Wes shoots me a questioning look, and I shake my head at him.
Instead, I focus my earnest efforts on being nice and reasonable with the witch at hand. “What’s going on with you and Skyla?”
Chloe has always held her mean beauty, her mean heart close to the vest like a very sharp knife. In the beginning, I played along. I wanted to know her secrets, be her friend, but in the end, I couldn’t give her what she really wanted—myself. It was Chloe and I that fashioned together that butterfly room above Skyla’s closet. It was Chloe’s intense obsession for me that fueled so much heartbreak, so much loss and devastation. Perhaps it is truly the nexus of what caused Chloe’s death to begin with. Yes, Skyla played a part, but I was the kernel that grew into a strangulating vine and wrapped myself around her neck whether I like to admit it or not. But I don’t blame myself. Chloe’s incessant need to have me far outweighs the borders of sanity.
Chloe blinks to life as if she were tuned into my internal conversation and shakes her head as if to rebuff my theory.
“I’m just being her friend, Gage. Skyla and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but we’ve found something we can bond over, agree on, and we’re moving in the right direction for the right reason. That’s all you need to know.” She pins my brother with a crooked smile. “That’s all either of you need to know.” Chloe takes off into the bowels of this megastructure, and I head for the door myself.
“Gage”—Wes calls out, and I turn around—“I’ll keep an ear out.” He nods toward his raging lunatic of a wife. “We’ll get to the bottom of both this and the Videns, together.”
Together. I offer a peaceable smile as I head out the door and dissolve to nothing.
For so long it was Logan who stood staunchly by my side, and Wesley was nothing more than an interloper in our midst.
But for the first time in a long while, Wes feels less like an interloper and a lot more like a brother.
Logan
Weeks whip by with Paragon locked in a windy fury, blowing the fog banks across the island in angry volatile jags. It’s almost offensive in nature to watch. The fog has been here for us for as long as I can remember, and the bitter wind is something new, novel, that most residents of the island want nothing to do with. Watching the fog get bumped around saddens me, like watching an elderly relative get shoved by some menacing bully, and yet there’s not a thing you can do about it. But Paragon doesn’t relinquish the fog. She refuses to dismiss the thick layer of dark clouds that lurk overhead, either. But she is relentless in shooing away this wind-born stranger, rebuffing his incessant need to claim her. No, Paragon is stubborn, and, for this arrogant pride alone, I find her endearing. Paragon wins again and again. She reminds me a lot of Skyla.
The Landon house is dark inside, mostly because, according to Gage, they are in serious conservation mode. Rumor has it, Tad is officially on the outs with Althorpe and is trying desperately to manufacture a plan that might keep his bustling inn up and running. In fact, that, in part, is what’s prompted my visit. As much as I didn’t appreciate the shakedown Tad and Lizbeth elicited on the bowling alley last year during that well-thought-out slip and fall routine, I would do anything to help this family out. But I can’t save the world. Hell, I can’t even save myself. I’m simply here to pay a visit to my favorite people on the planet. Gage and his tiny beautiful family.
Mia lets me in with a huff and grunts something about Rev under her breath. I know for a fact she’s seeing him, sleeping with him, according to Skyla, but if the disgruntled look on Mia’s face suggests anything, it’s that things are not going well in paradise. They seldom do. I know this firsthand, considering I’m there at the moment and simultaneously here. I’m still a bit puzzled why Candace chose to gift me a Treble, a permanent yet not official placement on planet earth, where I’m free to roam and stalk Skyla as I wish. And dear God Almighty, how I wish.
I head upstairs, give a gentle knock over their bedroom door, and Gage moans for me to come in. Even though he’s still very much in the dog house, Skyla has relented enough to have him over to help out with the boys. Gage has become the official snot sucker of the family, an act and title I could have never imagined, still don’t want to. But, if anything, that alone should prove to Skyla that Gage Oliver is devoted to his little clan, through and snotty nose through.
“Logan.” Skyla gives a limp wristed wave that looks suspiciously like the white flag of surrender as the babies lie slumped in her arms. “They were up all night. They really do hate me.”
The boys both raise their fists in tandem and writhe with their eyes closed as if they were about to fall into a heavy afternoon nap. My heart melts at the sight of those dark-haired angels with their twitching dimples, their pudgy little arms and legs that I can’t get enough of. Deep down, I suspected that both Skyla and Gage would have adorable children one day. I just never imagined they would be having them together.
“Nobody hates you.” I thread my way through the cramped space, trying not to look at the clutter that abounds—diapers and clothes on every surface, a pile of towels and blankets amassing against the window. A part of me wonders if this is a fire hazard. The entire room looks like a tinderbox. I lean in and offer my beautiful princess a kiss to the cheek and her flesh feels hot and clammy. The room smells thick with sickness and sweat intermingled with the slight hint of baby powder, but I’ll be the last to point out they should put a crack in the window.
“Put a crack in the window,” Skyla belts the command out to Gage faster than I can process the fact she’s just read my mind.
“My abilities are fading.” Her legs curl under herself on the mattress as she pats a spot next to her. “You can leave, Gage.” She dismisses her husband as if he were a mere servant, a paid employee, and at this point Gage would be honored to be both.
Gage puts a crack in the window just like he’s told but takes a seat at the edge of the bed next to me in an outright act of defiance. I shake my head at him. Gage and I have gone around the block regarding how to fix this mess. Skyla simply isn’t ready to hear anything that transpired that night with Demetri. And I get it. She’s not opposed to what Gage has done—or at least I’m hoping she won’t be—but she’s opposed to us making another move behind her back. And that’s exactly what we did—what we seem to keep doing.
“Emily isn’t talking.” Gage looks to the two of us. “I’m trying to figure out if the Videns went in against their will. Ethan swears it’s the truth. The Faction isn’t willing to come to the meetings anymore, so I’m basically thinking of heading door to door.”
“I’ll go with you.” I tap my knee over his. Gage and Skyla have both been knocked out by the flu—or as Skyla calls it, The Great Emma Plague of the Millennium. Emma and Barron have yet to fully recover themselves. And believe me, Emma has made herself that much more miserable knowing her grandchildren had to suffer for it.
“And I won’t go with you,” Skyla quips. “Again, you can leave now.” Her voice wobbles as she blinks back the moisture in her eyes.
“Did I walk in on something?” I rise to leave, and Skyla lands her leg over my thighs, pinning me down once again.
“You know, on second thought, I think I can use some air.” She scoots past me and lays the boys down in a single bassinet and neither of them makes a sound. “I’ll get dressed”—she heads to the closet—“maybe you can supervise me as I try to run around the block?” Her hair billows over her head, an entire foot like a blonde halo, and she looks comical in a breathtaking way. Skyla’s kinky curls have always delighted me. Her hair, those velum clear eyes, everything about her has a personality of its own.
“I can be your trainer,” I whisper as loud as I can as she entombs herself inside the walk-in. Gage shoots me a look, and a twinge of guilt eats at me. “Sorry, man.” I slap a hand over my nephew’s knee.
“No, it’s fine.” He rubs his eyes in a lethargic move. Gage looks as if he hasn’t slept in months, and he hasn’t.
“
Just thought of something.” I offer a congratulatory pat to his back. “The boys are two months old to the day.”
“Nathan.” His head bobs with the admission. “Barron is holding out until tomorrow.”
We share a quiet laugh. The boys were born minutes apart on two different days, just like Skyla and Gage themselves, and on exactly their birthdays. Nathan on Skyla’s and Barron on Gage’s big day.
“Hey”—he whispers as he cuts a quick glance to the closet—“I want to talk to you about something real quick.”
“What’s up, man?” It hurts my heart to see Skyla and Gage not getting along. Hell, it hurts my heart that she’s still pretty pissed at me as well, but the fact she wants to go anywhere with me is a huge step in the right direction. “You want me to talk to her?”
“No—yes, maybe.” He grinds his palm into his hand. “I don’t know. Actually, I wanted to let you know that I went to the bank this morning.” He frowns at the closet door a moment. “A few weeks back, Demetri brought this woman to the New Year’s party Lizbeth threw, and I met her. Her name was Dominique. It turns out she’s Melody Winters’ mother, the chick from the morgue.”
I shoot a quick glance out the window, trying to absorb this. “I take it her mother was grateful.”
“Too grateful. She said she wanted to give me a reward. She mentioned something about making a straight deposit to my account. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, and then the boys got sick and I got slammed. So this morning when I went in to deposit a few checks, I about dropped dead when I saw the balance.”
“She was generous.” I nod, trying to put the pieces together. The fact this is Demetri’s friend we’re talking about sends off all sorts of bells and whistles. “What are we talking? A hundred bucks? A thousand? Ten thousand?”
He shakes his head and hitches his thumb in the air. “One hundred thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit.” My body heat spikes just hearing the number. “Did you tell Skyla?”
“Nope.” His brows hike a notch. “I called Mrs. Winters to let her know I couldn’t accept it, but she said I could donate it to any charity I wished. She’s not taking it back.”
“What are you going to do?” A part of me wonders if I’m the charity in question. I wouldn’t take a dime even if Gage offered it.
“I’m keeping it.” His dimples dig in deep. “I’m setting some aside for the boys’ education, and I’m using the rest to fix that damn house.”
That Damn House is just about the official name of the haunted shack Skyla and Gage purchased a few months back. It just so happens to sit on the property next to Barron and Emma’s. Skyla will be her mother-in-law’s next-door neighbor one day, that is, if she and Gage survive this current crisis, and I have no doubt they will. And when they do, Skyla will have a whole new crisis to deal with. I wish I could have stopped them from making the purchase, but That Damn House is behind the damn gates, which means it has the potential to be worth a lot of damn money one day.
I reach over and slap him a quick five. “I’m damn glad for you, man. Just let me know what I can do to help.”
“You really want to break your back with me?”
“All day long, dude. All the damn day long.”
“Thanks, man.” He reaches over and pulls me in for a quick pat to the back. “And another thing, something isn’t sitting right with me about the Winters. I asked Brody about them, and he didn’t seem to know too much. He said he’d look into it for me.”
“It’ll be interesting to see what comes of that.”
“Maybe a little too interesting.”
Skyla emerges in a pair of black leggings and Gage’s old practice sweatshirt from our football days at West. Just looking at Cerberus’ ugly three-headed mug on her chest brings a crooked smile to my face. She whips her hair into a ponytail and nods for me to follow her out the door. I give Gage a quick wave, and he falls back on the bed, his eyes close before he ever hits the pillow.
Skyla and I are off—let’s hope my balls survive the effort.
Skyla leads us straight downstairs, past the heavy argument Tad and Lizbeth are engaged in, past Mia and Melissa’s squabble over a hairbrush—that one of them is threatening to shove up the other’s ass, past a giant beast of a dog that I only vaguely recognize, and out into a fresh burst of powder white Paragon fog.
Skyla throws her arms back and turns her face to the sky, a wide smile spreading across her face as if her freedom were newly issued, and in a way it has been, temporarily at least.
“I love the way Paragon kisses me. First kiss of the new year. First day outside in weeks.”
My own smile quickly fades as I try to wrap my head around the idea. “You mean you haven’t left the house in a month?”
Her expression sours as she leads us down to the street. “It hasn’t quite been a month. But it’s crazy, right? I mean, people literally lose their minds staying cooped up like that, and believe me, in that house in particular, the odds of being sane are never in your favor.”
After the melee I just witnessed in that one small thirty-second microcosm, I’d have to agree. But seeing that I’m walking a fine line, the last thing I’m going to do is insult her family.
“Ha.” She gives a tiny laugh, half-hearted at best. “I heard you. My powers are fading, though.” I look down and marvel at the fact we’re not touching. She takes a moment to rework her ponytail until her hair is in a bun. I love Skyla with a bun. Hell, I’d love her bald. Did you hear that? I love you, Skyla Oliver. I pump a smile and wait for a response, but she bends over and tightens the strings on her tennis shoes, and I can’t tell if she didn’t hear or if I’m still in the doghouse.
“Doghouse.” She stands up straight and gives a quick wink. “I know you love me, Logan.” A cloudbank of fog bursts between us as if Paragon herself has something she’d like to insert regarding our love. She can save it. This island doesn’t have a right to something so sacred. “I know you love me in a lot of ways, but not in the way I would hope. Even if you won’t admit it, I know you love Gage just a little bit more.” Her crystal eyes sharpen over mine when she says it.
There it is, the slap in the face. Her bitter words penetrate to my marrow and poison my blood—toxic enough to kill me, that is, if I were living.
“No.” I can hardly get the word out. I take a step in, closing the distance between us. “A thousand times, no. I love you more than him.” It’s true. I’m not sure how it’s possible because my love for Gage is infinite, but I know this to be true. “I wanted to protect you. I was a fool not to tell you, but if I did, it would have hurt you more in the end.”
“Ugh!” She tosses a hand in the air and walks away, fading into the mist. “Stop being so obstinate.”
“Stop being so stubborn,” I bark as I run up ahead of her, jogging backward just to keep pace.
Skyla lets out a grunt, shaking her head at just how obstinate I can be. “You’ve got nerve.”
“And you’ve got to listen.” It comes out with far more fury than it ever does pleading. “If you knew the facts, we could work with them—make them our bitch.”
“Why would you need the facts to be your bitch, Logan? I’m your bitch, remember?” She hits her stride with a light jog, and I take up the position beside her.
“Don’t talk like that. You’re the love of my life. My wife.” There. I said it. “I still see you that way, Skyla. I would bend over backward for you, crawl through blood, kill or be killed. I would die for you, my queen, and I did.” The words come out sharp as knives. A poem dipped in ashes and soot. I never was good at sweet talk.
She flits her irritated gaze my way and stops short, already panting out of breath, and we haven’t even cleared the next driveway. “You’re a liar, Logan. You always have been—always feeding me half-truths just to appease me. If that’s any indication of your undying love for me, then you must love me about as much as you love Chloe.”
“I’m too tired to fight with you. Whate
ver you’re doing with Chloe, it’s going to backfire spectacularly in your face. Shit. I fully expect it to. I’ve been watching you long enough to know there’s no other way.” My stomach clenches when I cast that barb without meaning to. If I could only take it back. There are so many things that I’ve allowed to happen to the two of us that I would gladly take back.
She stops cold. Those steely eyes of hers pierce into mine with sorrow and pain and outrage all at once. “I think I’m going to run.” Her cheeks pinch bright pink when she says it. “I think running might be better. How about I run to the end of the block and you time me?” she pants the words through an open mouth, her face straining as if begging for mercy before she ever begins.
She’s closing me off, putting our argument on the shelf for the time being. Skyla has a gift of carrying her grudges and her arguments and dividing them, compartmentalizing them for later, and for whatever reason, I’m okay with it. I don’t think I could take her anger all at once. It’s too hot under the white light of her fury. I can’t take the heat.
“All right, as your coach, I say move it.” I clap my hands as she takes off, legs already kicking wild, her arms jamming down like hammers as she takes a few gyrating steps forward. She hits the middle of the block and stops cold, bends her head over her knees like she might vomit. A dry laugh pumps from me as I catch up to her.
“You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I’m never getting my body back.” She squeezes her eyes shut tight as she straightens. “At this point I’m not too sure I care. I need sleep, Logan.” She latches onto me without warning, and my body adheres to hers. Skyla lays her full weight onto me. Her warm breath heats my chest, and it feels like heaven. “I’m taking us to Whitehorse.” She wheezes into my chest. “I think I can.” Her head writhes from side to side. Skyla is delirious with fatigue. “We’re just going to lie in bed a minute. I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”
Crown of Ashes Page 19
