Page 22 of Lovesick Titan

A smile wormed its way onto Mal’s face as he looked at his friend. Patching him up. Giving him the usual hard time while also taking care of him. Been the same song and dance since they were teenagers. They’d attempted to be more than friends once, briefly in the beginning—hell, they were each other’s first kiss—but it hadn’t been in the cards for them. They were friends,partners. That’s all they needed.

As Dom met Mal’s gaze and grinned, he only had one response.

“Yes.”

R

Hades had expected a different outcome after Zeus and Prometheus’s romp in the bedroom turned weepy. He’d thought Zeus would confess his sins right then and salt the wound all the more. But this was better. If Hades could time things just right, push Zeus just that little bit more, his self-hatred would do the rest and ensure that this blowup between lovers was even worse than a too-late confession.

A few subtle nudges here and there for both Zeus and Prometheus, and they’d combust upon themselves.

Hades had wanted to make his grand debut to the masses sooner, beyond the aftermath of the diamond heist, but taking out his vengeance on Zeus was priority—and this was more fun. He wanted to be seen as a master thief, the best, certainly, but he could do so much more with what Zeus and Prometheus had given him. With their secrets. And their lies. And Zeus’s fascinating suit.

Zeus was home, sequestering himself in his bedroom. But when he got up to use the bathroom, Hades slipped from the mirrors on the closet doors and snatched up his cell phone.

He sent a simple message to Prometheus to rekindle his hope—I’m sorry—and faded back into the reflections before Zeus returned without leaving behind any traces that he’d been there.

When Hades finished orchestrating the epic fall of Zeus and Prometheus, he’d go down in history as the greatest villain Olympus City had ever known. Even greater than Thanatos.

R

An hour and two and a half beers later, with his trench coat draped over the back of the couch and the Olympus City Hydras winning 7-3, Mal wasn’t even close to buzzed enough to be ready for his phone tovibrate in his pocket. He wanted to ignore it, but he worried it would be Lucy or some other emergency if he didn’t check.

One new message from ‘Sparky’.

I’m sorry.

Mal downed the rest of his third beer. He didn’t know what was worse; being rejected or being pitied. Right now he was both, and he had no idea what to say to Danny.

“Ya know yer an idiot if ya think he doesn’t feel the same way, right?” Dom said, reading the text over his shoulder.

“Hey.” Mal pulled the phone closer to his chest. “Not your business.”

Dom scowled at him. “Pretty sure it became my business when you smashed my mirror and crashed my Friday night.” She tipped her own beer back, on number—Mal had lost count.

He didn’t feel like pointing out that technically all of the safe houses were his, and he’d definitely bought that mirror himself. He glanced again at the text message. “What makes you so sure?”

“Easy. Monday night. Coulda all gone to shit then, right?”

“It did all go to shit.”

“Coz a Ludgate, not Zeus. Spark Plug played nice. Still owes me a painting, but he didn’t just have your back that night. He played the game.Yourway. Had fun with it too. Woulda let you keep the diamond and plough his sweet ass all over the museum, you said.” Mal frowned at Dom’s word choice, but he couldn’t deny any of it. “That sound like somethin’ he’d do for a fuck buddy?”

Mal hadn’t thought so. He’d been pretty certain of his gamble before he made it. Nervous and terrified, sure, but still confident that he was right—that he was telling Danny what the kid wanted to hear. What he deserved to hear. Because it was honestly how Mal felt and Danny needed to know that.

“All these chances to make scarce when things got tough,” Dom went on. “Pourin’ his heart out, listenin’ to you do the same, snugglin’ up watchin’…Tango & Cash.”

“Big Trouble in Little China.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Point is I’m bettin’ you just spooked the kid. Probably never expected you’d be the one to confess first. Not exactly yer style.” Frowning at her now empty beer bottle,she set it on the coffee table but sat forward on the sofa rather than get up to retrieve another. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, yeah? Bet he’ll go to his hideout, check in or whatever he does. You know where it is, right? Why not head him off?”

Mal did not know where Danny’s hideout was, but as a detective, he might go to the precinct. “Just show up out of the blue?”

“What’s he gonna do? Haul your ass to jail?”

Could be worth the risk. Mal was an expert at hiding in plain sight. If he messaged Danny back asking for them to talk or called him outright, he’d likely end up right back where he’d been earlier in the week, suffering deflection after deflection while Danny held him on the line. Kid couldn’t commit to what he wanted. Had more baggage than what he’d told Mal about maybe and needed a push. Fine. Showing up at the station just meant Mal wanted to talk and wouldn’t let Danny run out on him again.

“I’m not puttin’ up with your mopin’ bullshit,” Dom said, finally standing to cross to the small kitchen, “so get it together. Talk things out with Sparky. He don’t give ya the answer ya want, ice him.” She grinned as she returned with two more bottles and handed one to Mal. “He get his head out of his ass, maybe you keep him around. You tell him he owes me a painting, but if he lets us do our thing,” she shrugged again as she sat and reached over to clink her bottle against his.

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