The universe, her universe, had won.
Chapter Nine
Athena
Something was off.
I couldn’t quite place it. The universe was being a little cryptic about the specifics, but something about Julien’s energy was... misaligned.
Not in a bad way. Not in a “this is wrong” way. More in a “this person is wound so tight they might actually vibrate into another dimension” way. Which, honestly, I could work with. The universe had sent me plenty of tightly wound people before. Freyja said I had a gift for helping people unravel, in a good way, not in a psychological breakdown way, though there was that one time with the guy at the farmers’ market who’d had a spiritual awakening in the organic produce section and started crying into the heirloom tomatoes.
But that had turned out fine. He’d opened a meditation studio. The universe worked in mysterious ways.
Julien was sitting across from me at the hotel restaurant, which hadexcellentenergy, very open, very flowing, lots of natural light, staring at his coffee as if it had personally offended him.
He’d been staring at things a lot this morning.
The ring on his finger. The menu. The waiter. Me. The ring again.
Mostly the ring.
He kept twisting it, trying to pull it off, then stopping himself as if he’d remembered something important. Then he’d start again. Twist, pull, stop. Twist, pull, stop.
It was very rhythmic. Almost meditative, if meditation involved looking like you were about to have a nervous breakdown.
“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching across the table to touch his hand.
He flinched.
Actually flinched, like I’d tried to touch him with a live wire instead of my hand.
“I’m fine,” he said.
He was not fine.
The universe was beingveryclear about that.
His aura, and for the record, I couldn’t see auras, not like Freyja could, but I couldfeelthem, and his was all jagged and sharp, like broken glass. Very pointy. Very “please don’t come near me, I’m having a crisis.” But underneath that, there was something else.
Something softer. Something that felt like... loneliness? Exhaustion?
Like he’d been holding himself together for so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to just... be.
Oh.
Oh, universe. I see what you’re doing.
This man, my husband—which still felt wild and wonderful and exactly right—didn’t just need someone to love him. He needed someone to take care of him. To remind him that life wasn’t just about control and precision and holding everything together.
He needed someone to help him breathe.
And the universe, in its infinite wisdom, had sent him to me.
“You seem tense,” I said gently. “Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes talking helps. My sister Phoebe says that unexpressed emotions get stuck in your throat chakra and can cause all sorts of problems: sore throats, thyroid issues, difficulty communicating. Not that I’m saying you have chakra throat blockage. I’m just saying, if you want to talk, I’m here. I’m very good at listening.”
That was perhaps a tiny lie. I was better at talking than listening. But I wastryingto be good at listening. The universe appreciated the effort.
“I’m fine,” he said again.
