Last night I dreamed of a hostile future. I dreamed of myself in another form, a wiser, far more experienced version that had come down from paradise to offer a helping hand in what will be the greatest plight of my young deceased and perhaps even resurrected life. I dreamed of Gage in that desolate, cavernous plane, Paragon in Nocturne. Gage seated firmly on his throne of fire with his beastly skin, and unknowable wicked eyes. In no way did he remotely resemble the boy I grew up with. That burnt thick skin with its glassy scales, the mile-long tongue that whips about in flames. This future version of the two of us fascinates me, and I watch in horror—in a sad act of faraway admiration—everything in between. Greatness, no matter how wicked, has the power to instill a certain awe in people, and Gage in all of his monstrous glory is no different. I am in awe of his wicked majesty.

“How will you fix this?” the version of myself that stepped down from paradise asks.

“I don’t know.” I give him the same answer each and every time. I have had this dream dozens upon dozens of times, and each night it plays out the same.

He places his strong hand over my shoulder, warm and weighted, as if it alone had the power to assure me everything would somehow be all right. And then just like that, I’m pulled out of the dream by the vacuum of reality. My eyes are always slow to open as I struggle my way back. And I always ask myself the same damn question—what in the hell should I do now?

I blink to life, and my gaze drifts to the gap in the curtain, exposing a veil of snowy white fog that has already wrapped its arms around the island. Paragon loves to dress herself in its softness. She loves to sand off the rugged edges of reality by dewing herself in the ever-present mist of youth. I wish I could wrap Skyla and Gage in softness, prepare them for the hard fall that inevitably lies ahead. It’s been a week now that he’s told her the truth, and she’s embraced it with the loving kindness I always knew she would.

Skyla and Gage are working again. And I want that for them. I wish they were working from the start, and I was long since dead, content and buried, staring down at the two of them from paradise above. Although, technically, that’s not true. From that bodily deprived standpoint in the hereafter, you can’t see the world or anything in it. That is a lie, or more accurately, a distortion of the truth that people love to believe. The dead have surrendered their knowledge of this life along with their bodies. The world and all of its inhabitants are under the Master’s watchful eye and that of his Son. It is they that look down. They alone are mindful of what needs to be done. They function as one and the same—the Father and the Son—and it makes me wonder if Gage and his father—Demetri, will too function as one in the same. That is the frightening reality staring us in the face. But my father, my mother, and all of the saints that have passed on, are incapable of solving any single problem for me. God has got this. The last thing He needs is billions of meddling spirits meddling with His universe, trying desperately to right all of the wrongs, desperate to be gods themselves without holding the blueprint of what comes next and where it fits into the grand design. It’s true. If given half a chance, I would have commandeered Skyla and Gage to the happily ever after they need, that some might say they deserve, although, I’m not entirely in that camp. If I’m honest, I’ll admit defeat, but I’ll also admit that I love Skyla too much to ever let her go completely.

The Smite brothers come to mind with their altruistic outlook on love—Graham in particular. He gave the woman he loved away to his brother like a parting gift, a token of his appreciation. Skyla is far more than a token, than a jewel to hold in my palm and pass along to any of my brothers, and I do include Gage in that number. Nope. I cannot give her away. And in the same vein, I cannot give Gage away either—least of all to Demetri.

A hard knock comes over the door, and Lexy bursts in with a tray in her hands.

“Rise and shine, bright eyes! Today is a new day, and you and I have a world to conquer.”

A dull groan rumbles from me. Lexy Bakova is the last girl on the planet I plan on conquering the world with. Not to mention the fact I tried to do specifically that with Skyla and drove her—scratch that, cemented her in Gage Oliver’s arms—and I, myself, ended up dead in the process.

Lex sits next to me, depressing my mattress right along with my spirits. I know for a fact her presence annoys the living hell out of Skyla. And I’m not looking for anything sexual with Lex, which is exactly what Lex wants with me, so it’s probably time I gave her the boot.

“Lex, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Sure.” She bounces over the bed and causes the coffee to crest onto the lip of the mug. “But before I forget, Gage dropped by.”

“What did he want?” I take the glass of O.J. off the tray and sit up before knocking it back.

“You. He said he needed to talk. I told him you were sleeping and he took off.” She flips back her copper hair and flashes that insolent smile she’s famous for. “He’s probably looking for a way to deal with Messenger. If you ask me, she’s always been high maintenance. Back at West you would think the world revolved around her the way she was so self-absorbed.”

“It did,” I offer without a note of enthusiasm. “It still does.” And I mean that. Skyla is the nexus of a superhuman transformation taking place in the nebulous sky. Her mother has whittled the perfect pawn, and Skyla is that chess piece. I happen to be the other, but I’m not getting into any of that with Lex.

“Anyway, Ezrina has been puking up a storm. Heathcliff has freaked the fuck out, so I took over and made sure she got to bed and gave her all the crackers and soda I could find. Heathcliff says he’ll gift me free food at the Gas Lab for a year!” She squawks at the idea. “I’m in. Let me tell you, life is expensive. I knew it would be rough after high school, but I didn’t realize how hard money would be to come by. Good thing I’ve got you to help me out. My parents aren’t into fostering my need for cash anymore. If I didn’t have this place, I’d be out on my rear, or worse yet, rooming with Michelle over at Host.”

“You should probably finish your education,” I offer that bit of fatherly advice as I dig into the thickly syruped pancakes she’s made fresh for me. It’s a breakfast she’s made sure I’ve grown accustomed to, but I’d hate to break it to Lex, I’d be just as satisfied with a glass of water.

“Of course, I’m still taking online classes, but I could only get one this semester.” She leans in and runs her fingers through my hair, those copper eyes of hers glint like pennies. “That’s the thing I appreciate most about you, Logan. You really seem to care about me. All my life I’ve had to live around cold-hearted people, and I think most of all it’s your warmth I’m drawn to. Now what was it that you wanted to discuss?” She blinks up at me with those doe eyes, and I don’t have the heart to knife her heart out.

“There’s a Faction meeting in a few hours. You should probably plan on going.”

“As your date? Logan Oliver, you never need to ask.” She leans in and pecks a kiss on my cheek, and before I know it she’s snapped a picture of the event as well.

Crap.

“See you in a bit!” She bubbles her way out of the room.

I don’t need a date to the Faction meeting. Nobody does. Holy hell, Lexy Bakova has taken over like a fungus.

* * *

“I brought a date to the meeting.” Skyla gives a gritty laugh, and I can’t help but frown at the irony. “Two dates actually.” Gage comes up behind her holding each of the boys.

“What’s up, little dudes?” I land a quick kiss to each of their downy soft cheeks, and they both smile and squirm for me so I take the one closest. “Who’s this?”

“Barron.” Skyla laughs while taking Nathan from Gage. “I’d better get up there.” She nods toward the table set up in the front of Nicholas Haver’s enormous old barn. Rows and rows of chairs are set out encompassing the lone table up front where Skyla will conduct the meeting from, and usually there are more than enough seats, but tonight it’s standing room only. Skyla invited everyone from the old Walsh house, her home to be exact, to partake in the festivities. Not that there will be any festivities, tonight we discuss the grim business of getting the dead into the government’s hands.

“So, what’s up?” I give Gage a quick nod as I bounce Barron between us. “Lex mentioned the fact you stopped by.”

His brows hood in disapproval. “She did, huh? She said you were indisposed. Dude, she was wearing your T-shirt. You’re not sleeping with her, are you? Not that I’m judging.” He’s quick to backtrack, but we both know he’s judging and he should be.

“Heck no.” I wince at Barron as he does his best to grip my nose. “Nor will I. I’m about ready to show her the door but, well, it’s complicated. What can I help you with?”

“It’s complicated.” His dimples dig into a frown. “Tad’s getting ready to gas the place soon. The fumigating is moving a little slower than he’d like, but, nevertheless, I need somewhere to camp out with the fam.” He takes a deep breath as if what comes next is hard for him. “You okay with us hitting Whitehorse for about a week?”

My heart gives the requisite lurch it’s prone to do whenever Gage shocks me. I’ve asked both him and Skyla to take Whitehorse, make it their own, but they’ve staunchly refused, and having Gage ask for it even for just a week throws me.

“Yes. Take it for as long as you need. Trust me, once you taste the freedom it can afford, there will be no looking back at Tad’s ass crack.”

“Watch the language.” He gives a sly wink before dropping a kiss to Barron’s hand. “Thanks, man. We appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.”

He spots his father, Barron, in the crowd talking to Rev and winces. “Excuse me for a minute.” He takes off, and my mind reflexively goes back to Whitehorse as visions of Gage taking Skyla over every inch of that place puts me in a daze. They’ll be there a week at least. Of course, they’re going to make it their own in every way. My stomach sours at the thought of the mattress getting some mileage off it, the new one post my erotic romp with Chloe when I thought she was Skyla.

Barron grabs my ear and crushes it in his tiny hand before laughing up a husky storm. His eyes sparkle like his father’s, like Skyla’s and I can’t help but think he’s a perfect combination of both.

“That’s right,” I whisper, bouncing him on my hip. “I need to snap out of it. Get out of my funk.”

Skyla and Gage are free to have as much fun as they want under my roof, her roof. And, if I’m moved to change the mattress out afterward, it’s not a big deal. An expensive, heavy-as-fuck-to-get-up-the-stairs deal, but ultimately not a big one.

Skyla calls the meeting to order, and I take a seat up front next to Ezrina and Nev. Ellis and Giselle strut in late and steal the seats to my right.

“How’s it hanging?” Ellis leans in and fist bumps baby Barron, and the heavy scent of weed clings thick in the air. Giselle’s eyes are just as glossed over as Ellis’.

I can’t help but frown over at the two of them. Honestly, lately she has just as little sense as he does. I need to start a rescue G initiative. There has to be someone else she can date other than Ellis, but at the moment I can’t seem to think of anyone. Or better yet, stay single. Her brain cells will thank her for it later in life.

The meeting gets underway, and Skyla assesses the work programs she instilled last year. The strongest and the brightest minds from each Faction have volunteered to do workshops in strengthening and growing powers, and the younger sect is showing up in droves. I, myself, am dead and thus don’t qualify, but Skyla assured me that I would have been a Celestra leader. As it stands, Ivan Watts and his wife Vanessa lead those classes. I’ve yet to catch a master class, as they’re called, but plan to.

“Skyla’s so brave.” Giselle leans over Ellis and leers at me as if waiting for a response. A slight titter circles the room, and my full attention returns to the front. Skyla keeps talking into the mic, her body slightly contorted to the left, and it takes a while for me to notice a large bulge rippling under her blouse.

“Crap,” I say it out loud without meaning to, and Barron slaps my lips and laughs. That lump under Skyla’s shirt just so happens to be his brother—Nathan. She’s nursing right here in the open, and my heart starts thumping again—not because the sight of it gets me going. I’ve seen Skyla do what she needs to do on more than one occasion. It’s the fact the masses happen to be witnessing the event as well. A swell of pride heats me up from the inside. Yes, she’s covered, but even if she wasn’t, Skyla is fearless. If anything, this is a shining example of what a great mother she is.

Skyla leans in. “Let’s move to the topic of volunteer adoptions.” Volunteer adoptions is the program she ran past me that involves the deceased getting placed into homes rather than drawing attention to themselves stuffed to the hilt at the home she’s provided for them. I know for a fact Gage is on the forefront of gunning to get them out. “Worldwide representatives have reached out and taken in a significant number of mercenaries for us. The Nephilim Bureau of Intelligence is working closely to find an appropriate match for everyone involved.” A weak round of applause pours through the room. “The Levatio League had kindly offered their transportation services for the endeavor, and I can’t stress how grateful we are for that. A handful, of course, is still here among us on Paragon. They are desperately needed in order to deflect the heat that the government has steadily turned up.”

“You mean the Barricade!” someone shouts from the back.

“Precisely that.” Skyla darts a quick glance to Gage as if it were a reflex, and her cheeks darken with color. “The sooner we temper the feds, the sooner everyone can breathe easier. The mercenaries are currently undergoing power stimulus and strategy sessions to help once they initiate their incarcerations. The plan calls for a swift surrendering over a three to six-month period. Once the last volunteer is taken, we will regroup and reassess. No doubt the Barricade will have something else cooked up by then, but we’ll deflect as needed. We don’t fear them or the coward commandeering the effort.”

A slight round of titters circles the room.

Her T-shirt flips over the top of Nathan’s head, and the white pad of her breast glows beneath his dark hair. His head moves steadily back and forth as he heartily takes all she has to give him. The room lights up with an audible gasp, followed quickly by a rumble of voices, all eagerly whispering about the wardrobe malfunction.

“Excuse me.” She leans into the mic once again and offers a hard look to the crowd from one end of the room to the other. “But my son needs to eat, and I kindly ask that you get over it.” She straightens her notes, and the room grows quiet with the reprimand. “We’ll have sign-ups down front once we reconvene, and I’m hopeful to place the remaining Paragon mercenaries in a warm home by evening.” Skyla picks up the gavel and pauses while scanning the crowd. “Be careful—be on alert, watch out for one another. We are all we have.” She sounds the gavel, and the baby breaks his hold on her, leaving Skyla’s nipple bare and exposed as the room erupts into a warble of voices. Bodies rise and begin to mingle, and I share a quick glance with Gage. It looks as if the shock value lasted for less than a moment, and I’m glad. I don’t want Skyla to feel embarrassed or bad about having to nurse her children. God gave her those boys and that body for a reason.

“Logan?” a tiny female voice calls from behind, and I find Casey with her bright eyes latched onto me. “Will you adopt me?” Her lower lip quivers when she says it, and my heart breaks for her. What the heck is she doing here, volunteering? She’s just a kid.

“I’m actually in need of a home myself. A family is coming to stay at my house for a week.”

Her features crumble as if she were crestfallen. “I see. I guess I’ll go sign up and hope for the best. I don’t traditionally do well around strangers. This entire endeavor was sort of a big step for me. But the Counts burned my father. He was a Celestra, and I avowed to avenge him.” She picks at her simple pink dress at the hem. “But then I was killed before I ever got out of the vengeful gate.”

Something about Casey makes me want to protect her in a big brother sort of way.

“I can relate.” I bounce Barron on my hip, and he nuzzles his dark little head into my neck. “My father—the Counts killed both him and my mother in the same manner.”

“Oh!” She slaps her hand over her mouth. “They’re barbaric!”

“Full disclosure, I might have a drop or two of that barbaric blood in me, but I’m almost pure Celestra outside of the fact.”

She wrinkles her nose and looks all of twelve. “I won’t hold it against you. Hey, do you know of any nice people that might take me in?”

“What’s this?” Giselle pops up next to me and takes the baby. “Hi, Casey!” She heads over and gives her a hip bump. “You need a good home? My Ellis practically lives in a mansion all by himself. His parents are nearly invisible. Or how about living with me? Daddy Kragger is the best! And he would, love, love, love to have you with us! We can light a big burning fire and you can tell us all about how you died. Daddy K loves to hear my stories about the afterlife. Now that the real Emerson is home, you’d think he’d kick me out on my tiny pink Oliver ear, but he’s taken a liking to me. Besides, Emerson won’t be around forever. Thankfully. She’s such a snot.” She makes a face while turning my way. “She practically yells at me every day for touching her things. What doesn’t she get about being replaced?”

“I’m sure it’s a tough pill to swallow.” I can’t help but look to Gage. I happen to know all about being replaced myself. “And no, I don’t think having Casey stay with you is a good idea. In fact, try not to bring any of this to Arson’s attention.”

“Oh, he knows.” She waves me off as if it’s silly. “Holden told him everything. But Pierce swore him to secrecy. In fact, Pierce and Holden are trying to figure out a way to do more to help Skyla.”

“That’s interesting, considering I believe she killed them both.” I make a mental note to talk to both Holden and Pierce. Holden once took possession of my body. He once did a lot of really shitty things, not to mention what he tried to do with Skyla against her will. But Skyla has miraculously forgiven him, and we’ve all moved on—that’s about the same time he was shoved into the body of a bird and forced to live out his life in feathers. I need to make sure this temporary human tent hasn’t given the Kraggers any lousy ideas.

Ellis pops up and G happily hands him the baby. Poor Barron looks startled and begins to squirm, and Ellis looks equally as startled as he too begins to squirm.

“I’ll take him.” Casey reaches out and cuddles with Barron as if he were her favorite teddy bear. “I miss this. I miss the entire human experience. I guess at the end of the day that’s why I wanted to come back. Paradise is great, but there’s just something about having a body.”

Giselle wraps her arms around Ellis. “Casey needs a home. Won’t you take her? She’ll be quiet, and hardly eats, and I’ll even stop by and clean up after her.”

I give a laugh at the thought. Giselle makes Casey sound more like a puppy than a person.

“I’ll take her.” I give a little wink Casey’s way, and she gasps with delight. “We’ll hang out at the Oliver house. I’m sure Emma won’t mind, and if she does, we’ll stick it out at the old Walsh place together.” A part of me wants to shudder at the thought. Ramshackle comes to mind as a positive descriptor.

“What’s this about the Walsh house?” Skyla pops up like a ray of sunshine. Her face glows with a smile as she scoops Barron up from Casey.

“Logan is adopting me!” Casey wraps her arms around my neck a moment. “I’m going to tell the other girls. They’re going to die with jealousy.” A dark laugh bubbles from her. “Get it? Die?” Her cheeks brighten an electric shade of pink. “It would be the best way to go!” She takes off into the crowd, and I’m left with a sheepish grin while glancing at Skyla.

“I concur.” She gives a sly wink.

“Hey, did you know Big Daddy K knows about the—” I motion around the room.

She makes a face at Giselle. “I suspected as much. I’m not worried about it. This is bigger than any of the Kraggers. It’s bigger than Wes.”

“Speaking of big.” Ellis smacks me over the arm. “I’ve got that demo crew coming out next Tuesday. You ready for the big knockdown? It’s time to cut our losses with the past and start something new.”

A quick pain convulses through my body. “You bet. I’ll be there with bells on.” Tied to my balls. Strangling the shit out of them.

“Cool.” He leans in. “Dude, I know this is wrenching your balls. I’m rolling a fat one in your honor. On the house. A gift from me to you.”

“Sounds like a plan.” And sadly, one I might take him up on. I have no clue how I’m going to get through the trauma of that day.

Giselle pushes out a choo-choo train laugh. “How about we get lost and you roll me a fat one?”

“No,” I deadpan. The last thing I want is Ellis doing what he does best with my niece of all people.

Skyla scowls at Giselle. “Say nope to dope and ugh to drug. And if Ellis says he has something fat he wants to roll, you run, Giselle. Run.”

She lets out a honking laugh. “I don’t do dope, Skyla. That would make me one. Ellis doesn’t do it either. That’s stupid. He just sells it because he needs the money to buy cars and things. He’s explained it all to me.”

Skyla and I exchange a quick glance.

Ellis clears his throat. “I think I see someone I know. How about we go say hi?” He stalks off with Giselle until the crowd swallows them.

Skyla lets out a cry of frustration. “Ellis is rolling big fat lies and shoving them all down her innocent throat. What is Emma thinking letting this go on? What is Gage thinking?”

“What am I thinking?” I wince at the thought. “I’ll talk to Ellis. I know he has a good heart and he loves her.”

“She’s as loveable as she is gullible.”

A cold darkness crests over my shoulders, and I turn to find Chloe beaming with a wicked grin.

“Talking about yourself again, Skyla?”

“You’re not funny.” Barron begins to peck at Skyla’s chest, and she shoves him under her shirt. “What is it, Chloe?” She looks to me. “She said it was important.”

Evidently Skyla is her keeper. She should be, but something tells me this relationship has gone off the rails, just how far I’m terrified to ask.

Chloe whips out her phone and holds it between us. “Does this look important to you?” Her camera blinks to life, and all I can make out is human flesh in a tangle.

“What’s this?” Skyla takes it from her.

“Not what, who.” Chloe takes it back and skirts through a few pictures before displaying another one.

“That’s Laken.” Skyla smiles down at her good friend. “And Wes?” Her smile melts right off. “So what? She probably felt the need to tell him to go to hell.”

“Maybe.” Chloe flicks to the next picture. “But with her clothes off?” She flashes another picture at us, and holy hell—Laken is clearly taking off her dress, the outline of black panties and a matching bra pop against her pale flesh as if someone took a marker and colored them in.

“No way.” Skyla shakes her head in disbelief, and Chloe is quick to skip to the next picture—Laken with her arms around Wes, their heads knit together in what looks to be a kiss. Chloe flips to the next picture, and as soon as I realize what it is, I look away in reflex.

“That’s not her.” Skyla takes the camera and studies a naked Wesley with Laken straddling him on top, her face lost in ecstasy. “That’s”—she looks to me—“where is Ezrina’s little experiment gone wrong, anyway?”

“Crap.” I swallow hard while looking around for Coop or Laken herself. “She’s gone.”

Skyla looks as if she’s about to puke into the phone. “And now she is found. Nice work.”

Chloe offers a smug look my way. “I’m working my way back to the island.”

“Skyla.” I can’t help but sound disappointed. It’s because I am.

“Chloe,” Skyla reprimands the witch. Of course, she’s going to snitch. That’s what Chloe does best.

“Logan.” Chloe winks over at me. “Relax, would you? It’s one of the many perks of working with my new bestie. Skyla and I are a team, and if you don’t like it, you can suck your own dick.”

“Chloe,” Skyla moans, deep and guttural, and my dick ticks to life. In my defense, Chloe roused its attention in a roundabout way. “Keep your lips zipped. It’s nobody’s business what we do together.”

“You’re my new bestie.” Chloe lands an arm around Skyla’s shoulders, and I cringe at how close to Barron she is. “You validate me, Skyla.” Chloe’s lips twitch as if she were about to cut her. “And I validate you.” She turns to snicker at me. “We may not like where life has landed us, but we work surprisingly well together when we have a common goal.” Her eyes flit to the left, and I track her gaze to none other than Gage. Figures. Gage is the nexus that has fused Chloe and Skyla together. But why? And how the hell does this ever make sense?

“So, you keep an eye on Wes—and Skyla gives you your walking papers?” At least I can say I took a stab at it.

“Warm.” Chloe looks bored while returning her attention to her new aforementioned bestie. “Anyway, I want to tell Laken myself. Now that I’ll be resurfacing soon, I’ll need allies and friends, and believe it or not, I happen to admire her.”

“Because she had the fortitude not to sleep with Wes?” Skyla looks disbelieving at the demon before her.

“That, and the fact she shoots from the hip. Not in a bumble headed way like Brielle. She’s sane. I like a girl with a good head on her shoulders.”

“Save it.” Skyla pulls Barron out from under her blouse, and he smiles dreamily at me with a line of milk on his lips. “Laken won’t be signing up to join the Bitch Squad any time soon. And I’m pretty sure you’re the last person she’ll give half a chance to. You slept with Wes. Worse yet, you pretended to be her while sleeping with Wes.”

“It’s not my fault my husband has a fetish.” She shudders. “Anyway, he’s abandoned the marriage bed. It’s been a couple of weeks since he’s wagged his penis my way. Whoever that chick is, she’s taking the heat for now.”

Skyla’s eyes fill with rage as she drifts to some unknowable place in her mind. “Go home, Chloe. Keep a close eye on your new best friend, whoever it is that’s warming your husband’s bed. Don’t let her out of your sight. I’ll be down there soon enough to deal with her.”

“I’ll be joining you.” I let Barron take my finger and squeeze the shit out of it. “And so will Cooper and most likely Laken herself.”

Chloe gags on a wicked laugh. “In the meantime, I will gather everything you ever needed to know about Wesley’s new little whore.” She gives me the finger before melting into the crowd, and a plume of fog rises to the ceiling as she’s whisked back to the Transfer.

“Skyla.”

“Don’t start,” she cuts me off.

I step in close in clear defiance because a part of me doesn’t care. Skyla is endangering herself, and God knows I’ll do anything to protect Skyla even if it’s from herself. “What else have you promised her?”

Her eyes meet with mine, and the moment grows serious. Rage pours from her like fumes. “All Chloe has ever wanted is power, Logan. And that’s exactly what I’m going to give her.” She stalks off and meets up with Gage. He’s quick to embrace his wife. Quick to kiss her.

For the first time ever, it feels as if Skyla needs to be supervised. And I’m volunteering. It’s one thing to have Gage off the rails, but an entirely other to have Skyla skip the tracks.

One thing is for sure—there is no getting off this crazy train without certain disaster. It’s coming. I can feel the three of us barreling ever so close. It’s going to be big. And something tells me it will be final, too.

* * *

Late the next afternoon, when the sky is pissing out its affection over Paragon like a golden shower, I head down to the Gas Lab where Gage and I are meeting up with Coop.

Poor Coop. It’s a given he’s going to be pissed—hell, I’m pissed. But Wes is relentless. His obsession with Coop’s wife isn’t going away anytime soon. This latest despicable move is only one in a long line of despicable moves. No sooner do I step inside the Gas Lab than I see both Skyla and Laken talking to Ezrina behind the counter. Ezrina’s belly is showing, a nice clean bump that indicates all things are in order as far as the baby is concerned, at least in outward appearance. I spot Coop and Gage sitting near the back and make a beeline over.

“What’s up?” I slap both Coop and Gage over the shoulder as I take a seat between them.

“You’re up.” Coop’s brows knit in a slight V the way mine are prone to do, and I can’t help but smile. More often than not looking at Coop is like looking in a mirror. Which is exactly why what I’m about to divulge feels as much as a sucker punch for me as it will for him. I glance over to Skyla, and she locks eyes with me a moment before saying something to both Ezrina and Laken, and the three of them burst out into laughter. Less than a second later, the three of them are headed this way.

“I think we might need Nev for this little meet and greet.” I call him over with the flick of the finger. The girls take a seat at the table just as Nev shows up.

“What a fine looking group.” He lands his arm around Ezrina. “What can we start you off with?”

“The truth.” Gage glares at Ezrina a moment. “Take a seat. Both of you.”

Ezrina’s face grows pale, but those dark eyes of hers fill with something just this side of rage. “No.”

Coop and Laken exchange a quick glance. “What’s going on?” Coop is pissed before we ever get off go.

I wipe my face down with my palm, and a flashback of the beating that mystery girl doled out comes back to me. She was strong. Strong as shit. Strong as a Nephilim. A dull laugh pumps through me. Of course. She’s one of us.

“I’ll give it to you straight.” I turn to Laken. “There’s a girl running around out there with your face.”

Laken and Coop both take an audible breath while Ezrina and Nev rise from their seats.

Skyla takes up Laken’s hand. “She was in Ezrina’s lab, and now she’s”—her eyes flit to mine a moment—“Chloe showed us some pictures last night. She’s with Wes.”

“Shit.” Coop pinches his eyes shut a moment before pinning his anger on Ezrina. “I thought we were friends.”

“Are.” Ezrina comes as close to showing remorse as I’ve ever seen her. “Sorry. Hands were tied. Wanted to tell you.” Her voice grows small.

“Then tell us now.” Laken isn’t invoking any friendly tone with Ezrina, or most likely anyone else at the table once she finds out we’ve known for months. “Who is she, and why is she in the Transfer?”

“She’s sleeping with him.” Skyla cringes as she waits for the blowout.

Coop slaps his hand over the table so hard the entire establishment turns in our direction.

“No, it’s fine.” Laken shudders, and the entire lot of us shift our attention her way.

Skyla chokes on her words. “How is it possibly fine?”

Laken closes her eyes, and her fingers reach blindly across the table until her husband takes them up again. “It’s not fine in any respect, but there is a problem I’ve encountered. It has something to do with my virginity.” She glances around the table sheepishly. “It turns out Coop says I was with him first—and well, both my memory and my diary say otherwise.”

“I hate him.” Skyla groans as if she’s going to be sick, but the lack of surprise in her face lets me know she already knew.

Gage shakes his head over at me. “He’s going back in time.”

“Is this true?” I look to Coop. As hard as it might be for him to relay, I think we need a few more details. This is big. This might be what we need to get Wesley’s wings clipped. There’s no way the Justice Alliance will put up with this.

“It’s true. When Laken mentioned it in passing, I knew something was up. Lucky for us Laken kept a diary in high school.” He glances to her. “Each fucking night that book told a different story. I started taking pictures of it to prove it to her.”

“And that’s when I knew Coop was right.” Laken touches her hand to her neck as if trying to loosen an invisible noose. “A part of me can’t believe he’s done this. And sadly, a part of me can. My memory of what happened is clear.” She grimaces. “But only as far as his latest visit. Apparently, I’ve lost my virginity to Wes close to one hundred times, and that’s just since we’ve been counting.”

“Oh my shit.” Skyla drops her head in her arms a moment. “Wait a minute.” She surfaces with her hair wild as a tumbleweed. “If you’ve known about Wesley’s vagina dialogues, why the hell haven’t you torn off his wanker?” Sorry, she mouths to Laken for the colorful euphemisms I’m assuming.

Laken and Coop lose sight of the rest of us as they look to one another, a trace of a smile skirting on their lips.

“Have you confronted him?” Gage asks it for us.

“Not yet.” Coop doesn’t take his eyes off Laken. “But we will. Soon.”

“Very well.” Nev wraps an arm around Ezrina’s waist. “We should get back to tending to the customers.”

Coop’s cheek twitches, his eyes still locked on Laken’s. “You’re not going anywhere.” He drags his gaze to Ezrina’s. “Who is she?”

“Can’t.” Ezrina’s eyes fill with tears as she draws in a quick breath. “So very sorry.” She scuttles off toward the kitchen, and Nev scoots right along with her.

Gage groans as we watch them disappear. “Sounds like Wes has got her by the balls. I’ll talk to him.”

“No.” Laken cuts a somber look to each of us. “This is my business. My body he’s defiling. This is personal. I’m going to take care of this myself.”

Coop’s cheek twitches as he offers a crooked smile. I recognize that crooked grin, that magnetic look of shared hatred, of revenge in their eyes. It’s the exact look I gave Skyla before we ventured off to take care of the Counts and inadvertently turned our lives upside down.

My stomach clenches at the thought of Laken and Coop doing exactly that. I can’t let them. Nope. The last thing I want to see is Laken and Coop imploding the way Skyla and I did. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Gage takes up Skyla’s hand, gives it a kiss, and Skyla leans into him, her lips meeting with his a moment. And Gage was there to pick up the pieces. A part of me wonders if Wesley is hoping for the very same outcome. It’s laughable, of course.

But stranger things have happened.

* * *

They say if you can see a heartache coming a mile away you should run, fast. And in a way, I did run, fast. I jogged all the way over to the bowling alley from Whitehorse, on this, the last and final night of its existence—in this incarnation anyhow. It’s going to be one hell of a night, and I plan on spending it right here in the beating heart of the business my father built with his bare hands. The lights are off, with the exception of the glowing neon bowling pins lighting up the back of the lanes. Mood lighting—it goes right along with the mood music. I switch on the speakers, and the smooth melody of a love song vibrates throughout the bowling alley.

“Perfectly romantic,” a voice quips from behind, and I close my eyes with disappointment. Definitely not the voice I wanted to hear.

“Dudley.” I glare at the shoe depository, suddenly wishing I could cram him into it. “I’m expecting company.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He circles in front of me with his requisite suit, his trench coat over that. “Skyla and Jock Strap dropped the twins off at the Olivers’ as I was leaving. They mentioned something about stopping off at the bowling alley to say goodbye.”

My chest gives a couple good thumps as my enthusiasm quickly wanes. In truth, I had built up this evening to heights that weren’t fair to anyone, least of all myself.

“Great.” I force a smile to come and go. “Gage should be here. It’s his legacy, too.” I had extended the invite only to Skyla. Sold her some lame excuse that I found a bag of old books that belonged to her in the back. That much is true. But in my mind’s eye, I saw Skyla and I locked in one another’s arm, slow dancing over the exact lane where we once proposed to another, her to me, and then me to her. It was just a small moment I wanted to recreate, but I wanted it with everything in me.

“Good grief,” Dudley moans as if he’s just read my mind, and he might have. “I’ve read your face, not your mind. I’ve no need to pry, but I’m assuming you’ve the need to know. Must you pine so openly? Have you no shame? What’s Jock Strap to think? Dare I say their covenant means nothing to you.”

The covenant—as in the marriage covenant.

“It means something.” I slap the shop towel over my shoulder and glare at the bowling alley as if it were the very thing that tore us apart in the first place. “It means my hopes, my dreams, the deepest part of my heart are not to be explored.” I grimace at the door, for the first time tonight praying she won’t come, but I can feel her drawing near to me like the fog to the island. Skyla would never not show.

Dudley slaps his hand firmly over my shoulder and gives a quick squeeze. “You have a purpose for being here. If it were not true, Candace would never have allowed for it.”

“Candace loves me. But I’m nothing more than a stumbling block for Skyla and Gage.”

“That may be so, but that has nothing to do with why fate has landed you in the shoes you fill. Soon, young Oliver.” He gives a gentle pat to my back. “Soon all will be clear and you shall see your destiny”—he pulls me in by the shirt, his glowing red eyes speaking to me with something far more disturbing than words—“face-to-face.”

He takes off for the exit just as Skyla and Gage come in. He slaps Gage over the shoulder, and they walk out the door together.

Crap.

“What was that about?” I’m almost afraid to ask. If that’s Dudley’s version of doing me a favor, I cringe at the thought.

Skyla bubbles with a laugh, her hair catches the light and glows pale pink. “Is that how you say hello now?”

My cheek inverts as I hold back a smile. “That’s how I say this is too good to be true. Where’s the big lug off to?” I glare at the door for a moment.

“Big lug?” She laughs while pulling me in by the collar. “You are dating yourself, Mr. Oliver.” Her hips adhere to mine as natural as breathing, and before I know it, we’re swaying to the music.

“That’s because I’m old, Skyla.” I brush the hair away from those bright eyes of hers. “What’s with the smooth moves? You trying to incite a riot?”

“No riot.” She winces up at me, her gaze lost in a subtle curiosity as if remembering a dream. “You are old, aren’t you?” Her finger glides down the bridge of my nose. “Lucky for you I have a thing for old dudes.” She gives a sly wink, and that bubbling laughter reprises itself again. My heart, though, it can’t keep up with her insidious sense of humor, and instead takes every word to heart. Her features smooth out. “You should take them to heart. I meant every one.”

I can’t help but frown. “It’s not always a gift to have you hear me. Especially those rogue thoughts that stray in and out of my brain without my permission.”

“Those are the most insidious of all, aren’t they, Professor Oliver?”

“Okay, you’re funny.” My hand glides down her back, and I dip her.

“Wow!” She rights herself, pink in the cheeks, her hair exploding into a ball of fire. “Why don’t I do the leading for a bit?” Her left brow creates a hook as it skyrockets into her forehead. “Come,” she says it low and sharp, and every last part of me very much wants to take it as a command. Skyla leads us over a few lanes before dancing us deeper down the slicked tongue of the alley. “Was it here?” She gives the innocent tick of curiosity in her features, but I can see right through it.

“You know damn well it was right here.” I’m breathless. Not only am I dancing with Skyla, shutting this place down the way I’ve dreamed, but she’s maneuvered us right into this very lane—exactly where the magic happened. “I’m in love with you.” I press a kiss to the top of her head and linger. “As my sister-in-law, of course.” I pull back with a shit-eating grin.

“Stop.” She slaps my chest. “Technically, you’re my uncle-in-law—a very naughty, naughty uncle.” Now she’s the one who’s frowning. “How did you ever let Ellis talk you into this nightmare?”

“I’m assuming you mean the destruction of the bowling alley, not us.” Although on paper, Skyla and I penned out to be a very bad idea. And in that vein, who the hell gives a shit about paper? The best laid plans often lead straight to hell. I can attest to that.

“Ellis talked me into a thing of beauty. You and I will both be standing here in a year”—I let out a breath, considering my construction timing—“or ten, and we will both be singing his praises. Ellis is responsible for a lot of good ideas.” My bottom lip tugs as I restrain the smile once again. “Like Nathan and Barron.”

“Oh crap.” She buries her face in my chest while whacking my arm with her hand. “Is nothing sacred anymore? Okay, so you’re right. Ellis has landed us a couple of happy accidents, but that doesn’t mean taking a wrecking ball to this place is his best work yet. You sure about this? I’ll work a shift whenever I can. Just let the bowling alley live to see another day.” She dips her chin, pleading in that adorable innocent way, and my heart wrenches because this might be the first time I refuse her.

“I promise I will let the bowling alley live to see another day.”

She gives a little hop, her fingers digging into my ribs.

“But before sunset, it gets the wrecking ball.”

Her mood deflates as she rolls her eyes. “You’re such a tease.”

“I learned from the best.”

We share a warm laugh, and my fingers glide into her hair as I draw her closer to me. Skyla lays her head over my chest as we move slowly, carefully one last time over the very spot where we decided to enter into a sacred, albeit brief covenant of our own.

“Your heart is beating,” she whispers, patting her fingers across my chest.

“It’s just showing off for you, Skyla. I’m still dead.”

She shakes her head, sniffing back tears. “Not true. You’re here, beautiful and strong. You smell good, too.” She gives a gentle scratch over my chin. “Death is more or less an idea—a bad one, a good one. Who am I to say?”

I press my lips to her forehead as I consider this. “It’s a mandatory regulation designed by the Master to cull the world of humans past their prime. It is the initiation of souls into the gathering of the ages—an ushering of spirits to the winnowing of the sheep and the goats, the white throne judgment for those it awaits.”

“Don’t we all await judgment?” The mood grows somber, as does the music, and her hips move slower, her voice edging just this side of tears.

“No.” I pull back and look at her like this, washed in the neon afterglow, the hair above her head lit up like a halo. “We’re forgiven. Past, present, and future sins wiped away as if they never existed.”

Her eyes latch to mine as we hold a hypnotic gaze. “Though they were like scarlet, they are washed white as snow.” Her finger bounces over my bottom lip with an aching grief. “Gage says he may not be able to control his heart. It’s his worst fear. It’s also mine.”

A ragged sigh escapes me. “He’ll need us more than ever.”

She lays her head over my chest once again before looking back up abruptly. “Would you do something for me, Logan?”

The passion in her voice, the pleading look in her eyes, the pang of desperation exuding from her, it sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through me greater than anything I ever felt when I was alive.

“I will do anything for you, Skyla.” My finger hooks under her chin, and I lift her to me ever so slightly. “I will move the earth, the moon—drain the world of its oceans. I will stop the wind from howling, the rain from falling from the sky. Name it. It’s already yours.” And yes, if she asked once again to stop the destruction of this place, I’d yield to even that. My finger strokes over her soft cheek, and my gut ropes off in a knot, but her gaze never wavers.

“Whatever you do, whatever you can do—please don’t let Gage die.” A single tear rolls down her cheek, sudden and unannounced.

“Don’t let Gage die,” I repeat numbly as I sigh into the concept. Gage dying is something that can never happen, and yet Gage not dying seems like an impossible feat.

“It is appointed for man to die once.” The words strum from me like the lyrics to a tragic country song. “But I will stave off that hex, Skyla. I will do it for you.” I shake my head out at the toothless lanes, most of the pins already picked over and taken to new homes. I gave away everything from balls to fixtures the night of the ’80s party. Half the shoes have done a disappearing act as well.

“Thank you.” She pulls me in and holds me with that strangled grip. “That means everything to me, Logan. Thank you from me. Thank you from my boys.” Her heated breath warms my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” My hand rubs over her shoulder as if coaxing the answer from her.

Skyla looks up, red railroad tracks where the whites of her eyes were. “Because I never set out to break your heart.”

This is the part where I assure her she didn’t. She couldn’t. But I think we both know that would be a lie.

“And I never set out to be an obstacle to your happiness. Don’t worry about me.” A smile ticks to my lips, dull and lifeless. “Gage lives.” I press my gaze to hers, heavy as iron. “And so does Celestra. When he entered into that covenant last December—Demetri gave a speech.”

“Doesn’t he always,” she growls.

“He said something to the effect that the covenant would one day come to an end. I can’t remember the exact words, but I remember thinking this curse wouldn’t last forever. I promised myself I’d share that with you. Give you—give us hope.”

“Thank you,” she mouths the words. Skyla hikes up on her tiptoes and presses her forehead to mine, her eyes staring dizzying into me. “I hope that’s true. But nevertheless, you are never an obstacle to my happiness. You are a source of pure joy. Our beautiful, brief marriage was a shining star in my life. Its glorious light still radiates over me, fills me with its brilliance, and sets my heart on fire. Three glorious days that most people cannot find in a lifetime. We had it all, Logan.” She swallows hard. “Our love, our proposal, our wedding, our honeymoon—it was all perfect.” Her thumb wipes away a tear I didn’t know I shed. “I don’t regret a thing, and neither should you.”

I shake my head in lieu of words.

“Looks like a ghost town in here.” Gage strides over at a decent clip, and both Skyla and I break apart like a couple of school kids caught making out in the closet. “Can anybody join, or is this a private party?” He flashes that killer grin, and I lift Skyla’s arm into the air and twirl her right over to him where she belongs.

That bubbling laugh reprises itself. “We were just waiting for you to kick things off. What should we do? Pray over it? Steal the fixtures?”

“Pray over it?” I tuck my head back a notch. “I vote for destruction.” I kick up a loose board with my shoe, same damn board I’ve spent the last six years nailing down with tacks, and with a hulkish cry I pour every ounce of Celestra strength I have into uprooting it from its home of forty years. Forty years ago, my father had this monument to shoe disinfectant erected, and forty years later, his lesser, far less greater son insists on dismantling it. I couldn’t bring this place back to its former glory. I couldn’t restore what Skyla and I had without destroying it either. I am nothing. A sheer disgrace to those who bore me, who came before me in my Nephilim lineage. Almost pure. That’s what I was. Chloe, Skyla, and I—the three that could thrive. One is dead, one is evil, and one demands to cling to a Fem. We are a wily bunch, aren’t we?

The board finally gives with a creaking groan, and the universe I was attempting to uproot in my hands lifts with ease as I come up triumphant. It’s from the same lane Skyla and I shared so much history, and I’m keeping the damn thing—heck, I might even frame it.

Skyla and Gage stare over at me, wild-eyed, on alert should I go feral on them. I suppose the dead should be forever categorized as unpredictable. We don’t have a hell of a lot to lose.

“Don’t hog it all, man.” Gage comes close to winking, a stunt he pulls off when he’s having very real reservations about something. He bends over, and with a thunderous roar, in half the time, evicts the lane from its resting place.

Skyla jumps back, waving the dust from her face while coughing. “You boys have fun with that. There’s something I’m hoping is still here, and if it is, it’s coming home with me tonight.” She trots off to the rack of balls in the back, scurrying from one end to the other, checking out the meager selection.

“No, no, no!” Skyla tiptoes to each and every ball receptacle between the lanes in a panic. “Oh no!”

My heart warms because I know exactly what she’s looking for.

“Oh well.” Her hands slap to her thighs. “I guess it’s gone.” She buries her face in her hands a moment before coming up for air. “And so is my sanity.”

Gage takes her into his arms and lands a tender kiss to her temple. “Don’t worry. Logan will have this place restocked with the latest and greatest as soon as the bowling alley is up and running again. And it will be.” He scolds me with that last part.

“It was my favorite ball.” She tosses a guilty glance my way. I know the one she’s lamenting. A marbled blue and white beauty. “It was so pretty.” Her lids hang heavy in my direction. “I remember thinking it was as though you shrunk down the earth and the sky for me in that little heavenly sphere.”

A smile twitches on my lips, but I’m too somber to give it. I would shrink the earth and the sky for her if I could. I think everyone in the room knows that. The ball, however, is safe, sitting in a glass encasement, waiting for her in the butterfly room at Whitehorse. I think I’ll let her stumble upon that surprise herself.

“Hey”—I tick my head to the very first lane, the one that I guess you could say started it all—“I’ve got a complete set of pins. How about I kick both your asses in one last game?”

“Ha!” Gage gives a howl of a laugh. “You wish.”

Skyla clicks her tongue as she makes her way over. “You’re both going down. The gloves are coming off. It’s a take-no-prisoners kind of a night.”

Gage lends those baby blues my way. I recognize that determined look, smug and far too self-approving. “You are going down, Logan. I am winning, and there is not a thing you can do about it.” His smile is the last to arrive to the party as he joins his wife in picking out a ball.

But my stomach is tight as a wire. Something about that look, those words, equals a far from empty threat. If I didn’t know better, I would say it was Gage’s best premonition to date.

Skyla, Gage, and I play game after game—and game after game, Gage beats the hell out of us. He bowls strike after strike. He sends the ball sailing down the lane in a sublime pin-straight line that only Gage is known to do. He proves himself a force to be reckoned with even if it were the last thing in the world he wanted to prove. Gage loves us, and yet he is primed, he is destined to destroy the core of what we stand for.

He knocks the pins down one last time with a dynamic force that sends them detonating into the four corners of the earth.

“Yes!” he howls, beating his left hand over his chest. “There’s no stopping me!”

And that, my friends, is exactly what I’m afraid of.

Skyla and Gage take off, but I lie down in that very lane with my face to the ceiling, a heart full of sorrow, and fall into an unsettling slumber.

That night I dream of my father—of my mother, roaming these haunted halls. The bowling alley is rundown, half the roof missing, the evergreens dipping in with their branches as if claiming its architectural victim. I’ve never believed Paragon wanted people here with their homes and roads and smog-riddled cars. She wanted to be left alone, cloaked in the fog, the mystery that surrounds those rocky crags at the base of Devil’s Peak. In my dream, there is no wrecking ball dismantling all my father worked so hard to build. It is the island. Paragon reaches in with her evergreen talons and lifts the floorboards up one by one until all that is left is matchsticks. She is the victor. By the time my lids flutter to life like a couple of sparrows, I’m convinced this island could dismantle anyone if it tried.

Even Gage Oliver.

* * *

There are some days you wait for, pray for, love, hate, wish you could avoid. For me this day is all of those combined into one.

Barron stops by in the morning on his way to work, and we cross the street from Whitehorse to stand in the parking lot together one last time before the wrecking ball hits.

“It’s coming back greater than ever,” I marvel at the old dilapidated building. Had I ever noticed what shabby condition it was in before? There is something inherently sad about it, something very much like Gage, and for that alone I want to weep because I would never take a wrecking ball to my nephew. Especially not after what I promised Skyla last night. I guess you could say I officially became Gage Oliver’s guardian angel, even if I don’t quite qualify for the job—even if there’s a force of darkness out there whose sole purpose in life is to make sure I don’t succeed.

Barron lands his arm over my shoulders, and I take in the weight of my brother. Barron has always been a source of comfort, a refuge in the eye of the storm. He gave me the best life. He also gave me another brother, Gage.

“You know, son”—my heart warms when he calls me that—“it’s rare for anything that has the ability to regenerate itself to come back in its former glory when its future glory is what it was destined for all along. There is little value to looking back with the exception to avoiding the pitfalls you couldn’t dodge the first time. There is new purpose, new pleasures to be had, new victories, new alliances, and lastly, new discoveries for it to make about itself. I suppose that’s the wild card. What will it become ultimately? Something to be venerated? Regretted? Something to be treasured and cared for, resented and discarded? The lens of a future world is not ours to peer through. Time will tell.” He offers an abrupt pat to the back. “And I predict it will turn out well.”

We stare off at the building, but those words Barron just spoke might as well have been a benediction to his one true son. Every word could be strained through Gage Oliver’s lineage. If you could write a poem with his DNA, Barron just penned it.

“I’m off to work.” He pulls me into a firm embrace just as an old truck comes sputtering into the parking lot, burping and farting like a seventy-year-old geezer who downed a keg of beer last night. And I’m right on every account.

Liam jumps out of his latest junk pile revival and struts on over.

“So, this is it?” He squints at the bowling alley as if the sun actually bothered to show up today.

“This is it.” I welcome my brother with an open arm on the other side of me. “I had the appliances gutted from the kitchen last week. The construction company took the ones I could use in the new place and put them into storage for me.”

Liam winces as he looks out at it. “Everything approved through the city?”

“You should know.” The guys at Townsend Construction are letting Liam hang out and glean what he can. I know he’s eager to open up shop on Paragon himself. This should be a great way to learn the ropes, not to mention the contractors state board he’s working to pass.

Liam grunts as he shakes his head at the place. “It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker watching this place go down.”

Both Barron and I give a sober nod of agreement.

“The party starts at noon if you want front row seats. I’ll be out on the lawn.” I’ve envisioned what it would feel like when the first blow struck, and it hurt each and every time just the way Liam said.

“Goodbye, friend.” Barron salutes the old place, and Liam and I follow his cue.

“Goodbye, friend,” my lips whisper, but my heart says it’s never going to say goodbye.

At about eleven thirty, the front lawn at Whitehorse begins to fill in with bodies. Laken and Coop, Drake and Bree, Ellis and Giselle, Michelle and Liam, Nat and Pierce, Kate, Ezrina and Nev, Dudley, Lexy and even Chloe, and, of course, Skyla and Gage. They’ve left the boys with Emma—a good move, considering there will be dust and debris floating throughout the next few miles in radius to the bowling alley.

Skyla settles between Gage and me in lawn chairs as the construction crew brings in the heavy equipment. The crane that hoists that magnificent wrecking ball stands foreign in the air like a skyscraper. This is the city encroaching on Paragon’s country charm, stealing the tranquility right out of the air.

A horn sounds and that ball begins to sway, slow and smooth as if it were trying to hypnotize the building in an effort not to hurt it.

Skyla takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

Stay strong. She sets her nose to the sky as that menace across the street swings wide. I love you. We all do.

The first strike hits and blows a hole right through the side of the building, and a gasp comes from those around me.

“Yes!” Ellis howls, and Giselle is the first to silence him on my behalf.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “This is progress.”

“To progress!” Lexy shouts as that wrecking ball goes at it one more time.

“To progress!” the small crowd echoes, but Skyla, Gage, and I remain silent on the subject. It feels like a lot of things. At the moment, progress isn’t one of them.

Like a dream in slow motion, like a nightmare at the right speed, we watch in horror, in delight, as the entire building folds like a house of cards. Arcade Heaven, the stinky pile of shoes, the defunct electrical system, the tiny thimble of an office, that kitchen where we had so much history, all of it gone and all but forgotten. All that remains is a pile of smoking rubble. The cleanup crew starts in right away with the effort to haul my father’s dream away like waste. At the end of the earthly day, all of our material desires rot away like refuse. And upon closer inspection, they might have been that all along. It’s the people, the flesh and blood you surround yourself with, that are the real treasure—the irreplaceable, indispensable monuments of our love that have the ability to define the sum total of our existence.

One by one the bodies drift from the lawn. After one lingering embrace after the other, they all scatter and disappear just like the bowling alley.

I head over to the oak I had planted in the center of the lawn so many years ago when I had this place built for Skyla. I lean against its sturdy trunk and stare out at the gaping, toothless smile of the forest that is also mine along with the pile of rubble that once belonged to my father. Technically, the land is Liam’s and Barron’s as well, but Barron made it clear years ago that my father would have wanted me to have it as something solid I can hold on to—and, as it were, destroy. If I ever make more than a dime off the new infrastructure, or the farm I plant behind it, I’ll make sure to include my brothers in the spoils of my riches. A laughable idea at best, but a nice theory nonetheless.

Gage grunts as he heads on over. Skyla went inside with Lex. “I’ll talk to my brother, see where his head is concerning the girl who looks like Laken.”

“Sounds good, man.” I know what he’s trying to do—divert my attention. If only it could work.

Shockingly, it doesn’t even bother me anymore when Gage references Wes as his brother. It comes so easily from his lips and sounds so normal, so very real. At this point in our lives, it’s nothing more than a fact. They share a father. Gage and I aren’t even related by blood anymore. We’ve had our identities, our lives, our souls ripped from our bodies and stolen by wickedness, and yet here we are standing a foot apart as if nothing ever happened. At the end of the day, it couldn’t change where our hearts lie. Gage is my brother. He is my family. Our lives are interwoven in every intricate way, so much so that if one of us should bend, it moves the other. Our minds, our souls, our hearts are sewn together. There is no barrier of blood that defines what we mean to each other. At least not with Gage in this state.

A horrible agony comes over me as I look at those big sky blue eyes. Not even Paragon and all of her brooding can erase that heavenly hue. It kills me to think that Demetri alone has the power to tamp down Gage Oliver’s heart to a pile of rubble just the way I did with the bowling alley.

“Dude”—he grimaces as he pulls me in—“let it out. I know this is tough on you. You don’t have to pretend around me. I’m the one person you never have to do that with.”

Skyla pops up, breathless from the run over. “And I’m the second.” Her arms find their way around me, and Gage closes his big mitts over the two of us until we form a warm huddle of perfect love. And the tears come, hers, mine, his, they are all there and accounted for. I was right. It’s the people who are the treasures. My tears weren’t for the lumber I’m soon to replace across the street. They’re for Gage, Skyla, and me—three determined beings moving through time and space at lightning speeds on our way to our destinies, barreling toward that place that was determined so long ago for each of us as fate cinches the leash around our necks that much tighter. It’s choking out the oxygen, making it harder to resist the inevitable slide, the momentum picking up at an unimaginable clip. We are unstoppable in our velocity. We will arrive on time, in the manner determined for us long ago, each of us on our way to complete the mission set out before us. Three minds, three hearts, and not one of us on the same page, no, not really. Gage has his role to fulfill in order to spare the boys of a darker fate. Skyla has welded a demon to her side—that would be Chloe. And as for me, I’m inching my way closer to what my flesh has wanted all along, Skyla as my own. And in an irony too big for fate to handle, I’m fighting tooth and nail for that never to happen. Even more grievous than that, I know deep in my spirit that I will battle Gage himself in an effort to stop him from self-destructing. Maybe the real irony is that we each self-destruct.

I glance to the heap of rubble across the street with a plume of smoke swimming toward the sky as the forklift gathers the debris and tosses it into the open mouth of a dumpster as long and as wide as a house. I can’t help but wonder if it’s all just some metaphor of who we will become and where we find ourselves in the end.

* * *

Late in the night, long after Skyla and Gage take off, I pace the floors of my bedroom like a death row prisoner next in line. Every now and again, I give a nervous glance out the window just to make sure the bowling alley is indeed still gone, that it hasn’t resurrected itself like some macabre nightmare. Nevertheless, I feel it there, taunting me, saying you can’t get rid of me as easily as you think. I’ve never thought of the bowling alley as some nefarious entity, more like a reminder that I’m not particularly good at any one thing. And here I’ve set out to spend a hell of a lot of good Harrison dollars to explode onto the business scene like some sort of entrepreneurial whiz. It’s laughable, achingly tragic, and it stirs a grief in the pit of my soul that I never knew existed.

I head back to bed as Wesley Parker, Paxton, fucking hellish Edinger takes over my mind. Skyla was right. His need—his obsession to be near Laken is insatiable. And that right there is something I can commiserate with him on. I feel the very same way, only it’s not Laken that has this dead man’s blood pumping, my lungs struggling for their next breath in any way that God wants to give it to me. It’s Skyla. It’s always been Skyla. And, unfortunately for me, she is the only one who can take away this horrible pain. Yes, I will finally admit it. I am very much grieving the loss of Paragon’s one and only mediocre bowling alley, my old friend, the very extension of my father and all of his love for me. It was his wish that I have it. His provision and shelter for me.

Wesley cured his pain for Laken by having Ezrina whip up another version, by going back in time and laying his hands on the very version he so desires. His obsession knows no bounds. His pain from losing her forced his hand. He was desperate and in need and did the only thing he could think of to quell it, to make life a little more bearable. He didn’t hurt anyone, not really. Did he? Ezrina wouldn’t force anyone to take on Laken’s likeness. Wesley didn’t force himself on Laken when he went back in time. Coop said so himself. Wes simply found a way. Not the best way. But a way nonetheless.

A thought comes to me, and I give a depleted nod as if accepting all of the lunacy. After all, every last one of my sins is forgiven, even the ones I have yet to commit.

My feet land on the cold hardwood floor as I stride toward the dark walk-in closet built extra-large just for Skyla’s needs—her coats, her clothes, her private things, the shoes that adorn her beautiful feet, and I keep walking. I walk through the empty space, the walls, through time and space, and straight into the past, straight back to that blessed night of our honeymoon. Not the first night. That was an exercise in exhaustion, though exhilarating, it was never-ending and rightly so. I go for the next night, where I know for a fact there is a lull in the action, and for a brief, blissful moment in time, we are tangled in one another’s arms. That’s all I need right now, all I really crave.

And just as easy as crossing a continent, here I am, lurking in the corridor that leads to the restroom as the commotion on the bed slows to a crawl. I wait until the dismount. I have no intention on crawling inside my body while my most prominent member is still buried deep inside her. And there I go.

I head over, the ghost that I’ve become, and fall perfectly into my form. My own spirit eases over my body like a glove, and I take one rushed breath after the other in appreciation of the cardio we just underwent. Yes, I waited until all of the fun was through before crawling into my skin and into that bed with Skyla. I don’t want to step on Gage Oliver’s parade. I’m not Wesley. I’m not rewinding time like a porn reel I get the privilege of reliving over and over.

Skyla folds her arms over my body with a warm embrace, skin on skin, and it feels electrifying.

Her arms pull me in, and I don’t fight it. Her naked, damp skin adheres to mine, sticky and wet. Her heavy breathing matching my own.

Her body bucks a moment, and she takes a deep, cleansing breath as if she too just popped back into her body from some other time scape.

“Hello,” she says it breathless, her eyes glinting in the shard of moonlight—hell, most likely early morning light falling across her face. “I know who you are.”

My eyes widen a moment. Those aren’t words that I remember from that fated night. “You do?” A wry smile builds on my face as her tits press hard against my chest.

“Yes, Logan”—Skyla strokes my hair back, and the act alone cools me—“you confessed this to me. You came back because you needed me to hold you. Just for one night.” Her voice grows weak as she speaks.

“Shit.” I lean my head in the pillow. “Wait a minute. I would never tell you that.” My body freezes because I’m suddenly fearful over the thought that I may not be in bed with Skyla, not the one I remember anyway.

“It’s me.” She pulls back and offers my chest a light tap. “I’m visiting, too.” Her finger presses hard to her lips a moment as if to stop the reprimand before it ever begins. “You didn’t have to confess anything to me. You’ll eventually tell me yourself when the time is right on Paragon.” A lone tear rolls down her cheek. “Logan.” Her voice breaks. “I’m in pain.” Her eyes close as the light catches all of the agony written on her face. “I just needed you to hold me, too.” Her limbs latch over mine as she weeps silently against me. But her mind remains stealthily sealed off, unattainable to me no matter how hard I try to read it. No, Skyla is shielding me, protecting me from some horrible truth. So horrible she left the confines of her husband’s arms to be here with me on this night of all nights.

We spend the next few hours lost in this dreamlike state, grieving, holding on tight, never wanting to let go.

“I love you, Logan,” she whispers it heated over my chest, and my eyes close to those perfect words.

Sometimes all you want in the world is to be held by the one you love.

I fall asleep to the tune of our beautiful beating hearts.

But something horrible has happened for her to be here. It must have.

And I wonder.