Page 3 of Eden's Deliverance

The screech of my tires echo through the trees when I pull in and park next to Satan’s car, leaving only inches between us. My driver’s side door flies open, indelicately clipping his Audi when I exit and head for the house.

I’m about to push the handle on the front door when it’s ripped from my fingers, swinging wide open to reveal Satan himself.

He towers at least six inches above me, looking menacing as ever. His shiny black hair is pulled into a neat bun, and his round, kempt beard looks like it’s been combed through meticulously.

He basically looks like a cleaned-up version of Judah fromBojackHorseman, if he was dipped in ash and tar.

It’s all very fitting for a man named Skylar Cole.

“Tell me I didn’t just watch you ding up my ride with that fucking lemon of yours,” he spits. When I look up to meet his gaze, there’s ire radiating from his hazel eyes.

Yeah, he’s basically Judah…if Judah was a complete asshole.

I wouldn’t normally be so bitchy over his petty attitude, but this kid makes it so incredibly easy to instigate a fight. When I’m around him, I just want to stoke his fire and watch him fucking burn in it.

I don’t know what I ever did to him, but he’s always seemed to hate my guts. We play nice for holiday visits to our parents, but as soon as we leave, it’s back to pretending the other doesn’t exist.

I deliver my best hand of feigned innocence, though we both know it’s artificial. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Refusing to break eye contact, I squeeze past him and walk into the house. My hips brush against his leg, causing his entire body to stiffen—like I’m poisonous or something.

Asshole.

Dad and Gretchen are finishing dinner preparations in the kitchen, so lost in a giggle fit, they don’t notice when I enter. They’re clearly drunk already, but I have to admit it’s fucking adorable.

It’s been a long time since my dad’s been this happy, let alone to the point of breathless laughter. God knows he deserves a medal for surviving everything he’s been through while still managing to provide me with the best life he could.

I owe everything to him.

“Hi, Daddy,” I chime, giving him a big kiss on the cheek. With a small wave towards Gretchen, my niceties have been covered for the evening.

I’m ready to eat. My social battery has expended about as much energy as it’s going to, so I need sustenance if I’m going to make it through the rest of this visit.

I help myself to my own full-to-the-brim glass of wine while we sit together at the kitchen island, catching up on any recent events that haven’t been exchanged over the phone or text.

Dad talks about the work he’s been doing on the house. Gretchen brags about her green thumb and flourishing garden. I ramble about the apprenticeship and what classes I’ve been taking for my Summer Semester.

“Skylar, honey, come have a drink with us!” Gretchen raises her glass towards the looming entity in the kitchen doorway. “Did you say hello to Scarlett?”

“Of course.” Skylar’s eyes flicker to me momentarily before returning to her. “We caught up when she pulled in. How’s dinner coming, Mom? Anything I can do to help?”

Satan really knows how to put on a show for his mother. I wonder if she knows that her spawn turned out to be a vindictive, bullying prick.

Doubtful.

She worships the ground he walks on. Seemingly, he has enough respect to keep his narcissism checked at the door whenever she’s around, but how he acts on campus is a completely different matter.

At school, Skylar and his super-senior friends run rampant, terrorizing anyone they consider to be beneath them. I’ve personally witnessed him and his henchmen intimidating, demeaning, and smacking down all the ‘losers’ at school—which happens to be just about everyone who doesn’t fit in with their circle jerk of jocks.

Is lacrosse not the most arrogant sport you’ve ever heard of? They could literally play anything else and it would be an improvement.

Luckily, the only real time I actually have to spend around him is when we’re visiting our parents. My classes are in a completely different building than his psychology courses, and even when we’re forced into the same vicinity like the lunch hall, he and his friends eat on the opposite side of the room.

The only one of his friends I actually know is Julian. Skylar drags him along to all of our holiday breaks at home, so I’m always stuck with the two of them.

“My angel,” Gretchen says dreamily as she cups his cheek in her palm. “You can go ahead and pull the roast out of the oven and set it on the table, honey.” She gives his face a small pat before twisting to grab him two oven mitts from the counter behind her.

I stick my tongue out at my dad, but he gives me a playful smack on the arm and says, “Knock it off, you. Just let the boy be. C’mon, let’s eat.”

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