Chapter 10
Unfortunately, he isn’t answering his phone.
I grab my car keys and head out, deciding to check his parents’ place first. Worst case, Dimitra will be there and can keep an eye on Argyros until Hayes turns up.
On the drive over, I call him again. Still straight to voicemail, which is beyond weird. Unlike my mom with her electromagnetic interference paranoia, Hayes never turns off his phone. The guy practically has a panic attack if his battery dips below fifty percent.
So where the hell is he?
When I pull up to his parents’ house, his sleek black Mercedes SUV is in the driveway, but no one answers the doorbell. I grab the heavy antique brass knocker that probably weighs more than I do and pound it against the door over and over.
Still nothing.
I’m just about to go through the garage using the code when the front door finally creaks open.
Hayes stands there in black sweats, eyes bloodshot like he hasn’t slept since I last saw him. His hair’s a rumpled mess—unheard of, considering Hayes’s hair is never anything but picture-perfect. The guy has more hair products than Target.
“Hey. Thanks for bringing him back,” Hayes mumbles as Argyros noses past him into the foyer. He lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave and starts to close the door. “See you in French.”
“Didn’t you see my calls and texts?” I ask, body-checking him and pushing inside.
Argyros pads along after me, tail wagging happily as I head straight for the kitchen. I toss my bomber jacket onto the island and grab a handful of chocolate-covered almonds from the oversized candy bowl, popping a few into my mouth.
“Sorry, no,” Hayes says, following me in. “I was busy.”
“Doing what? Alphabetizing your cologne collection?”
I settle onto a barstool while Argyros flops down beside me on the hardwood. A quick scan of the gleaming kitchen shows… nothing. Not a single beer can. No crusty pizza boxes. No sign whatsoever that a full-blown rager happened here less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Wow. You got Dimitra to deep-clean on her day off?”
“It’s late, Al,” he says, voice low, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on? I know you didn’t come barging in to talk about Dimitra’s cleaning schedule.”
My throat goes dry. Suddenly I’m nervous, unsure how to tell Hayes about the letters and what my mom just told me. It’s strange. I don’t get nervous around Hayes. He’s the one person I’ve always been able to tell anything.
Well—almost anything.
Just not the part where I’m halfway in love with him, like an idiot, obviously.
“Uh… can I get a water or something?” I ask.
Without a word, Hayes grabs a chilled Evian from the fridge, twists off the cap, and hands it to me.
I take a slow sip, using it as cover while I try to figure out how to explain this. It’s not that I think Hayes will judge my mom. He already knows she’s… unconventional. Quirky. A little out there. Whatever. But this is something else entirely.
And it’s not just about her.
Mental illness runs in families. Genes, patterns, entire histories passed down like heirlooms. If my mother has some kind of mental disorder… what does that mean for me? Is this something buried in my DNA too? Could I lose my grip someday, just like she did?
“Al?” Hayes nudges my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
My hands won’t stop shaking. I shove them under the counter, hiding them in my lap, and close my eyes. And there it is again. My mother’s messy handwriting looping across those pages, words I can’t unread.
“I tried to tell you the other night. Before, you know, I got, uh, sick.”
His expression shifts—serious now, tuned in. “Right. You said it was about your mom.”
I swallow hard.
God, how do I even say this out loud?
“It’s even worse than I thought, Hay.”
He stays quiet, waiting.
“She thinks…” I falter, forcing the words through my teeth. “She thinks my father is from another world.”
A beat passes. Then another.
“She what?”
He lowers himself onto the barstool beside me. His eyes stay locked on mine, steady and alert. Concerned. Not mocking. Not retreating.
“I know how it sounds,” I say. “But this isn’t one of her usual woo-woo moments. She’s serious. She really believes it. And… I’m starting to wonder if she always has.”
His gaze never wavers.
“Okay. Tell me everything,” he says.
So I do.
In a breathless, rambling rush, I spill it all. The letters. The conversation. Titans, gods, the Underworld—every surreal detail tumbles out in sharp, uneven bursts, breaking on my tongue like shards of glass.
Hayes doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
When I finally stop, the silence stretches long enough that I start to regret saying anything at all.
But then he reaches across the counter and lays his hand gently over mine. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “Everything’s going to be all right, Alligator.”
“But what’s wrong with her? How can she believe those things? Who turns a deadbeat dad into some mythic hero from another universe?” I fight the wave of emotion clawing its way up my chest. “I want to kill him for doing this to her. She doesn’t deserve it.”
I reach for the water bottle, twisting it until the plastic buckles and warps in my hands. I wish it were him instead—my father, Sonar Delios—bruised and breakable in my grip, wherever the hell he is.
“I know. I’m really sorry.”
“I just feel so bad for her,” I say. “And I don’t know how to help her. Or what to do.”
Hayes offers me a small, sad smile. “Maybe you don’t have to do anything.”
I blink at him, the words not computing.
“What are you talking about? Of course I have to do something,” I say. “She needs help. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”
“Why not?” Hayes leans back, his tone measured. “Maybe it’s not your job to fix it. She’s managed this long on her own terms, right? If her beliefs bring her comfort, help her sleep at night, is that really such a bad thing?”
“I’m not following.”
“Alright, sure, what she believes sounds crazy to you and me. But is it that different from other belief systems? Some people worship prophets. Some believe in virgin births and resurrections. People walking on water.” He lifts a brow, eyes thoughtful.
“Is what your mom thinks really that much more unbelievable?”
I stare at him incredulously, stunned he can sound so cavalier about this, like my entire world hasn’t been turned upside down.
“She literally told me my father is from Hell, Hayes!”
“Well… technically, she said the Underworld—”
“Oh my God. Are you serious right now?” I snap. “My life is imploding and you’re talking semantics?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... don’t know what the right response is here. It’s a lot to take in.”
“No shit. That’s the understatement of the year.”
Suddenly, I feel ancient. Like the weight of the entire day has settled into my bones, heavy and unrelenting. Everything aches. Mind, body, and soul.
“I’m tired. I don’t want to think about this anymore today.” I push to my feet and stretch, arms overhead, joints cracking like brittle branches. “Can we finish talking in the morning?”
“Of course.” Hayes nods, soft and understanding. “I’ll pick you up? Coffee Box?”
Despite everything, a faint smile tugs at my lips, the first one all night.
“Breakfast on you?”
“Always.”
I crouch low to hug Argyros goodbye, burying my face in the warm, scruffy fur at his neck. He exhales a contented, sleepy sigh as I press a kiss to his damp nose, but he doesn’t budge from the floor.
Hayes walks me to my car, his bare feet moving quietly across the driveway. He opens the door and leans in, one hand on my shoulder. His thumb grazes my collarbone, the faint spark of his touch almost enough to make me forget all my worries for a moment.
“I promise,” he says. “Everything is going to be okay.”
I lean into the warmth of him, clinging to those words.
“I’m… I’m really scared, Hay. She’s all I have.”
He pauses, just for a beat. Something flickers in his eyes, like there’s more he wants to say. But then he swallows it back, his jaw tightening.
“Your mom’s not crazy,” he says. “She’s just… dealing. The only way she knows how.” Then, with a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he adds, “And hey—look on the bright side. Now we’ve got something new in common.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“We’re both Greek, obviously.”
He winks, then steps back, hands buried in his pockets, watching me closely as I pull away. Things are still far from okay, but somehow I feel lighter after confiding in him. As long as I have Hayes, I can handle anything.
But the next day, he breaks his promise and bails on me.
Even worse than getting stood up for breakfast, though, is running into my sister and her insufferable friends on my way to my car.
Amber, Tiffany, and Brooke are posted up in the apartment complex parking lot, drinking their matcha detox green teas, all glossy lips and judgmental stares as I walk by.
“Nice tats,” Amber drawls, eyeing the temporary swallows on my arm as she props herself against Tiffany’s cherry-red sports car.
“Thanks,” I say, brushing past them. “They’re temporary—unlike your shitty personality.”
I know I look good, no matter what Amber thinks. I’m wearing my favorite black lace halter top, vegan leather shorts, and torn fishnets. The peel-off tattoos climbing up my arm look like curated artwork, and honestly, I wish they were permanent, like Hayes’s tattoos. Maybe one day.
“Whoa. Someone woke up cranky.” Amber raises an eyebrow. “Bad dream or just realizing NYU’s never gonna happen?”
I grit my teeth but ignore the bait. Not worth it.
As I walk away, their voices trail behind me, snippets of mindless drama about Homecoming outfits and predictions for the Court.
Apparently, Brooke’s summer fling with someone else’s boyfriend has earned her the unofficial title of Class Homewrecker, which is tanking her chances of making the ballot.
Tiffany’s struggling too, thanks to her well-earned reputation as an insufferable snob.