The Guardian (Mended Souls Book 1)

by Jacquie Biggar

  Maybe he was becoming jaded. The life he and Lucas led was disturbingly shallow when placed against the importance of Tracy’s occupation. No wonder she brushed him off. He’d have done the same in her position.

  “Where to, mister?”

  The cabbie’s voice roused him from his musings. He slouched back in his seat, wincing at the growing ache in his side. He’d overdone it for his first day out of the hospital.

  His cell beeped and he fumbled in his haste to retrieve the phone from his pocket. Maybe she’d changed her mind. The name lit up on the screen put paid to those fantasies. It was only his agent. He fingered the call button but couldn’t bring himself to press it. Ray was a good guy, but he had no conscience. It was all about the next big film with the man. Usually Scott didn’t mind because that was his goal also—but not any more.

  “You know any good parks around here?” He silenced the ringer and slid it back into his pocket.

  “Yeah, sure. There’s a fairly quiet one just a few blocks from here, but you better be careful, mate. You make an easy mark looking like that,” the cabbie said.

  Scott shrugged. He’d welcome a good fight. Maybe it would relieve some of the God-awful tension he’d been under since the crash.

  “Whatever, man, it’s your dime.” The driver shifted into gear and Scott took a last look at the brownstone swiftly disappearing from view.

  Ten minutes later he’d paid the cabbie and exited into the quiet sanctuary of the park. There were enough lights interspersed along the walkway to push back the enveloping darkness but not so many that he felt like he was on stage. This was good, better than a night of meaningless sex with a woman he barely knew.

  Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that.

  The further he gimped along the path and worked out the kinks, the looser his muscles became. He’d taken the painkillers Nurse Ratchet left on the bedside table before he vacated the hospital. Tomorrow he’d call and see about getting a prescription for more, though he had a huge aversion to drugs of any kind. Too many of his buddies had gone down that path and never escaped.

  The trail led to a gazebo on a little rise in the center of an open area. Scott glanced around, but all was silent. Even the fickle breeze had died down. Hundreds of twinkling lights lit up a midnight blue sky, and though he searched, there were no falling stars. Too bad, he could use a wish about now.

  He strode up the path to the entrance of the gazebo, squinting to make out the shapes of a couple of benches. A sturdy wicker chair beckoned. He made his way into the dark building, tested the seat for dryness, and sank down with a sigh of relief. After almost a week in the hospital his energy level was low and it hadn’t been the easiest of nights. If Lucas were here he’d tell him to quit acting like a pussy and grab a set. And Natalya would be fussing over him like a mother hen. His fists clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut against the tsunami of grief threatening to drag him under. What was he going to do without them?

  A noise woke him and his free hand went to the base of his neck to massage away the kinks from his awkward position. He must have dozed off. The shuffling sound came again from off to his right. Scott swore and straightened up.

  Brilliant, Einstein.

  He’d be lucky if he didn’t get rolled.

  “Who’s there?”

  The sudden silence grew even more oppressive. He rose, careful not to betray any weakness to his, as yet, unseen opponent, even though his side was on fire from sitting too long. A glimmer of white gave the other guy’s position away. Scott moved as unobtrusively as he could to place the heavy wicker chair between them as a sort of bulwark.

  “Look, I don’t have much cash but you can take what’s here.” He pulled his wallet free and flung a few dollars down on the seat. “Here. Take it.” He tensed, preparing to protect himself against an attack.

  The white moved up and down and the air stirred with the unmistakable sound of wings.

  What the…? His pulse kicked up a gear and his hands grew clammy.

  An apparition stepped forward into a patch of moonlight and Scott’s mouth dropped open.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  Lucas stood before him with a crooked grin and a huge motherfuckin’ set of wings on his back.

  Chapter 11

  Michael Crenshaw stood inside the door of his home, closed his eyes, and just breathed. He could still smell the bubblegum scent that always clung to his youngest son’s skin. He even fancied he could hear his oldest boy giggling as Mike threw him over his shoulder and swung him around after returning from a hard day’s work. He could see his wife’s sweet smile as she hurried from the kitchen. Taste her cherry red lips as she stood on her toes to kiss him hello.

  God, he missed them.

  The full force of all he’d lost hit him.

  Why? Why did this happen to him? What had he done so wrong? The ache intensified until he couldn’t bear it and fell to his knees, head bowed in pain and sorrow.

  Julie’s sobbing broke through his misery some time later and brought him to his feet. It came from their bedroom. He made his way down the hall, his steps dragging as dread took over. Jules lay curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped tight around a chocolate brown teddy bear. The crib the two of them had been building together before the crash lay in a jumbled heap of kindling in the center of the floor. She’d destroyed it.

  He stumbled across the room, his hands trembling to hold her. To offer comfort. Oh, Jules. He’d been so busy worrying about everything he’d lost, he hadn’t taken into account his wife’s agony. Her crying had disintegrated into the occasional hiccup and sniffle as exhaustion claimed her body. She’d lost weight since the accident. Her cheeks were hollowed, her hair lackluster.

  They’d just learned they were expecting a baby girl and it was hard to say who was more excited; him and Julie, or the boys. They’d been laughing and talking, making up names, each sillier than the one before. Mike remembered turning his head for a split second to tease Dustin over his choice, Thumbelina, when Julie cried out a warning. He’d taken one glance at her horrified face and known they were in trouble. The rest was a blur; a little convertible sports car barreling right for them, his fingers slipping as he tried to avoid a head-on collision. The kids screaming in his ear as they picked up on the sudden tension and Jules turning to use her body as a barrier to try and save the boys, tears streaming down her face as she chanted, “I love you, I love you, I love…”

  He didn’t get the chance to say good-bye.

  They’d had eight tumultuous, perfect years together. Not enough, not even close. And now because some jackass drove into them he’d never get the chance to see his boys grow up. Walk his daughter down the aisle. Or grow old with the woman he loved more than all the angels in heaven. His gaze went to the wrecked crib and hatred flared hot and dangerous.

  Someone was going to pay.

  * * *

  Scott swayed and made a grab for the chair before he did a face plant in front of… of whatever it was standing across the room. A hallucination from the drugs, had to be.

  “Bet you never thought you’d be seeing my ugly mug again, did ya?” the apparition asked.

  It sounded like his friend. It even looked like Lucas—well, except for the wings. He sealed his eyes shut, but when they re-opened, it was still there sporting a goofy grin.

  Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he thought.

  “Are ya goin’ to say something?” The creature took a step forward, into the glow from the moon, and Scott sucked in an awed breath. He was beautiful. His iridescent wings folded gracefully against his back creating a frame for his all-too-familiar head. His body was more defined—muscular, like Lucas on steroids. And where the old Lucas preferred dress slacks and shiny shoes, this one wore worn jeans and biker boots.

  “I don’t believe this,” Scott whispered, his head shaking violently in denial.

  The creature chuckled. “I know, right? Freaking crazy. Me, an angel.”

  Well, at least
they were in agreement.

  “How? Why?” Scott couldn’t articulate what was going through his head right now. How could this be possible? It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in a hereafter—but angels? Even stranger—Lucas as an angel?

  The spirit moved nearer and Scott could see the worry etched on his friend’s face as he stared at him. “You better sit down, buddy, you’re looking pretty pale.”

  No kidding.

  Seeing a ghost tended to do that to a guy.

  Scott sidestepped the chair to get a closer look. If he was hallucinating, this was one hell of a dream. He stretched out an unsteady hand and brushed a downy feather, the color of a cotton ball. He looked up and met the hazel gaze he knew as well as his own.

  “You’re real.” A hard ball of emotion choked him. Tears leaked down his face. Overwhelmed, he wrapped his arm around Lucas’ neck and dragged him close. “I can’t believe it. You’re here.”

  Warm breath whispered near his ear. “I’m so fricken sorry, Scott. So sorry.” Lucas’ arms hugged him back, pinching his ribs, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone anymore.

  “Well isn’t this sweet?” A voice snickered, and laughter from others followed.

  Lucas stiffened. His arms tightened, smothering Scott, before he stepped away, placing himself in front of the newcomers. Scott was left staring at a six foot wing span.

  The room got deadly quiet.

  “Figured you wouldn’t take my advice,” Lucas drawled, the words deceptive. His body prepared for attack, from legs spread wide to thick shoulders and fists the size of cement blocks hanging by his side.

  What was he talking about? Who were these guys?

  The questions would have to wait. For now he needed to stand with his friend and try to be a help instead of a hindrance. He glanced around for some kind of weapon and noticed a broom leaning against the wall; it would have to do.

  He grabbed the handle and moved to Lucas’s left so his good arm was free to swing. He could see three, maybe four, teenagers, and by the scent of the wacky tobbaccy they were passing around, they were partying down. He didn’t care, they could just take it down the road. This was his haven for the moment.

  Scott figured he’d try the friendly approach first. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  Did teens even say that any more? He shrugged and took a few steps toward their leader, a kid with spiked green hair. Lucas hissed a warning behind him that he chose to ignore. “Look, we were here first. Why don’t you and your buddies find a new place to hang out?”

  The punker eyed him up and down, then blew a ring of smoke in his face. “Why don’t you make us?” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and made his point with the business end of a switchblade.

  Lucas snarled.

  One of the other kids swore and dropped a beer, the yeasty smell vaporizing on the crisp night air. “C’mon man, let’s get outta here.”

  The Punker ignored him and flopped into Scott’s recently vacated chair. “You guys tellin’ me you’re scared of a couple of gimped up weirdoes? Cut me a break.”

  Pot, meet kettle.

  Scott sighed. Obviously this kid was spoiling for a fight. Too bad he wasn’t up to granting him his wish. “Whatever, dude. Knock yourself out.”

  He turned away, motioning for Lucas to precede him out the door. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

  The chair scraped the floor. Before he could swing around to see what happened, Lucas slammed him to the ground. The air whooshed from his lungs as his friend’s six foot plus frame impacted with his already bruised body. Lucas’ wings encompassed them, creating a shield. Scott heard shouting and feet pounding as the teens ran away.

  “’kay, we’re clear. Let me up, you’re squishing me.” He used his free hand to lever it under Lucas’ shoulder. He wasn’t moving.

  “C’mon, buddy, let me up.” Desperation crept into his voice. Something was wrong. He pushed harder and finally managed to roll Lucas onto his side.

  Scott sat up, cradling his side. Lucas’ eyes were closed and his skin looked white with shock. What the hell happened?

  The wings folded and disappeared into his back and Scott’s eyes pulled a Roger Rabbit.

  Holy shit.

  His friend’s brown hair changed color, going almost gray and bristly. Even his body shape and clothing changed, developing a middle-aged paunch covered by a stained T-shirt and green cargo pants.

  Scott scooted awkwardly backward on the floor, his heart jolting in disbelief. It was the cab driver who’d picked him up at the hospital. This was too freaking weird for words.

  “What the hell is going on?” He wiped a shaking hand across his mouth and wished he’d taken the kid up on a toke.

  A stain had widened on Lucas’ side. Scott inched closer, grabbing the discarded broom handle on his way. He lightly touched the stain and brought his fingers to his nose. The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils.

  “Shit.” He glanced around wildly, searching for his phone. A glint caught his eye and he jumped to his feet, ignoring his own screaming muscles, and hurried to the edge of the bench. He used the broom to sweep the object out where he could grab it. It was his cell, thank God.

  He thumbed it open and was about to dial emergency when Lucas cried out, “No, don’t.”

  He sat up slowly, cradling his side. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. Even without the fact that you sprouted tail feathers and you’re supposed to be freakin dead,” Scott swore and exhaled a harsh breath. “Someone stabbed you, man. You need to get some help.”

  Lucas/cabbie guy grimaced, his cheeks now resembling rosy red apples. He gingerly tugged the material away from the wound and lifted his shirt for a better look, revealing an ugly red gash along the ribcage.

  “It’s not that bad, just a slice. It’ll heal.” He tugged the shirt over his head and plastered it against the cut.

  Scott wasn’t so sure. Even if the injury wasn’t as bad as he thought, that shirt was bound to invite infection. It was beyond strange hearing his best friend’s voice coming from the middle-aged man sitting on the ground. They made a great pair, both of them dinged up and a little worse for wear. Well, except for the fact that Lucas wasn’t real. This would make a great script. He snorted, imagining his agent’s face if he suggested such a crazy concept. They’d lock him up and throw away the key.

  He carefully lowered himself beside the other man, choking back a groan from the fresh bruises he sported thanks to Lucas’ earlier imitation of a linebacker.

  “Let me see.”

  Lucas glared but dropped the cloth. Scott turned on the phone’s flashlight and winced at the angry looking tear in the man’s skin.

  “Well, doc? Am I going to live?”

  “Really? That the best you can come up with?” Scott slapped the cloth back into place and smirked at Lucas’ pained groan.

  “You should work on your bedside manner,” Lucas grunted. “It sucks, dude.”

  Scott swallowed hard. That was such a Lucas thing to say.

  “It really is you, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve been telling you that.” Lucas shivered against the October chill.

  Scott dragged his coat off his good arm and passed it across. “Put this on before you catch your death.”

  Lucas croaked out a laugh and Scott grinned in return. It was bittersweet to have his buddy back again.

  Chapter 12

  Tracy spent a sleepless night and rose while dawn was still little more than a glimmer in the sky. She went through the motions of her yoga routine, a quick shower, and a cup of instant coffee, then strode briskly in the early morning chill to the bus stop. It would be good to get her car back. It’s not that she minded the bus, but preferred time to wake up before she was thrown into the hectic pace of the city. At least in her car she had a bubble between her and the next guy. On the bus there was no such luxury—as an overweight woman packing a suitcase for a purse and smelling like cheap perfume proved by taking up three-quarters
of the seat beside her.

  She tugged her cell phone out of the pocket squished between them, ignoring the woman’s indignant huff, and called the veterinary hospital to check on Sugar-Bear. Sometime during their misadventure last night the name had popped into her head for the poor thing. He was lucky, his injuries could have been much worse. She’d interrupted whatever was about to happen and she was grateful Scott had came on the scene when he had. Not enough to sleep with him, but grateful nonetheless.

  Though, holy toledo, the man could kiss.

  Her toes curled in her black pumps just thinking about that sexy mouth and where she wanted it the most. The receptionist picked up the call and Tracy forced her thoughts back to the hapless mutt.

  “Can you connect me with Dr. Foster, please?”

  “One moment and I’ll check if he’s in.” The nurse placed her on hold and soft elevator music streamed into her ear along with the annoying crinkling of paper coming from the woman beside her.

  Tracy glanced sideways and was astounded to see what seemed like a seven course meal courtesy of a fast food restaurant emerge from the enormous handbag. The lady noticed her look and offered half a bagel slathered in cream cheese. Tracy leaned back in her seat and tipped her coffee cup in reply. The woman shrugged and lifted the bagel to her mouth, sighing with pleasure.

  Tracy shuddered and turned back to the window.

  “Hello?” A tinny voice reminded her that she’d let the phone drop to her lap.

  She hurried to place it to her ear. “Ken?”

  “Tracy, I was hoping to hear from you.” His voice was cheerful.

  The tension she’d been holding on her shoulders fell away. “He’s going to be fine then?” She stared at the shop fronts racing by the window, the streets teaming with people heading to work.

  “I expect a full recovery, yes. You can come and pick him up later today, how’s that sound?”