Page 21

Chapter 21

The Weight Of The World

ARES

M y uniform is ready for my night shift, but it’s early afternoon, and I have a few hours to kill before I have to get ready.

I debate if I should go home to check how Chance and Zara are doing while our parents are away.

In theory, I should have stayed at the house. Dad feels better if I’m there, just in case something happens. However, I’ve been on a string of night shifts, and last night I was grateful to be on desk duty.

The storm meant an increased volume of calls, and I feel for my colleagues who had to brave the elements to rescue a number of people who got stuck in their cars.

I take my phone out of my pocket, selecting my brother’s contact. I could text him and see if he and Zara are home, and pick up some lunch for all of us.

The truth is that I really want to see Zara. It might be hypocritical of me, but I fucking miss her.

Dad was adamant about his and Kelly’s expectations when it comes how Chance and I should treat our new stepsister. It’s not that simple, though.

By the looks of it, Chance has fallen in line with our father’s wishes; we’ve only crossed paths very briefly before and after work, and Chance has barely acknowledged Zara since our conversation with Dad the night of the wedding.

I’m a little worried about her. She’s totally new in town, and if Chance is ignoring her without any explanation, I don’t want her to think that she’s done something wrong.

The thought that maybe I should take a page from my little brother’s book and do what I was told crosses my mind.

But I don’t want to.

When Zara appeared back in our lives, it felt like a sign. I had been feeling lost, adrift in a sea of loss. Atlas always knew how to pull me out of my funks. He always knew what I needed because he was a part of me.

Seeing Zara again when I thought that I would never feel anything but that empty numbness that still managed to hurt like a bitch, felt like the answer to my prayers. Prayers that I didn’t think I had the right to even have.

It was like he sent her to me.

It still feels like that, whatever Dad might want.

Maybe the answer is that we should be friends. That would comply with Dad’s wishes, and would allow me to have her in my life, at least in some capacity.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my own thoughts. Who could it be? I have very few friends these days. It’s crazy how most of my friends were our friends. And without him, hanging out with those people felt wrong. So I let pretty much every relationship become distant. Not being on social media accelerated the process tenfold.

Like I keep my distance from my former friends, I don’t really talk to anyone who lives in my same apartment complex. So when I look through the peephole, I genuinely don’t know who could be knocking on my door.

“Hey.” I’m surprised to see Zara standing outside with a Tupperware container in her hands. “What are you doing here?”

She gives me the container. “I felt like baking this morning, and as usual, I made way too much. I thought you’d like some chocolate chip cookies.”

She looks so fucking pretty in a pair of black Capri leggings, a mint green tank top, and a black Star Cove College hoodie. I can’t help but think that I fucking missed her, and that I was just thinking about signs. If this isn’t one, I don’t know what is. “Thank you. Chocolate chip cookies are my favorite.”

“Ares?” Zara smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Are you going to invite me in, or should I go?”

I’m such a fucking moron. I’ve been staring at her like a weirdo. “Are you a vampire, if you need to be invited in?” I tease her to release some of the tension that’s swirling in the air like electricity.

“Ha. You’re so funny. So, can I come in?”

I move away from the door, letting her into the small hallway of my one-bedroom apartment. Thank fuck the cleaning lady came yesterday morning and everything looks neat and tidy.

She looks around the living room, and I imagine how it must look to her; I have a leather couch against one wall with a coffee table in front of it. A flat screen TV is hanging on the opposite wall; underneath is a wooden cabinet with my game consoles on top.

“How long have you lived here?” she asks, letting her eyes wander past the living room to the small breakfast bar and the tiny, but decently equipped kitchen.

I know why she asks. There are no photos, no art hanging on the walls. No rugs, house plants or anything that would personalize my living space. “About six months. I know it’s pretty basic, but it’s just a place to crash between shifts. I’m hardly ever home.”

Zara considers my words. “You need your privacy.”

She gets it. “Yeah.” I nod. “Dad wasn’t ecstatic when I moved out, but…”

“You’re an adult, and you want your own space.”

Yeah. And that house is full of too many memories and ghosts from the past. I don’t say that out loud.

“I had plans to move into the dorms, but Mom insisted that she missed me and she wanted me closer.” She explains. “Your dad’s place is beautiful, but a part of me regrets not to have a little more independence.”

There’s a beat of silence. I still don’t know what she’s doing here. “So, how did you get here? Did you drive?”

“Chance drove me. He and Lev were going to campus. Rush week begins today and their teammates invited them to the Gamma house. Apparently they’re shoo ins. Most hockey players are Gammas in Star Cove.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that. The whole Greek world is not my scene, but my brother and Lev are excited about the team spirit and the brotherhood the Star Cove Knights are famous for. “So, how are you getting home? Is Chance coming to pick you up?”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Ares? I came here to bring you the cookies, and since your shift doesn’t start for a few hours, I was hoping to hang out.”

Fuck, she looks hurt. I realize that what I said sounded rude. “Yeah, no. Sure, we can hang out. I was planning to drop by the house before my shift, anyway. I wanted to see you.”

She smiles, thank you Jesus. “Great minds think alike.”

“I guess you could say that. The reason I asked if Chance was coming back for you, was that if you don’t have a ride home, I can drop you home on my way to work.”

Zara shrugs. “It’s very kind of you, but I have a ride. Heather is coming to pick me up to go to campus, to a Zeta Theta Beta rush sleepover.”

I look at her, taking in how her dark brown hair falls down her back in a silky curtain. She has makeup on, but it’s subtle and it highlights her delicate features rather than trying to change them.

“Hmm,” I muse. “Interesting. I didn’t peg you for the sorority girl type.”

Zara sighs. “Because I’m not. But Heather thinks I’m gonna fit in, and she’s excited about rushing together. I guess there’s no harm in seeing what the vibe is like.”

I nod. “Yeah, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to rush. But if Heather is your ride, you’re gonna be stuck there all night even if you hate it. Don’t you have a car? If not, Dad has a few. I’m sure he’ll be happy to let you drive one.”

Her next words surprise me. “I’m sure he would. But I don’t have a license.”

“What? How is that possible?”

Zara shrugs. “When we met two years ago, I had just gotten my permit. Then Mom sent me to boarding school, and we weren’t allowed to have cars on school property. So there was never the need or the opportunity to even practice.”

I offer without even thinking. “If you want to get a new permit, I can take you out to drive.”

This time, her smile lights up her whole face. “Really? That would be awesome. And if I fuck up, the cops will be already there.”

I chuckle at her goofiness. “Right. Let me know once you get that permit, and we’ll start. It’s always better not to have to depend on others to get around. Especially Heather.”

“Why?” she tilts her head when she asks.

“Look, Heather is a nice person. But she hasn’t grasped the importance of focusing on the road, and not on her phone. Besides, she thinks that being the sheriff’s daughter automatically excuses her from speeding tickets.”

Zara must think it’s funny, because she laughs. “And does it?”

“I guess it does,” I sigh. “That doesn’t mean I don’t pull her over whenever I catch her speeding.”

“You and Heather are like oil and water.” She observes.

She nailed it. “Yeah, we’ve known each other forever. She’s like a little sister to me. She’s like a category five hurricane, her energy is unmatched. That’s why she was perfect for—that’s why she drives me nuts when she won’t slow her roll.”

I almost mentioned Atlas.

Fuck. I’m in my own house. Why do I still feel like I can’t say his name? Dad made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about him—or Mom—because it hurts too much.

“Anyway. What do you want to do?” I ask, changing the topic. “Wanna watch a movie and sample those cookies? I should have some microwave popcorn somewhere, too.”

“Sure.” She smiles.

When I decide to let Zara choose the movie, I expect a rom-com, or some period drama. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but not my first choice.

She surprises the hell out of me by choosing Kickass .

We settle side by side on my couch, a bowl of popcorn between us and the tub of cookies on the coffee table. I grabbed two cans of soda from the fridge and offered one to my stepsister.

I’ve seen this movie before, and it’s fun, but I’m not paying attention to the screen.

My eyes keep drifting to her. I’m more entertained by her facial expressions, the way she eats the popcorn, than the goofy superheroes in the movie.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. In a different way than Heather, Angela, and most of the girls in town. They know that they’re pretty. Their beauty is carefully constructed and curated.

Zara is different. She might have some minimal makeup today, because she’s been talked into a rush week party. But I’ve seen her bare faced and in just jean cut-offs and a tank top most days. I like that she’s herself. She isn’t trying to impress anyone.

“Ares,” I realize that she’s looking at me. “Are you ok? If you don’t like this movie, we can watch something else.”

That shakes me out of my daze. “No, sorry. I was just thinking that these cookies are delicious.”

Lame. I know.

A part of me wants to pull her into my arms and kiss her. Fuck Dad’s unreasonable demands. I’m tired of always doing “the right thing.”

Maybe, for once, I should do what I want. And what I want is to kiss my stepsister, and consequences be damned.

Her green eyes are locked on me. At this point, neither of us is looking at the TV.

“Were you going to kiss me when we were dancing at the wedding?”

Ok. I guess she wants to address the elephant in the room.

“I was.” I can’t see the point of lying.

The corner of her lips tugs into a smile. “I thought so.”

She turns her attention back to the screen. And I’m confused. Why did she ask me?

A few minutes go by, and Zara seems completely absorbed with the cartoonish activity flick on the screen. I’m starting to think that maybe it’s good I didn’t kiss her after all.

But why bring it up, unless she wanted to kiss me?

Fuck. I can’t go to do a twelve hour patrol in my police car with this question in my head. My partner is the most silent person I’ve ever met, and there will be nothing distracting me from replaying this conversation over and over in a vicious loop, unless we have to go on a call.

I press pause on the remote, freezing the screen during a fight scene. “Dad wanted to talk to me and Chance when we came home from the wedding. He noticed how close we were dancing and he wasn’t happy.”

Zara keeps her gaze on me, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look surprised.

“He wants us to be your brothers.”

More silence.

“I don’t know about being siblings, but I guess he expects us to be just friends.”

“Do you want to be just friends?” She finally asks.

“Yeah.” I answer like a complete dumb ass.

“Ok.” She restarts the movie.

Ok? Is that it?

ZARA

I’m watching the movie, but I’m not really paying attention.

I can hear the metaphorical cogs in Ares’s brain spinning from here.

His jaw is a perfect, defined line, his cheekbones are high. Ares’s hair is a paler blond than Chance’s, but my favorite thing is his eyes. The silver color with swirls of ice blue is as mesmerizing as Chance’s deep blue, but it’s the shape I find absolutely fascinating.

My eyes are rounder. Chance and Ares have a more elongated shape, with the outer edges turning down ever so slightly. I think Mom said that their ancestors came to the US from Eastern Europe, and those roots are still very alive in the guys’ cheekbones and eye shape.

There’s a long beat of silence. I’m hyper aware of Ares’s gaze on me, but I force myself to look detached.

I think he’s about to give me the same bullshit Chance did when he came to my room after Scott laid down the law about what kind of relationship he wants us to have.

We’re all adults, and I don’t think he has the right to dictate how we should feel about one another. But I can see how both my stepbrothers want to please their father. I can’t say I don’t relate to that. My dad’s opinion of me is one of the things I care about the most.

But the thing with me is that I don’t do well with being controlled. Mom has always told me that I get my wild, rebellious streak from Dad. The truth is, that I don’t like demands based on “because I told you so.”

If someone wants me to do anything, they should have solid reasons, not just try to control me or manipulate me.

Ares pauses the movie again.

“Why are you here, Zara? It’s not just to bring me a batch of cookies.”

At least he got that right. “Why do you think I’m here?”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t do that. Don’t answer my questions with more questions.”

“Fine.” I bite out. “I’m here to hang out. Friend .”

That statement gets a reaction from him. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Our parents getting married makes everything more complicated. And are you telling me that you and Chance are just friends? My dad might have overstepped when he dictated our relationship, but he was right about one thing.”

My curiosity is peaked. “What’s that?”

“It’s obvious that there’s something between you and Chance. I don’t want to fight with my brother. Especially when you’re part of the family, whether we like it or not.”

I don’t blame him. I hate lies and I hate cheating. Mom says I’m more like Dad than her, and she’s right for the most part. I look up to my father. That doesn’t mean I condone how he treated Mom when they were married. Back then I was too young to understand, but all it takes is a trip down memory lane on the internet, to see that my dad cheated on her pretty much constantly.

That’s the only thing I don’t want to follow in his footsteps.

“There is something between me and Chance. We’re figuring it out as we go.” I admit. “And I’m also dating Lev. They expect me to choose between them eventually, and I don’t know if I can.”

The shock on Ares’s face would be funny if it didn’t come with a hefty dose of anger.

“You admit it? I don’t know what kind of fucked up thing you have going on with them, princess,” Ares bites out. “But I think you don’t need me to complicate things even more.”

On a rational level, I guess he’s right. But then why is it that I feel like complicating things with Ares is exactly what I need?

“Fine.” My jaw is ticking just as much as my stepbrother’s. “Then let’s be friends. You said that’s what you want, right?”

He antagonizes me. “Right. Let’s watch the fucking movie, then.”

We settle back in our seats, our eyes fixed on the screen.

The movie is almost over, and I get more pissed off with every passing second.

If I expected Ares to fight for me, I guess I was sorely mistaken. There’s a gaping hole in my heart at the thought that we’re going to be friends . Whatever that means.

I need to drown my sorrows in more cookies. I hope the Zeta sisters believe in chocolate during sleepovers, because that’s the only thing that’s going to make me feel better.

“Ouch.”

Ares and I both moved at the same time to grab the Tupperware with the cookies, and somehow, I end up elbowing him in the ribs.

“I’m sorry,” I say honestly. “I didn’t mean to.”

When he rubs his palm against the spot I just hit with my elbow he makes a rustling noise.

“You ok?” I ask. “Are you hurt?”

Ares winces. His discomfort is more than obvious. “It’s not your fault. I was already a little sore. It’s my birthday next week, and I’m getting a tattoo. I got most of the main details done yesterday morning and it’s still a little sore. I guess I should put some of the antiseptic cream they gave me at the parlor before I head out to work.”

“Can I see it?”

The words tumble out before I even realize it.

He lifts his t-shirt. “Help me with the tape?”

I do as I’m told, my fingers brushing over Ares’s taut skin as I uncover the tattoo that covers part of his chest and ribs.

The skin is a little red, it’s to be expected. It’s the drawing of a man carrying a big ball on his shoulders. I lean to take a better look, and I realize that the ball is actually a globe. “Is this Atlas?” I ask without even thinking, bracing myself for his reaction.

I’ve seen Scott and Chance tense up and shut down whenever Ares’s late twin is mentioned.

An apology is ready on the tip of my tongue, but Ares exhales, some tension easing from his shoulders.

“It is. As you can imagine, birthdays have changed for me since he’s been gone. The past two years, I’ve found a bar that isn’t too strict on checking on ID, and drunk until I didn’t even remember my own name. Ironically, this year I turn twenty-one, so I could drink legally. But I’m a cop now, and I would have to go where no one knows me, or it would be embarrassing.”

I consider his words. “Yeah, especially since the sheriff is your next-door neighbor.”

Ares nods. “Yeah. And to be honest, drinking myself into a stupor doesn’t really help. It numbs the pain just for a second, but if there’s a thing I learned about pain, is that pain is patient. It will wait for you for as long as it takes, and then it’ll hit you twice as hard.”

He grabs a tube of antiseptic cream. “So I thought that despite being gone, Atlas is always going to be a part of me. What’s better than a tattoo to make something permanent?”

I should know about that, when I was sixteen, I was so stupid to get Cal’s name tattooed on my lower back. The small blessing is that I can’t really see it.

“I went to the tattoo parlor with the intention of just getting his name tattooed on my chest,” Ares continues. “But then I got talking with the tattoo artist, and she came up with the idea of drawing a picture of Atlas from the Ancient Greek myth.”

Now I understand. “Yeah, he was condemned to carry the heavens on his shoulders, right?”

“Yeah. That felt very fitting. That’s how I’ve been feeling since I lost my twin brother. So, here we are.”

“Is it finished?” I ask.

“Almost. We’re gonna keep Atlas in black ink, and add color to the globe.”

He opens the tube, but I take it from him. “Let me.”

Ares’s silver eyes are fixed on me as I squeeze some of the cream on my fingers.

I will my hand not to tremble as I brush my fingers over the side of his ribcage. It’s tentative at first. I almost expect Ares to move away from me, repelled by my touch.

He doesn’t move, and I begin tracing the lines of the tattoo, spreading the antiseptic cream on his reddened skin.

It suddenly feels as if there isn’t enough air in the room, and I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and between my legs.

“Sorry, I need to reach over there.” I point to the spot where part of Atlas’s body wraps around Ares’s rib, and I shift closer.

I’m practically sitting in his lap, as I squeeze another dollop of cream onto the tips of my fingers.

Ares gasps when I touch him again.

“Sorry, does it hurt?”

He shakes his head, and I realize that he didn’t jump because I hurt him. He’s trying not to laugh.

His lips are flattened in the effort to keep from laughing, hut the corners are curled up despite his best efforts.

“Ares Hunter,” I tease him. “Are you ticklish?”

“No.” He snorts, his eyes creasing at the corners. “It’s the way you’re touching me. You’re trying to tickle me, you bad girl.”

My mouth opens in an outraged little o . “How dare you? I was just trying to be helpful.” I let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Well then,” he closes his fingers around my wrist, moving my hand away from his side to his chest, where the top part of the tattoo sits. “Help me where it doesn’t tickle like hell.”

It’s impossible to contain my satisfaction at getting a rise out of my stoic, composed stepbrother. “So you are ticklish.” I smirk.

Ares isn’t just sexy. He’s also one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met, myself included. “No, I’m not ticklish. It’s just the way you’re touching me. That side is done. Just put the cream elsewhere.”

My eyes descend to where my hand is splayed over the center of his chest, slightly on the left side.

Rippling muscle is encased under his smooth and taut skin. His heart is beating loud and fast under my fingertips

I should probably keep rubbing the cream on the tattoo, but I can’t move. I relish the feeling of his warm skin, the awareness that I’m the cause of his quickened pulse.

“Princess?” the low rumble of his voice pulls me out of my lust-induced daze. “You’re getting cream all over your hoodie.”

“Oh, fuck.” My eyes descend to my chest, and I realize that I shifted and we’re chest to chest, my fingers now drifting on the small section of tattoo that reaches Ares’s shoulder. “I’ve gotten way too much cream, and it’s gone from you to me. This is going to stain. I can’t go to the Zetas sleepover like this.”

All the blue swirls in Ares’s irises have been engulfed by a dark, slate gray. “Don’t worry. I can either take you home to get changed, or you can borrow one of my hoodies.”

“Thank you.” I murmur. “Do you mind lending me one of yours? If we bump into Heather going home, she’s going to drag me into a full-blown makeover session. I’m not in the mood for it.”

The truth is that I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here, with him.

“Sounds good,” Ares says. “I should have something you can use.”

He pushes me away from his chest, just enough that he can grab the pull tab of the zipper that opens right under my breasts.

“Let’s get you out of this, princess.” Once it’s open, he slides the soiled hoodie down my shoulders.

His fingers brush down my shoulders as he takes the garment off of me.

Goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch, and I suppress a shudder.

Neither of us talks for a long moment, once my hoodie hits the floor. I’m a little lost in the gray depths of his eyes until they leave mine to focus on my lips.

I think he wants to kiss me. My heart is about to explode at just the idea. I’ve been wanting to kiss Ares since the night we met two years ago, when he walked me back to my room after the beach party.

The pad of his thumb skims my cheekbone, dragging its way down to my bottom lip. “The things I want to do with you, princess,” he whispers. “Aren’t appropriate for people who should be just friends. Or siblings.”

I don’t care. “Good that we really aren’t siblings, then.” My voice comes out a little breathless. “And there are many kinds of friendships.”

His thumb moves to my jaw, his fingers brushing the back of my neck. “What about Chance and Lev?” he asks.

“They’re ok with me figuring out things with you, too.”

Ares’s jaw ticks at my words. “They’re fucking crazy. And I must be too for not taking you straight home.”

I’m about to ask him what he means, but he closes the rest of the distance between us.

My first thought when his lips touch mine is that they’re even softer than I imagined.

After the first brief, fleeting contact, Ares pulls on my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.

I open for him, and he deepens the kiss.

Our tongues tangle together, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing. He explores my mouth with expert strokes, massaging my lips with his, his fingers tangled into my hair.

My second thought is that his kiss is hot, but… sweet. Way sweeter than I expected from tough, silent Ares.

Where Chance is passionate and wild, Lev is skilled and playful, Ares kisses with a soft reverence I would have never expected.

But that doesn’t make his kisses less intense, nor less exciting.

My arms surround his neck, just the fabric of my tank top separates my skin from the smooth warmth of his naked chest.

My thighs are at either side of his chest, straddling him.

Liquid heat pools between my thighs, and my clit throbs almost painfully. I’m still a little sore from last night, but my body is sending me unmistakable signals that I want Ares. I don’t care if I’m sore.

As far as signals are concerned, Ares’s body is in on the plan; at least judging by the steely hardness pressed against my center.

I grind against his hard-on, totally shameless. I want Ares to know that I want him, just as much as I want Chance and Lev.

“We should slow down,” he pants, nipping at my bottom lip.

“You’re right.” I agree, grinding against him even harder.

His hand closes over the globe of my breast, massaging my soft flesh, his thumb finding the hard point of my nipple. He teases it through the fabric of my tank, with the same slow circles I want him to rub elsewhere.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting my bottom lip again, but diving in for another hot, soul stealing kiss. “I don’t think I can slow down, princess. Maybe you should go sit on the other end of the couch.”

I graze his nipple with my nails. “Why would I do that? I like it here.”

“Princess, we’re really bad at this friendship stuff.” He chuckles, lifting the hem of my tank, and running his fingers along the waistband of my leggings.

“I disagree.” I argue. “I think we should?—”

A knock on the door makes us jump apart, as if we’d been caught with our hands in the cookie jar.

“Zara?” Heather’s voice comes in from behind the door. “Are you there? I’ve been texting you for the past twenty minutes.”

I’m on my feet, running my fingers through my hair to comb it as best I can. “Yeah, sorry.” I shout. “We were watching a movie and my phone must have been on silent.”

Ares has put his t-shirt back on. “Here, princess.” He helps me into a navy blue hoodie, zipping it up to my collarbone. “This should be good. They gave me the wrong size. I was gonna exchange it, but you can keep it.”

“I don’t wanna go,” I pout, my eyes on Ares’s lips.

Mine must look just as swollen as his. I lick them, looking for my lip gloss in my purse in the hopes of disguising the obvious “just kissed” look.

“It’s probably for the best.” Ares sighs, walking me to the door. “I need to get ready for work, anyway.”

We look at each other for a brief, tense moment.

I’m afraid that when I walk out, Ares is going to convince himself that kissing me was a mistake.

But I really have to go. And maybe I need to let him make up his mind about what we are to each other.