by Rose Wulf
Neither woman spoke again until Daniel had left the room.
“I’m glad to see you’re giving him a chance,” Lillian said quietly.
Angela blinked and redirected her wandering focus to her mother. It took her several seconds to realize that Lillian was referring to Daniel and the grudge she’d stubbornly held against him for the past two plus years. Then she wasn’t sure what to say, so she held her tongue until she’d determined the best way to articulate how she felt. “I’m still bitter,” she finally said. “I just … figured, instead of being angry over the past I’d work on only reacting to the present. And he’s been decent so far.”
Lillian inclined her head, a sad smile lifting her lips. “I understand. In a way, I feel the same. There isn’t anything we can do to change what happened, nor is there anything he could say that would justify it. But he’s trying now. So thank you for trying, too.”
Angela returned her smile for lack of anything more appropriate to say. She didn’t want to talk about Daniel. She wasn’t actively mad at him and for the moment, that was enough. But she was worried about Vaughn and about whatever was happening to him.
“All right,” Lillian began again. The difference in her tone caught Angela’s attention. “Let’s talk about Vaughn.”
Her stomach clenched and Angela had to fight not to look away. It was true that her focus was on Vaughn, and it was true she wanted to keep it that way. But talking about her boyfriend—or her lover, or whatever the proper term was—with her mother held all sorts of awkward potential. On the other hand, this is way better than talking about him with Dad or my brothers. “What about Vaughn?” There was always the chance Lillian would focus on the potential problem at hand, after all.
“If you don’t mind me being frank,” she said, and Angela knew that chance was entirely blown, “I’m glad you chose him.”
Angela choked, her feet dropping off the edge of the couch to land on the floor as she tried to find her voice while fighting back a rush of embarrassment. “Ch-chose? What?” She cleared her throat and exclaimed, “Mom, our relationship just started. Don’t talk like we’re getting married or something!”
Lillian smiled knowingly and settled back in her chair. “I realize that,” she assured her. “But I’ve always liked Vaughn. He’s a good young man. And he could take care of you.”
Frowning now, Angela replied, “Why does everyone in this family think I’m some defenseless baby? Yes, Vaughn has saved me before, so I can see why that thought would occur to you, but if nothing else, I can take care of myself financially. And just because I needed to be saved before doesn’t mean I’ll always need the help.”
One slim brow arched high on her forehead, Lillian asked, “So you don’t want a man who’s capable of taking care of you if you should need it? Someone who has the psychological strength to handle the complications of our lives, specifically, and the patience to help you raise five children? Someone who would be willing and able to step up and raise them himself if, God forbid, you weren’t able to? Or someone who cares enough to stand up for you—and what matters to you—even knowing it might be dangerous? You don’t want that?”
Angela gaped at her mother, completely speechless. Those were some very serious, very heavy suggestions. She wasn’t so sure she was ready to be giving those kinds of life choices any thought at all. “I—what,” she stammered. “Where did all that come from?”
“I thought it might be time you put things in perspective,” Lillian replied calmly. “I know you’re only twenty-one and you should have plenty of time to make those kinds of decisions still. But life doesn’t always go the way you plan, Angela, and it’s best to be prepared. At least figure out your answers to those questions. Decide if it’s worth the risk of entangling yourself—for any length of time—with a man who doesn’t fit your desired criteria.”
“Of course, I want those things!” Angela asserted.
Lillian nodded as if unsurprised by the declaration. “And Vaughn?”
“Vaughn would stand by me,” Angela said firmly. She found her feet and demanded, “I thought you said you liked him?”
“I do,” Lillian assured her. “And I believe you. But think about that, sweetheart. If you’re so certain that Vaughn would stand by you through all of that, then it’s time you figured out whether or not you want him to.”
Chapter Twelve
“Up here, Mommy!” a laughing little boy called, excitement raising his voice higher than normal.
Sarah turned obligingly, expecting to find her energetic son waving to her from the balcony. Possibly wearing that ridiculous cape again. She’d gotten him a cape for Halloween three years prior and he loved it so much he almost never took it off. A faintly chilled breeze ruffled Sarah’s loose hair, but she didn’t register the cooler temperature until after she realized William wasn’t waving to her from the balcony. He wasn’t on the balcony at all.
He’d somehow climbed up to the roof.
Eyes widening, Sarah called, “William, stay where you are! Daddy will come get you down!”
But William wasn’t listening. He saw her see him, grinned broadly, and exclaimed, “Mommy, watch me fly! I’m gonna fly just like Superman!”
Her heart leaped to her throat. She opened her mouth to demand he hold very, very still. But it was too late. The wind kicked up a little more around her, but it wasn’t nearly strong enough to do more than flutter that damned cape.
All she could do was watch.
Sarah jerked awake, her heart pounding wildly in her ears and tears dripping down her cheeks. She sucked in ragged breath after ragged breath as she shifted and swung her feet to the floor, throwing the expensive comforter off carelessly. Her hands shook as she wrapped her arms around herself, knowing better than to fight the emotions that always accompanied that nightmare. She’d been having that dream—or ones like it—frequently since Jacob’s accident. Since she’d genuinely started fearing he would be leaving her soon, too. This time, though, her subconscious had had another reason for dragging her down into the depths of her memory and torturing her again.
Her eyes opened once more and, with a little help from the morning light, settled on the sweetly smiling face of her beloved son. She’d taken that picture six years earlier. Six years to the day. On his sixth birthday.
On the day he’d died.
Mommy, watch me fly.
She choked on another sob and squeezed her eyes shut.
“You should put that picture away,” Jacob said quietly from the doorway.
Sarah started, her hands falling back to her lap, and blinked through her tears up to him. She hadn’t expected him to be there. “J-Jacob,” she stuttered. “I’m … sorry, if I screamed again…” She used to scream every time she had that nightmare. She probably still did.
Jacob ignored her apology and strode into the room, toward the photograph of their only son. “You’re just torturing yourself,” he muttered distractedly as he lifted it, his gaze lingering.
“I can’t forget,” Sarah replied numbly. “I don’t want to forget … his smile.”
Jacob frowned and returned the picture to the dresser. “You wouldn’t.”
A fresh round of tears burned behind her eyes. “He would have been twelve today. Can you imagine what he might have looked like?”
“I don’t try,” Jacob replied. “There’s no point.” He met her gaze again, for a lingering second, before turning back toward the door. “You should clean up and come down for breakfast. You’ll feel better.”
The door closed softly behind him, leaving her alone on the bed. Alone with the photograph of her dead son and memories of a happier life.
She let the new tears fall.
****
“You mean you haven’t told him?” Riley asked incredulously.
Three heads swiveled toward the open entry of the living room, watching as she let herself in and took a seat on the arm of the sofa.
Vaughn stared at her, attempting to comp
rehend his aunt’s words. He hadn’t realized she’d been in the house, let alone close enough to overhear the conversation. If he had, he’d most likely have opted to wait a little longer before approaching his parents. It never would have occurred to him she would know something helpful. “Told me what?” he asked as he returned his attention to his parents, both of whom were sitting across from him on the loveseat.
Bruce and Vanessa exchanged hesitant looks before Vanessa sighed and said, “No, Riley, we haven’t. Thank you.” The irritation in her voice was hard to miss, but for once, Vaughn found himself unsympathetic.
Riley made a disgusted sound. “Seriously? Come on, Nessy—Vanessa, I’m sorry!—he deserves to know, don’t you think?”
Vanessa narrowed her eyes at her sister, but it was Bruce who spoke. “Yes,” he said, with a brief glance at Riley before he returned his attention to Vaughn. “Yes, you do deserve to know. I suppose we should have told you a long time ago, but we weren’t sure how and, honestly, I think we were both hoping it wouldn’t become an issue.”
Vaughn found himself glaring, just a little, at his father’s words. “You were hoping what wouldn’t be an issue?” He’d never considered that his parents were keeping some kind of family secret from him. He’d only decided to tell them about his situation—whatever it was—because he felt that, as his parents, they had a right to know there was a situation. The possibility of them having any sort of answer at all had seemed like a longshot from the beginning.
Vanessa sighed and looked back to Vaughn, guilt softening her expression. “I’m sorry,” she began. “Part of why I decided not to tell you about this three years ago was because I wanted you to be able to make your own decisions, from an unbiased perspective. Then the problem seemed to pass and I mistakenly assumed it wouldn’t come up again.”
“Mom,” Vaughn said, the edges of his temper fraying. She was stalling blatantly, explaining herself before he even knew why he was clearly going to be upset. Which in itself upset him. It was also concerning. Exactly how big of a secret was it? And what did it have to do with Angela’s family’s war?
Bruce reached over and gave Vanessa’s hand an encouraging squeeze.
“My side of the family,” she said carefully, “once also boasted the title of ‘weather-controller’.”
Vaughn reeled back as if he’d been struck. His eyes widened and he found himself unable to breathe for a long, paralyzing minute.
He was descended from the enemy?
No. That had to be impossible. Wouldn’t he have realized on his own if he could summon lightning? Or make it rain?
“I imagine you’re finding that a little hard to accept,” Vanessa continued. “But that’s why the lightning doesn’t hurt you like it would an ordinary person. Relative immunity to electricity is probably the only real power you have. Our bloodline is too diluted. When I was your age, if my emotions were high enough, I could power a small appliance for a few seconds or generate just enough wind to really mess up my hair. But even those powers have waned now, so I don’t think you have the strength for that kind of thing.”
“Are you saying,” Vaughn asked slowly, struggling to come to terms with his mother’s words, “that we’re related to the Matthews?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Vanessa declared immediately, shaking her head and waving her free hand dismissively. “Given the differences in our power, I’d have to say that if we had any common ancestry with those people, it dates back a couple hundred years. But I really doubt there’s any at all.”
That’s something. It was a small reprieve, but it was better than the alternative. He wasn’t even sure he could handle this news. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he was honestly afraid he might throw up. He didn’t want to be a weather-controller, not even in idea. But he had to admit his mother was right. It was the only thing that made any sense. So far as he knew, not that he’d ever claimed to be an expert, there were only two types of super-humans. And he obviously wasn’t an elemental.
“Vaughn,” Vanessa began again. “I’m sorry. I know this is upsetting—”
“Upsetting?” Vaughn repeated, finally finding his voice even as the bile rose a little in his throat. “My girlfriend’s being hunted by people like us! You should have at least come clean about this when I told you about Angela and her family.”
“Wait,” Riley interrupted, undeniable excitement building in her voice. “You mean Angela’s an elemental? That’s so cool! I never thought I’d get to meet one!”
“Riley,” Vanessa snapped, cutting a brief glare to her sister for emphasis. She returned her attention to Vaughn. “I understand why you’re angry. You’re right, in hindsight, I should have told you then. But you know we’re nothing like those murderers. Having similar ancestry doesn’t make us the same kind of people any more than being human makes all of mankind identical.”
Vaughn ground his teeth and stood. He saw his mother’s point, and he certainly knew he wasn’t suddenly going to join forces with Eric, but he saw another problem, too. Angela considered all weather-controllers to be psychopathic murderers. He’d always agreed with her in the past when she’d made comments like that. He couldn’t fault her. But that was problematic for him now.
If she ever finds out about me…
She would hate him. Worse, she’d accuse him of knowingly lying to her. Of using her like Eric had. He would lose her completely.
I can’t tell her.
He didn’t say another word as he stormed up to his bedroom. There wasn’t anything left to be said.
Vaughn dragged a hand down his face after he’d shut the door. A bitter, defeated sigh escaped him and he let himself collapse backward onto his bed, but when he looked up at the ceiling, all he could see was Angela. Smiling. Laughing. Calling to him. Rolling her eyes at him.
Crying.
His jaw ticked and he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to block out the images. He’d seen her cry a dozen times. He’d watched her heart shatter at her feet. He’d been there when she’d been so lost, confused, and scared she barely knew up from down. He’d stood on the sidelines, waiting for the right time—for his chance—to be with her. And now that it was his turn, now that he finally knew what it was like to hold her close, the clock was already counting down. He’d wanted to be the one who didn’t break her heart. The one who didn’t mistreat her. The one who was smart enough to recognize what he had.
Apparently, it wasn’t meant to be. Because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the truth forever, and he knew when she found out, she’d be gone so fast his head would spin. So it was really just a matter of time. A matter of how long he could stomach the lie versus how long before she realized there was something he wasn’t telling her. He had no idea which would happen first. Nor was he sure which part of their inevitable breakup upset him more. The pain the revelation would cause her, or the pain losing her would cause him. But it was already too late to back off before either of them could get hurt.
Far, far too late.
Maybe they would have stood a chance if he’d known his own story from the start. If he’d been able to be upfront, and let her see for herself that the Matthews weren’t the only example of weather-controllers. Hell, if he’d at least learned it before Angela had heard about the origin of the war, she might consider still talking to him. None of that mattered anymore.
He needed to figure out how the hell he was going to let her go.
“Knock, knock,” Riley called softly from the vicinity of his doorway.
Vaughn groaned something incoherent, not having the strength for regular conversation.
Soft footfalls drew nearer and the bed dipped to his left, telling him she’d taken a seat. “You don’t look like you’re taking this too well.”
This time, he scoffed and cracked an eye open in an effort to give her a pointed look.
“Okay,” Riley relented, “maybe that was a stupid statement. Still, it might help if you talk about it.”
Was she
actually trying to comfort him? “Not really,” he replied. His voice cracked a bit. Apparently, he’d been up there longer than he’d realized.
Riley nodded, obviously unsurprised by his response. “Your mom would kill me if I officially suggest alcohol, but you are old enough…”
“No thanks,” Vaughn said with a grunt. Although, he had to admit, this might be a circumstance where he could sympathize with the urge to do a little heavy drinking. It just held no actual appeal.
Riley heaved a deep sigh. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” She reached out and wrapped her hand around his wrist. “Okay, c’mon, kid, let’s get you some air.”
She hauled him nearly a foot off the bed before he managed to take his arm back, catching himself by the elbows. “Really, Aunt Riley, I’d rather be alone.”
“You’ve been alone for over two hours,” she argued stubbornly. She reached down, grabbed his shirt collar in both hands, and threw nearly all of her weight in the opposite direction. The action almost landed her on her ass, but it succeeded in forcing him to stagger to his feet lest he face-plant in his aunt’s lap. “Good!” she exclaimed with a proud smile once they were both properly standing. She moved around behind him, planted her hands on his back, and shoved, adding, “Now let’s get you outside!”
Vaughn stumbled for a second before finally saying, “All right, knock it off! I’m walking.”
Riley released him immediately and stepped up to his side.
When she made no effort to speak, Vaughn sighed and asked, “So where are we going, exactly?”
“Out.”
“Out where?”
Riley shrugged as they started down the stairs. “I dunno. Wherever we feel like!”
Great. “I’d rather stay in.”
Her hand shot out and she latched on to his elbow like a vise, continuing forward calmly. “Staying in would’ve helped already if it were going to,” she said. “It’s time to try something new.”
