Celestra Forever After (32 page)

A while. I huff a quiet laugh. I guess if you throw eternity into the mix my time off the field could be considered
a while
. I’m never getting on the green again and Dad knows it.

“Yeah sure.” I slump toward the television. Skyla’s been after to me take some of her Celestra blood to see if that would help straighten things out, but I assured her I didn’t need healing—I simply need a new spinal column.

Dad ushers in a tall gentleman with bushy dark brows and thick-framed glasses.

“Gage, this is Dr. Flanders. He’s working with Skyla’s former psychiatrist, Dr. Booth. I thought since Skyla had seen Dr. Booth previously it might be best to have you speak to his partner instead.”

“Good gracious.” Dr. Flanders steps in. “Spitting image is right.”

Dad gives a slight nod. “I may have filled him in on the fact there’s a young man running around Paragon who bears a striking resemblance to you.”

“Wesley,” I say. “Um, you wouldn’t happen to be related to a Cooper Flanders, would you?”

“That’s my son.” His features relax as he sits across from me, studying my face as though I were some strange creature. “Let’s see. You’ve recently injured yourself on the field. Have you made peace with being unable to play?”

“Yup. I have.” It’s true. No use in wallowing in it. As much as I hate to say it, Demetri was right when he said I was here only to love Skyla. It’s funny—I can’t seem to get his ugly mug out of my head. I guess he really got to me that night. I had never considered myself some legendary football player in the making, but I’m pretty sure I’m not useless—and loving Skyla is the best use of myself in any capacity.

“Good.” He slaps his knee. “Let’s get some blood work drawn. I think now is a good time to end a few mysteries.”

“Blood work?” I look to Dad as he takes in a deep breath.

“Dr. Flanders and his son were the ones who deciphered Wesley’s genetic code.”

“I’m a Levatio.” Shit. I shake my head. Why do I get the feeling I’m in the middle of some witch hunt or in this case—Fem hunt. “Can’t shape shift,” I’m quick to point out. “Believe me I’ve tried to render myself invisible a time or two while sneaking out of the house. Just doesn’t work.” Teleporting works, but I leave that part out.

Dad cracks a smile. “I assured him there was nothing he would find.”

Dr. Flanders nods in agreement. “We’re simply ruling out genetic markers.”

“And I’ll run an entire battery of tests to make sure there are no viruses impeding with your health,” Dad offers.

“When will we have the results?” Not that I care—neither this conversation nor the blood tests will get me back on the field.

“Just a few days.” Dad rifles through his medical kit that closely resembles a lunchbox and plucks out a hypodermic needle. “This won’t hurt.”

No, but the truth might.

Mom slaved away in the kitchen all day, working on a bounty that could nourish entire third world countries.

Skyla and Giselle offer to help set the table as I sit my sorry ass down next to Liam. It’s strange having him look so much like Logan. It makes me miss him that much more.

“I’ve got a very important guest coming tonight.” She scoops up each of the dishes that Skyla just painstakingly set out and replaces them with her fine china. “I’ve invited Kresley Fisher over. Poor girl is lonely.” She shoots me a disgruntled look. “Her father would never forgive me if I didn’t take care of his baby. He’s a congressman, you know.”

A gentle knock erupts at the door, and Mom quickly scuttles over.

“Sorry,” I whisper to Skyla as she takes a seat next to me.

“What are you sorry about?” Giselle asks, innocent as the day she was born.

I shake my head at my sister because, personally, I’d like to drop it. Besides, I made it pretty clear to Kresley a few weeks back that I’m not into her, nor will I ever be.

“Hi!” Kresley comes in waving as Mom ushers her to the other side of me. Dad strolls in, and we start on the feast my mother prepared to rival any holiday spread she’s ever created. “It looks like the last ferry already left the island.” Kresley bats her lashes at my mother with a manufactured forlorn look. “There was something wrong with the motor, and they had to have it towed.”

“Again?” Mom sighs with equally manufactured frustration. “Not to worry. You’ll stay the night. You can take the spare bedroom upstairs.”

Shit.

“Oh, I’ll take that,” Skyla volunteers. “She can have Logan’s room.”

The spare bedroom shares a bathroom with mine.

“That’s not necessary.” Mom speeds it out. “Liam is downstairs. I don’t want to displace him. And I think it’s fitting you stay in Logan’s room. He would have wanted it that way.” She pats Skyla on the hand.

Crap.

Liam clears his throat while inspecting Kresley and her not-so-veiled cleavage. “She can stay in my room. I won’t mind one bit.” His lids grow heavy. His eyes have already rounded out second base. He’s so damn amped up and frustrated, if he doesn’t fall into bed with someone soon, I might actually start fearing for his balls.

“What about that Michelle girl?” Giselle drills into Liam. “I saw her again at the bowling alley with Logan. She said to say hello.”

“Michelle Miller?” Skyla tries to hide her concern. “What was she doing with Logan?” She glances over at me, her cheeks flooding with embarrassment. “I mean the bowling alley.” I know it kills Skyla to think he might be with someone else. But I know for a fact he won’t. I wouldn’t.

“Oh, this and that.” Giselle shovels in a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Mmm.” She washes it down with water and moans as if it was the best combination on the planet. “They were playing games with some other girl—I think her name was
Sexy
. They were having a real good time, laughing, and hugging, and talking about the good old days.” Giselle has no idea she’s carving out Skyla’s heart right now. “They said they would all get together later that night and do it again. Ellis said it would be a threesome.” She giggles into her words, completely unaware of the fact she just laid out a sexual innuendo the size of Mom’s turkey.

Skyla’s face pops, red as an apple. “Do it later, huh?” She makes tracks in her food before surrendering her fork to her plate.

I know what she’s thinking. Logan came back and is hanging out with Michelle and Lexy rather than us—than with her. Maybe I’ll let her know he came to see me at the hospital that day. Let her know that he’s just killing a little more time—that he wants her—
us
—to be happy.

“Michelle’s a tasty treat,” Liam muses. “In fact—” He checks his watch. Outside of my father, Liam is the only other person I know that wears one. “I’m taking her to the movies tonight—drive in.”

“Paragon doesn’t have a drive in.” Dad is quick to inform.

He pulls out his newly issued cell phone and wags it in Dad’s face. “It does now. Besides, we won’t be paying much attention to the show.”

“Smooth.” Skyla perks up a bit. I think knowing that Liam is trying to bed Miller takes the edge off. I know for a fact Logan isn’t going to rumple the sheets with anyone anytime soon. In fact, the only person he will do that again with is the beautiful, sweet girl sitting right next to me—my wife. A bloom of sadness spears through me, and I try to shake it. I know it’s coming—the great spousal reversal—I just don’t know when. I shouldn’t mind though. After all, I’m the one that gifted the years to Logan and Skyla. It felt right at the time—and, sadly, it still does.

Dinner goes by with Mom’s incessant questioning of Kresley’s hopes and dreams, making the last solid hour feel like an infomercial—one that I’m not interested in. But that doesn’t stop Kresley from ogling me, looking over at me with that I’m-ready-to-rumble horny-as-hell look in her eyes.

I push my plate back. “I think I’ll take Skyla for a drive.”

“Perfect.” Skyla helps bus the dishes to the sink in record time, and Giselle kindly offers to take over.

“No way.” Skyla takes back the dish they’re tugging between them. “You wash, I’ll dry and put away.” I love the way she cares for my sister as if she were her own. Skyla melts me in ways she doesn’t even know.

“Son”—Dad nudges me toward the living room—“can I have a word with you?”

“Sure thing.” I head over to the sofa and lie down for a moment, letting my body sink into the soft cushions. My neck has been sore all day, but it’s a thousand times better than it was. I have to admit, staying away from three hundred pound offensive linemen was probably a good idea.

“Dr. Flanders called.” He gives a curt nod, and I sit up at attention.

Dad takes a seat on the coffee table across from me and places his hand over mine.

Crap. I see an alarming number of problems with this scenario, and they’re setting off some serious red flags.

First, if Mom catches him sitting on the coffee table she’s going to throw him on the floor by way of some inventive karate flip—and, second, he hasn’t held my hand since third grade. It’s obvious the shit is about to hit the fan.

“What?” I startle. “Am I sick?”

“No, Gage.” He takes off his glasses and wipes down his brow. “If you were sick, that would be simple. Even the most devastating illness would be easier to deal with.”

I slump back into the pillow. “Fuck.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Give it to me straight. No bullshit.” I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling.

His chest expands as he takes a deep breath. “You have all the markings of a true Levatio.” He pats my hand while an artificial smile thins out over his lips.

“And?”

He indulges in a dramatic pause, and it speaks volumes. Something else went down that he didn’t care for.

“Please,” I whisper.

“You have an additional marker in your blood, Gage.” He grinds the words out as if it were painful. “NSO. No specific origin.”

“NSO.” I shake my head because it doesn’t mean squat. “It’s probably a virus. I’ve been reading all kinds of scary things on the Internet. I might have a pathogen attacking my spinal column.”

“No. I ran a battery of tests. You’re as healthy as a horse. It’s as the doctor in the E.R. suggested—spinal stenosis.” He leans in, serious as shit. “The NSO signifies something neither human nor Nephilim.” He dips his chin, bearing into me as if speaking in code. “Gage—the only other person Dr. Flanders has found this marker in is Wesley Paxton.”

“Demetri’s son.” The room sways. “You don’t think—”

“I don’t. But, either way, I think we need to get to the bottom of this.”

“And how do we do that?”

“We take it to the source.”

“Demetri.”

Skyla and I finally take off and head for the beach.

Rockaway shines under the lamp-lit fog with its spray of white dust defusing the great Pacific. The shadowed sand is reduced to a murky illusion.

Skyla falls onto the blanket I spread out for the two of us. It’s freezing out, even in this tiny shelter I constructed for us way back when. The palm fronds have frayed, and the thatched roof is balding in patches. The sky unleashed a good downpour this afternoon leaving the earth scented with the ripeness from the soil.

“You want to stay in the butterfly room tonight?” she offers, nuzzling her cheek over my chest.

“It’s up to you.” I sink a kiss onto her lips. I’d sleep right here if she wanted to as long as I could hold her all night.

“Maybe not.” She traces out small circles over my chest. “Tad’s insanity is more than I can handle. Brielle told me he had to stop killing the electricity at night because the food was spoiling in the fridge. Now he just patrols the halls at all hours making sure no one is sneaking on the lights.”

“Sounds like tough times over at the Landon house.”

She rests her head in my lap and looks up at me. “And there seem to be interesting times over at the Oliver house as well. It looks like your mom found a new little friend.”

“Sorry about that.”

Skyla glances down at her chest. “Do you think your mom will ever like me?”

“She likes you, Skyla. I promise. She loves you. Once she finds out you’re her daughter-in-law she’ll be ecstatic.”

“Maybe we should tell them soon.”