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Roughly five years, one month, and four days. Right before he left for boot camp. He was nineteen and wore a scowl on his face whenever I was in the room. Hercules didn’t visit home again for two years after that, and I came to California, and…
And he’s not scowling now.
He’s watching me, face set in a professional mask, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. All the light from outside clings to his skin like he’s recently bathed in sunshine. Sunbeam droplets catch in his hair.
Jesus, that’sbright.
He clears his throat. “I’m only here because…?”
I throw the door open wider, pretend I wasn’t staring, and wave him inside. “I know you’re only here because my dad freaked out last night.”
Hercules steps across the threshold, and I am screwed. Because we do not get along. He hates me, and I tolerate him for the sake of my family.
“Wouldn’t know. I didn’t talk to your dad.”
I roll my eyes behind his back. Shut the door. Lock it. “Okay. Then I’d bet all the money in my bank account that you heard him freaking out when your dad called you.”
His eyes narrow. “Zeus isn’t my father.”
This is never going to work. I have the strangest instinct to jump on him. Put my arms around his neck. Test his strength. The second time I saw him, he was handcuffed to a table in jail, and it seemed like a game to him—like he could rip the boltsandthe table out of the floor.
He looks even stronger now.
He looks like aman.
“Listen.” I shove my hands over my hair. “I know you didn’t come here because you wanted to. I know you’re doing my dad a favor.”
“He didn’t—”
“Doing my uncle a favor, then. I’m sorry.”
He raises his eyebrows, golden-brown eyes going wider. “For what?”
“For having to be here. My uncles are a pain in the ass, to say nothing of my dad.”
Hercules shrugs one shoulder. His left shoulder. The other one doesn’t move. “Zeus offered a job. I took it. Nothing to be sorry about.”
“Good. That’s—that’s good.” Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. I can’t think past the pain in my chest, which is complete nonsense.Of courseit’s a job. He can barely stand to be in the same room with me. The paycheck must be worth it. “Anyway, I have to get changed. Make yourself at home.”
I don’tfleeto the en suite in my bedroom. I simply go there, leaving Hercules in the entryway.
I do not think of him in the shower.
I don’t think of his hands, or his muscles, or his tattoos.
I don’t think about him standing guard in the house, ready to put himself between me and a bullet.
“It can’t possibly be worth the money,” I tell the stream of water.
It doesn’t answer.
When I emerge some twenty minutes later, clean and clothed in leggings and a soft, loose top that won’t bother my skin—sensitive, after a seizure, because that’s convenient for me—Hercules has seated himself at the kitchen island, a tablet in front of him.
He glances up at me. It’s a second, maybe two, but I’m overheated by his gaze on my clothes.
A loud, unrelenting siren goes off in the back of my mind. This is a bad idea. This is the worst idea anyone’s ever had, and if I could plan on seeing my uncle Zeus again, I’d give him what for.
Because Hercules is both handsome and hotandstrong. Once, when he was handcuffed to that jailhouse table, he told me he’d met girls like me.
