Glass Ceilings

by A. m Madden

  I reached over and smoothed a hand over his messy hair. “I don’t know. I think she’ll be happy for me, and sympathetic to the situation. She’s very caring and warmhearted.”

  Angela abruptly stood and went into the kitchen while still holding Nicholas. I watched her take a bottle of water from the fridge, and drink from it with a shaky hand. Nicholas lifted his head motioning toward the fridge. She reached inside and handed him his plastic cup.

  When Angela returned to the couch, I asked, “Can I hold him?”

  “Of course.” She passed me the baby before drawing her knees up and defensively wrapping her arms around them. He squirmed, wanting to be put down, but I needed to smell him, hold him for a bit. When I handed him my cellphone hoping to distract him, he thrust the cup he held toward his mom. She watched with a smile as he tapped the screen with a chubby little finger.

  “You haven’t answered my question.” When I glanced her way she added, “Is it serious?”

  I waited a pause before answering. I wanted to say my draw to Stacie was because she reminded me so much of her. She filled a void that all the other women that I fucked these past twenty-two months simply couldn’t. The faces of the women I’d screwed all flipped through my mind. Except for Stacie, not one of them meant a thing to me. Stacie was pure, sweet, and the perfect distraction, but I couldn’t commit to more. Maybe in the back of my mind and deep in my heart I was holding out for the possibility that Angela would someday come back to me.

  “Her schedule kept things from truly progressing.”

  “If she suddenly quit her job and moved to New York, could it be?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. I honestly couldn’t answer that question. If Stacie suddenly relocated to New York I know that we’d absolutely have gotten more serious, but would we survive Angela coming back into my life?

  “What about you, Angela? Has there been anyone else since me?”

  Based on the look in her eyes, the love she felt for me was unmistakable. Closing them, she took a calming breath before admitting, “Nick, the last man I’ve been with was you. The last man I’ve loved was you.”

  Chapter 21

  Nick

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” she said softly.

  “You didn’t,” I was quick to respond.

  Actually, it was just the opposite. Her admission warmed me in a way that I hadn’t been for a long time. Did I feel the same way as she? In the beginning I thought that I loved her. After she ended it, with time that love turned into something else. At the time I thought it was hatred, but having her here now I realized in spite of everything I could never hate her. Maybe “victimized” would be the right word?

  Slowly, clarity helped me look toward myself as part of the problem, and I decided I needed to own some of the blame. Although she was the one to give up before even giving us a chance, it wasn’t all on her. My pride had stopped me from chasing her, and that was probably the biggest mistake of my life.

  She pinned me with her big, emotional green eyes. “I know that I dumped a lot on you last night and today. Now that you know everything I can only hope that you can forgive me, Nick.”

  By just staring at me she caused my insides to ignite. Angela Cavello affected me in every way, then, now. There was no denying this woman got under my skin, and the sick part was after all that happened to widen the divide between us, I still wanted her.

  I wanted her.

  The resentment that I felt toward her just a few hours ago was slowly ebbing away, replaced by desire and need. Several times since last night, she made it clear that she still loved me. The question that remained was did I love her, and if so, was it enough to forget what she kept from me?

  She must have misinterpreted my contemplation and silence as something else because she suddenly stood and said, “Ready for dinner, little man?” She ruffled Nicholas’s hair as he sat on my lap, still playing with my cellphone. Removing my cell from his grip and handing it back to me caused his face to pucker in disappointment. When she bent closer to lift him off my lap, her vanilla scent immediately brought back memories of her smooth skin and soft curves.

  Nicholas was reaching for my phone with both arms out as she sat him on her hip. “Mine!” he demanded, making me laugh.

  I handed it back to him and Angela scolded, “You can’t give him everything he wants. He’ll have you wrapped around his little finger and he’ll know that he does.”

  “He already has me wrapped around his little finger,” I admitted. This kid who I just met had completely fucked with my heart. He was absolutely adorable, from head to toe. I never really thought about procreation, but how could I not be in awe of this perfect little person that we made together?

  She shook her head with a smirk on her face. “Once I start feeding him, I’ll get it back for you. Although it may be covered in pasta sauce by then.”

  I watched as she carried him into the kitchen and settled him into his high chair. He absolutely knew what was coming based on the way he bounced in his seat. She prepared his dinner, and placed it on his tray while snatching up my cellphone. He dove right in, mostly using his fingers and occasionally using the green plastic spoon Angela kept reminding him to use. While he ate, she initiated a conversation as if he were an adult. She brought up things we saw at the park, asked him questions, distracted him when he began playing with his food instead of eating it.

  At times she laughed at his mischievous behavior instead of reprimanding him. He flirted his way into getting more pasta. They had an obvious bond that sparked jealousy within me. Of course they would, but it was more than just a mother-son thing. They were a team, and watching them interact as they were made me feel like I was intruding.

  Normally, I was a very patient person. In this situation, I wanted to fast-forward and cram everything I missed into this one day…but that was completely unrealistic. I had a lot to figure out, the most important one of which was where I wanted this to go and how I was going to handle the case.

  He looked over at me with a smile full of pasta. “Ummy?” he asked, lifting a fistful toward me. I walked closer, looking to Angela for translation.

  “He wants you to have some.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded, pretending to eat the squished pasta he offered. He laughed and offered a second handful to his mother. She held his wrist and made munching noises as she pretended to eat from his hand. He belly-laughed, quickly scooping some into his mouth before offering her more.

  “Okay, now you’re playing around, Mr. Little Man,” she pretended to scold him. She cleaned him up, and set him down on the floor. He immediately scurried off like a little crab, aiming straight for his toy box. Angela followed him into the living room and turned on the TV to some kid show. The minute he heard the music, he started dancing in place. When he wiggled his diapered butt, I laughed out loud.

  “I know, he makes me laugh so many times a day,” she admitted proudly. “He’ll be entertained for a bit. I’m starving, would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “I gotta go,” I said halfheartedly.

  If she were to insist that I stay I would’ve, but she didn’t. She merely nodded without argument. “Okay.”

  My heart squeezed in my chest over leaving them. I already missed my son, and I hadn’t even walked out the door. “Good night, my boy,” I said quietly before bending to kiss the top of his head. “Night, Angela.”

  As I walked toward her door, she called out, “Wait, your phone.”

  Shit, what was going on with me? Feeling like an idiot, I backtracked and took it from her hand, my fingers grazing hers as I did. “What’s your number?” I asked, realizing I didn’t have it. I dialed as she recited it for me. Once the call connected, the ringtone that began playing was “Auld Lang Syne,” causing my eyes to connect with hers.

  “It reminds me of a happier time,” she said without apology.

  The intensity bet
ween our gazes left no question that we were both seeing the same imagery. Standing in that crowded bar, kissing at the stroke of twelve, my hands on her face, my lips repeatedly tasting hers while creating our perfect first kiss. I didn’t want to stop that night, and just thinking about it made me want to re-create it. In a way, that one sad song metaphorically represented our first and only night together. That night was the only memory I held on to these past years, and at times reliving it consumed me. I lost count how many women I’d pretended were her, imagining her face while fucking others.

  She stood staring, her beauty causing my heart to slam in my chest like a sledgehammer. Driven by my thoughts and my desire, I pounced like a lion catching a gazelle. Fuck it all to hell was my last thought before I kissed her just as I had that New Year’s Eve twenty-two months ago.

  And just as it had that night, the kiss left me wanting all of her more than my next breath.

  —

  I felt like such a prick.

  I attacked her, came to my senses, and walked out.

  At least ten times during the course of the night I picked up my phone to call her, and at times considered just showing up at her door.

  By the grace of some unknown force, I managed to avoid doing either. Instead of finding peace in my sleep, even possibly dreaming of her in the process, I sat up all night thinking of how fucked up my head was with every thought that was running…no, scratch that…with every thought that was trampling through it. I should have passed out exhausted after not having slept in two days, but why would things be that easy for me?

  Like the Vegas-fucking-Strip my mind wouldn’t shut down since the moment I walked out her door…nor would my cock. That one kiss unleashed over a thousand days worth of missing her. That kiss uncorked every drop of desire I worked my ass off trying to hold back, making it gush like Niagara-fucking-Falls…then add in my newfound torment of needing to be within five feet of my son.

  My head was a mess, and I had to get it on straight before I met with my boss.

  Not a cold shower, a pot of coffee, or even reading the case file and staring at photos of Ronnie’s lifeless body erased the memory of her lips against mine.

  Nothing. Fucking. Worked.

  I was walking out my door when I received a text from Angela: Sorry to bother you. Wanted to let you know that some man named George Whitney just called and asked me to come in at eleven to meet with Agent Rupert.

  Just fuck me. I had several missed calls and a few texts from George, and I’m sure he was not happy with me at the moment.

  I dialed her number, not wanting to have this conversation via text.

  “Hi,” she said timidly over the phone.

  I should apologize for my behavior, but instead I said, “I’m not sure if I’ll be in the room with you. If not, I want you to answer every question honestly. Don’t offer any information unless it answers a direct question.”

  “Should I have a lawyer present with me? I have no idea how to do this, Nick.”

  “You’re just a person of interest at this point, not a suspect.”

  She let out a sarcastic huff. “Yet.”

  “Angela, I may not be in the room with you, but George will walk you through procedure and keep you protected as best he can. I’ll call you when I can.”

  “Okay.”

  The fear in her voice squeezed my chest with helplessness. I needed to help her in every way I could, I just didn’t know how yet.

  “Who will watch Nicholas?” I asked with concern.

  “He’s at daycare. Eve is prepared to pick him up if I run late.”

  “Okay. You’ll be fine, Angela,” I said before hanging up, wishing I could believe my own words.

  —

  I arrived at headquarters much earlier than I needed to. One would think it would give me time to prepare myself for possibly the most important meeting of my professional career. One would be wrong. When only fifteen minutes passed and I still hadn’t come up with a brilliant solution, I regretted not going to the gym instead. At least then I could release some of this tension by pounding on something.

  One hour before I was due to meet with Rupert, George walked into my office.

  “Jesus, Nick. What the hell is going on?” He shut the door behind him, glaring at me from across the room. “I called you last night, and this morning. It’d be great if I knew what had you taking the day off yesterday. I can’t keep promises that I made to you if you keep me in the dark.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I pointed to the chair that faced my desk. “Have a seat, this is going to take a while.”

  “I spoke to Angela. Rupert wants her here…”

  “At eleven. I know.” He couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. “I’ve been with her since we left here after her first interrogation.” He went to speak but I lifted a hand to stop him. “George, let me get this all out, we don’t have much time.”

  I gave a very quick, facts only, rundown of everything Angela told me from start to finish, leaving out all that had to do with Nicholas. I started with the pictures Ronnie sent her of my slashed tires, threats he made over the time we were apart, and that she withheld it all to protect me. I repeated Ronnie’s conversation with Angela regarding her uncle’s accident, that Angela went to Luca for guidance, and why she ran from Chicago to escape Ronnie. I ended with her explaining what happened once she arrived in New York, and her admission of what David and Luca did to start a war between the families. The only detail I purposely left out was Angela’s uncle’s possible involvement with the Delarros…only because I really didn’t have anything concrete on that piece of the puzzle.

  George sat silently, listening to it all, sometimes nodding, most of the time frowning.

  “We’ll need to question her brother and cousin since they could be responsible for all this new bad blood between Delarro and Pucci.”

  “I know, and I told her the same.” Who the fuck could predict that as we, the FBI, were watching these Mob fuckers, the woman I thought I loved was simultaneously entwined in that dark world. “There’s one more thing you need to know.” I scrubbed a hand over my face and looked him in the eye. “She has a son. He’s just over a year old, and…he’s mine.” George’s mouth gaped open in shock. “I had no idea. She kept him from me because of Delarro’s threats.”

  “Did Delarro know he was yours?”

  “We don’t know. He found her again once she moved to New York six months ago. We have no idea why he would send her photos of my slashed tires, but then never mention me again. My gut tells me he figured out who I was, and decided to keep that to himself for a while.”

  “You being in the FBI could be the only reason he didn’t harm her.”

  “I was thinking the same. Or he was about to, once he found her again.” The thought raised the hair on the back of my neck. “According to Angela, he had no idea where she was hiding until her arrival in New York.”

  “How does she know that for sure?”

  “He never contacted her in Ohio, but constantly harassed her cousin Eve.”

  George rubbed the back of his neck, a move he only made when he was concerned about something.

  “What are you thinking?” I prompted.

  “I think she’s innocent.” I felt the same, and hearing him voicing that out loud calmed me a bit. “I spent the day yesterday pulling the security tapes from Delarro’s building. Rupert matched up each person coming and going with residents, friends and family of residents, deliverymen. She wasn’t on them. There’s a short list of people who came and left the day of his murder that none of the residents or doormen could identify. One person in question had on a hoodie and sunglasses, making it impossible to get a good visual even with the photo analysis software. It’s definitely a man, built, tall, not a woman. We know she didn’t kill Ronnie, and that’s what we need to use with Rupert.”

  “I’m not sure ruling her out will be enough to keep me on this case. He’s going to pull me. If he does, everything
I discover from here on out I’ll need to disclose, or it won’t be admissible. Everything I know up until this moment, Rupert will know. I just can’t promise what I discover after today I’ll be able to share with him, especially if my son is in danger.”

  “You’ll have to, Nick. You don’t have a choice.”

  I released a groan that told George, I fucking knew that. My connection to Angela was nothing the courts would respect…except if our connection were something else in the eyes of the law, something binding.

  Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. “But maybe I do.” He looked at me expectantly. “I can marry her.”

  Chapter 22

  Nick

  Rupert listened as I repeated, yet again, the facts Angela had told me pertaining to Ronnie. He showed little emotion as he sat stone still, staring at me across the conference room table. Just as I had with George, I waited until the end to tell my boss about my son.

  After measuring me up for a few very long minutes, he finally spoke. “Farley, you were my best agent—no offense, Georgie-boy.”

  George shrugged but otherwise wasn’t bothered by the statement. “None taken.”

  “I made you my assistant director for a reason. You’ve given me nothing but a thousand percent in every case you’ve handled. You are a pit bull when it comes to detaching yourself from the humanity behind these gruesome crimes that we witness daily. But that can all go to hell when feelings and emotions are suddenly fucking with your head. It’s only a matter of time before they will also fuck with your job responsibilities.”

  “What feelings and emotions?” I played completely dumb.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Farley. I watched her interrogation. I scrutinized behavior, and I immediately noticed something. You know what it was?” He didn’t wait for me to respond, instead leaning closer to emphasis his words. “It was clear as fuck that she had feelings for you, and you for her. Most would never have picked up on that fact, but I did.”

  I was about to object when he said, “I picked up on it the minute you walked through that door. And, if you watched what I watched, you would have come to the same conclusion. You know why? Because you’re just like me and we both can read people better than anyone. Turns out, I was right, on both observations. So, cut the crap and tell me what she means to you.” A scowl crumpled every inch of Rupert’s portly face.