Chapter 29 #2
A subtle, weighted stillness settles around us and Hayden nods once, certain, as though there had never been another choice. He runs a hand through his hair. “He deserved to know. And honestly, I needed him to.”
His admission hangs in the air, raw and unguarded. It’s the first time I’ve heard him admit need out loud where others could hear it. Zane nods slowly, eyes filled with warmth. “Good. You deserve to let someone in.”
Hayden stiffens, caught between defensiveness and vulnerability.
His shadows flicker, reacting to the shift in his mood, and I watch as the balance between the brothers becomes clear.
Zane bold and charismatic, pushing at boundaries with endless charm; Hayden quietly steady, absorbing everything around him, holding it close; and Porter, gently guiding their opposite personalities toward calmer waters.
“You should’ve seen Hayden during the Renaissance, Levi,” Porter deadpans. “An absolute nightmare.”
Zane snorts. “He brooded through the entire fifteenth century. Constant existential crisis, better clothes.”
Hayden nearly chokes on his wine, sputtering into his napkin. “I was reflective, thank you very much. It was a…complicated time.”
Laughter fills the room, easy and warm. The teasing, the ease…this feels like family.
A little dysfunctional, undeniably godlike, but real all the same.
By the time dinner is over and the dishes are mostly cleared, the atmosphere has settled into something effortlessly comfortable.
Hayden and Porter have drifted into the living room, finishing their wine and reminiscing.
It’s a sight I never thought I’d witness.
Hayden laughing like this, his posture loose, his shadows barely stirring.
Porter, despite his earlier distance, is leaning into the conversation now, telling some ridiculous story from centuries ago.
And from the kitchen, Zane, elbow deep in soapy water beside me, interjects every few minutes, correcting the record like the eldest brother he positions himself to be.
“That’s absolutely not how it happened,” he calls over his shoulder, flinging suds from his fingers as I stack the last of the dishes. “Did your memory degrade after the Act or were you always this unreliable?”
Porter scoffs. “I was there.”
“And yet you’re wrong.”
Hayden shakes his head, pouring more wine. “That’s his mayoral campaign slogan, by the way.”
Zane sighs with extra flair, tossing the towel onto the counter. “One time…one time!…I get unanimously reelected without even campaigning, and suddenly I have a god complex.”
Porter side-eyes him. “You don’t see the irony of that sentence?”
Zane points at him. “Irrelevant.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re not ruling Olympus anymore,” Hayden teases, sipping his wine. “Let’s hop down from that high horse.”
I stifle a laugh, wiping down the counter.
This is what I’d always envisioned growing up with siblings would be like.
Teasing, affectionate, laced with history.
My heart aches for the relationship with my own brother that was stolen from me…
but seeing this, seeing the three of them, soothes that ache a little.
Zane turns to me then, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. His eyes flick over my careful arrangement of the plates, the lingering scent of rosemary and candle wax in the air.
And just as casually as if he’s asking for the time, he says, “You know, I never thought I’d see the day.”
I glance up. “And what day is that?”
“The day that Hayden would ever let himself be happy.” Zane’s voice is softened, edged with disbelief.
The candles have burned down to puddles.
Somehow, that feels right. A tightness grips my chest, sharp and sudden.
Hayden has shifted my life, changing the way I see the world, but hearing someone else confirm I might’ve done the same for him, eased even a fraction of his loneliness, sends a rush of emotion through me I wasn’t prepared for mid–dish duty.
“I mean it,” he continues, voice quieter now.
“He’s been alone a long time. Not just without us, but…
without anyone. He let himself exist. He let himself function.
But this?” He gestures vaguely toward the living room, where Hayden and Porter are still deep in conversation, shadows pooling lazily at Hayden’s feet. “This is different. He’s different.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat.
“It’s probably exhausting,” Zane adds, grinning. “Knowing Hayden, he’s probably brooding through most of it.”
I cover my laugh with my hand. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“But whatever this is, whatever you are to him?” Zane shakes his head. “It’s good.”
I clear my throat, shoving the tray of triple chocolate fudge brownies Elijah thought to bake last minute into Zane’s large hands before all of these feelings get the best of me. “Go deliver the brownies before you ruin your charming narcissist brand.”
Zane grins. “Wouldn’t want that,” he says, balancing the tray of baked goods with entirely too much grace. By the time he makes it to the living room, me trailing behind him, Porter is shuffling a deck of cards, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Oh, we’re doing this?” Zane sets the tray down and drops into a chair. “Do you remember what happened last time?”
Hayden groans, rubbing his temples. “We are absolutely not playing cards.”
Zane smirks. “What, afraid of losing?”
Porter snorts. “He always loses.”
I blink between them. “Wait…” I clutch my chest in exaggerated shock. “Are you saying the almighty ruler of the underworld is actually bad at something?”
Hayden rolls his eyes. “It’s not that. It’s that they cheat.”
Porter leans back in his chair. “I hate to say it, but that’s a very loser thing to say.”
I am enjoying this far too much. “So, what game are we playing?”
The cards are dealt expertly by Porter. “Something simple.”
“Simple for us mere mortals? Or…”
Zane slaps me on the shoulder, no zap this time. “Let’s start with a round of rummy.”
My grin grows even wider. “Oh, I am definitely winning this.”
Hayden huffs, crossing his arms, but his eyes flicker with something almost fond. The first round begins…Zane blatantly cheats, grinning shamelessly while Porter and Hayden call him out without even glancing up.
The earlier tension is still there, but lighter now. Right now, Hayden isn’t burdened by the past. He’s here. He’s laughing. And we’re all winning.
The night winds down with full stomachs, empty wine bottles, and a lingering warmth I never thought possible between three former gods who have spent decades apart. But as Porter checks the time and sighs, stretching his long limbs, reality sinks back in.
“Well,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. “I suppose we should be getting back to the motel.”
Zane melts dramatically into his chair, groaning as if leaving this comfortable moment is the greatest injustice he’s ever faced.
“Fine. But as compensation for leaving early, I demand the last brownie,” he declares, sweeping the dessert tray into his grasp.
I roll my eyes but hand him the tray. “Take it. You earned it, almighty one.”
He winks, balancing it in one hand before turning to Hayden. “Try not to brood too hard when we leave, yeah?”
Hayden exhales sharply. “No promises.”
Zane pulls him into a hug, gripping him tightly, and for the briefest moment, Hayden actually lets himself lean into it.
And then…zap.
Hayden jerks backward, shadows reeling in a startled frenzy like they’re deciding whether to fight.
I cackle.
“Really, Zane?” Porter says with a sigh, sounding like a sibling who’s seen this a thousand times.
But he just grins, entirely unapologetic. “I can’t control it.”
Hayden scowls, shaking out his arm as his shadows settle again. “You did that on purpose.”
Zane smirks. “No proof.”
“Let’s leave before he blows a fuse,” Porter groans, opening the door.
Zane turns to me then, shifting so he can grip my shoulder. His eyes, mischievous, bright, but undeniably kind, hold mine for a beat longer than expected.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he whispers, just for me. “You’re good for him.”
I nod, feeling my cheeks flush. “Thanks.”
Zane salutes lazily, slings an arm over Porter’s shoulders, and squeezes through the doorframe. The second the door clicks shut behind them, Hayden’s shoulders finally drop, releasing the last of the evening’s tension I know he’s been holding.
“That went well,” I murmur softly, turning to find Hayden rubbing absently at his arm, shadows now settled at his feet.
He huffs half-heartedly. “I got electrocuted.”
I bite back a grin, stepping close enough to feel his warmth. “Sure, but it was affectionate electrocution. That’s totally different. Endearing, even.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s not a thing.”
I reach up, smoothing my hands across his shoulders, savoring the way he gradually relaxes beneath my touch. “Hey,” I whisper, catching his gaze. “I’m really proud of you.”
He stills, head tilting. “For?”
“For tonight.” I nod toward the closed door. “For letting them back in.”
Hayden exhales, his brow furrowing. “It doesn’t fix everything.”
“It doesn’t have to.” I trace my fingertips along his jaw, tilting his chin just so to hold his gaze steadily. “But it’s a start. And that’s enough.”
He hesitates, breath catching, before finally drawing me in. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him, his forehead brushing mine in a tender, lingering moment. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “For tonight. For being you. Just…thank you.”
My heart swells as I pull him into a slow kiss, full of reassurance, longing, and the promise of everything still ahead. “Anytime, Funeral Guy.”
He sighs, a reluctant smile curving his mouth. “That’s not going away, I see.”
“Not a chance.”
· · ·
The morning starts like any other, but today carries an extra spark. I’m still riding the high of last night’s success with Hayden and his brothers, and even better, I’m already looking forward to when we’ll all be together again…too much food, just enough wine, and even more laughter.
Naomi and I are deep in the garden-planning trenches, the shop’s back table covered in blueprints, schedules, and budget sheets. Volunteers are stopping by later, eager to start prepping the space, and this afternoon, I’m picking up permits from city hall, making it real.
It’s happening.
After all this time, it’s actually happening.
Between orders and endless emails, Naomi’s ready to show me the new branding and web revamp she’s been working on that’s ready to launch with a single click. Something sleek and professional, a visual representation of everything we’ve poured into this project.
I sip my coffee, savoring its warmth against the steady, reassuring rhythm of productivity. Each document feels like another brick in the foundation of something meaningful.
Like we’re finally making an impact.
Across from me, Naomi taps furiously at her laptop. “Logos and socials are prepped, and the site will be live by tomorrow morning. Lunch at the latest.”
“You’re a genius,” I murmur, scanning our supply list.
She smirks. “Make sure to tell my academic advisor that at the end of the semester.”
“You got it,” I say and laugh, light, because for the first time in years, it feels like these plans I’ve been daydreaming of are finally aligning. I clip the construction timeline to a clipboard, cross pick up permits off my calendar, and breathe.
Then my phone rings, slicing through my focus. I glance at the screen: City Hall.
I pause, unease tightening in my stomach as I pick up. “Full Bloom.”
A clipped voice on the other end. “Mr. Wilder?”
“Yes?”
“I’m calling because”—there’s a brief, uncomfortable pause, the silence heavy with bureaucratic detachment—“the city’s funding for your project has been revoked. Effective immediately.”
What?
I blink, the words colliding senselessly in my head, the meaning dissolving before I can fully grasp it.
“I—wait, what?” My throat goes dry. “That…that doesn’t make sense, I have the signed agreements. I’m picking up the permits this afternoon.”
A longer pause.
“I’m sorry, but the permits will not be issued. Budget committee cited emergency repairs to municipal facilities,” the voice drones. “Due to this reallocation of resources, there’s been a temporary freeze on discretionary grants. The funding is no longer available.”
Reallocation of resources.
It’s a sucker punch, the air ripped from my lungs leaving me weightless, waiting for the world to right itself.
Naomi notices immediately, her voice cutting through the fog around me. “Levi?”
But she fades to the background. My fingers grip the phone tighter. “But we secured that funding. This was approved. We have signed agreements,” I say, steadier than I feel. “Vendors lined up. Volunteers scheduled.”
“I understand,” the voice replies, coldly professional. The tone of someone who absolutely does not understand…and doesn’t need to.
“This isn’t fair,” I snap, my pulse pounding. “This project isn’t just mine. This is for the community. For families. For the people who need it.”
Silence.
And then, with the kind of rehearsed indifference that makes me want to say something, they say—
“I’m sorry.”
The line goes dead, leaving me silence, my dreams crumbling between my fingers.
I stand there, gripping my phone, breath shallow, stomach twisting.
Naomi is on her feet in an instant. “What happened?”
I swallow, my vision tunneling, my entire body bracing against the words as I force them out. “They pulled our funding.”
The silence stretches unbearably, heavy enough that breathing feels difficult.
Naomi’s face falls. “No.”
I nod, but it doesn’t feel real. Moments ago, I had a future. Plans. A purpose. And now, in the cruel blink of a single phone call, it’s all been swept away.
I have nothing.