“Aw, sweetie,” she said, “I’m so sorry. Mr. Myers passed away just a little while ago.”
Noble froze. So did Tristan’s heart.
His thoughts raced a million mile marathon in a minute flat. How could he possibly dismiss Mr. Myers’ words as the ramblings of an old man now? When a dying man speaks of angels, it’s pretty damned convincing.
But what about the part where he told Noble he was ‘The One’ meant to save them? And even as his mind rebelled against the thought—who needed saving anyway?—his soul clung desperately to what he knew to be the truth.
Chapter 35
Braelyn knew her heart was in trouble. Serious trouble.
She could talk a tough game, and she could push Noble away all she wanted to. But watching him ease Tristan through the initial heartbreak of losing Mr. Myers in a way she never could was truly humbling and a real sucker punch to her resolve.
Choosing men was not her strong suit, and deciding what to do with Noble was like walking on a shifting tightrope with a blindfold. And no net. Sure, he was incredible on paper. Sexy, handy around the house, he’d come through when she needed him, he had a job, he seemed able to rein in his temper . . . so far.
She snuck a glance his way. Both of the guys had fallen asleep on the couch after a long talk, sans Mom, and a two-hour zombie-killing mission. It was well past midnight Christmas morning. She knew she should wake him so he could go home and she could get some sleep. But this was the most peaceful she’d ever seen either of them.
She brought out her old Purdue fleece blanket and laid it across their legs, watching as the glowing lights from the Christmas tree twinkled across Noble’s golden skin. In sleep, his eyelashes shadowed his cheeks, his face utterly relaxed. Her fingers longed to release his thick hair from its confines and comb through the strands so she could breathe in the fresh shower smell she knew she’d find on the skin of his neck just under his ponytail.
She studied her son. He was becoming a man before her eyes. And though he resembled his father physically, that was where the similarities ended. And that was what mattered. Her mind tried to conjure up the hurt that Rory had caused her, but all she could muster was the pain he’d caused her son. And that, she decided, was infinitely worse.
Now Julian, he’d hit far closer to home in the hurt department. He hadn’t hurt her physically, but he had injured her heart, her pride, her self-esteem. He’d very nearly knocked it out of the park by threatening her baby, the most important thing in her world. That day she’d felt something rise up within her that refused to be squelched. A fire, an instinct. It was more than simple fight or flight. It was survive or . . . survive. And she’d die to protect her son so he had a fair shake at being a better man than those two losers.
Too bad her heart wasn’t a better listener when it came to men. Stupid heart. She’d have to give it a good talking to. Tristan was more important. Always would be.
But, now, as she closed herself into her bedroom, she fought back bitter tears as a harsh realization dawned on her. She’d done it again.
She’d fallen in love with a man who could squish her heart like a bug.
Noble sauntered back into Gentry’s the day after Christmas, thankful to be back to work. When he’d woken up at Braelyn’s Christmas morning with a crick in his neck and Tristan asleep next to him on the couch, the picture of contented innocence, he hadn’t quite known what to do with himself. He hadn’t intended to stay so late but, man, the kid had been hurting. It’d been like looking in a mirror from all those years ago back on the reservation and he couldn’t turn away. So he’d stayed.
Then Sweet Cheeks had tiptoed in with her adorable purple Tinkerbell PJs on and offered him a sleepy smile with her tousled hair and dreamy eyes. She’d asked him to stay for breakfast. Then he couldn’t leave while they opened their gifts. It’d be rude. Before he knew it, they were setting the table for dinner. And, he begrudgingly admitted, he’d had a great day.
Perfect, in fact.
And that scared the hell out of him.
“Evenin’, Noble!” Michael called from his station, causing his client to toss him an irritated glance. Mike ignored him, wiped, dabbed up more ink, and kept at it. “Did you have a good Christmas?”
Noble grunted. “Sure. You?”
“Great! Ariel and I got together with old friends.” He glanced up. “Did you happen to see Tristan and Miz Campbell?” His wide eyes were suspiciously hopeful. “I didn’t get a chance to get by. I sure hope their holidays were nice.”
Noble softened a tad remembering Tristan’s chocolate brown eyes full of unshed tears as he tried to hold it together. He must’ve really loved that old Mr. Myers. What Noble couldn’t, wouldn’t, spend time contemplating was why the man had wasted some of his last breath on Noble.
“It’s you,” he’d said.
“Me?”
“Yes.” The old man’s eerie, pale blue eyes sparkled like he was in on a divine secret. Perhaps he was. “The angels told me. And they don’t lie. It’s you.”
“Me, what?” he’d asked, his heart irrationally pounding. The old man was obviously confused.
“Can’t you see?” His bony finger, riddled with veins, pointed to the door Tristan had just walked out. “You’re meant for them. They will save you and, in return, you’re going to save them.”
Save them from what? From him?
“Yeah. I saw them,” Noble answered Michael’s question before heading to his workstation. “They’re good.”
Mike seemed happy with that answer and went back to his work with a cheesy grin.
A couple minutes later, as Noble was checking his equipment for the night, Jed popped in. “Hey, dude, how was your Christmas? Sorry we ditched you. Family thing, you know.”
Noble nodded and eyed his ink supplies. “It’s cool. I managed.”
“That’s good. So, what’d you do? Sit at home all by yourself eating Hungry Man and playing pocket pool?”
“No. And fuck you, too.”
Jed laughed. “So, what did you do?”
He glanced over. He’d never kept anything from his best friend. Even if it meant eating shit. “I hung out with Braelyn and her kid.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. What of it?”
“Nothing. That’s cool. You have a good time?”
He saw the smartass twinkle in Jed’s eye, but ignored it. “It was fine. I’ve had worse Christmases.”
The smile slid off Jed’s face. He knew . . . he just knew. And Noble found comfort in knowing someone out there understood his fucked up past.
Now if Noble could just get over the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. His grandfather had been remarkably scarce since he’d shown up that night at the studio, but he knew it had to be too good to be true.
Jed waited a beat to let the tension slip away. “So?”
“So?”
“You gonna ask me what I got for Christmas?”
Noble glanced back at his friend’s ultra-disgusting, shit-eating grin. “Mrs. Claus let me in on the secret. Congrats.”
Jed’s face fell. “She did?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“Guess I’m just cool like that.”
“Well, damn. I wanted to be the one to break the news.” He shrugged. “Well, whatever.” He propped a hip on Noble’s stool. “Did she tell you the name we picked out?”
Michael came barreling in as his client left, the bell above the door jangling his departure. “You guys picked a name?”
Jed shot him a sharp look. “She told you, too?”
Michael looked chagrined then sealed his lips with an imaginary key.
Jed growled. “Jeez. I’ll be sure and thank my wife for making me the last to kn
ow.” He smiled good-naturedly. “Well, we’re gonna name her Codi.”
“Codi?” Michael repeated, as if giving the name a test run.
“Yeah,” Jed said. “Kyle wants to keep the whole giving-girls-a-boy-name thing going.”
“Cute.” Noble smiled, feeling like things were finally getting back to normal. “Just like her mama.”
Jed sucker punched him in the arm. “You keep your eyes off her mama. Get your own woman to knock up.”
“Yeah, well, I’m in no hurry for that.”
Michael’s eyes pinged back and forth during their exchange, his face unreadable. “Maybe you should be.”
Both men stopped and stared at him.
The earth could’ve opened up and swallowed him and Noble wouldn’t have been more shocked.
But, then, he was sure the earth did open up and swallow him when Jed paused and turned to him. Make that turned on him. “You know, I think he’s right. Maybe you should be.”
Chapter 36
Late New Year’s morning Tristan padded into the kitchen wiping the sleep from his eyes as the nearly-afternoon sun slanted through the curtains.
“Mom?”
He inhaled appreciatively and lifted the foil covering on the baking pan. She’d left him some chocolate chip muffins. He took one out, popped it in the nuker, and grabbed the carton of milk. Where was she? He was hoping she’d let him get in at least one more day of video games with Nate before school started again on Monday.
“Mom!” he yelled, eying her bedroom door.
No response. He turned for a glass, seriously contemplating just drinking the milk from the carton, when he spotted her note.
Hey, sleepyhead—went for a pedicure and lunch with the girls from school. Be home in a few hours. Left you muffins and stuff for lunch in fridge. Pizza for dinner.
Love ya, kiddo.
Mom
P.S. No, you cannot go to Nate’s until I get home.
Damn. The woman was psychic.
Tristan peered outside and noticed that Noble’s truck was gone and found himself wondering about his weirdo grandfather and the things he’d heard him say to Michael. And what about the things Mr. Myers had said? It seemed like Noble was a magnet for freaky old people. Not that Mr. Myers was freaky. He’d just said some pretty bizarro things at the end there.
Tristan sighed in the silence, his mom’s rooster clock ticking away. Was it too early to call Nate? Probably. But he could call Ashley. He sure hoped she liked the little silver bracelet he’d given her for Christmas, all Noble’s idea. He glanced across the room and the red light was blinking on the answering machine.
He swallowed the last bit of his milk and walked over to press the ‘play’ button. Maybe she’d already called this morning and he’d missed it.
“Tristan, it’s me. I’d like to talk to you. Call me.”
Adrenaline washed over Tristan as his father’s voice rang out, now slightly unfamiliar to him, but grating and hurtful all the same.
No, I miss you, or I’ve been thinking about you. I’m sorry I’m such a shithead. Not even a please.
Tristan debated for several minutes about returning the call. The jerk-off didn’t deserve the time of day. But, in the end, the desire to tell him off won out. So, hand shaking, he picked up the phone and punched in the number.
Braelyn came home from her pedicure and a late lunch feeling like a brand new woman. A few days distance had given her a whole new perspective on the Noble issue. She was pretty darn proud of how she’d handled herself. They’d managed to get through Christmas day cordially now that they’d shelved the sex thing. And it had been worth it to see Tristan so thrilled. Their reading lessons were pretty much a thing of the past and he was coping very well there. It was all perfectly friendly.
Now if she could just get her heart on board with the not-getting-broken plan.
At least Noble had no idea how she felt.
She let herself into the house, immediately suspicious because of the silence.
“Tristan? Sweetie?”
She continued further inside and put her purse on the counter next to her note that now lay crumpled next to an empty, milk-stained glass. She absently picked up the glass to take it to the sink, but detoured when she thought she heard a rustle.
“Tristan? Is that you?” she called out, her heart pounding in her throat. As much as she didn’t want to overreact, the threats and fear she’d been running from were clawing at her conscious and blinding her to reason. “Baby? Please answer me!”
She rushed to his bedroom. Empty.
Systematically she checked every room in the house. Nothing. Absolute panic began to short-circuit her system.
“Shit, Braelyn. Don’t panic.” She ran back to the kitchen and reached for the phone. Realizing she still had the empty glass in her hand, she moved to place it on the counter. Her trembling hands missed and it crashed to the floor, tossing glass in a rainbow of shards and splinters everywhere. She stared at the mess for a dumbfounded moment, then picked up the phone.
She dialed Nate’s house first. Tristan wasn’t there. Oh, why couldn’t he have disobeyed this time?
She tried his girlfriend next. No answer. Her throat tightened convulsively.
Her eyes flew about the room, searching for something, anything, to give her a hint. Like a beacon, the answering machine called out to her. One message showed on the display. She rushed over and pressed the button praying her son had left a message from wherever he was. But why wouldn’t he have tried her cell? She tamped down her fear and listened.
“Tristan, it’s me. I’d like to talk to you. Call me.”
Rory? What the hell was he calling for? She very nearly dismissed it, not having time for the asshole, but a tiny voice in the back of her mind prodded her to think. Had Tristan heard the message?
She picked up the phone and dialed Rory’s number.
Rory’s wife answered.
“Is he there?” Braelyn demanded without preamble.
The bimbo huffed, but put him on. “Hello?”
“Rory.”
“Braelyn?”
“Yes.”
“What can I do for you? We’re a little busy here . . .” An infant’s cries cut through the line and Braelyn felt something tumble in her heart.
She gathered her strength. “I see you called Tristan. Did you talk to him?”
“I don’t see that’s any of your business—”
“Damn it! He’s MY son, so yes, it’s my business. Did you talk to him or not?”
He sucked in an aggravated breath. “Yes. We spoke briefly.”
Shit. What had he done? “What did you say to him?”
“Well?” she prodded when he didn’t answer.
“I called to tell him he has a new baby brother,” he finally answered proudly. “Rory, Jr.”
She didn’t have time to pull the stake from her heart as the doorbell rang. She took a couple steps in that direction, her mind whirling with a thousand ways to tell him off. “You know,” she said calmly, “you really are an asshole. You don’t deserve my son.”
“Well, I may be an asshole, but at least I’m not a fugitive. Some kind of loser you picked there, Braelyn,” he spat back.
She froze, not comprehending his words. “What? What are you talking about?”
She could hear the sneer in his voice. “That doctor you were living with. He’s all over the news up here. He was higher ‘n a kite and nearly killed someone in a hit and run. Now they’ve got a warrant out for him. Apparently they think he’s a loose cannon.” He huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Jeez, Braelyn. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”
She sucked in a breath as the truth of his statement hit closer to home than he knew. “Yeah, I know h
ow to pick ‘em, all right. I picked you, didn’t I?”
She ignored his sputtering and hung up on him as she closed her eyes briefly to the stab of pain. But, as the doorbell sounded again, followed by an insistent, angry pounding, she got it in gear and jogged to the front door with the phone still clutched in her hand, hoping against hope that the person on the other side would be Tristan simply locked out.
But, no, she found herself staring into Noble’s troubled black gaze. “What do you want?” Her voice was clipped and she frankly didn’t care. Men were the last thing she was concerned with at the moment. She’d been right all along. They were all out to hurt you.
His jaw muscle clenched as he took in her face. “One of my bikes is missing.”
She just stared at him, unable to comprehend why he’d be at her house instead of calling the cops. “And?”
“Is Tristan here?”
She simply stared at him as fresh tears filled her eyes.
His black eyes glanced over her shoulder then back to her. “The key’s gone, too, and Tristan is the only one who knows where I keep it.”
A moment of heavy silence hung between them as that sunk in. Suddenly, her legs buckled beneath her and her knees hit the entry tile with a crack. “Oh, Jesus.”
He knelt in front of her, his hands reaching to comfort her. Blindly, she shoved him back. “Get away from me! Oh, my God!” She scrambled back and reached for the doorframe to roll herself up. “I’ve got to call the police. I need to find him.” She stared down at the phone she still held in her hand, trying to remember what to dial. She glanced down into Noble’s unreadable face, seeing only something dark and utterly dangerous in his eyes. “Thank you for telling me, Noble.” Tears blurred her vision. She blinked and tried to clear her eyes as she began to shake.
“Braelyn—” His soft voice whispered along her skin, promising support and comfort. Love.
The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) Page 28
