Chapter 25 – “From Eden” - Hozier
VICE
“FROM EDEN” - HOZIER
“Lele?” My twin’s gentle tone pulls my eyes from the notebook on the counter in front of me, the pen slipping from my fingers as I look at him.
“Hey.”
Everett’s attire spans from business casual to beachgoer when he’s working at the surf shop, or a blue collar-style polo when he’s managing the garage that used to belong to our dad. But today, he’s dressed much nicer than I’ve seen him lately.
A white button-up, sleeves rolled to the elbow, is tucked into a gray pair of trousers. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and a simple gold chain sits at his chest.
“Why are you dressed so nicely?” I ask.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.
We have dinner tonight with the mayor and some other small business owners around town.
” He rubs the back of his neck like he’s nervous for whatever he’s going to say next.
“Do you think you could pick Lou up from school and watch her tonight? Mom and Dad are also attending, and she was supposed to go home with a friend after school, but she just called and told me her friend canceled.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “I don’t mind. I love hanging out with Lou.”
“Really?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah. She’s cool as fuck.”
Everett’s lips twitch. “She is, isn’t she?”
“Her mother’s influence.”
“She’s gotten at least fourteen times cooler since I’ve become her dad.”
“You call yourself her dad?” I ask, smiling.
“Not in front of her. Not until she asks me to.” Everett shrugs, looking bashful. “But in my head, she’s been my daughter for a long time.”
My chest could burst at the sentiment. I can’t think of three people more deserving of the
happiness my brother and his little family have seemed to find together.
“Anyway.” Everett clears his throat like the emotion got to him too. “I’ll leave Dahlia’s keys with you, and you can take her car after work. We’ll pick Lou up from August’s place after dinner.” He cocks his head. “Or should I say your place? Do you call it home?”
Yeah, I do, but the word has nothing to do with the walls surrounding the residence and everything to do with the person inside of it.
“I call it home,” I confirm.
Leaning across the counter, he plants a kiss on my head.
“That makes me happy to hear.” Pulling away, he glances down at the open notebook in front of me, at the scroll scribbled across the pages.
I flip it closed. I always write poetry in Italian because it feels like a layer of protection, a language most people in my life can’t read.
Everett can, though.
“Are you writing poems?”
“Just here and there,” I say. “When it comes to me.”
Everett smiles, placing his hand over mine on the counter. “I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t make it a thing.” I playfully bat him away. “I’m just…”
“Feeling things again?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I guess.”
“That’s something to be proud of.” He winks before tossing Dahlia’s car keys at me and heading out of the coffee shop.
“Can we listen to Taylor Swift?” Lou asks, fiddling with the music app on my phone from the backseat of her mom’s car.
“How about Lana Del Rey?”
She’s quiet for a moment, contemplating. “Okay, let’s compromise and listen to ‘Snow On The Beach.’”
“What’s that band?” I ask.
“Oh, my God,” she grumbles. “It’s not a band. It’s a song. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it. We’re definitely listening to Midnights the whole drive home now.”
I sigh in defeat as the pluck of a violin filters through the speakers a moment later. It’s a whimsical, uplifting sound, but it’s not entirely terrible.
“I played the deluxe version that features More Lana Del Rey,” Lou says matter-of-factly.
I have no idea what the fuck that means.
We finish the drive in comfortable silence with what I feel is an appropriate amount of Lana Del Rey’s voice for a feature. Though, I look forward to introducing Lou to Norman Fucking Rockwell! when she’s a teenager.
“So, this is where August lives too?” the eleven-year-old asks, saddling up beside me as we walk up the driveway to the front of the house.
“Yep.” I unlock the front door, letting her enter ahead of me. She makes a slow circle in the entryway, studying the kitchen to our left and the living room and den to our right, before turning her head to me. “Is he home?”
“Nope,” I say, kicking off my shoes. “He’s at dinner with your parents.”
She hums, sounding disappointed. It makes me smile.
“Do you want to see our library?” I nod toward the den. “August and I both have a lot of books.”
“August reads?” She’s practically swooning at the revelation.
“I know.” I smirk. “Hot, right?”
Lou’s green eyes go wide, cheeks flushing to a shade almost as bright as her strawberry-blond hair. “I… I didn’t say that.”
“I know.” I shrug before heading into the den. “But it’s okay to have a crush on him. Your secret is safe with me. I get it.”
“I never said I had a crush on him!” she exclaims. The patter of her feet follows me before halting abruptly, and though I’m not looking at her, I can tell the moment the towering bookshelves come into her view.
When I turn around, I find her mouth dropped open, head thrown back as she takes in the floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with books, lining the entire oval-shaped room. I track her gaze as she circles the space, running her hands along the spines.
My eyes snag on the particular shelf August and I christened a few days ago, and the chair in the center of the room.
I’m trying hard not to reimagine it with my niece standing right in front of me, but the delicious memory makes it incredibly difficult.
Every memory with him in the last seventy-two hours flashes across my mind.
When we’re not working or sleeping, the two of us are fucking.
And when we exhaust ourselves to the point of unconsciousness, we do so in each other’s arms. We haven’t talked about where we stand or where we go from here.
It feels more like a lifetime of pent-up pining, longing looks, and soul-crushing silence, all coming to a head at once.
The only time either of us feels alive is when our bodies are joined. We’re symbiotic in that way. Each of us a parasite, each of us a host too. Feeding off each other, starving when we’re apart.
“Are any of these books I can read?” Lou asks, snapping me from my thoughts. “Aunt Darby told me I can’t read any of your books.”
“I’ll give you all the good ones when you’re a little older.” I lean against the doorway, a smile creeping over my lips as she studies each book with rapt focus. “But there might be a couple that you’d like right now. August and I were about your age when we first started our book club.”
She turns to look at me. “You and August have a book club?”
“We used to when we were kids.”
I press off the door and walk to where she’s standing, tracing the shelves for any of the older copies of our favorite books. Sure enough, in the corner of the room on the very bottom shelf is a full series set of Percy Jackson and the Olympians. I drop to my knees, pulling out The Lightning Thief.
“Here.” I smile to myself, flipping through the pages as Lou sits down next to me. “Have you ever read this series?”
She shakes her head, taking the worn title from my outstretched hand. She flips through it, frowning. “Someone wrote all over this.”
“I did.” I laugh. Pointing to my annotations from over fifteen years ago, I add, “See, the neat handwriting belongs to August’s annotations. Those horrid scribbles are from me.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “This is August’s book?”
“It was mine, and then I gave it to him, and he added notes too.” I wink at her. “Maybe if you read it, he’ll want to sit down with you and talk about it. He loved this series when he was young.”
Her brows shoot up, the freckles across her nose seeming to glow when she blushes. “Really?”
“Yep.” I laugh. “You read that first one, and let me know when you’re finished so I can bring you back here and get you the others. We’ll make sure August is home so you can tell him all your thoughts.”
“He makes me kind of nervous,” she murmurs.
“Oh, girl. He’s harmless, I promise.”
In reality, Augustus Hayes is the most dangerous predator to my heart and soul.