Chapter 8 Evangeline
CHAPTER EIGHT
evangeline
Hades' house is nothing like what I expected. Instead of the bachelor pad I'd imagined, it's a sprawling ranch-style home with six bedrooms and a huge backyard.
"Where do you want this?" Hades asks, carrying one end of a heavy oak dresser up the front steps. Tempest has the other end, both men moving with the kind of easy coordination that comes from years of working together.
"Emma's room," I say, leading them through the front door and down the hallway. "She wanted her parents' dresser. Said it still smells like her mom's perfume."
The admission makes something soft pass across Hades' face. He understands what it means to cling to small pieces of the people you've lost.
We’ve been at this for hours. Each kid has their own room, and Hades even built the swing set he promised Lily. It should feel awkward, living with a man I barely know, but it doesn’t. It feels right.
Natural, even.
"That work?" Tempest asks, settling the dresser against the wall where Emma requested it.
"Perfect. Thank you."
He nods and heads back downstairs to grab another piece of furniture from the moving truck. Which leaves me alone with Hades in the intimate space of a teenage girl's bedroom.
Silence stretches between us, loaded with awareness I'm trying hard to ignore. He's closer than he needs to be, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with motor oil and something uniquely him.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asks quietly. "Living here, I mean. It's got to be hard, being surrounded by all their memories."
"It's what they would have wanted. What the kids need." I smooth my hands over the dresser's surface, running my fingers along wood that Calla touched every morning for fifteen years. "Besides, the good memories outweigh the painful ones."
"Still. If it gets to be too much..."
"It won't."
But even as I say it, I know he's right to be concerned.
Last night, Lily crawled into my bed crying because she kept hearing footsteps in the hallway.
Sophie refuses to eat anything that isn't exactly the way Calla used to make it.
Jake has started hoarding food in his room like he's afraid there won't be enough.
They're all struggling, and I have no idea how to help them beyond just being here. Being present and consistent and hoping that's enough.
"Hey." Hades' voice draws me out of my worried thoughts. "You're doing good with them. Better than good."
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"Nobody does. That's the secret they don't tell you about parenting. You just love them and show up and hope for the best."
The casual way he talks about parenting makes my chest flutter with dangerous thoughts. Thoughts about what it would be like to have his steady presence in all of this. To have someone to share the midnight fevers and homework battles and teenage heartbreaks.
To have someone who looks at me the way he's looking at me right now, like I'm something precious and strong and worthy of admiration.
"Evangeline," he starts, and there's something in his voice that makes my pulse quicken.
"Where do you want the bookshelf?" Tempest's voice cuts through whatever moment was building between us, and I step back quickly, putting distance between myself and the temptation Hades represents.
"Living room," I say, grateful for the interruption and hating myself for it at the same time.
We spend the next hour unpacking boxes, hanging pictures, trying to make this house feel like home for seven people instead of one.
Hades works with quiet efficiency, seeming to understand exactly what needs to be done without being asked.
He's already childproofed the cabinets, installed nightlights in all the hallways, and somehow found bedroom furniture that matches each child's personality perfectly.
When he reaches up to hang a family photo above the fireplace, one of the last pictures of Marcus, Calla, and all five kids together, his shirt rides up, exposing a strip of tanned skin and the kind of muscle definition that comes from years of physical work.
My mouth goes dry. I force myself to look away.
I just ended an engagement. I shouldn’t be thinking about his abs.
My brother's funeral was yesterday. The last thing I should be doing is ogling another man's body like some kind of sex-starved teenager.
But I can't seem to help myself. There's something about Hades that draws me like a magnet, something that makes every rational thought scatter the moment he walks into a room.
"That straight?" he asks, adjusting the family photo.
"It's perfect," I say, and I'm not just talking about the picture placement.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment the air between us goes electric. Like we're the only two people in the world, like all the reasons this is complicated and wrong and impossible don't matter.
Jake comes racing through the living room chasing Sophie, both of them shrieking with laughter, and the spell is broken.
"No running in the house," I call out automatically, sounding more like their mother than I have any right to.
"Sorry, Aunt Evie," they chorus, but they're both grinning, and it's the first genuine happiness I've seen from either of them since their parents died.
"They're good kids," Hades says quietly.
"The best. Calla and Marcus did an amazing job with them."
"Yeah. They did."
There's something in his voice, a note of sadness that makes me look at him more closely. He's watching the children with an expression I can't quite read, but it makes something soft and warm unfurl in my chest.
"You miss her," I say. It's not a question.
"Every day. She was the only family I had left until..." He gestures toward the chaos of children and moving boxes. "Until now."
The simple statement hits me harder than it should. The idea that he considers me family, that he sees this makeshift household as something real and permanent... My gut flips. I catch myself wondering things I shouldn’t.
Before I can figure out how to respond, my phone buzzes with a text.
Ethan:
This living arrangement is ridiculous. You need to find somewhere appropriate to live. I'm coming over.
The message makes my stomach clench with familiar anxiety. Even though we're broken up, even though I gave him back his ring, he's still trying to control my decisions.
"Problem?" Hades asks, noticing my expression.
"Ethan. He's not happy about us living here."
"Us living here?"
"Me and the kids. Living in your home. He thinks it's... inappropriate."
Something dark flickers across Hades' face. "What you do and where you live isn't his business anymore."
"Try telling him that."
"I will if he shows up here trying to dictate terms. Want me to handle it?"
The offer is casual, but there's steel underneath it, the promise of violence barely leashed. It should scare me.
Instead, it makes me feel protected in a way I've never experienced before.
"I can handle him."
"I know you can. Doesn't mean you should have to."
Before I can respond to that loaded statement, the front door opens and Ethan strides in like he has the right to be here. He's wearing one of his expensive suits, his face tight with frustration and something that looks dangerously like desperation.
"Enough," he says without preamble. "This ridiculous charade has gone on long enough."
"Ethan, you can't just walk into—"
"I gave you time, Evangeline, but clearly you’ve lost your mind." His voice is clipped, controlled, but there's an edge of panic underneath. "You're coming home with me. Tonight."
"I am home."
"You're living with a criminal, pretending you're their mother. This isn't the woman I fell in love with."
"Maybe the woman you fell in love with never really existed."
His face flushes red. "Don't be dramatic. You're having some kind of breakdown, clearly triggered by your brother's death, and I'm here to help you through it. But this..." He gestures around Hades' living room with obvious disgust. "This ends now."
"You don't get to decide that."
"Don't I? We were together for two years. We had plans, a future. You can't just throw that away because you're having some kind of crisis."
"I'm not having a crisis. I'm making choices. My own choices, for the first time in years."
Ethan's jaw tightens. "You’re blowing up our life. Do you even care what people are saying? What my parents think?"
"I don't care what your parents think."
"Well you should. They're as concerned as I am about your mental state. About the decisions you're making while you're obviously not thinking clearly."
The condescending tone, the way he talks about me like I'm a child having a tantrum, makes my blood boil.
“I am thinking clearly. I’m just done with your dictation of my life. It ends now. This is my life now and it has nothing to do with you.”
Ethan's jaw tightens. "No, it's not. This is you having some kind of breakdown and making decisions you'll regret later. When you come to your senses, you'll realize I was right."
"I'm not having a breakdown. I'm taking care of my family."
"They’re not your kids. You feel guilty, fine, but this fantasy? It's not the answer."
The dismissive way he talks about the children, about my choices, about everything that's become important to me, makes me see red.
"Get out."
"Evangeline—"
"I said get out. You have no right to be here, no right to tell me what to do with my life or theirs."
"I have every right to be concerned about you. About the choices you're making. This house, these children, that criminal you're obviously infatuated with... none of it is healthy."
Across the room, Hades goes very still. I can feel the tension radiating from him, the barely leashed violence that comes from hearing someone insult the people he cares about.
"He's not a criminal," I say, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. "And I'm not infatuated with anyone. I'm trying to do what's best for five children who just lost everything."