Risk (It's Complicated Book 2)

by Ann Christopher

  Instead, he felt vaguely...uneasy.

  Worried was much too strong a word, especially if it was directed toward a woman with a titanium spine, as Angela had demonstrated earlier with his father. He knew enough about Angela to know she was strong. She’d get through this. They both would.

  But...why was she so quiet? What was going on behind those dark eyes?

  And was this the worst week in her life, or what? First her punk-ass boyfriend dumped her in public, and now this.

  How much more could she take?

  The thing was, Angela awoke protective instincts he hadn’t known he could feel toward a woman. Toward a child like Maya? Yeah, sure, of course. Toward a woman—especially one he wasn’t fucking? New territory, man. Was he happy about that? No. Could he change it? Apparently not.

  She headed into the huge kitchen, her face set in tight, grim lines. Fascinated, he watched as she walked around the island and stopped to look in the sink. Peering over her shoulder, he saw bowls soaking in water with a few limp bubbles of dish liquid left, dried oatmeal coating their rims. Bowls patiently waiting to be washed by people who were now dead.

  Jesus.

  The sight of those stupid bowls put several chinks in his shaky composure.

  Angela flashed him a wry smile. “Carolyn never could keep house.”

  Without conscious thought, Justus ran his hand over her back and squeezed her shoulder.

  She stiffened.

  He squeezed again.

  Her lower chin began to quiver.

  “Take it easy,” he murmured, even though he could feel sobs collecting in his own throat, waiting for departure clearance like planes sitting on the runway at CVG.

  Blinking furiously, she raised her head to look at him. Those dark eyes were shimmering with tears now, and even in his grief and, yeah, worry about her, it didn’t escape his notice that these eyes were amazing.

  That no other woman he’d ever met had eyes like this.

  “Are they really gone, Justus?” she asked.

  Magical thinking wanted to take control of her. Much as he wanted to stop her tears from flowing—and could someone explain to him why her tears feel like a kick to his gut?—he couldn’t let her go down this road, even for a second. It’d only be more painful later.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed hard and swiped his nose. More cracks appeared in his composure—he could feel the buildup of pressure in his chest—and fanned out like a spider web. “They’re really gone.”

  She nodded, a lone tear trailing down her cheek.

  She turned and walked down the hall to the steps. He followed.

  Maya’s pretty pink room at the top of the staircase looked exactly the same. He’d half expected the rooms to darken automatically out of respect for the dead, but they hadn’t. Bright sunlight streamed through the wispy white curtains. A little bed piled high with stuffed animals. Family photos on the dresser: Maya as a sleeping newborn in the obligatory knit-cap shot from the hospital nursery; Maya, V.J., and Carolyn smiling at the beach; Maya and V.J. asleep together on the sofa.

  He watched Angela stare at the pictures, her long, delicate fingers lightly touching her sister’s smiling, two-dimensional face. From behind he saw her shoulders heave and, fearing she was about to cry again, touched her arm.

  Startled, she stared up at him.

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Angela. Not today.”

  To his complete surprise, she smiled—a full smile that turned the pressure in his chest into a yearning ache for things he didn’t even want to think about right now.

  “I was just remembering how happy they were,” she said. “The day Carolyn met V.J.—I think it was in a class—she called to tell me she’d met the man she was going to marry. I laughed my butt off, but she was right.”

  She turned to another picture, one he hadn’t noticed: him at about age four, in shorts and a T-shirt, his skinny legs ending in sandaled feet, with V.J. They were laughing at the bottom of the slide in the backyard of their first, smaller, house. With their mother.

  Ah, God. Mama.

  He stiffened, completely undone by the sight of her.

  She was laughing, her head thrown back, her long hair blowing in the wind. He remembered the day very well. Vincent—in a rare good mood—had just finished setting up their new jungle gym. After they’d run around like maniacs for a couple of hours, they’d grilled burgers and Mama had topped the evening with her homemade vanilla ice cream. After tossing a coin to decide the matter, V.J. had won the right to lick the dasher, the one tense moment in an otherwise perfect summer day.

  Seeing Mama now and realizing that half—the good half, frankly—of his nuclear family was gone felt like being crushed beneath a street roller.

  Angela didn’t seem to notice his turmoil. She smiled again, still looking at the picture.

  “Ah, look at you, Justus,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I should have known you were an adorable child. Your children will be so beautiful. And look at your mother.”

  She seemed to realize what she was saying.

  Her gaze, searching and concerned, shot to his.

  He hated pity.

  But Angela’s understanding...

  “You must miss her so much,” she said. “But V.J. and your mom are together now. Don’t you think?”

  That did it to him. The thought of V.J. and Mama together again was the only thing holding him together, but the sad truth was, he wasn’t together at all. Not even a little bit.

  He choked up, and there was no way he could untwist his face and go back to being the manly man he wanted to present to Angela.

  Not right now.

  Embarrassed, he ducked his head and turned away.

  Angela wasn’t having it. She stepped closer and covered her cheek with her soft palm. “Shhh. It’s okay, Justus. It’s okay.”

  Turning back, he opened his arms to her.

  She came, without hesitation.

  They held each other like that for a long time.

  7

  Angela’s cell phone rang as she hurried into the sleek glass and chrome lobby of her office building at nine the next morning. She was running behind because she’d taken Maya to preschool first. Stopping at the elevator bank, she fished the phone out of her purse and pushed the up button.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey,” Justus said. “Did you get Maya dropped off okay?”

  “She did really well.” The elevator arrived and Angela got on. “I think she was glad to be back with her friends.”

  “Did they ask her a lot of questions, or—”

  “Well, the teacher did, but I’m not sure the other little kids even know what’s going on.”

  He heaved a relieved sigh. “Good.”

  The doors slid open and she stepped into the hushed and elegant reception area of her firm.

  “Are you at the gym?” she asked, automatically lowering her voice as she waved at the receptionist behind her granite-topped station and started down the hall to her office.

  “For a while. You gonna be there all day?”

  “Probably not. I don’t have much going on, and I won’t be able to concentrate very well. And I don’t want Maya’s first day back to be too long.” She turned into her office and flipped the light switch.

  “Well, I thought I’d come have dinner with you later. I’ll bring a pizza or something.”

  Angela froze in the act of taking off her jacket, surprised he’d suggest something so attentive. She had little to no experience with thoughtful men; in her three years with Ronnie, he’d picked up dinner once or twice. He’d always seemed to think it was her responsibility to plan the meals, even though she worked as long and hard as he did, and she’d been too stupid to disabuse him of this notion.

  “Bless you,” she said, thinking of how tired she’d be by dinnertime. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?”

  He snorted. “Yeah, I get accused of that a lot.”

  “I need to go,” she said, laughin
g. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Later.”

  Angela hung up, sat, and booted up her computer. She meant to review her email, the same as she did any other Monday morning of her life, but the huge knot sitting in her gut stopped her.

  Carolyn and V.J. were dead and Maya was an orphan. Why read the mail?

  How could everything look the same in this one little part of her world, when the rest of her world had been shattered? The sun still shone through her floor-to-ceiling windows, her carved cherry desk was still neat and clean, the family pictures nicely framed and arranged. A violet orchid bloomed over on the bookshelves, same as always.

  All of it seemed to mock her.

  She planted her elbows on the desk, buried her head in her hands, and struggled not to cry.

  “Angela!”

  She jerked her head up in time to see her good friend Carmen Rodriguez rush in and hurry around the desk, where she stooped and gathered Angela into her arms.

  “Oh, God, are you okay? Why haven’t you called me back? I’ve been so worried. How’s Maya? Is she doing okay? Is she back in school?”

  Angela extricated herself, no easy process. The last thing she needed right now was a soft shoulder to cry on. Once she got started with the bawling these days, there was no stopping.

  “We’re okay,” she said, sniffling. “Maya’s in school. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’ve been so busy.”

  Carmen nodded sympathetically, pulled Angela to her feet, and towed her to the navy-striped loveseat in the corner. They sat.

  “When’s the funeral?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Carmen pressed her hands. “What can I do?”

  A sob surged from Angela’s tight throat. She clapped her hand over her mouth but, to her horror, she still made a pitiful choking sound.

  “Pray for us.”

  Carmen pulled her into another bear hug, shushing her, and this time Angela didn’t resist. Finally Carmen leaned away, handed Angela a tissue from the end table, and took one to dab her own eyes.

  “What about Maya? What’ll happen to her? What do their wills say?”

  “They didn’t have wills.”

  Carmen gaped. “V.J. was a lawyer! For God’s sake, how could he not have a will?”

  Angela could only shake her head. “I wish I knew. Vincent called his office. They apparently opened an estate-planning file at V.J.’s firm about six months ago, but they never got anything finalized.”

  “So what will you do with her?”

  This was the question Angela had been avoiding asking, even to herself. But the funeral was tomorrow and it was time to make some plans. Maya needed permanency in her life.

  Do you have any idea how much it would mean to me if my sister actually liked my daughter? Can’t you do it for me?

  Besides.

  Angela owed it to Carolyn.

  “I’ve got to take her.”

  “You?” Carmen recoiled as if she’d suggested Maya live with a registered sex offender. “But you’re not ready to be a mother! You’re a single woman living in an apartment and you work seventy hours a week!”

  Angela shrugged. “Carolyn would do it for me in a heartbeat.”

  “Well...” Carmen cocked her head to think it over. “Maybe after you get engaged—”

  “Oh my God, that’s right. I haven’t told you my other big news! Ronnie dumped me Friday night.”

  “No!” Carmen shrieked.

  “He said he wasn’t ready to commit, blah, blah, blah. But when I went to the hospital to get Maya, I saw him in the parking lot with his lips all over some woman. Another doctor, I’m guessing.”

  “That son of a bitch!”

  Angela nodded grimly. Carmen’s outraged horror on her behalf was deeply gratifying, and any other time she’d like to wallow in it for a good long while. But right now she needed to focus on Maya.

  “So I’ll have to be a single parent. I can manage.”

  “Oh, but, Angela,” Carmen said, “it’s such a big responsibility. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  There was a stupid question if ever she’d heard one. Angela got up and paced, far too agitated to sit still.

  “Of course I’m not ready. I’m not married. I don’t know anything about kids. I don’t think I have any maternal instincts.” She snorted. “Maya doesn’t even like me.”

  Oppressive guilt, her other new best friend, reared its ugly head again. If she and Maya didn’t like each other, it was because she’d never made the slightest effort to get to know her niece. And why was that? Carolyn had hit that nail square on the head, hadn’t she?

  When are you going to stop being so selfish? When are you going to wake up and realize it’s not all about you and your career and your romance? What will it take for you to stop being so self-centered?

  Bottom line? It was time for Angela to grow up. Hell, at thirty-four years old, it was way past time.

  And this is probably your last chance to be a mother, whispered an insidious little voice in her head. Ronnie dumped you. There’s no other man in your life. If you want a kid, this is probably the best you’re going to do—

  Hold up.

  What was she doing? This wasn’t about Angela. It was about Maya, and what was best for her. And Angela was best for her.

  Wasn’t she?

  Stop it, Angela told herself sternly.

  She was best for Maya because, this one time in her life, she was willing and able to put someone else’s needs first. Maya needed her and Angela planned to be there for her.

  Period.

  “Will you draw up the guardianship application for me? Right away?” Angela asked. “And represent me at the hearing? It shouldn’t be that big a deal, right?”

  “Yeah, sure. It’s just a formality, really.” Carmen hesitated. “But maybe her grandfather could take her. Did you ever think of that?”

  Angela shook her head. “Vincent’s getting old, and he didn’t look any too healthy to me yesterday. There’s no way he’s got the energy to run around after a three-and-a-half-year-old.”

  “Why couldn’t Justus take her?”

  Angela’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane? Justus is living the single life on top of just starting his gym. He doesn’t want to be saddled to a kid any more than Hugh Hefner does. Trust me.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I mean, sure, he’s been great with her so far. This is all fresh and new. But in a couple weeks, he’ll be back to life as usual and he won’t want to bother with a kid. You mark my words. Anyway, Maya needs a mother.”

  Carmen looked dubious. “Did Justus say he didn’t want her?”

  “Of course he doesn’t want her,” Angela said. “What twenty-something man wants to be a single parent?” She took a deep breath and tried to get used to the awesome responsibility she’d just assumed. “So, I don’t have any choice, do I? I’m going to get a guardianship. And after that? I’ll adopt her.”

  Reaching around the massive harvest wreath and keeping the pizza balanced on his hip, Justus knocked on Angela’s apartment door.

  He was ten minutes early. Which was rude, of course.

  Technically, he’d been fifteen minutes early and had managed to wait a full five minutes in his car.

  But then his desire to see his girls (yeah, he now seemed to think of Angela as his girl whether he wanted to or not; so freaking what?) had overtaken his manners, and now here he was.

  The door swung wide.

  He couldn’t stop his face from lighting up as if St. Peter had just opened the gates of heaven for him.

  “Hey,” Angela said, grinning. “Come in.”

  He followed her to the kitchen and put the pizza on the counter, finally taking a minute to take a good look at the place and feeling as though he’d slipped through the rabbit hole into one of Martha Stewart’s homes. He liked nice surroundings as much as anyone (Casa Vincent aside), but damn. The kitchen was too clean. Almost sterile. There were no crumbs, piles of mail, or any s
igns that a human being actually lived there. The living room, on the other side of the granite countertop, was the same: interior designer beautiful but way too neat.

  Control freak, much, Angela?

  He’d have to change that. As soon as possible.

  “Nice digs, by the way,” he told her.

  “Thanks.”

  He checked her out more closely and decided she looked better today. Her eyes weren’t puffy, so maybe she’d stopped crying so much. She’d leashed her sleek brown hair in a ponytail—a shame, because he preferred it hanging loose around her face. She wore a plain white T-shirt and black yoga pants that clung to her curvy hips and butt and showed a crescent-shaped sliver of her taut brown belly.

  All of which disturbed his equilibrium. A lot. As had the little shorts she’d worn the other morning, when she’d clearly just rolled out of bed.

  And if he wanted his equilibrium to get blown straight to kingdom come? The idea of Angela in bed really did it for him.

  “Oh, LaRosa’s,” she said, eyeballing the pizza box. “You read my mind. Thank you.”

  Ah, man. Look at her. You’d think he’d given her a Benz. One of these days, hopefully soon, he’d have to get used to her smile. For now, the best he could manage was a nonchalant shrug and getting his dry mouth to work.

  “How was your day?”

  “Oh, fine.” She opened a cabinet and stood on her tiptoes to get some paper plates, a maneuver that flashed a generous portion of her smooth lower back and, even better, flexed her ass nicely. “I didn’t get much work done, though. Everyone stopped by to give me their condolences. I worked on the arrangements. I think I talked to your father about ten times.”

  That ass was absolutely amazing—

  She faced him again, giving him just enough time to slide his eyes back into his head. “How was yours?”

  Feeling as though his retinas had been singed, which was probably what he deserved for staring, he pulled one of the tall chairs out from under the countertop and sat down. “Pretty much the sa—”