Page 2 of Fuse

“You like that, dickhead? Now I can say it as much as I want. Frederick, Frederick, Frederick. And if you think that felt good for me, it fucking didn’t.”

He’s not laughing anymore. I hate the stillness he leaves instead. I peer harder at the air over the boulder, begging him to come back. Begging him to just be here again. Maybe if I focus harder…plead longer…

“Just come back, you asshole.” But my thick grate is lost in the stiffening wind as I knock my forehead against the marker. “Just…come back.” I envision every syllable plummeting down through the soil and into the ears of his soul. “I’ll never say it again, all right? You can change your middle name to Epic Dong, for all I care. We could be Dong and Bolt, teaming up to defeat those bastards.” I slide my hand down, tracing a finger over the engraved epitaph. “You can even have first billing. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dickface?”

He still isn’t listening.

The only entity that is? My heart, beating with shallow grief.

The lonely cadence quickens a little as I rise. I glare at the solitary shadow that moves with me. The image of my hunched shoulders, balled fists, and dropped head reminds me of the truth kicking at my tormented brain.

The truth, darker and shittier than ever.

The silhouette of a superhero who doesn’t deserve the designation.

Who grunts in furious acknowledgment of that fact.

Who the hell am I kidding?

Those aren’t grunts on my lips. They’re sobs.

I knock my head back, ordering the fuckers back the direction they came. Yes, past the twisted fist of my throat. Past the brick lodged in my chest. Then deeper, into the chasm somewhere south of my ribs, where I’ve managed, until now, to keep this pain stored at the perfect temperature between denial and confusion.

But the second I finally regain control, there’s a noticeable shift in the air—bringing the scent of honeysuckle and rain, even here in the summer heat, soothing and sizzling my blood at the same time. A tangible energy shoots an undeniable thrill up my spine.

She’s here. The one person on the planet who’ll make this a day I can get through but understands it won’t be pretty or clean. Who knows that while I need this day, I already want to torpedo it. Who’s not going to leave, no matter what. I see it in the steady oceans of her eyes, with their fathoms of compassion. I feel it in the wisdom of her touch as she traces the crest of my cheek and then delves a hand into my hair. And I definitely know it in the strength of her grip as she tugs on me, guiding my head down to the graceful curve of her shoulder.

Thank fuck for her.

Thank every deity I can think of and even the ones I can’t.

As my jaw slides against the cotton of her sundress, I fill my nostrils once more with the sweetness of her scent and the softness of her comfort. I look out toward the sparkling sea in the distance as the sun extends its reach over the world. But the line where the water meets the sky is still blurred by morning mist, fate’s all-too-obvious reminder of the mental marsh in which I’m still trapped. Have been trapped for the last month.

And have hated every second of the experience.

Another truth Emma just seems to know, no matter how hard it’s been to cope with. Maybe that’s the explanation for the lights in her gaze as we tug apart, gleaming brighter as she searches my features in fierce swoops. “You ready for this, Zeus?”

I shoot back a narrowed gaze and an arid huff. “You’re enjoying the hell out of that one, aren’t you?”

“As long as the shoe fits…” While her face maintains its reverence, she taps a playful beat against my left boot with her toe. “And it sure as hell fits again this morning, oh insane god of my heart and soul.”

“Pfffft.” I lift her hand. Press a fervent kiss into her palm and breathe her in again. It’s true what they say about smells having the power to transform a person’s mindset. For a few perfect seconds, I’m no longer here on the ridge, getting ready to memorialize my brother. It’s twelve hours ago, and I’m watching the sunset from the lawn next to the pool with her stretched out next to me, naked and satiated. For a few flawless moments, I really feel like Zeus, without the hundreds of lovers. This woman is all those women. Everything I could ever want or need in a lover, a partner, a soul mate, a best friend.

“Psssshhh.”

Even when I know exactly where she’s going with sounds like that. “Em…”

“Three hours, Reece.” She uses the palm I’ve just kissed to grab the side of my head again. “You slept three hours last night. And the night before that. And the night before that.”

“And I’m fine.” As I push to my feet, I hook the backs of her elbows to bring her up with me. “Look. See? Fine.” I’m lying but hide that too. I fire up the booster rockets in my blood to counterbalance the fact that a gust across the hilltop nearly knocks me to my ass.

“You know, your eyes are turning brown, Mr. Richards.”

I grimace. “I liked Zeus better.”

“Well, I like it better when you fling the truth instead of bullshit.”

A deeper scowl. “Emma. For fuck’s—” And then a tight rumble as she shoves the sleeve of my jacket to expose several fresh needle punctures in my arm. Though they haven’t been caused by what a stranger might assume, Emma’s glower makes me wonder if she’d be happier with a lie about me shooting smack instead.