Skyla looks toward the woods as the fog plays hide-and-seek between its old sturdy trunks. “And now it’s in hisdestiny.”
Destiny. I almost want to laugh, and Ido.
Skyla has her destiny as the leader of theFactions.
Gage will beking.
And I—I will be a pumpkinfarmer.
Yes.
This is destiny at herfinest.
3
Schemers, and Dreamers, and Liars, Oh My
Skyla
In an ironythat only the universe can provide, the longer you go without sleep, the more life itself feels like a dream, an uncomfortable waking nightmare. That alone can explain why lying in bed next to me in this late February morning is Chloe Bishop instead of my beautiful husband who has been relegated to his childhood bed at his childhood home miles away from the boys and me. Yes, Gage is here almost all of the time. I would never deny him access to our precious babes, but our marital bed is simply for quick naps—not that I’m getting anything but that these days. The long, thick drag of the night, I spend alone. He has never fought me on that. Never challenged me. And a part of me believes that he enjoys taking a regular hit off the drug that sleep has become, and at the moment the only supplier is the Oliver house. But he stays late with the boys and me and comes back early—sometimes so early he’s only gone an hour as a symbol of our discord. Not this morning, though. This morning Gage is away. He texted—mentioned something to do with the morgue. He could be lying in it for all I know, I’m so dizzy with fatigue. And now that his classes at Host have started up once again, I suppose I’ll see even less of him. He suggested that I sign up again in the fall, and I plan to, but only so I can crawl into some unsuspecting coed’s dorm and fall into a sleep deprived coma just the way Ifantasize.
Chloe kicks my foot with herown.
“Don’t touch me with your bare feet.” I groan. I loathe feet. The only feet I appreciate are those of the people I love, and even that list is extremely narrowed. Of course, I love the adorable, miniature feet of my children. I spend the livelong day meditating over them with kisses while the boys suckle off my breasts. I love my husband’s feet. God, I love every inch of my husband, and with that thought, a horrid grief envelopsme.
The boys fuss and fidget, and slowly one by one turn a brutish electric shade ofblue.
“No, no, no!” I chastise softly, and the ethereal hue dissipates on command. It’s an odd thing that they’ve been doing ever since they were tucked deep in my belly, but I’ve found with slight reprimanding they return to normal within minutes. God knows they can’t go through life the color of ablueberry.
My temples explode with a headache to end all headaches, and I can directly place the blame on my serious lack of shut-eye. I never knew how delicious sleep could be. How I would savor the memory of it. How I could be so jealous of my friends who bask in its glory each and every night on the regular. It’s true. I think of Laken, imagining what her thick, lazy nights must feel like, uninterrupted, so perfectly docile and happy in her dreams. Her limbs tangled with Cooper’s the way I used to with Gage once upon a childlesstime.
“I want to start having fun,” Chloe mewls as if this long-drawn-out, bored extraction she’s living is entirely my fault. She picks up my hand, begins twirling the ring she gifted me for Christmas between her fingers, and I swear I feel a sizzle of heat from her touch. Figures. Not even the throne of God wants any part ofChloe.
The brilliant blue stone winks at me as if it weregospel.
“Ask Wes to do something with you.” I give her arm a light shove. “Scoot over, would you? And why don’t you ever bring Tobie with you? The boys need to spend more time with their cousin.” Tobie is absolutely precious. She’s essentially the female version of the boys, and every time I look at her I think of Sage, the daughter I lost. Sage didn’t survive the pregnancy, but I think of her every single day. I think of how precious her feet, her entire miniature body would have been. What it would have felt like to be a mother to a daughter aswell.
Chloe grunts at the thought of her husband. “Wesley can go jerk off. And, trust me, he does so on the regular. He only summons me when he wants a toothlessblowjob.”
“A what?” I’m not quite sure why I asked, but fatigue, and well, Chloe herself are grinding my resolve tonothing.
“My vagina, you idiot.” She scoffs. “I hate the bastard. I couldn’t care less if either me or my vagina ever saw himagain.”
“Wow, I knew things weren’t perfect between you two, but of all the people in the world, one would think that a Gage Oliver knockoff would have the best chance to capture yourheart.”
Barron lets out a sharp cry at the mention of his father’s name, and my own heart breaks as I bring him to where he wants to be. His mouth roots for milk until I unbutton my nightshirt, and he happily findsit.
“What side does he sleep on?” Chloe hums while molesting the sheets as if they were Gage himself. Chloe has one singular thought ever on her mind, and that is my husband. If anyone can keep me laser-focused on Gage, it’s Chloe. As twisted as that sounds, it is the God’s honesttruth.
“The side you’re on. Don’t get too excited. That’s just a technicality. His favorite side is on top ofme.”
She shimmies her body over the sheets as if soaking him in, then frowns. “I hate that he’s with you, Skyla. Gage Oliver’s favorite place in the world should be on top ofme.” Chloe expels an explosive sigh at thethought.
But I let her words run over my head like water. That’s not news to me or anyone else on the aforementioned planet. “So, what’s Wes got planned next? He has the world in a tizzy with those clowns. Nice touch, but logic only persists that he’s going to follow through with these emptyterrors.”
“Oh, Skyla,” Chloe moans as she sits up and hugs her smooth brown legs. “Don’t you ever think ahead? He has this island crawling with G-men. Two of which he fed to those beasts your husband governs. Rumor has it, you had front row seats. It must have been quite theSpectatorsport.” She gives a little wink at her play on words. The memory of Killian and Moser being eaten alive razes through me. I’ll never forget the way her eyes bulged to the point of launching at me like missiles. I tried to save her. I tried my damn hardest to free her from that hideous creature. That’s where Chloe has the story wrong. They weren’t Spectators per se. They were Videns. Wesley has created a monster of the Viden youth, quiteliterally.
The boys both squirm on cue, and Nathan begins to articulate what sounds like hisvowels.
