Pebble (Elemental Men #5)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

GEORGE

PRESENT DAY

Human religions that have a hell usually depict it as fiery and parched. Flame considers that paradise, while to Aqua, it’s his worst fear come to life. I have no idea if that hell is real or if any of those religions are valid, but I do know that for me, hell is knowing there’s a soul mate out there for me somewhere, possibly heading my way really soon, and not wanting them. Because there’s only one human I could ever possibly love, and whoever my soul mate is, they’re not him.

How can they be? Surely my soul mate, the great love destined for me, wouldn’t want to just be my friend. And yet, Clay’s never shown any sign he wants more than that. Not even when I hinted.

That’s fine. That’s his right. He and I will always be friends, and I will never do anything to jeopardize that. If he doesn’t feel more than friendship for me, I have to live with that and enjoy the relationship we do have.

But it’s going to suck so much when my fated soul mate turns up. Because if he or she follows the same pattern as my brothers’ mates, they’ll be the perfect addition to our group, with a skillset we need to continue our fight to prevent humanity from being eradicated. They’ll complement me and bring something to the table that we might not even have known was missing. They just won’t be Clay. And I can’t imagine loving anyone that way who isn’t Clay.

But that’s a problem for another day, hopefully far into the future. I know the guys and their boyfriends think I’m grumpy and devastated over not having found my mate yet, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I don’t want to find my mate. I’m thrilled they haven’t shown up yet. I’m grumpy and devastated because my mate’s not Clay.

I used to wonder if maybe he was but just needed time to realize it. Just because I felt an instant connection when I saw him doesn’t mean it was going to be equally fast for him. It wasn’t for Bran when he met Flame. He thought he was an arsonist at first, for years, and even after they met properly and started spending time together, it took him a few weeks to realize he never wanted to let Flame go. Maybe Clay needed to get to know me better.

But we’ve been friends for three years, and I spend at least three days a week with him. More, if I’m being honest. I hang around at the garden center and help with any heavy lifting he has to do—my affinity with granite is useful there—and we go for walks on weekends and occasionally eat out together. He doesn’t like to do that too often, because his budget is tight and he doesn’t want me to pay all the time, but we cook together at his place once or twice a month. I know him—know everything about him. His asshole family, who bullied him relentlessly for being shy when he was a kid, then kicked him out when they realized he was gay. The way he suffered in school. How kind his next-door neighbor, Mrs. Lynde, was, and how she taught him everything she knew about plants and gardening. How sad he was when he was fifteen and she died, and how he tried to keep her garden the way she liked it, but her kids sold the house and the new owners didn’t like it.

How he was homeless and starving and struggling as a busboy when he was eighteen, and Penny saw him being yelled at by his boss for not being fast enough. He got fired, and when he was standing on the street, crying, she came out to talk to him. It was the first time he’d had anyone be nice to him and actually care about him , Clay, the person, in so long that he told her everything. She took him home with her, let him sleep on the couch, and spent hours just talking to him.

Three days later, she convinced her brother, who runs a granite quarry, that it would be a benefit to the business to have a small garden center attached that would showcase how versatile granite could be. Not just for countertops and tiles! She promised to take care of everything and that the garden center would not only show a profit within a year, but that referrals and orders from her staff would increase the individual consumer sales the quarry made—direct sales, where the profit was greatest. He reluctantly agreed, certain she’d fail within months but glad to see his scatty sister excited about a project. He was wrong, and the garden center is a crazy success, even though Penny knew nothing about plants when she started. She left all that in Clay’s hands, and she handled the business end and the customers.

For what she’s done for Clay, I will always be grateful to Penny. She feels the same about me. Neither of us have said it, but I know. We both love Clay fiercely, in different ways, and all that matters to us is that he’s happy and safe.

So yeah, I know Clay. And he knows me… kind of. There are some things I can’t tell him, like that I’m the incarnation of the element of earth, here to slow the damage humans have done to the environment so the planet doesn’t backlash and wipe them out. He might not want to be friends with me if I told him that. The only people who know are our fated mates—and Bran’s brother, Cody—who can feel the truth of it. Other people, not so much.

But he knows that I live with my best friends, and that we’re conservationists. That we have an online platform to promote environmental awareness and could possibly be seen as pseudo-celebrities… within very select circles. He knows all about each of the guys—that I get on the best with Flame and Perry, and that Aether’s sometimes mystical proclamations drive me nuts, but I’d smash in the face of anyone who bothered him. He knows Aqua’s addiction to soup means we eat way more of it than I’d like, and that my favorite foods are meats and vegetables—things that get their sustenance directly from the earth. He knows I like rocks and am a pretty damn good gardener myself (though he doesn’t know I cheat a little sometimes). He says I’m granite on the outside but that my inside is like nourishing, nutrient-rich soil, perfect to look after all the delicate plants—and people—who need my care.

I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m volcanic rock right down to my core. If he wants to see good in me, I can’t deprive him of that. I’d never deny him anything.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” he asks me, glancing over from where he’s repotting peony tubers at my side. We’re putting them in granite planters—smallish ones—and they’re going to be centerpieces at some fancy wedding, and then the guests will be invited to take them home. Or rather, if they want one, they need to advise the wedding planner and she’ll have us deliver them to their homes. And by us, I mean not me. The garden center. I need to stop thinking of myself as being part of it.

“Hell,” I answer honestly, startling a little laugh out of him. I smile. That’s such a beautiful sound to go with his beautiful soul —all his beautiful self. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I’ve thought he is the most beautiful person to exist, ever.

“Hell? But you’re not religious!”

I shake my head. “No, but it’s a transferrable concept, once you take the religious element out of it.”

He’s still smiling as he sets the next tuber into a pot. “Your brain works in the weirdest ways. I guess that’s why you’re my friend.”

It’s simultaneously a stab to the heart and a comforting hug. I wish he didn’t think so poorly of himself. “I’m your friend because you’re an amazing person,” I remind him. “And you put up with my grumpy ass.”

He sighs and tops up the pot with potting mix. “You’re always saying what a grump you are, but you’re the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met,” he points out, as if that’s some kind of flex. I’ve heard about the men he had in his life before. Being better than them doesn’t exactly make me award-worthy.

“My roommates would disagree,” I counter. As always, that distracts him.

“I saw Aqua’s video last night. Is it true that more than fourteen million tons of plastic waste ends up in rivers, lakes, and oceans every year?”

I shrug. “Aqua would know that better than me, but it sounds about right. It’s a disgustingly high number, whatever it is.”

“I never knew it was so bad,” he admits. “How do I know if I’m part of the problem? I try to be environmentally conscious, but what if?—”

“Do you throw garbage directly into bodies of water?” I interrupt, and he stops working, eyes widening as he looks at me.

“No!”

“Do you litter?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you use appropriate waste and recycling bins, and make sure your garbage at home is collected by the right authority and not strewn through the streets?”

He gapes at me. “Yes.”

I shrug. “You’re not part of the problem.”

“But what if?—”

I hold up a hand to stop him. “Clay, please. I know you. You don’t even store your leftovers in disposable containers. You’re not part of the problem. Most people aren’t, unless they’re littering or disposing of trash irresponsibly.”

He still looks worried. “I just don’t want to be unknowingly contributing to the deaths of sea turtles and baby dolphins.”

“Trust me, you’re not. I know you downloaded the fact sheet on how best to reduce waste and recycle more effectively—I saw it on your fridge, remember? If you’re following even a quarter of those tips, you’re doing great.”

He reluctantly nods. “Okay. When are you doing your next video?”

The change of subject surprises me. “Uh… I’m not sure. Storm has a schedule, but I don’t check it very often. Usually he just corners me, says something about not being able to avoid him this time, and makes me film a few.”

Clay chuckles. “Do you make a practice of avoiding him?”

Yes. “Not exactly. Never when there’s something going on that I think we need to give an update about,” I add truthfully, but Clay’s stuck on the first part of what I said.

“Why do you avoid him? I thought you got along with him.”

“I do. I like all the plus-ones my brothers have brought into the family. Storm’s just unlucky that his job is to make me talk to a camera, and I don’t enjoy that.”

“Camera shy?” he teases. “I never would have guessed it of you. I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

My face gets hot. “I’m not afraid of the camera,” I protest. “But filming multiple videos where I’m not allowed to swear and have to sound pleasant—and sometimes smile—is boring.”

That makes him laugh outright, loud enough that some of the customers walking around the garden center look over. He doesn’t notice, and I’m glad. It makes him self-conscious when people look at him—he doesn’t believe that all they’d see is a handsome young man enjoying himself. I really hope that one day, I can prove to him that he’s not the waste of space his father called him.