Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
evangeline
Three days. I've managed to avoid being alone with Hades for exactly three days, and it's killing me. I’ve even managed to be busy when he’s come by to check on the progress of the perimeter fence and gate that’s being installed.
It should be done within the next few days, and hopefully, Hades and I can avoid being alone still.
Every time he offers to help with the kids, I find an excuse. School pickup? I've got it covered. Homework assistance? The teenagers can handle it. Bedtime stories? Thanks, but we're fine.
The problem is, we're not fine. Jake's been asking for his uncle Hades every night, and Sophie keeps wondering why he doesn't come around as much anymore. Even sixteen-year-old Mason has started giving me looks, like he knows I'm being weird about something.
Because I am being weird. Because every time I close my eyes, I can feel Hades' hands in my hair, taste him on my lips, and remember the way his body felt pressed against mine. My skin burns with the memory, and no amount of cold showers or late-night pacing seems to make it stop.
The kiss meant nothing, I keep telling myself. It was a moment of weakness, emotional vulnerability after a fight with Ethan. It doesn't have to change anything.
But my body knows I'm lying.
"Aunt Evie?" Lily's voice breaks through my thoughts. I'm standing at the kitchen counter, supposedly making lunch but mostly just staring into space. "Can we call Uncle Hades? I want to show him the picture I drew."
"Maybe later, sweetheart. He's probably busy with work."
"But he's never too busy for us. He said so."
The innocent faith in her voice makes my chest tight with guilt. She's right. Hades has never been too busy for these kids, never made them feel like an inconvenience or obligation. He shows up because he wants to, because he loves them.
Because he loves me.
The thought hits like lightning, electric and dangerous. He didn't just kiss me because of the moment or the emotion. When he said he'd wanted me for years, when he looked at me like I was something precious and necessary, he meant it.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
I grip the counter edge. My fingers are cold, my heart doing that stupid stutter again.
"Maybe after lunch," I tell Lily, hating the disappointment that flickers across her face.
The phone rings, and I grab it absently while spreading peanut butter on bread. "Hello?"
Silence. Not the kind where someone's about to speak, but heavy, deliberate silence. Like someone's listening, waiting, breathing.
"Hello?" I say again, louder this time.
Still nothing. But I can hear it now, the soft sound of someone breathing on the other end of the line.
A chill runs down my spine as I hang up. This is the fourth call like this in three days, always during the day when the kids are around, always the same pattern. Someone calling just to listen, to let me know they're there.
Ethan's threat echoes in my head: "I'll show you what happens when you throw away everything good in your life."
I'm probably being paranoid. It could be a wrong number, telemarketing, anything. But the timing feels too convenient, too calculated.
The phone rings again, and this time I let it go to voicemail. When I play it back, there's nothing but ten seconds of breathing before the line goes dead.
"Who was that?" Emma asks, looking up from her homework.
"Nobody important," I lie, forcing a smile. "Just a wrong number."
But my hands are shaking as I finish making lunch, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, hunted, played with like a mouse by a cat.
Twenty minutes later, as I'm helping Jake with his math homework, the doorbell rings. All five kids immediately perk up, hope lighting their faces.
"Is that Uncle Hades?" Sophie asks, already sliding off her chair.
"I don't know, sweetheart. Let me check."
But I already know it is. I can feel him on the other side of the door, that magnetic pull that's been driving me crazy for days.
When I open it, he's standing on the porch with a toolbox in one hand and a concerned expression on his face.
"The fence in the backyard is loose," he says without preamble. "I noticed it a few days ago. Figured I should fix it before one of the kids gets hurt."
"I didn't ask you to—"
"Uncle Hades!" Lily's voice cuts through my protest as she launches herself at his legs. "You're here! I missed you so much!"
The pure joy on her face as he scoops her up makes something crack in my chest. This isn't just about me and what I want or don't want. These kids have lost so much already. Do I really have the right to keep them from someone who brings them happiness?
"I missed you too, princess," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I hear you drew me a picture?"
"Yes! It's on the fridge! Come see!"
She drags him toward the kitchen, chattering about colors and characters, and I have no choice but to follow. The other kids swarm around him like he's been gone for months instead of days, telling him about school and friends and all the small dramas of their lives.
And through it all, I can feel him watching me. Not obviously, not in a way the kids would notice, but I'm aware of every glance, every small movement in my direction.
"This is amazing, Lily," he says, studying her artwork with the seriousness it deserves. "Is this you and me?"
"And Aunt Evie and everyone! We're all together in our house because we're a family now."
The simple declaration hits like a physical blow. In Lily's four-year-old mind, it's already settled. Hades isn't just Uncle Hades who visits sometimes. He's part of their family, part of their life, part of what makes them feel safe and loved.
"Why don't you guys go play in the backyard while I fix that fence?" Hades suggests. "But stay away from the loose section until I get it secured."
They scatter like dandelions in the wind, laughing and shouting as they pour outside. Which leaves me alone in the kitchen with the man I've been avoiding for three days.
Silence stretches between us, loaded with everything we're not saying. He's standing by the back door, toolbox in hand, but he's not moving toward it. He's looking at me instead, and the intensity in his dark eyes makes my pulse quicken.
"You've been avoiding me," he says finally.
"I've been busy."
"Bullshit."
The blunt assessment makes my cheeks burn. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't call you out on running scared?"
"I'm not running scared. I'm being practical."
"Same thing, in this case."
The casual way he dismantles my defenses makes me want to scream. Or throw something. Or grab him and kiss him until we're both senseless.
The phone on the counter lights up, buzzing once. Unknown Caller.
My heart skips.
I glance at Hades, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed it. He’s too focused on me, waiting for a response I can’t give.
I slide the phone closer with one hand, casually, like it’s nothing. But my fingertips tremble as I press answer.
Just like the last time.
No speaking, no words. Just… breath.
The call ends, but the unease stays lodged in my chest like a splinter.
I shove the phone under a dish towel.
"Those phone calls," he says, changing the subject so abruptly it gives me whiplash. "How many?"
"What?"
"The hang-up calls. I can see it on your face, Angel. How many?"
The fact that he can read me so easily should be alarming. Instead, it's oddly comforting to know someone's paying that much attention.
"Four. Maybe five."
His jaw tightens. "When?"
"Always during the day. Always when the kids are around."
"Same number?"
"Unknown caller each time."
"Fuck." He sets the toolbox down with more force than necessary. "You should have called me."
"Why? So you could what? Ride to my rescue? I can handle a few prank calls, Hades. I'm not helpless."
"I never said you were helpless. But you're not alone either, no matter how hard you're trying to convince yourself otherwise. This isn’t a prank. It’s someone reminding you they’re watching.”
The words hit harder than they should, probably because they're true. I have been trying to convince myself I can handle everything on my own, that I don't need anyone, that wanting him is just a weakness I can overcome through sheer force of will.
But standing here in my kitchen, with him looking at me like I'm something precious he wants to protect, I feel anything but strong.
"You're in my head," I admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "You're in my head and I hate it."
Something hot and dangerous flickers in his eyes. "Then get out of mine, Angel."
He takes a step closer, and suddenly the kitchen feels too small, the air too thin. I'm backed against the counter again, just like three nights ago, and my body remembers exactly what happened the last time we were in this position.
"I can't stop thinking about you," I whisper. "About what happened between us."
"Good."
"It's not good. It's torture."
"Yeah. It is."
Another step closer. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence crowds the air between us, hot and charged.
"Tell me to leave," he says quietly. "Tell me to go fix that fence and pretend this thing between us doesn't exist."
"I should."
"But you won't."
He's right, and we both know it. Because despite everything, despite all my rational reasons for keeping my distance, I don't want him to leave. I want him to stay right here, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, close enough to make me forget why this is supposed to be wrong.
"The kids..."
"Are playing in the yard. They can't see us from here."
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb stroking across my cheekbone, and I lean into the touch like I'm starving for it.
"This is crazy," I breathe.
"We've established that."
"We can't keep doing this. Can't keep getting close and then pulling away."
"Then don't pull away."
The invitation hangs between us, loaded with promise and possibility and all the complications I'm trying so hard to avoid.
"Hades..."
"I know all the reasons why this is complicated. I know you're scared about the kids, about what it means, about what happens if it doesn't work out." His voice drops to something rough and intimate. "But I also know that you want this. Want me."
"Wanting something doesn't mean it's right."
"Doesn't mean it's wrong either."
His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I can't suppress the soft sound that escapes me. The touch is gentle, reverent, but it sets my entire body on fire.
"I can't think when you touch me," I admit.
"Then don't think. Feel."
"I feel too much. That's the problem."
"Not a problem, Angel. That's the point."
He's leaning closer now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my lips. Close enough that all I'd have to do is tilt my head up and we'd be kissing again, crossing that line I've been trying so hard to maintain.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.
"I can't."
"Tell me you don't want this."
"I can't do that either."
His hand slides into my hair, angling my head the way he wants it, and I'm lost. Completely, utterly lost in the heat of his gaze and the promise of his mouth and the way my body comes alive under his touch.
"Then let me—"
"Aunt Evie!" Jake's voice from the back door shatters the moment like glass. "Emma won't let me have a turn on the swing!"
We spring apart like we've been electrocuted, both of us breathing hard, both of us staring at each other with wide eyes and racing hearts.
"Coming," I call, my voice only slightly unsteady. "Give me a second."
Jake disappears back outside, and I'm left standing in my kitchen with my hair mussed and my lips tingling and the man who's been driving me crazy for days looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
"This has to stop," I say weakly.
"Does it?"
"Yes. The kids need stability, not chaos."
"They need you to be happy."
"I don't know how to be happy and responsible at the same time."
"Then let me show you."
The offer is quiet, serious, loaded with everything he's not saying. Let me show you what it's like to be loved. Let me show you what it's like to have a partner instead of just someone you're performing for. Let me show you that you can have both.
"I need time," I say finally. "Time to figure out what's best for everyone."
"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
The same promise he's made before, and it settles something anxious in my chest even as it makes everything else more complicated.
"I should go deal with the swing situation."
"And I should fix that fence."
We're being so polite, so careful, like we didn't just almost kiss again, like my body isn't still humming with want, like I can't see the same hunger in his eyes that's probably visible in mine.
"Hades?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For still being here, even when I'm being difficult."
"You're not being difficult. You're being careful. There's a difference."
The understanding in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. How is it that he gets me better than the man I was engaged to for two years?
"Go," he says gently. "Before they tear each other apart over playground equipment."
I nod and head toward the back door, but I can feel him watching me go. I can feel the weight of everything unspoken between us, all the possibilities and complications.
Outside, the kids are indeed in the middle of a dispute about swing privileges, but I barely hear their complaints. My mind is still in the kitchen, still processing the way Hades looked at me, touched me, and made me feel like I was something worth fighting for.
I'm in trouble. Deep, complicated, impossible trouble.
Because despite all my logical reasons for keeping my distance, despite my fears about stability and responsibility and what's best for the children, I'm falling for him.
Fast and hard and completely out of control.
And I have no idea what I'm going to do about it.