Page 1 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

Chapter One

Finn’s boyish grin always lit up his entire face, even when his thoughts held sour notes of irritation. I stood in this dream, reminiscing about the countless possibilities that might unfold. There were many memories of my life at Gemini Academy as a student. I gathered my bearings, assessing the clean-cut uniform of my younger self and how he hadn’t added goth embellishments yet. HowIhadn’t. That meant this memory came from my first year at the academy.

The way Finn’s eyes glimmered, studying the sky, I knew his magic had locked onto some type of historical fact floating in the air. Here he’d stormed over, ready to bite my head off for something I couldn’t recall, and now, he’d been left to fight back a giggle fit over something no one but him would understand, thanks to a thousand inside jokes he shared with the secret histories of the world.

Realizing Finn was lost in a daze, I watched my younger self turn on his heel, ready to walk away and avoid any scolding. No. Not scolding. Work. It came back to me as I spun away from Finn; the sunlight cut through the courtyard at the perfect angle, shining against Finn’s glorious face and highlighting his hazel eyes that’d stopped shimmering from the effect of his magic.

“You can’t keep dodging me.” Finn looped his arm through mine and dragged me across the academy courtyard.

My heart raced and surged with excitement because Finn’s grip held me tight, and each breath carried a deep inhale of his cologne. I never wanted this moment to end. The me of then, at sixteen, still sorting through my feelings, and the me of now, at damn near thirty-five, dreaming of what life used to be.

“If I’d known you were gonna be this difficult, I’d have partnered with someone else.” Finn released me once we reached one of the outdoor lunch tables and squared my shoulders before shoving me down into a seat.

“Fine. Trade partners.” I shrugged, pretending not to care because despite busting my ass my first year at Gemini Academy, I remained aloof about anything this place had to offer. “Work with Milo.”

I nodded to the curly, blond-haired mop top sitting across from us and stuffing his face with food.

“Yeah, right.” Finn scoffed. “He’s even worse than you on this peer project.”

“Not uh.” Milo glowered, still eating. Geez, I’d forgotten how much he stuffed his face. Guess he still had quite an appetite but got better about shoveling food in his mouth at all hours of the day.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re above the whole sharing details about your life.” Finn crossed his arms, giving me a very surly expression, which from Finn always brought a smile to my face.

Even when I worked my hardest to scowl and glare and pretend I hated everything, seeing a pouty Finn made it impossible, and the tiniest of smiles nearly crept out. That said, I knew how this memory played out and that I fought Finn tooth and nail when it came to sharing my life story—hell, it took him until we graduated, and I shared what a sad sack kid I was with no friends except some imaginary one who eventuallyran off too. How that was even remotely vital to instruction for some history project on ourselves still eluded me. Personally, I thought our instructor ran out of lesson plans and tossed together the most exhausting self-assessed project possible.

“Mrs. Valson will take off a whole letter grade if it’s turned in late.” Finn pointed an accusatory finger at me, practically ready to jab me in the chest. And I invited it because back then, my telepathy worked best when making physical contact with another person, and I wanted to know Finn’s every thought. Even the supposedly grumpy ones.

“A ooole lebber graade?” Milo asked, mouth full of food. When I turned and glared, he simply hummed a tune in his head and stuffed his face with another ridiculously big bite of his sandwich.

“Yes, and I’m not failing a history class,” Finn said, practically embarrassed at the idea someone with his branch could ever struggle in a course framed around historical facts.

I sank into this dream, indulging in Finn’s rant to my younger self as he pretended not to care what Finn said, but in truth, he did. I did. I loved him so much by this point in my life, and even now, all these years later, I found myself enamored by this memory, relishing each passing second relived.

For so many years, memories such as this haunted my sleeping hours, filling my mind with recollections of all the days wasted, not truly valuing the time I had with Finn. Then, I found closure. Closure given to me by a piece of Finn’s magic tucked away in my subconscious. Closure granted by Milo’s unyielding presence. Closure found after spending years dodging it at all costs.

But memories and moments with Finn had eluded my slumber since the revelation of my manifestation’s actions. He’d stolen Finn away, a piece of Finn that had been bound to the most dangerous devil I’d ever had the misfortune ofencountering. My manifestation wrought havoc onto the city, onto the lives of so many, and he did it all without an ounce of remorse until it was too late, and the blood of Jamie Novak had been spilled.

I believed that was why dreams of Finn had stopped so abruptly. He didn’t haunt my memories because he haunted my choices. The lengths I went to save him, to bring him back. And yes, I fully grasp the manifestation acted of his own accord, but I remain culpable. Part of me knew he was out there. I could feel his presence like pin prickles against the nape of my neck. I sensed our connection in the faintest ways. Hell, I’d recognized the effect his absence had on my branch yet ignored it. I told myself I wanted to focus on the evolution of my branch, the way my telepathy had advanced. In truth, I think I wanted an excuse to ignore the horrors my manifestation intended to unleash because of my selfishness, my arrogance, my—

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Finn said, eyes glowing subtly as he studied my mind for the peer project.

“Don’t use your goddamn magic on me,” I snapped because it terrified me that Finn’s retrocognition would glimpse every sordid and confused feeling I had for him.

At sixteen, I’d come to realize I was very gay. I had a hundred thousand different fantasies about what I wanted to do with Finn, with Milo, with Finn and Milo, but despite having telepathy, I had no clue if either of my close friends were, in fact, queer.

Turned out that at that age, Milo often focused on his sexual urges for women when around his nosy telepath because he didn’t know what to make of his own desires. Sorting out erections for women was one thing, but he didn’t grasp why he got just as aroused when with Finn and myself or when staring at his male enchanter idols on the TV screen.

Being bisexual must be utterly exhausting to decipher as a teenager. Hell, I’d heard my share of thirty-somethings still trying to gain an understanding of their bi-thought processes.

“Well, if you spent less time beating yourself up and more time answering my questions, then I wouldn’t have to pry,” Finn said with a smile, hazel eyes still glowing as he rooted through my history or someone else’s. He had this nonchalance when casting, when talking, when revealing the deepest truths he’d unraveled.

I didn’t recall what I beat myself up over instead of focusing on our peer project, but my self-loathing hatred for all my choices or lack thereof wasn’t something I’d developed overnight. Oh no, I spent years cultivating and finetuning the art of blaming myself for all the world’s problems. It was a true skill.

I chuckled—internally, of course, since in reality, my younger self simply scowled at Finn, and my slumbering body merely gurgled a bit while my eyes fluttered open before the darkness of the dream memory took hold again.

Memories of Finn were always so timely, so perfectly planned. Here, I’d been beating myself up for the actions of my manifestation, and so my subconscious sent a message through Finn to remind me not to blame myself for everything. From what I recalled about this memory, it involved Finn scolding me throughout our peer interview for withholding answers and for berating myself, while Milo scarfed a sandwich and dodged his peer partner for a project he didn’t want to do—since he knew it held no value to our grades, but he didn’t share that with us at the time, damn clairvoyants—and a lot of placating us instead of taking a side when Finn and I inevitably broke out into bickering arguments.

Every fiber of my being wanted to settle into the memory, into this simpler time, and indulge in the monotony that came with youth.

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