Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
hades
I smell the smoke before I see it. Not the good kind from a barbecue, but the acrid burn of something that shouldn't be on fire. My pulse spikes as I pull into the driveway, but the house looks intact from the outside.
Then I hear the crying.
Not the kids. I know their voices by now; know the difference between hurt and scared and frustrated. This is raw, broken sobbing coming from somewhere inside the house.
Evangeline.
I don't bother knocking; just use my key and head straight for the sound. I find her in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with her back against the cabinet, tears streaming down her face while she stares at what used to be dinner smoking on the stove.
"Angel." I'm across the room in three steps, turning off the burner and opening windows before dropping to my knees beside her. "What happened? Where are the kids?"
"Sleepover," she chokes out. "All five of them. At the Connor's. They're safe. Calla trusted them. They offered last week and I said yes. I figured one night of something normal-ish might help.”
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by concern for the woman falling apart in front of me. I've seen her stressed, overwhelmed, tired, but never like this. Never broken.
"Talk to me. What's wrong?"
She lets out a laugh that's more sob than sound. "Ethan came by. We had another fight."
"About what?"
"Everything. The kids, the house, my choices, my life." She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, looking younger and more vulnerable than I've ever seen her. "He said I was playing house, being irresponsible. That I'd regret throwing him away for some fantasy that was never going to work."
"He's wrong."
"Is he? Look at me, Hades. I can't even make dinner without burning it. I've got five traumatized kids who need stability, and I'm barely keeping my head above water. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am in over my head."
The defeat in her voice makes something hot and protective flare in my chest. "You're not in over your head. You're doing an incredible job with those kids."
"Am I? Because Jake had another panic attack yesterday, Emma's failing Math because she can't concentrate, and I don't know how to help any of them."
"You help them by being here, by showing up every day, by not giving up on them even when it's hard."
"Ethan said I was being selfish, that I was disrupting their lives even more by playing pretend family instead of finding them proper homes with people who actually know what they're doing."
The casual cruelty of it makes my vision go red around the edges. "What else did he say?"
"That he'd given me enough time to come to my senses, but clearly I wasn't going to.
That he wasn't going to stand around and watch me make a fool of myself anymore.
" Her voice breaks on the last words. "He said he'd show me what happens when you throw away everything good in your life for a pipe dream. "
"Show you how?"
"I don't know. But there was something in his eyes, something cold and calculating. Like he was planning something."
The threat implicit in her words makes every protective instinct I possess roar to life. If that bastard is planning to hurt her or those kids...
"Did he touch you?" I ask, my voice carefully controlled.
"No. Not physically. But he was angry, angrier than I've ever seen him. He said this wasn’t over. And the way he looked at me? It was like he’d already started planning something."
My fists clench at my sides. It takes everything in me not to find Ethan and make him regret ever raising his voice to her.
I reach for her hands, and she lets me pull her up off the floor. She's shaking, either from emotion or adrenaline or both, and it takes everything I have not to track Ethan down right now and make him pay for putting that fear in her eyes.
"Look at me," I say quietly. "He's not going to hurt you. I won't let him."
"You can't promise that. He keeps showing up. He doesn’t seem to get the message that it’s over."
"The hell I can't. Tomorrow, I’m having someone set up a perimeter around the house. No one is getting in without having access to the gate that’ll be installed. He’s not going to hurt you."
The fierce certainty in my voice seems to steady her slightly. She takes a shaky breath then looks around the kitchen at the smoke-stained walls and ruined pan.
"I should clean this up. The kids will be home tomorrow and I can't have them coming back to a disaster."
"We'll clean it up. Together."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
She nods, wiping her eyes again, and we spend the next twenty minutes opening windows, scrubbing smoke residue, and throwing away what's left of dinner. It's domestic and ordinary, and under different circumstances, it would be perfect.
But I can feel the tension radiating from her; see the way she keeps glancing at the door like she expects Ethan to come back. The bastard really got to her.
"Better?" I ask when we're done.
"Better. Thank you."
We're standing close now, closer than we probably should be, but neither of us moves away. I can see the exhaustion in her face, the stress lines around her eyes, the way she's trying to hold everything together through sheer force of will.
"You're not alone in this," I tell her. "You know that, right?"
Her eyes fill with fresh tears. "Sometimes it feels like I am."
"You're not. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"For the kids."
"For all of you."
The honesty in my voice seems to surprise her. She looks up at me, really looks, and I can see the moment she realizes what I'm saying.
"Hades..."
"I can't pretend anymore, Angel. Can't pretend I don't feel what I feel when you're around."
"Don't. Please."
"Why? Because it's complicated? Because the timing's not perfect? News flash, sweetheart—nothing about this situation is simple or perfect."
"Because those children need stability, and they can't handle any more upset in their lives."
"Caring about you is upheaval?"
"I think me caring about you is selfish."
The admission hits me like a physical blow. She cares about me. Despite everything, despite the engagement ring she wore for two years and the life she built with another man, she feels this too.
"There's nothing selfish about wanting to be happy."
“You think I haven’t thought about it? About choosing you? But if I do and it all falls apart, then I’m the woman who brought even more damage into their lives. These five kids are depending on me to make the right choices."
"What if this is the right choice?"
She shakes her head, but she doesn't step away. "I can't. I can't risk it."
"Risk what? Being with someone who actually sees you? Who thinks you're incredible exactly as you are?"
"Risk them getting attached to you and then losing you too."
The fear in her voice breaks something open in my chest. She's not just protecting herself—she's protecting them. Even now, when she's falling apart and needs someone to lean on, she's thinking about what's best for those kids.
"You think I'd walk away from them? From you?"
"People leave, Hades. People always leave."
"Not me."
"You don't know that."
"I know that I've been half in love with you for years. I know that watching you with those kids makes me want things I never thought I could have. And I know that the thought of you being with someone who doesn't appreciate what he's got makes me want to put my fist through a wall."
Her breath catches, and I can see her struggling with emotions she doesn't want to feel.
"You think I hadn't noticed how he treated you?" I continue, taking a step closer. "How he talked down to you and tried to control every aspect of your life? You deserve so much fucking better than that."
"Stop."
"Why? Because it's true?"
"Because it doesn't matter what I deserve. It matters what I can give them."
"You can give them a mother who's happy. A home where love actually exists instead of just duty and obligation."
Tears are streaming down her face again, but these are different. Not the broken sobs from earlier, but something rawer, more honest.
"I've thought about you," she whispers. "More than I should have. More than was right."
The confession hits me like lightning, electric and dangerous and absolutely necessary.
"How much more?"
"Hades..."
"Tell me."
"I used to dream about you. Wonder what it would be like if..." She trails off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
"If what?"
"If I'd been brave enough to choose what I wanted instead of what looked right on paper."
The distance between us disappears. I don't know if I moved or she did or if we both just gave in to the gravity that's been pulling us together for years, but suddenly there's nothing but heartbeats and held breath between us.
"You can choose now," I say quietly.
"It's not that simple."
"It is exactly that simple."
My hand comes up to cup her face, thumb stroking across her cheekbone, and she leans into the touch like she's been starving for it.
"This is crazy," she breathes.
"Yeah. It is."
"The kids..."
"Are at a sleepover. It's just us."
"Just us," she repeats, like she's testing how the words sound.
"Just us, Angel."
The last of her resistance crumbles. I can see it happen, see the moment she stops fighting what we both want and lets herself feel it instead.
When she looks up at me, her eyes are dark with want and vulnerability and years of suppressed longing.
"Show me," she whispers.
That's all the invitation I need.
The kiss starts gentle, tentative, like we're both afraid this might be a dream that could shatter if we move too fast. But the moment her lips part under mine, the moment she makes that soft sound of need in the back of her throat, gentle goes out the window.