39. Hades
Hades
I’ve typed six different responses to three fucking words.
I look at her text again.
Little Bookworm: Can we talk?
Of course.
Whenever you want.
I've missed you.
Please.
Tell me where and I'll be there.
I delete every one of them.
Presley asked if we could talk. That's all she offered.
So that's all I take.
Me: Yes.
Then she asks about tomorrow.
I tell her whenever she wants.
When Bramble & Bean and six o'clock appear on my screen, I stare at the message until Wilder looks over from the other side of the room.
“What?”
I put my phone face down. “Nothing.”
His eyebrows raise. “Bullshit.”
I don’t say anything for a few beats.
Finally, the words come out. “Presley wants to talk.”
He freezes.
Then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Holy shit.”
“Don't.”
“What? I only said holy shit.”
“You're about to say more.”
He gives me that devilish grin. “Probably.”
I stand and head toward the kitchen.
Behind me, Wilder calls, “You're welcome.”
I turn. “For what?”
“I talked to her.”
My entire body goes still. “You fucking what?”
His smile disappears. “Calm down.”
“What did you say?”
“The truth.”
My jaw tightens. “What truth?”
“That you're a fucked up asshole who handled everything wrong.”
I stare at him. “And?”
“That I've never seen you like this. That you wanted to follow her and didn't. That if she wants answers, she needs to get them from you.”
I keep staring.
Wilder lifts both hands. “I didn't tell her anything else.”
“You didn’t mention Mom?”
“She told me you already said we had a shitty childhood. That's all I confirmed.”
“Grant?”
“No.”
“The house?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Jesus. What part of ‘I didn’t tell her anything else’ don’t you understand?”
My shoulders loosen slightly.
Wilder watches me for a beat, then says, “I told her those things aren't mine to tell.”
Fuck.
I look away.
For once, my little brother made the better decision.
That's becoming an irritating pattern.
“She deserves the truth from you,” he says.
“I know.”
“All of it.”
I grit my teeth. “I fucking know.”
That's the problem. Presley thinks she knows the worst thing about me.
She doesn't.
Not even close.
At five fifty-two the next evening, I pull into the parking lot at Bramble & Bean.
I sit in my truck, staring at the building.
I don’t go inside.
I’ve spent five days desperate to see her. In eight minutes, it becomes a reality.
Of course, I thought about seeing her without her knowing.
But then I’d hear her voice telling me not to follow her, so I didn’t.
It’s been fucking miserable.
Now I'm eight minutes away from seeing her because she asked me to.
At five fifty-nine, I get out of the truck.
The bell above the door jingles when I walk inside.
My eyes find her immediately.
Presley sits at a table near the back, alone.
Her green eyes meet mine.
Everything inside me goes quiet.
She looks exactly the same, yet completely different.
I want to cross the room, pull her into me, bury my face against her neck, and breathe her in until the ache that's been sitting inside my chest finally fucking stops.
But I don't.
I walk to the table. “Hi.”
Her lips part slightly. “Hi.”
There's an empty chair across from her. I don't touch it.
Her gaze moves from me to the chair. “You can sit.”
Only then do I pull it out and sit down.
Her expression barely changes, but I see it. I see everything with Presley.
For several seconds, neither of us speaks.
“You haven't contacted me.”
“No.”
“Wilder said you wouldn't.”
“He was right.”
“You thought about it, though.”
Of course he told her that. Asshole.
“I did.”
Her eyes narrow. “A lot?”
“Constantly.”
A surprised laugh slips out of her.
Fuck, I've missed that sound.
“I appreciate the honesty.”
“You're getting all of it tonight.”
The amusement disappears. “That's why I'm here.”
I nod. Then wait. It's fucking unnatural.
Every instinct I have tells me to take control of this conversation. Explain before she asks. Give her the pieces in the order that makes me look least terrible.
I don't. I've done enough of that.
Presley gets to decide where we start.
Finally, she leans forward. “Why me?”
Two words that carry so much weight.
“I saw you.”
Her brows furrow. “Where?”
“In your house. Through the window.”
Her jaw tightens. “Was that the first time?”
I nod. “I heard Penny barking. Wilder and I had just moved here. I went for a walk. I didn’t know I had a neighbor on the other side of the trail.”
She blinks at me, but doesn’t say anything.
“You were watching a movie.”
She looks thoughtful. “The night Penny started growling.”
“Yes.”
Her face changes. “You were outside that night.”
“Yes.”
“How many times did you come back?”
“I don't know.”
Her eyebrows raise. “You don't know?”
“Enough that I stopped counting.”
“Hades.”
“You want the truth.”
“I know.”
She rubs her forehead. “Why did you keep coming back?”
“Because I wanted to see you.”
“You didn't even know me.”
“No.”
“That isn't normal.”
“I know.”
“You watched me change?”
“Yes.”
“You came inside my house?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes shine with anger. “How many times?”
I tell her.
I don't make it sound better. I don't tell her I never intended to hurt her. Like that would somehow erase entering her home without permission. I don't tell her she was safe with me.
She wasn't.
At least, not in the way she thought she was.
“You touched me while I was asleep?”
My jaw tightens. “Yes.”
She looks away.
I hate the hurt on her face. But I don't get to look away from it.
“Not sexually. Just... your face.”
Her gaze snaps back to me. She studies me for a few beats before she asks her next question. “When did you buy the mask?”
“After I watched you watching the horror movie.”
“You saw how scared I was.”
“Yes.”
“And that made you want to scare me more?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
This is the part no decent man could explain. Good thing I've never pretended to be one.
“I liked your fear.”
She goes still. “That's fucked up.”
“Yes.”
“You liked making me afraid?”
“Of me.”
Her brow furrows. “What difference does that make?”
“To me? A lot.”
I lean forward.
“I didn't want you afraid of Caleb. I didn't want you afraid of walking through town. I didn't want you scared because someone might hurt you.”
“But you wanted me scared because of you.”
“Yes.”
“That's insane.”
“Probably.”
“Hades.”
“You wanted honesty.”
“I do.”
“Then I'm not going to stand here and tell you I hated watching you look for me through the window. I fucking loved it.”
Her cheeks flush.
“I loved when you started waiting for me. I loved chasing you. I loved knowing your heart was racing because of me.”
She stares at me.
“And I wanted you safe from everyone else.”
“While terrorizing me yourself.”
“Yes.”
A tiny, incredulous laugh escapes her. “You understand how completely fucked up that sounds?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then she asks the question I've been waiting for. “Why didn't you tell me?”
That answer is worse.
“Because I'm selfish.”
Her expression changes.
“I could give you a hundred reasons. None of them change that.” I force myself to keep looking at her. “At first, I didn't know you. I didn't owe you an explanation because I didn't plan on becoming part of your life.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Then I wanted both.”
Her breathing changes. “Hades and the Masked Man.”
“Yes.”
“The man I trusted and the man I was afraid of.”
“Yes.”
“The man I was falling for and the man I—”
She stops.
I wait.
Her eyes meet mine. “The other man I was starting to want.”
Fuck.
“I knew.”
“Of course you fucking knew.” She crosses her arms and sits back in the chair.
“I asked you.”
“You interrogated me while you were wearing a mask.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel guilty!” Her voice rises.
A few people look toward us. But I don't give a fuck.
She lowers her voice. “You let me think I'd done something sexual with another man while I was falling for you.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to hear you say you wanted me.”
Her face crumples for half a second.
Fuck. I would rather she hit me.
“I wanted to know what Hades meant to you while you thought I was someone else.”
“You manipulated me.”
“Yes.”
“And Wilder? Why bring him into it?”
“I realized I was going to lose you if you figured it out before I was ready.”
“So you made him wear the mask.”
“Yes.”
“You chased your own brother through Hollow Creek.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “It was planned.”
She closes her eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“No, I don't think you do.”
“I do now.”
Her eyes open.
I don't know what she sees in my face, but whatever it is makes her go quiet.
“I thought if I could prove we were two different men, I'd have more time.”
“To do what?”
I laugh once, without humor. “Figure out how the fuck to tell you I'd been lying.”
“That plan was going well.”
“Was.”
Despite everything, her mouth twitches.
Then it disappears.
“You said you were going to tell me everything.”
“I am.”
“Is there anything else?”
There it is. The opening. The loophole.
I could say nothing that involves her. Nothing about us. Nothing she needs to know.
All technically true depending on how I phrase it.
Five days ago, I would've found the right words.
Tonight, I don't.
“Yes.”
Presley becomes very still. “What?”
“There's more you don't know about me.”
Her eyes search mine. “How much more?”
“Enough that you might walk out that door when I'm finished.”
She swallows. “Tell me.”
I look around the coffee shop. People are talking. Music quietly plays overhead. Gracie is pretending she isn’t checking on Presley every thirty seconds.
This isn't where I tell her about a dead man in a basement.
“Not here.”
Suspicion immediately enters her expression.
“Hades—”
“I'm not refusing.”
“Then tell me.”
“I will. Every fucking thing.”
She studies me. “Where?”
“My place.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “Your place?”
I nod.
“The woods behind my house.”
“Yes.”
She stares at me. “It’s just shocking that you’ve been living on the other side of those woods this entire fucking time.”
“I’m sure.” I stare at her. “Technically, there's a trail—”
“Do not fucking technically me right now.”
I shut my mouth.
Good decision.
Probably growth.