The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

He didn’t want to come over here and do this. He wasn’t going to. It took him a week to suck it up and realize that he had to. He couldn’t let go of the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for him. Hope that he could read things before he signed them or do more than just look at the pictures in magazines and skim for familiar words. Hope that Mrs. Montgomery had seen something in him of value and not been wrong. Hope of not feeling like such a damn failure. God Almighty, hope of buying into Jed’s shop. Or owning his own . . .

  “Next.”

  A beat. Two. Three, as the pipe dream faded and the words came. “President Kennedy. I think.” The picture was horrible.

  A clink in the garage caught his attention. The kid was home. Damn. He’d tried to get with her early enough to avoid anyone knowing what he was up to. He glanced over to ask her if they were about done when Michael’s booming laugher rattled through the door. Double damn.

  He must’ve flinched because she stretched over and gripped his hand. “It’s all right. They’ll be out there for hours. They always are. They lose track of time tinkering on Tristan’s bike until I call ‘em in for supper.”

  Her hand was so warm. Her face so beautiful. She’d been eternally patient with him today. She was the perfect special ed teacher. The only problem with that was he didn’t want to be a special ed student! He grappled with this as the song Hot for Teacher rolled through his head.

  “What?” she asked, a frown marring her brow.

  He realized he was grinning at her like a loon. He sat back and schooled his face. “Nothin’.” Hot for teacher, indeed. “Carry on.”

  She flipped through a dozen more cards—colors, objects, symbols—before she declared them finished with her “informal” test.

  “So what’s the verdict, doc?” He kept his tone light, but his heart was pounding against his ribs.

  She glanced at her sheet of notes. “Well, I’m no doctor and you’ll have to go to someone a bit more qualified for an official diagnosis. But, from what I saw today, and from what I know from my experience teaching, I’d say it definitely looks like you are dyslexic.”

  He couldn’t hear what else she was saying as the blood rushed through his ears. Something about helping him learn to read better and adapt. He scrambled to stand and breathe. Everything he didn’t want to be, had been ashamed of, his whole life had just been explained away by a simple test with fucking flashcards! As relieved as he was to finally have an answer, he couldn’t wrap his mind around that.

  Holy hell.

  She stood behind him but didn’t touch him, apparently sensing his need for distance. “Noble? Are you all right?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’m just gonna go.”

  Noble made a quick retreat out the garage door to return home the way he’d come in. He drew up short when he nearly smacked into Michael’s massive girth.

  “Well, hey there, Noble! How’s it goin’?”

  “All right,” he answered by rote, thinking it odd that Mike didn’t even question his being at Braelyn’s in the middle of the afternoon. He glanced down to the greasy piece of metal in his hand. “Whatcha got there? A carburetor?”

  “Yeah, me ‘n Tristan are trying to rebuild it for his bike. I’m afraid I’m not much help to him, though.” He squinted one eye like he was thinkin’. “You think you might be able to help us out for a while? You busy?” He flicked a glance behind him to the closed door.

  Tristan moseyed over and he and Noble exchanged a nodded greeting. Nothing to get your mind off being a special ed reject than some real man work. “Sure. I got time.”

  “Cool.”

  The two and a half men made their way over to the workbench and started in on the defunct carburetor. The smells of motor oil and gasoline and the metal clanking of tools and the occasional grunt or cuss word with minimal conversation were soothing. It was nice to have grease under his fingernails again. It’d been a while.

  Sweet Cheeks brought them out cold sodas, but otherwise kept her distance. She was either busy doing something inside or giving them lots of room to do guy stuff in the man cave. And as much as he admired her cute little, well, everything, he was grateful.

  “So, Tristan.” Michael glanced up as he wiped his fingers on a blue rag. “How’re things with Miss Ashley?”

  The kid flushed, but kept his cool. “Good.” He glanced up. “She asked me to the homecoming dance.”

  Noble picked up a different wrench and kept working, thinking this conversation was none of his bee’s wax, but sorta proud for the kid.

  “That’s great,” Mike exclaimed with a grin. “You gonna go?”

  Tristan shrugged. “I guess. Maybe. I can’t really dance.”

  Noble glanced up. “I don’t think she cares, dude.” So much for minding his business.

  The kid gazed at him with wide, startled eyes. “You don’t think so? I don’t wanna look like an asshat.”

  Noble continued to wrench the piece without missing a beat. “Nah. Never happen. Sounds like the girl’s into you. Just get her one of those pretty little flower thingies to wear on her dress. Tell her she’s beautiful. Spin her around the dance floor on one of the slow numbers. Give her a kiss. You’re all good. In like Flynn.”

  “Seriously? That’s it?”

  “Seriously. That’s it. Well, there’re a few more things, but they’ll have to wait until you’re a little older. But for now, that’ll do.”

  They worked at the bench and chatted about the high school ladies for a while longer before Noble realized that Michael was mysteriously quiet. He’d slunk to the back of the garage and was fiddling with his cell phone.

  “Mike, whatcha doin’?”

  He glanced up with a goofy grin. “Nothin’. Just texting a friend. Hey, listen. I’ve gotta get goin’. I forgot I’ve got a, uh, a meeting.” He shot a meaningful glance to Noble. “Sorry, Tristan. You don’t mind, do you? I’m sure Noble can help you finish up here and I’ll catch up with you on Saturday. Cool?”

  Tristan nodded and didn’t seem put out at all. Noble, on the other hand, felt slightly confused. Since when did Mike have his AA meetings on Wednesday afternoons? Was he feeling like he was going to fall off the wagon and needing some extra support? He sure didn’t look or act any different than usual. And Noble had some experience with alcoholics. If anything, he seemed to be ducking out as a ploy. But a ploy for what? Whatever. He put on his happy face and bid Mike goodbye.

  Tristan got back to it after taking a big sip of his Dr. Pepper. “Hey, hand me an O-ring, would ya?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  They worked in silence for a while, but Noble could tell the kid had something on his mind now that Mike was gone. Noble had never been the touchy-feely-talkative type, so he didn’t press him. He figured he’d spill it if he wanted to. He went to work with the plugs and gaskets.

  “So,” Tristan finally started a few minutes later. Here we go. “Does Michael talk to you about the stuff we do? The things we talk about?” He shot Noble a look that spoke volumes. He must’ve been talking some deep shit with Mike that he was hoping the big guy had kept to himself. No worries there.

  “Not really.”

  The relief was palpable. “Oh.”

  Noble put down the plug in his hand and picked up a rag. “You don’t have to worry. Mike’s as good as they come. He won’t rat on you or tell your secrets.” He looked him in the eye. “Neither will I.” Where had that come from? He didn’t want to get into the kid’s problems. But something about those big, brown, pleading eyes had sucked him right in.

  Tristan nodded, but didn’t say anything for a minute. Noble wondered if he was gonna let it go at that. “I kinda had a meltdown on him not too long ago.” He glanced over as he fiddled with the O-ring in his hand. “About my dad.”

 
Ah, shit. He didn’t know what to say to that. Dads were definitely not his thing.

  Tristan apparently didn’t care. He kept right on talking. “Anyway, it was pretty embarrassing. I yelled and carried on. Got all riled up over nothin’ much.” He threw the ring down and wiped his hands on his jeans. “He didn’t say anything to you? ‘Bout me bein’ a big baby or whatever?”

  “Oh, no, dude. It’s cool. He didn’t say a word, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think anything like that about you. Mike’s not like that. He’s different. He’s . . . understanding.” He glanced over and saw that Tristan wasn’t convinced. He didn’t know what else to tell the kid.

  He reached for his Coke and took a huge drink to drain the rest of it before tossing the can across the garage into the trash. He picked up the new manifold seals out of the rebuild kit and examined them, wondering what the kid was thinking. For some reason, guilt plucked at his conscience. Maybe it was that kindred spirit thing.

  “Did I ever tell you I grew up on a reservation?” he asked without looking Tristan in the eye.

  The kid didn’t move. From the corner of his eye, it looked like he was frozen in place. “Uh, no. They still have those?”

  Noble afforded him a quick glance. “Shit, yes, lots of ‘em. Poor as dirt, too.” He turned back to stare blankly and pretend he was doing something with some of the parts just to keep his hands busy. “I happened to grow up in the Navajo Nation in Arizona.”

  Tristan moved closer and leaned against the workbench. “So, your family’s there?”

  Noble beat back the bad memories like flies. He’d brought it up, after all. He glanced down at a scuff on his black boots and took a breath. “No.”

  The kid didn’t say anything, but Noble felt his eyes burning holes into the top of his head as he waited. Slowly, he met his gaze. Who was he hiding from? The kid wouldn’t judge him.

  “Your dad a piece of shit, too?” Tristan asked, startling him with his quick uptake.

  “Not quite. My dad’s dead. He died when I was seven.”

  “Your mom?”

  “She ran off when I was about three. Haven’t seen her since.”

  Tristan tilted his head. “So who raised you?”

  My piece of shit. “My drunk of a grandfather.”

  “And where is he? Is he dead, too?”

  Man, the kid was relentless. “No, he’s in prison.” He knew what was coming and tilted his head as if to say: Any more questions?

  But he didn’t ask a thing. He went back to the carburetor and started putting it back together. “Sorry. That sucks.”

  Noble was floored. “Aren’t you gonna ask me the obvious question? What’d he do?”

  Tristan shook his head. “Nah. It’s not my business.” He glanced over. “I mean, you can tell me if you want. I won’t tell anyone . . .”

  Was he really throwing Noble’s own words back at him? Well, at least he’d accomplished his mission and made the kid feel better. But somehow, it felt unfinished between them, like he needed to get it all out.

  “I was a lost cause in school. My grades sucked, I acted out, I was a mouthy little fucker. The only teacher—hell, the only person—who saw any potential in me was my high school art teacher, Mrs. Montgomery. She was absolutely, hands-down, the best person in my world. Period.

  “Anyway, one day during my junior year, my drunk-ass grandfather got shit-faced drunk, got into his truck and decided he needed to go somewhere. Where he had to be on a damned reservation, drunk, at four-thirty in the afternoon, I have no idea.

  “Unfortunately for Mrs. Montgomery, she had to be home for her family at four-thirty in the afternoon. You see, she had dinner to cook, and ballet lessons, and football practice. Normal life stuff. But, instead, my grandfather ran into her head-on and killed her instantly.”

  Noble heaved a breath as he worked up the emotional energy to finish the story. He glanced at Tristan’s face. His eyes were wide and emotional, but he remained silent.

  “It’s kind of ironic,” Noble continued, “the person I despised most in the world had to be the one to take away the one I loved the most. So, the day he was convicted, I packed my shit and hightailed it off the reservation and never looked back.”

  “You dropped out of school? How old were you?” Tristan’s voice cracked with emotion.

  “Sixteen.” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t get any big ideas. It’s taken this long and your mom’s help to figure out I’m dyslexic.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tristan nodded, but still seemed caught up in the history of the story he’d just heard. “So, where’d you go? What’d you do?”

  Cried. Hurt. “Hitchhiked my way to Texas. I worked odd jobs and was poor as shit. Eventually I met Jed, he’s my best friend. We learned to tattoo together and I started the life I have now.” He’d save the kid from the unsavory details of being destitute.

  But, strangely enough, nothing he’d told the kid brought him near the amount of pain it used to. It was all sort of a dull ache now.

  “Hmmm. That’s rough.” He studied Noble’s eyes. “So, why’d you tell me all this?”

  Hell if he knew. He shrugged. “So you’d know we’ve all been there, man. But it gets better.”

  They shared a small, half-smile and got back to the work at hand with their chests a little lighter and a new, growing camaraderie. Hmm. Maybe chicks were onto something with all this sappy baring-your-soul stuff.

  Chapter 19

  Michael walked into the Tabernacle basement and immediately sensed the buzz. They had been assembled in an emergency AA meeting, which had never been done before, and nerves were strung tight and palpable throughout the room.

  He nodded a greeting to their leader. “Brother Gabriel.”

  “Michael.”

  Even Gabriel’s usually bright golden eyes held a touch of anxiety as his smile didn’t quite reach them. Michael’s stomach dropped and he took a seat in the front row.

  Ariel slipped in next to him, her gauzy skirt clinging to his jean leg. “What’s going on?”

  He peered into her icy, fearful eyes. “I have no idea. I’ve never come to a meeting like this. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  She let her gaze wander around the room, but Michael kept his trained on their leader trying to glean any information from his aura. Nothing. He had to sit and wait while the rest of the Love Detail angels filed in and took their seats, an unusual quiet pervading the room.

  Finally, everyone was accounted for and the doors were closed, locked, and sealed with light before Gabriel approached his post at the podium.

  The crowd took a collective breath and you could’ve literally heard the proverbial pin drop.

  “Brothers and sisters, I’m sorry to pull you from your busy schedules. Thank you for coming on such short notice.” His hands shook slightly as he glanced down at the shimmering, gold-lined parchment on the podium in front of him.

  A decree from Father!

  “I’ve been instructed to call you together, as have all leaders of all angel sects, to inform you of some imminent changes in our Angeldom.”

  Nobody moved. Nobody seemed to take a breath as they waited for him to continue.

  “It seems that there has been some sort of upheaval either here on Earth or in the Heavenlies, and I’m not privy to the details, but Father now sees fit to . . .” He paused and took a breath to compose himself. He looked up with tears in his eyes. “He sees fit to consider reassignments in all realms. We will be notified within the week if any of us are to be moved off Love Detail.”

  Braelyn floated through her day at work even when Jeremy had a mini-meltdown because his mom forgot to pack his Oreos in his lunch and Daisy had to be sent home with a raging fever. Otherwise, her day rolled smoo
thly, her kids behaved, and she felt like she was doing a good job being a productive member of society. She even felt cute in a new outfit and push-up bra. And it had nothing to do with the fact that tonight Noble was off work and supposed to be coming over to work with her for his first “lesson.” She really wasn’t sure what she could do for him for a few reasons. First, his dyslexia appeared to be pretty severe. But, secondly, and more importantly, he was stubborn and she wasn’t sure how much help he would accept. And thirdly—sigh—she was hoping his hotness wouldn’t distract her from teaching him anything. That could be an issue because he hadn’t said a word about her impulsive offer of no-strings sex. That was probably a good thing. She adjusted her new bra covertly as Brittany ambled over.

  “Hey, Bray, want me to get the kids on their math lessons now?” she asked, oblivious to Braelyn’s wayward thoughts.

  She smiled. “Sure. They aren’t due for their bathroom break until two, so let’s push through if they can stand it.”

  And so they tag-teamed the kiddos through arithmetic, potty breaks, snack breaks, a story, and a short free time until it was time for dismissal. Finally.

  Braelyn bided her time until she could grab her purse and rush out to her car, calling out a harried goodbye to her teaching partner and making for home. She was ready to get to it with her newest student.

  She pulled up the driveway and eyed Noble’s big, black, sex-god of a truck next door as the garage door slid open. Just in case he was watching, she got out with her back straight and her pushed-up assets looking their absolute best, and made her way into the house. She threw down her purse and kicked off her shoes to wait for him.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow flit past her in the hallway, or maybe it was the sunlight filtering in through the blinds? Her heart began to knock in her chest.

  “Tristan?” she called, knowing he wasn’t home.

  Silence.