Chapter 52
Conin
Ezra has his feet lounged over my lap when a knock comes at the door.
“I got it. Relax,” I say.
There’s some awkward navigating and untangling, which feels oddly reminiscent of being in a relationship with him—almost like I have no idea how to act when we’ve been friends our entire lives. I love him, though, so these baby steps and the awkward fumbling are entirely worth it.
Sandra’s returned, but this time with a grim expression. My hope crumbles, any chance for a position with the guard subdued.
“Well, the council has collectively come up with a decision,” she says, disgruntled.
“And?” I question, matching her energy.
“The Council has granted you clearance to become a guard, but with conditions. You’ll need to speak with them on Wednesday morning. Ambrosia will then meet with you to go over the ropes. Make sure to be at the police station at 8 a.m.,” Sandra tells me.
She’s made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t approve.
“They were impressed . . . with what you had to say. Make a good impression, okay?”
She departs with a smirk, bidding us farewell before climbing down the stairs. No matter. Elation overcomes me when I shut the door. Ezra’s tall, lean form stands near the coffee table, his face fixed into a broad smile.
“You heard?”
“Yeah,” he says.
I’m more satisfied I won my case than anything else.
This goal wasn’t long sought out, but it feels right.
And seeing Ezra, hair out and loose, with a beaming smile that matches how I feel inside, I could kiss him until our lips grow sore.
He crosses the distance between us with four long strides, grabs the nape of my neck, and presses his mouth firmly on mine.
We kiss and stumble, finding our footing on the laminate wood floor.
Ezra bumps the coffee table, emitting a tiny chuckle with a breathy “Ow” before I playfully push him onto the couch.
His long limbs spread out, bangs over his forehead, his cloak of hair draping over the couch’s arm.
He stares up, one blue eye, the other green—filled with twinkling stars—I almost lose myself in them, in the distant galaxies they create.
“You okay?” he asks.
No. But right now, with him? I think I will be. Eventually.
It’s better with him.
It somehow always is.
I lean down and kiss him.
An indeterminate amount of time later, our clothes pile in heaps on the floor.
Ezra’s chest is firm, our naked bodies flush against each other.
He strokes my hair and breathes warmly on my ear.
We stay like this for a while, silent, the only noise our breathing lungs.
His beating heart is in unison with mine, a reminder he’s alive.
We’re both alive despite everything we’ve been through. Despite all odds.
But something’s been gnawing at me since we made love for the second time.
I don’t want to ruin this moment he and I created, so it’s better to stow it away for some other time.
As always, Ezra senses a thought troubling me.
Like how I can sense when something’s off with him, he seems to have honed that ability, too.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Did you mean it? When you said you were okay with me kissing your scars?” I question, cutting right to the chase. The quiet before he answers lingers for a beat too long. I screwed this up, didn’t I?
But a small part of me, a tiny part of me, feels as if he’s lying for my sake.
“Of course I did. I do. It’s you.”
“Sure, but—you’re not just saying that, right? It’s okay if it’s not, Ez. I’ll stop.”
Ezra ponders what I’ve said for a little while longer.
“I’ll tell you if it ever becomes too much,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I say, taking whatever solace I can from his words.
“And what about you? What about me, uh, touching your stomach?”
“I don’t think about it that often. Yeah, I don’t have a six-pack anymore, so I guess sometimes it feels bad . . . like I didn’t care enough to maintain it—that I was too lazy.”
Ezra looks a bit sad, but most of what flashes across his face is guilt.
“I’ll stop,” he says.
“You like that I’m chubby?”
“Yes, Co, I like that you’re chubby. I love it. I think it’s cute, sexy—”
His affirmations feel good. Genuinely good.
“And?” I joke.
“Do you have any of those fancy words you know that are synonymous with sexy?”
“Provocative? Voluptuous? Titillating?” I say seductively.
He gasps, “Don’t you ever fucking say that word again. I hate it!”
“What? Titillating?”
“Ew!” he screeches. “Gross! Get off me!”
He shoves me off with faux disgust and bursts away to our bedroom, his bare ass disappearing behind the door.
I chase after him and try for the handle, but it won’t budge.
Ezra’s locked it, leaving me ass-naked in our living room.
I pound on the door, bursting out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
“Let me in! I’m naked!”
“Your clothes are next to the couch, you fiend!” he yells.
Good point.
I pound on the door again.
“Let me in!”
“As long as you promise me that you’ll never say that word again!”
In my mind, my fingers are crossed.
“I promise!”
“Fine.”
He cracks the door open to reveal his strikingly gorgeous self, all loose hair and piercing eyes.
“Can you and I lie down again for a bit?”
“Sure,” he concedes.
Together, we lie on the bed and find a comfortable position where skin touches skin.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too,” he says.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable. If I trigger you?”
“Of course. Can you promise me that, too?”
“I promise,” I say.
It’s a Wednesday in mid-October and the sun is peeking over pine-infested knolls.
Main Street is alive with early goers beginning their days and the scent of freshly baked bread wafts, then lingers in my nose.
I walk in the middle of the road, devoid of any car or vehicle, taking in the sites and the historic brick buildings.
The Angelics have a nice setup. Perhaps I was rather harsh and overprotective these past days, but one can never be too careful, considering what we’d gone through to get here.
I pass the pavilion, finding a red brick-and-mortar building with rows of windows and white framing.
Matt and Ambrosia wait out front with a man I’ve yet to meet.
He’s all broad, toothy smiles as I approach, suddenly putting me back on the defensive.
Regardless, I switch the apprehension to a mask resembling something cheerful as if I’m grateful for the chance to be offered a position that shouldn’t have been withheld from me on the basis of prejudice in the first place.
Has anyone without special abilities fought for the chance to be a part of the Angelic Guard? I can’t be the only one.
“Conin, meet Brett Rosenbaum. He’s head councilman of Proctus,” says Ambrosia in place of a greeting.
“Conin Bresshet, so nice to meet you,” Brett says, all white teeth as he extends a hand for me to shake.
I reach out, hoping he doesn’t see my timidness. If he does, Brett says nothing at all.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Do you mind if I tag along while Ambrosia and Matt here give you a tour?” he asks.
Why?
I thought we were going to talk.
“Sure,” I say. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Wonderful. Shall we?”
The four of us enter what was once Dunsmuir’s police station, now converted into headquarters for the Angelic Guard.
We’re greeted by a receptionist behind plexiglass and a hallway with checkered linoleum flooring.
Ahead is a four-way intersection with a hallway cutting through that leads to rows of other rooms and temporary holding cells, but we proceed forward, where a staircase leads to the basement.
They store their armor, weapons, and whatever else is needed to protect the walls in the basement. Proctus’s walls are indeed impressive. They span the entirety of the safe haven’s borders, consisting of metal and steel structuring.
The walls aren’t a dead giveaway, as opposed to my earlier belief.
A protective magical barrier encompasses Proctus like a half-globe.
It was conjured by Benji, one of the Angelic’s own, years ago.
It masks Proctus under its spell, projecting fields of barren wasteland and crumpled buildings behind a barbed wire fence that tells any curious onlookers not to trespass.
I’ve heard of close encounters in the past, but the Angelics have generally been able to handle the problems.
There are locker rooms where they house their armor and personalized weaponry. We proceed to the armory, with industrial shelves stacked with guns, ammunition, and other medieval weapons. I’m not sure why they have them, nor do I ask, but no one explains, as if the sight of them is normal.
Some presumably more dangerous, high-tech weapons are locked up behind cages.
Several safes are off to the side, one stacked over the other.
Ambrosia tells me that only Angelics with special clearance can access these weapons.
I nod because this is normal. This is what I signed up for.
There’s no reason to give them an excuse to strip me of this position before I’ve even had the chance to start.
“Alright, well that concludes your tour!” Matt says enthusiastically. “We’ll give you the rest of the day off but come here again tomorrow so we can go over your shifts and begin your training.”
“You’ll be training with me,” Ambrosia says.
“Okay.” She’s reclusive and closed off. It’ll be interesting training with her.
“Conin,” Brett whispers, “can you and I chat for a second?”
He pulls me aside to a vacant room down the way. He shuts the door behind him and folds his arms, a smile still spread wide across his face.
“Was that too overwhelming?”
“No, sir, I’m excited to get started.”
Brett considers me a moment.
“Those were some inspiring words you said to Sandra the other day. And I think you’re right. I think we should allow anyone here to join the guard if it’s what they truly want, with or without powers.”
I nod.
“No one’s put up a fight like you have. Keep up that fire, okay? Welcome to the Angelic Guard,” Brett says, that smile not faltering for a second.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Minutes later, when I’m out of the headquarters, I find my feet carrying me beyond our new apartment. Thoughts start to cycle in me: everything from those blissful moments with Ezra to the fake charm all these Angelics try to exude. Someone calls my name.
“Conin, hey!” Atlas greets.
He jogs to catch up, all grins and gorgeous brown eyes. His smile is contagious. Woe is me.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Ah, well . . . not sure I’m digging the trailer home arrangement with the other family-less guys, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.
Just got off my first shift at the gardens and got to see Ezra there.
I think he’s back at your place. What are you doing here?
” Atlas says so quickly, it’s a struggle to keep up with his train of thought.
“Uh, not sure,” I confess.
“I was about to head to the library. Wanna come with?”
Do I? I think I do. Why do I want to, so badly?
“Sure,” I say.
He leads the way and my heart trips over itself.