Page 18 of Tethered Fates

“Nah. Apollo’s been a little down, so Ari took him to see a punk band performing in someone’s shady basement,” Luuk says, voice loud but somehow fitting the warmth of his space, like the sound of a crackling fire on high. “Hungry, little man?” he asks, already heading into the small kitchen attached to the living room.

“Always,” I reply, dropping into the corduroy armchair with a bounce and flicking through the sheet music neatly piled on a side table. “Ari working on something new?”

Luuk hands me a bowl of pretzels, grinning large and proud. “Ari’s always working on something new,” he tells me, taking his own bowl to the opposite two-seat sofa. “I’m surprised you hit me up.”

I raise a questioning eyebrow while shoving a fistful of pretzels into my mouth.

“I thought you’d be busy with uni.”

I take my time crushing the salty snacks between my teeth, unsure how to answer, and not wanting to answer at the same time. Luuk is an easy-going guy, and I don’t wanna lie. You’d think his art style would be big and brash and honest like him, but it’s some of the most beautifully intricate pieces I’ve ever seen. His tattoos are Sistine Chapel level good, and Ari is covered from head to toe in Luuk’s work like a love letter.

“Summer and Kai fought,” I mumble, deciding I don’t wanna touch the uni shit, not caring I’m doing a bad job at changing the subject.

“I know,” Luuk’s big shoulders drop, his blue eyes dipping. “I think Apollo was involved, too.”

“Do you know why?”

“I asked, but Apollo said it's nothing,” he replies, nibbling the salt off a pretzel. “He’s been super quiet these days, it’s weird.”

I quirk an eyebrow up. Apollo’s never quiet.

“I know, right?” Luuk says as if I’d spoken aloud. “I feel a bit left out of the loop, to be honest, little man. Something’s definitely happening. But I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

I should feel like a hypocrite that I’m pissed off when people keep secrets. I never cared before. But now it makes me want to shield myself, like they’ve been hiding their real selves and at any moment they’ll attack.

“Summer left her paints in the basement and wants them back, but she feels awkward asking Kai or Apollo,” I say around my mouthful.

Luuk perks up. “Little man, she shudda said! I bet she felt weird asking me, but I ain’t got any issues with her.”

Luuk jumps up and grabs a pair of keys with a skull hanging from the keyring from the table, handing them over. “Get these back to me by tomorrow, yeah? I get things are weird right now, but Summer is still my mate, and I don’t want her thinking I don’t care.”

“Thanks, Luuk. I…” I swallow around the dry pretzels to hide the hitch in my voice. “You’re a good friend.”

Luuk’s lopsided grin grows.

‘I’m glad I at least have one other person in my life who isn’t keeping something from me,’ I think, taking my phone out and texting Summer to meet me later tonight.

Chapter Eight - Sen

Islip onto a high bar stool. The round red seat might as well be decorative for all the cushion it provides.

The murky pub has all the charm of a stinking armpit, and the few patrons lurking about hunch over their amber drinks or talk in hushed voices.

“I do love a place with personality,” I tell the barman, his faded tattoos climbing his hairy arms as he approaches, pushing over a bowl of crispy snacks that have the slightest scent of urine. “If only the walls could talk.”

“What can I get ya?” he grunts impatiently, as if there’s a line behind me.

I rest my forearm on the tacky top, ready to order something most likely watered down. But before I can, a woman in a badly fitted grey suit slips beside me. “A gin and tonic, make it a double.” She inclines her head, topped with a choppy brown bob, in my direction. “He’s paying,” she says in that no-nonsense way I’ve come to enjoy.

“And you, mate?” the barman asks, gruff voice clipped.

“I’ll take the same.” He ambles off to get our drinks, and I turn to face my guest, her peachy skin flushed even redder from the cold outside. “Officer Kate Donovan, it’s been a while.”

“That’s Detective Kate Donovan now,” she corrects quietly to match the pub’s forlorn atmosphere, but with her own brand of delightful abrasiveness. She collects her drink when it’s served, and once I’ve paid, unstuck myself from the bar top, and saluted the barman with my drink, I follow Kate towards a quiet corner.

“Congratulations on becoming a Detective,” I say, pretending to be my normal, casual self when really a quiet and rather annoying impatience nips at me. A single word rings in my head. Teagan. Teagan. Teagan. But I can’t tell Kate any of that.

The woman in question shoots me a glare as she knocks back her drink. “It happened five years ago, so you’re a bit late on that.”