loved Logan, and he had this joke where if we name our son ‘Gotham,’ and he woke us up in the middle of the night, one of us could say, ‘Gotham needs you.’” She crosses her arms and shakes her head again. “That was before we realized how much our son did need help. And how often I’d hear those words.”
Her face is filled with regret.
“Hey,” I say, squeezing her hand, “now that I’ve met him, it suits him.”
“I was stupid.” Her eyes tighten. “And in love,” she adds in a quiet voice.
The milkshakes are placed in front of us, effectively ending our conversation, although I welcomed the opportunity to change the subject. I cough and pick up my cup—a dark green concoction, which doesn’t look appetizing one bit—stick my straw in it and take a sip.
“Not bad,” I admit. There’s a distinct chemical taste to it, like there’s no real Madagascar chocolate or pistachio in it, but there’s something…endearing about it.
It tastes like what I imagine childhood would taste like if it were edible. Too sweet, no nutritional value, and oddly satisfying. Max gives me a tight smile as she thrusts the small cup into my hands.
“You’re giving Hector his drink,” she announces. “He’ll love you forever.”
I try to not think about the implications of him loving me forever. After all, this is meant to be a temporary thing between Max and me. I don’t know what will happen after we rebuild my reputation, but I know that I want to invite Gotham and Hector over for holiday parties and events. Maybe even take Gotham to the movies, although a better one than what we just saw.
What can I say? They’re growing on me.
Just like Max.
I’m entwining myself with her family, and I don’t mean to. They just happen to be wonderful.
And I’m just some miserable fuck who is confused by everything.
True to Max’s word, we come up to her house not too long after I finish my milkshake. I stand outside, looking at the small dwelling as she jogs up the steps and unlocks the door.
It’s such a small, unassuming house. But there’s a sense of belonging there that I don’t feel in my own apartment. And it seems the more time I spend here, the more I want to stay and avoid the sterile home that’s inevitably waiting for me.
It’s the life I’ve built for myself here on earth, but I don’t want it anymore. There’s so much missing from it.
“Gotham! Dad! Milkshakes!” Max calls as she opens the door. She holds it open for me, inviting me inside. Our eyes meet, and her eyebrows pinch together at my hesitation.
She has no idea what’s going on through my head. And that’s probably a good thing.
I go up the steps and close the door behind me. She kicks off her shoes. “Hey, you guys asleep?” She glances at the old grandfather clock in the foyer. It’s seven o’clock. Nighttime, but not bedtime.
“No.” Hector’s gruff voice comes from the kitchen. He shuffles into view, a fierce frown on his face. “Your son is just beating me at board games.”
From within the kitchen comes Gotham’s delighted chuckle. “You’re not good at saying ‘sorry,’ Grampa!”
“I never get a chance to say it,” Hector snaps. He peers back at me, then looks down at the small drink I have. “Is that a milkshake from Ice Place?”
I hold it up for him, and he snatches it like a child getting candy. He takes a tentative sip and then smacks his lips, tasting it. “Funfetti with white chocolate.” He gives me another once-over. “You might be all right, Damien.”
“Mommy!” Gotham says, appearing in the doorway. He’s using his crutches to help him walk. His grin widens as he looks at me. “Mr. Arrows!”
He inherited his mother’s expressive face. “Hey, Champ,” I say with a smile. Shit, if only I were one of those healing gods, I’d give the kid a pair of legs that he could walk around on. “Your mom got you a milkshake.”
“I’ll put it in the freezer,” Max says. “Did you do all your homework, or have you been beating poor Grampa all night?”
Hector snorts, confirming the latter. I hide my smile.
Gotham’s cheeks flush. “I…”
Max lets out a sigh. “Get it all done and then you can have your shake.”
The boy turns around and makes his way back to the kitchen. Max sighs and looks back at me.
“You don’t have to stay here, Damien,” she says at length. “You’ve walked me home. You don’t need to do any more.”
The thing is, I want to stay. I want to be a part of this nuclear family and their lives. At my hesitation, her eyebrows draw together as she frowns.
“Can Mr. Arrows stay?” Gotham calls from the kitchen. “I’ll get my homework done fast.”
Max looks conflicted, but I answer for her. “Sure, Champ.”
There’s a rustle of paper as Gotham takes out his homework. “Well,” Max says under her breath. “You’re on homework duty if you stay.”
I have no idea what homework duty consists of until I sit down next to the boy and look through the leaflets of paper.
“This is all homework?” I ask, looking up at Max as she puts the milkshake into the ancient freezer. “For a seven-year-old kid? What happened to two-plus-two?”
“Gifted and talented program,” she says.
I look back at the papers, then back at Gotham, who’s looking up at me expectantly. “It’s like this every night,” he adds with a sigh.
Fuck.
I’m the god of love, which doesn’t make doing homework any easier. I may have been around for the birth of mathematics, but I had nothing to do with that.
This is going above and beyond the call of being a matchmaker.
I let out a shuddering sigh, pick up a pencil, and look back at Gotham. “We’ll figure this out together.”
15
Max watches us the entire time from the doorway, her arms crossed as she leans against the frame. She doesn’t say much, but she has an unreadable expression as I work through the twenty-odd worksheets with Gotham. He’s a smart kid and picks up things faster than I do. Whether that’s practicing his spelling or doing multiplication, he’s a step ahead of me.
/>
Meanwhile, I can’t remember what seven times eight is. Fifty-six?
It’s simple math, but I’ve gotten so used to using the calculator on my phone, I’m hopeless. Luckily, Gotham and I are able to make our way through it.
Even though it’s embarrassingly hard for me. I admit, I have to use a bit of my power to answer a few questions. An unconventional use of my love magic, but it does the trick. I just have to frame the problem as a love solution in my head, and the rest of it fills in.
It saves me from embarrassment quite a few times, although the effort drains me as I’m using my powers differently than I ever have before.
I’m a god, dammit. Homework shouldn’t do this to me.
Gotham hangs on my every word, even though I don’t want him to. I used to like hero worship as a conceited god. But having it from him feels…wrong. Like I don’t deserve it. After all, I’m the one who coerced his mother into this crazy arrangement. I’m the one who’s interrupting their life with lies and deception. Max may be in on most of it, but I wonder what they’d think if they knew a powerful god was in their midst.
It’s hard watching the kid work. His mind is brilliant, and I know how hard life has been for him.
Shit, I’d give anything for him to be able to walk without those crutches.
Hector comes in every so often, opening the fridge, looking at it for a good, long moment, then closing it and heading back to his room. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but neither Max nor Gotham say anything about it.
Finally, after what seems like hours, we turn over the last page, and I sit back, rub my eyes and muss my hair. A quick glance at the clock on the stove tells me that it’s after nine.
When did time slip away like that? And why did a kid have so much homework?
I bite back a curse. “We’re done, buddy,” I say instead. And damn if I’m not tired.
“You’re lucky Mr. Arrows and I left the movie early,” Max says, her tone pedantic as she hands Gotham his milkshake. He takes it from her and slurps it down. “Otherwise, it would be way past your bedtime.”
“Aw, Mom.”
I get the feeling that this is just normal banter between mother and son. They’re not really lecturing each other or fussing—just talking.
“Hurry.” Max gestures with her head to the hallway. She’s trying to hide a smile. “Drink the rest of that and brush your teeth.” She sends me a look not to mention anything, so I don’t. I just sit back and watch as Gotham finishes up his drink and gets to his feet.
“And thank Mr. Arrows for his help,” Max says, raising an eyebrow.
“Thanks, Mr. Arrows,” Gotham returns.
Yeah, he’s a really good kid. “No problem,” I say. “Hey, next time we’ll play a game, ‘k?”
Gotham grins wildly. “Yeah?”
I nod. That seems to do the trick and Gotham is much faster as he makes his way to the bathroom, leaving Max and me alone in the kitchen.
We both stay there in an uneasy quiet. I have so many things I want to say, and so many reasons I can’t say them.
Instead, I say, “That was brutal. I didn’t know homework was so bad these days.”
That being said, I was worshipped when most people were illiterate, so maybe I don’t have much of a handle on what to expect. Still, it seemed really hard and extensive.
Max laughs. “Welcome to my world.” She watches me for a moment, biting her lip. “Hang on a moment. I’ll tuck him in and be right back.”
She brushes past me, and I almost turn to tell her what’s on my tongue, but I lose it as soon as I get a handle on my own feelings.
I can’t say it. Not now. Not ever.
The kitchen clock ticks down, too loud in the small space, out of sync with my own heartbeat. I sit, concentrating on it.
This whole family is depending on me to save my reputation and keep my client base. That’s why I’m doing this with Max—to put on a show for people to see. For them.
It’s not real.
I’m the god of love, dammit. I’m not supposed to fall into my own web of feelings.
It’s. Not. Real.
My hands are clenched, and I force myself to relax them against my knees. I’m bouncing my heels.
Nerves.
Shit. I’m nervous.
Footsteps at the doorway. I think it’s Max, but then I look up to see Hector. He’s wearing his loose robe from the other night, and once again, I’m getting way too much of a view of his tighty whities.
“You look troubled,” he says with a frown.
I am. “I’m not.”
He snickers, and a strangled noise comes through his nose as he makes his way to the fridge. He opens it and stands there. “You don’t think I know what you’re doing?” he asks without turning around. “What you’re going through? I’ve been there. And you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
I know. Barking up the wrong tree for forbidden fruit.
I swallow thickly. “I know.”
There’s an awkward silence as neither of us says anything. Hector just stands in the light from the fridge, and I can feel the cold seep through my trouser legs.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
Hector looks back at me, as if in surprise. “Beer,” he answers in resignation. “I keep hoping it will show up.”
The unexpected answer makes me laugh.
“Beer’s bad for you, Dad,” Max says, and both of us turn to see her in the doorway. Again, she has that same unreadable expression as she takes her father and me in. It’s the same expression she had while I was working with Gotham.
Hector waves away Max’s comment as he looks back at the fridge. “But you’ll give me a milkshake?”
“I’m only good half the time,” Max says in a blithe tone. “But I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”
Hector looks at her, and then he sighs in resignation. “Just pick up a six-pack tomorrow? Maybe?”
Max nods. “Maybe.”
That seems good enough for Hector. He huffs and then casts another glance my way. “Don’t be an asshole,” he mutters, before shuffling past Max.
She frowns, confused, tilting her head. “What was that about?”
I shake my head, bewildered that an old man could read me so well. “He’s just grumpy? I don’t know.”
She blinks and then chuckles. “You have no idea.” She watches me for a moment before adding, “You know, you didn’t have to stay to help with Gotham.”
“I know. But…wouldn’t a stepfather-to-be help a kid with his homework?”
There’s something akin to disappointment on her face as she regards me in silence. I meet her gaze, trying to question without words as to what she’s thinking.
“You don’t have to pretend in front of us,” she says softly.
I almost flinch at her words. They’re true. But at the same time, I’d been hoping to show her that I’m more than Damien Eros. More than the god she doesn’t know I am.
That I have my own thoughts and feelings. And I want her to see that, like I’ve seen past that tough exterior of hers.
“I’m not pretending.”
“Oh?” She crosses the room to stand closer to me, looking down. “Then what are you doing? Trying to play with my son’s heart and confuse my dad?”
“What? No.”
“What is this whole thing turning into?” she asks, a shadow crossing her features. “We’re spending every waking moment together now.”
A flicker of irritation ignites in me. “Hey, this whole low-key thing was your idea.”
And it works so well, it’s even fooling me sometimes.
“I’m so confused by everything,” she mutters, putting a hand to her temple. “Because nothing’s making sense.”
I raise my brows. “What?”
“Where you came from,” she says. “How you’re so good at your job, yet you’re playing stupid at this. Everything.”
She’s skirting so dangerously close to the tr
uth. About me, about everything.
“That’s why we’ll get through this,” I tell her, rising to my feet. Her gaze follows me, looking up at me. There’s anger there, like she’s fighting everything she’s feeling.
She blinks and takes a step back, putting distance between us.
“Why haven’t you done the fake proposal yet?” she asks suddenly. “You’ve had plenty of time to do so. And now, you’re just wasting time.”
“I’m not wasting time, Max.” How could she think that? Is she not enjoying this, at least?
“Wasting energy then,” she amends, sounding desperate. “Just…stop playing with my heart.”
I reach a tentative hand out to her, and she inhales sharply but doesn’t move away from me. I trail my fingers down the side of her face.
“I’m not trying to.”
Her nostrils flare as she looks at me defiantly. Then she spins on her heel and leaves me alone in the kitchen, blinking in confusion.
Fuck, why did I make love so complicated? I originally came up with it when I was bored, a way to keep life interesting for mortals. But I never thought about how it impacted those mortals. How much it fucking sucked.
I take a steadying breath. Preparing to throw it all away to get some answers. Because I’m going crazy, out of my mind with all this back and forth.
I follow her down the hallway to the door that’s open at the end of the hall.
“Max,” I call. “Max.”
I step into the bedroom, stopping in the doorway to take in the sight before me.
She’s on the bed, sitting with her feet planted on the floor, her elbows on her knees, and her face in her hands.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispers without looking up. Her words are muffled by her hands.
“What?” A chill rushes up my spine.
“Have you fuck with me like this. Because I keep thinking you’re…” Her voice breaks and trails off.
“Max…”
She takes her hands away from her eyes and studies me in the doorway. “You should go,” she says, getting to her feet.
“No.”
I surprise both of us with the conviction in my voice. Because whatever is going to fall out of this has to happen tonight. Because without her, my business isn’t worth keeping. Not just for myself.
