My eyes open to the stench of coffee.

  I don’t have the energy to get up. I don’t care how or why I smell coffee. I don’t even keep coffee in my apartment.

  A sigh pushes out of me as I roll onto my back. I know why I smell coffee, and I know what it means. And I hate how much it makes my chest ache.

  I wish the Nectar I drank came with amnesia as well. That would make all this so much easier than having to own up to my mistake. I don’t even know how to approach this. Sorry for yelling at your face then telling you I don’t need you because that’s actually completely false. Doesn’t exactly hit the tone I’m going for.

  I guess I’ll just figure it out when I get there. I swing my legs off the couch and notice the Nectar bottle missing. I guess I forgot to put it away last night. Yeah, right.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I make my way to the kitchen. I wish we could just forget last night happened. I wish he could’ve just taken the day off and not come around when I was at my literal worst. I don’t know, maybe in some twisted way, it needed to happen. If he never got to see that side of me, he wouldn’t have had the chance to run. He still might.

  When I round the corner, it feels like a kick to the throat.

  He’s standing over the stove, spooning something into a mug. His wings are protruding from two poorly cut holes in a shirt I never gave him, and he’s wearing a new pair of jeans. And normal shoes. I don’t even know where he got the sneakers from.

  Nothing I can say feels like enough. I was a bitch, and he came back. He came back. No one does that.

  So, instead I take a seat at the counter, pulling the stool out loudly enough that his head cocks to the side. He doesn’t say anything; either, as he turns around with a cup of steaming something.

  He just slides the coffee across the counter to me, that familiar smile nowhere to be found. I guess that’s fair enough, even if it stings.

  “Thanks.” My voice is horse, probably from all the drunk crying, and I clear my throat. “And sorry.”

  His lips twitch upward just a fraction as he leans against the countertop. “You can’t scare me away so easily.”

  I blow on the coffee, watching the steam rise in front of me, then take a sip. It tastes like shit. I don’t tell him that.

  “Why did you come back?”

  The question settles between us like a brick wall. He doesn’t respond right away, just exhales a long breath.

  “You told me to leave. You didn’t say how long.”

  That little smirk is back, and it takes all of me to not break down right here and now. I take another sip of coffee to hide the feeling.

  I can tell by the way the dimples emerge on his cheeks that he notices, but he doesn’t push. “My dad makes coffee just like this. It’s always gross.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Your dad? Like Zeus?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a casual shrug. “For someone with lightning hands, he’s surprisingly awful with anything that requires electricity.”

  A breathy laugh falls from somewhere deep in my chest. Like a little weight lifted. “Are you saying that Olympus not only has electricity, but that gods make their own coffee?”

  “Daily.” He flashes a bright smile. “You’d be surprised at the number of electric fires that occur up there.”

  “I’m surprised there’s any fires up there. I thought it was supposed to be, like, paradise.”

  A laugh punches flatly out of him. “Absolutely not. Olympus is pretty much divine reality tv.”

  “I’d pay to watch that.”

  The moment simmers and fades between us as I finish the coffee. Neither of us is smiling anymore, an empty silence filling the room.

  I guess this is it. Now or never.

  “Hermes,” I start, closing my eyes, “I…” Shit. I don’t know what to say.

  “I know,” he says lowly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  I watch as a few coffee grounds swirl around in the leftover drops of coffee at the bottom of the mug. “I don’t want you to leave,” I force out. “And I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said last night.”

  “I know,” he says again, a bit brighter this time. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  “I’m not—” I swallow past the growing lump in my throat. “I’m not trying to explain away what I said. But I don’t want you to think that this is something that can be glossed over, either.”

  He doesn’t respond, just waits for me to continue.

  Taking a deep breath, I shove my shaking hands into my lap. “I’ve been living with this for a long time, and you’re not obligated to deal with it just because you come over and lighten the mood sometimes. This isn’t like watching a movie together, this is my mom. You don’t have to tag along for this.”

  “I meant what I said last night,” he says with a deadly stillness. “I’m not here because I feel like I need to be out of some godly obligation.”

  I can feel my eyebrows drawing upward as the sting of tears fills my eyes.

  He continues, scratching his palms as if he’s just as nervous as I am. “I’ve seen the dredges of humanity. I’ve watched entire bloodlines end over things left unspoken. If this is something that’s hurting you, please, let me help.”

  Wiping at my eyes, I hold back a sniffle. This is hardly worth crying over, but it feels like an ocean just erupted behind my eyes. I don’t think I can speak without breaking the very brittle dam I’ve built, so I just nod.

  His lips curl into a gentle smile. “Are we okay, then?”

  A wet laugh pushes out of me. “I hope so.”

  He exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. “Good.” His hands bat at the counter. “You probably need a change of clothes, then I believe we have a casserole to deliver.”

  Swiping at my eyes one last time, I push up to stand. “You really don’t have to come with if you don’t want to. It’s probably going to be ugly.”

  His eyebrows rise menacingly. “I washed spaghetti mold off your dishes the first time we met. I’m sure meeting your mum won’t be worst thing we’ll face.”

  I don’t fight the smile that blossoms on my lips as I nod again. “Okay.”

  I’m not even sure what okay means. Maybe, if he still comes back after all this, I’ll ask. Until then, we just have to get through today. I just have to pretend that this isn’t going to go terribly wrong.

  Once I make it back to the kitchen, Hermes has the casserole dish in hand and a stupid grin on his face. “Ready to hit this popsicle stand?”

  My eyes snap shut and sigh out the last little bit of my resolve. “That’s not how the saying goes.”

  “But it made you laugh and that’s what matters.” He’s already starting toward the door, like he’s the one leading me to his car.

  “I didn’t laugh.” I stop by the entrance to pull on my worn sneakers and grab my purse off the floor.

  We make our way to the car, parked a ridiculously large distance from the complex thanks to payment based assigned parking. I’ve never felt ashamed of my beat up 2004 Ford Focus, but watching a god slip into the front seat is enough to humble me.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  I climb into the driver’s seat just in time to see him frown and adjust his wings behind him, resigning to a very uncomfortable looking bent posture.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I say one final time. One last chance to back out.

  He just sends me a lopsided smile and pats the tinfoil top of the casserole pan. “Who else would keep the tater tots safe?” As he rolls his shoulders, he shoots me a sideways glance. “What do you want me to do about these?” He juts a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Honestly, she’ll probably be too strung out to care,” I say with an eye roll. “You can hide them if you want, but I doubt it’ll make a difference.”

  “Cool.” He gives me an awkward thumbs up and a forced grin.

  I try to pinch out a smile in return, but all I manage is a tight line. One last deep breath, and we’re on the road.

  We lull into a silence that feels like a death sentence. His legs keep bouncing and his fingers keep thrumming and his wings keep twitching. A constant reminder that he’s not meant for this.

  “Tell me about Olympus,” I finally muster up, clearing my throat against the suffocating quiet.

  “There’s not much to tell,” he says quietly, turning his head to look out the window. “Just a bunch of stuck-up gods and their big egos.”

  “That’s where you go when you’re not here, right?” My teeth capture my bottom lip as I turn on the right blinker. “It’s the realm of the gods, or whatever. It’s gotta be pretty, at least.”

  His jaw ticks. “It’s beautiful. But it’s not what you think it is. It’s all politics and petty arguments that have been going on for millennia.”

  “What kind of politics do gods have to worry about?” I ask in a dry tone.

  “The worst kinds.” His hand clenches into a fist as he cracks his knuckles. “You’d hate it.”

  “Well, now I’m really intrigued.” He doesn’t return my smile, arching his back with an uncomfortable grimace. “I’m sure you’re popular. The funny guy and all that.”

  He scoffs humorlessly. “Absolutely not.” Letting out a defeated sigh, he slumps his shoulders and pulls his wings in closer again. “The others are not very…happy with me right now.”

  The way he says that makes my stomach flip. “What does that mean?”

  “It means—” He clenches his jaw, like he’s fighting back a string of words that he’s going to regret later. “I’m what they call a leftover god, which means I’m expected to be at their disposal at all times.”

  Sounds familiar. “So why aren’t they happy with you then? Is it because you’ve been spending time with me?” God, I hope not. If I’m the reason he’s—

  “No,” he says quickly, holding a hand out like he can push the thought away. “They don’t even know about you. They just know I’m not home as often, which is commonly misconstrued into something like insubordination.” He shakes his head, golden curls dancing around his temples. “It’s all ancient stuff you shouldn’t care about. It’s not important.”

  I don’t believe him, but I don’t have the energy to argue. “Would you ever take me to visit?”

  His eyes go wide at the question. “You shouldn’t even want to visit,” he says sharply. “There are gods that would erase you for looking at them wrong. Olympus isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a nightmare wrapped in silk.”

  His words settle over us like a storm cloud. Delightful. “Sorry,” I mutter, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “I’m not trying to strike a nerve, just trying to distract myself.”

  He forces a smile. “You didn’t strike a nerve. Just don’t think Olympus is some paradise I’m keeping from you. There’s a reason mortals aren’t allowed, and it’s not to protect us.”

  “Shit,” I mutter as we round the corner. “We’re here.” All of Olympus falls from my mind as I pull the car over to the side of the road.

  We park a few houses down. The front lawn looks worse than I remember, if that’s even possible. Overgrown weeds, a broken lawn chair on its side, and the old sedan still rusting into the earth like it’s part of the foundation now. The porch light is still broken, and the screen door is bent at the bottom like someone kicked it and no one’s bothered to fix it.

  I stare at the house like it might dissolve if I blink hard enough.

  “You okay?” Hermes asks softly beside me.

  “No,” I answer, just as softly.

  We sit in silence for another few seconds before I finally exhale and open the door. I don’t look back to see if he follows. The porch sags beneath our weight.

  “She might not even be awake,” I mutter as I reach for the knob. It’s sticky with something I don’t even want to think about. “If she is, just... stay by the door. Don’t follow her anywhere. Don’t—” I stop, swallowing hard. “Don’t try to be charming. She doesn’t like charm unless it comes with money or pills.”

  Hermes tilts his head. “You okay if I breathe?”

  “Debatable.”

  The front door sticks before it opens with a groan.

  The air inside is stale and sharp and chemical in a way that turns my stomach. There’s a half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table, next to an overflowing ashtray and a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. I can feel the filth crawling up my legs just from standing on this carpet.

  The blinds are shut tight, but someone’s duct taped a blanket over one of the windows. Just in case, I guess.

  She’s perched on the edge of the couch, unlit cigarette in hand.

  She looks so much worse than before.

  Her eyes are sunken, skin too tight in some places and sagging in others. Her hair is a mess of wiry strands pulled into something like a ponytail, and her cheekbones look like they’re trying to stab through her face. She’s barefoot. Her tank top is stained, and her leggings are more hole than fabric.

  She used to be beautiful, before she let drugs consume her.

  “Hey, baby girl,” she says, like she’s surprised I exist.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say in forced pleasantry, closing the door as Hermes slips inside behind me. “I brought food.”

  Her eyes flick to Hermes and stay there. “And who’s your friend?” she asks, flicking the cigarette as if it’s burning. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, Ali.”

  “He’s not—” The smug look on his face is bordering on obscene. “It doesn’t matter. You hungry?”

  She hums, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Not really. If you stick it in the fridge, I’ll eat some for dinner.”

  “You sure? I can heat some up for you real quick. It’s taters, your favorite.” I turn to grab the dish from Hermes.

  Mom sighs loudly. “Yes, I’m sure. Just put it in the fridge.”

  My teeth scrape against my lower lip as she scratches absently at her arm. “Okay.” I tuck an arm under the casserole dish and squeeze Hermes’s arm just enough to steal his attention. “I’ll be right back.”

  He gives me a look I can’t quite read, something caught between concern and defiance, and nods.

  Wading through the empty food wrappers and broken glass, I make my way to the kitchen. It’s somehow worse than the living room.

  The fridge used to be plastered with drawings. One of mine hung there for weeks before it got covered in cigarette burns. There’s a sticky film on the inside shelves that clings to my fingertips as I shift jars and Tupperware and something that might’ve once been lettuce. I’m not sure why I’m bothering. She’s not going to eat this. She’ll probably trade it for a pill bottle.

  This kitchen was the gathering place of our family once. My sister and I would eat breakfast while our parents bickered back and forth over bills and other stuff we were too young to care about. Now, it’s covered in mouse shit.

  I jam the casserole dish onto the top shelf and slam the door shut a little too hard. Wiping my sticky hands on my jeans, I make my way back to the living room.

  And stop dead in my tracks.

  My mom is halfway through twirling a greasy strand of hair around her finger, her eyes trailing down Hermes like she’s a cat in heat.

  “So, what’s your deal, pretty boy? What did Ali have to do to reel you in?”

  “Mom,” I warn, my nostrils flaring.

  Hermes doesn’t entertain her, his eyes full of so much pity it makes me sick. She doesn’t deserve his pity.

  “What’s your problem?” she calls over her shoulder. “I was just asking—what was it? Jeremy?—what made him want such a cutie like you.”

  “I don’t care,” I sigh out, stepping over an empty pizza box. “Just…Can we talk about something else? How are you doing?” I make my way back to Hermes, my hand slipping around his forearm before I can think better of it. I just need to feel something steady. Something safe.

  He steps close enough that I can feel the body heat radiating off of him. It’s grounding, in a way.

  “How am I doing?” she asks in a sardonic tone, resting a hand over her chest. “It’s so nice of you to finally worry about me. I didn’t even know I was expecting guests today”

  I knew this would happen. I scrub at my eye with the palm of my free hand. “I brought casserole, Mom. We just talked about this.”

  “Yeah, well my memory’s been foggy lately. You gotta follow up on that stuff.” Her hand plants behind her, reaching around on the couch frantically for something. “Where is my damn lighter?”

  It’s on her leg.

  My head pounds as I look up at Hermes. He looks wholly unaffected by all this. The half smile he gives me makes me think I do not look wholly unaffected.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, loud enough for her to hear me over her spiraling search. “I think we’re gonna head out.”

  “Yeah?” she calls, not looking up. “Let your boyfriend know I’m here if he ever gets bored.”

  Something in me snaps, filling me with all the dread I’ve been forcing down. “Alright,” I sigh out in defeat. My fingers tighten around Hermes’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  Her eyes narrow as they snap to me. “What? We just got started.”

  Ignoring her, I drag Hermes toward the door. He doesn’t protest, following silently behind me.

  “You always were a stuck-up little brat,” she shouts after me, voice turning sour. “That’s why your dad left, you know. Couldn't stand the way you look at people, like you’re better than them.”

  Pushing the screen door open, I step out onto the porch, the fresh air hitting me like the first gasp of oxygen after diving off a cliff.

  “I never wanted you anyway,” she shrieks as the door slams shut behind us. Her voice barely echoes through as we start toward the stairs. “Tell that bitch to take you back!”

  I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, and I don’t care enough to ask. She’s said worse before, and she’ll probably say worse in the future.

  It’s not until I’m behind the steering wheel again that I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Hermes folds into the seat next to me. I can’t even look at him. I want to shove my head in the nearest pile of dirt and disappear.

  “I don’t think I ever want to come back here.”

  The words fall out of me before my mind can catch up. My eyes fill with all the tears I’ve been holding back, and I swipe a hand across my face to push them back.

  Hermes just watches me for a moment, his eyebrows taut. “You don’t owe her anything,” he finally says, gently, his hand landing on my arm.

  “I know.” The palms of my hands push painfully against my eyes as I take a deep breath. “It just really fucking sucks to see her like that.”

  Once the tears are properly contained, I plant my hands on the steering wheel. “She was never even a good mom. She was always cynical, and I always thought that if I just smiled pretty enough or said the right things that she’d just decide to be better.”

  He doesn’t respond, just offers me a reassuring smile.

  My hand falls over his where it still rests on my arm. “Thank you for coming with. It…helped.”

  His eyes meet mine, his dark eyelashes casting a shadow over the shimmering gold in his irises. “Thanks for letting me.”

  His hand falls from my arm as I start the car, biting back a new wave of tears at the back of my eyes.

  We don’t talk the whole way home.