The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (18 page)

Chapter 23

Braelyn clicked off her Bluetooth headset as she drove. Another voicemail from Michael canceling his plans with Tristan tonight. Again. He’d been pretty scarce the last couple weeks, which made her feel like he was avoiding them. But why?

Luckily, since the migraine incident, Tristan and Noble had been pretty much attached at the hip whenever they weren’t at school or work. It heartened her as much as it scared her to freakin’ death. Was she setting her son up for another heartache at the hands of a man by allowing it to continue? But every time he came home looking so fulfilled from their “man” time, she didn’t have the heart to put a stop to it. Noble didn’t even seem to mind Tristan hanging around while they did their reading lessons.

They worked on Tristan’s bike together. They played his blasted video games together. They talked mysterious guy stuff hidden away in the garage with a stash of junk food together. Yeah, she knew about that. But, generally, they just hung out. Without her. But, strangely, it didn’t bother her until she started to overanalyze the situation.

She gave a dreamy little sigh as she thought of Noble. He’d been frustratingly adamant about the “friends only” rule he’d imposed. But he was still a lot of fun to be with. Even if he seemed to prefer being with her son half the time. He had the driest sense of humor she’d ever been around. It was hard to tell when he was joking most of the time. But when he smiled, it lit up the room. And when she was the cause of that smile . . . oh, man. It made her stomach do mad flip-flops. God, she could wake up to that smile every day.

Heck, she’d love to wake up to that smile
one
day.

Sometimes, she even fancied that she’d love to love him. But she didn’t think she was brave enough to take that step. As if he’d ever love her back if she did.

And in their reading work, he’d graduated up to more complex words. Geez, the guy was like a sponge. How he’d ever thought he was slow was beyond her. Pretty soon he wouldn’t need her anymore. It would just be a matter of taking what she taught him and using it to cope with his reading disability, which was getting to be less and less of a disability, really. It still shocked and humbled her how quickly he’d let her into his world, a place she knew he didn’t invite many people.

She drove passed Mrs. Arnold and waved at the older woman watering her flower garden before pulling into her driveway. The festive grouping of pumpkins and hay bales on the other woman’s porch reminded Braelyn that Halloween was just a couple days away and she’d better give some thought to buying candy for all the little trick-or-treaters that were sure to frequent her new neighborhood.

She killed the engine, tucked her purse under her arm and headed for the door.

“Tristan!” She tossed down her bag and shucked her shoes before ducking around the corner to look for him at his usual video gaming spot. No zombies getting slayed right now. The house was unusually quiet.

She tried his bedroom. Empty.

A familiar sense of fear started to build. She refused to go there again. Last time she’d embarrassed herself and run crying to Noble’s and found Tristan sleeping off a migraine.

It was early. He could be any number of places. She’d try his best friend Nate, or his little girlfriend Ashley—though she still had a hard time with the fact that her baby had a girlfriend. She dashed to the kitchen and picked up the cordless phone. Using the list of numbers taped to the fridge, she dialed Nate first. No answer. Next, Ashley’s mother kindly told her that Ashley was still at cheerleading practice. Well, hell.

She spun around and leaned against the sink. Then the slip of paper on the counter caught her attention. She walked over and picked it up.

At Noble’s.

T.

Of course. His new BFF. She strode to the living room and peeked out the window. The big black truck stood and stared back at her arrogantly. Well, she and Noble didn’t have plans to get together tonight in an official learning capacity. Maybe she should go over there to check on Tristan and invite Noble to dinner? That was harmless enough. The worst he could do was say no.

Decided, she changed clothes, tucked her feet into some flip-flops, and slipped out the door. Just in time to see Noble zipping into his driveway on a motorcycle. With her son on the back?
Oh, hell no!

Before they could park the stupid thing, she had zipped over there—hip propped, foot tapping, waiting to give the ass-chewing of her friggin’ life.

As they pulled off their helmets, she wasn’t sure who to light into first. Tristan saved her the trouble when he started talking as he dismounted. His face was animated, absolutely infused with joy. “Mom! Mom! It was awesome! We went to this rinky-dink old park and played basketball and I actually beat Noble two games outta three. Then Noble gave me some pointers on how to drive the cycle . . .”

Her mom ears went on red-alert there and she put up a hand to stop him. “Wait.”

His mouth snapped shut and his expression turned guarded as if he now sensed a landmine. She shot a glance to Noble, who looked as closed-off and expressionless as always. Could never read that man, darn him.

She turned back to Tristan. “Hold on a second. Did you actually
drive
this thing?” She glanced at the motorcycle.

Tristan’s face fell as he glanced at Noble.
Oh, shit
was all over his body language.

“Don’t look at him. Answer me.” She was barely holding onto her temper.

“I-I, uh, uh . . .” Tristan stammered, sounding very young all of a sudden.

“Braelyn,” Noble cut in, obviously trying to spare the boy.

Her gaze sliced to him, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t trust herself to speak. How could he take her baby on that deathtrap, much less teach him to drive it?

What if something had happened?

He studied her for several moments, never moving from his perch on the bike. He could’ve easily stood and towered over her. Intimidated her. But he didn’t. He took a breath or two then said, his voice low and calm, “I would never do anything to hurt you or Tristan. And I’d never do anything with the boy against your wishes.” When she started to speak, he held up a hand. “I asked you if it was okay to take him to play ball. You said it was cool. As for riding the bike, the kid said he had your permission. Guess I should’ve checked on that first. Sorry.” He leaned forward, making sure he had her full attention, his black, black eyes trapping hers. “But understand this . . . I’d
never
hurt him. I’d die first.”

Without another word, he stood, nodded at Tristan and left them alone as he went inside.

Back home, Tristan stormed to his room and slammed the door. Braelyn refused to give him an inch on this one. She followed right behind him and threw the door open.

“Oh, no you don’t, young man. We are going to talk about this.”

He hunched down on the edge of his bed, his handheld video game in hand, totally ignoring her.

Suppressing her urge to kill him, she strode over, plucked the game from his hand, snapped it shut with a definitive
slap,
and waited for him to look at her.

It took him several long seconds, and no doubt a great amount of teen angst, but he finally glanced up with hate spewing from his tear-filled eyes. “Why do you have to be so embarrassing?”

She sucked in a painful breath as his words tore through her heart. She blinked and glanced away. “I’m sorry if you’re embarrassed by me, Tristan. But it’s my job to take care of you.”

She turned back to him, steeling herself against the raw disapproval on his face. “It’s a job I’ve taken on all by myself. Do you understand that? And I take it seriously. It’s
my
job.” She pounded her chest. “Not your father’s anymore. Not Noble’s. Mine.” She ignored the tears streaking down her cheeks. “So if me doing my job
embarrasses
you, that’s just too damned bad, son.”

He didn’t say anything, and it was hard to tell by the expression on his face if any of that had gotten through to him. Mentally, she took a few steps back and tried to figure out the rational way to handle the situation. But it was nearly impossible.

“You’re grounded to your room while I figure out what I’m gonna do.”

She spun away and slammed the door, making a beeline for her bathtub.

An hour’s soak and a glass of wine later, Braelyn was calmer. But still not quite up to deciding on Tristan’s punishment. After all, she’d never expressly forbidden him from riding on motorcycles. But she’d not given him permission, either. Heck, she was letting him build a dirt bike. She’d just thought it would be a long while before he was actually riding it. And, now that she thought about it, she had told Noble it was okay for them to go play basketball. She’d simply forgotten in her furor over seeing them on the bike. Gosh, at times like this it would be nice to have a man to bounce things off.

I’d never hurt him. I’d die first.

Noble’s words, and the intensity in his eyes came rushing back to her. Tristan’s own father didn’t profess such emotion for him. No wonder Tristan wanted to be around him so much. Who wouldn’t? But that wasn’t an excuse to lie about having her permission. Not to mention riding lessons! She had to punish that appropriately, no matter how much she wanted her son to experience a positive male relationship.

Knowing she’d make no firm decisions tonight, she sat and booted up her laptop to check her email. She glanced up as her cell phone chirped from across the room. Was her battery dying again? No way.

She jumped up and checked it. Almost full power, but a text message she hadn’t seen from 4:15 this afternoon was beeping at her. From Noble?

hey mom go play ball with noble can ride his bike? please? :)

Even stranger, was a phantom response from her phone.

yseee

She studied it. Could she have texted it and forgotten? No way. She’d never have given Tristan permission to ride Noble’s motorcycle. And yet . . .

She groaned. At 4:15, her phone had been in the back pocket of her pants as she’d been helping load Daisy into the special needs bus because Brittney had called in sick today. She must’ve butt-texted Tristan back, never even realizing she’d gotten his message in the first place. And all the while, he thought he’d gotten a ‘yes.’ So she went from super-cool mom to super bitch in the blink of an eye.

Well. Chalk it up to another apology owed to her hot neighbor. And, just to make it more fun, she owed her boy a big, fat one, too. Just peachy. Her poor son. No wonder he was embarrassed. Well, she’d work at making it right, while remaining firm. Surely he realized, even in the back of his mind, that ‘yseee’ was a suspicious answer.

Feeling a bit more confident that her son hadn’t out and out rebelled against her, she decided that she would go apologize just as soon as she slogged through her email.

With a sigh, she sat and logged in. She deleted some junk, smiled at a couple of funny forwards, and was pleasantly surprised by the automatic grades emailed from Tristan’s school.
Good boy.

The last email made her heart jump. She’d been waiting for this one. Her hand trembled a bit as she clicked it open. Her eyes scanned the screen once. Twice to make sure she read it right.

Oh, God.

Her fingertips covered her mouth as a gasp struggled to break free.

What had she done?

Chapter 24

The Angels Anonymous crew broke tradition and held their weekly meeting in Papa Turoni’s party room. Plenty of food and lively chatter enlivened their usual get-together as they celebrated the recent good news from the Heavenlies keeping their group intact.

Michael scanned the room searching for Gabriel, finding their usually straight-laced leader cutting loose with a few people on a makeshift dance floor with the jukebox in the corner. He’d even traded his usual khakis for jeans. Wonders would never cease.

Ariel flitted in with a smile and gripped his arm. “Hello, Michael. Why so serious?”

Michael tried to adjust the expression on his face. He didn’t want to dampen the mood. He just had things on his mind. Namely, his most emotionally challenging assignment. He inclined his head toward the revelers shaking their groove things. “Not serious. Just curious.”

She turned, her eyes sparking with amusement once she spotted Gabriel. “Oooh. Looks fun. Think I’ll go join ‘em.” She sashayed off to do Lady Gaga’s bidding to “Just Dance.”

Michael found a quiet corner and gave some thought to his current situation, the strategy he’d been employing, and what he was going to say to Gabriel—the angel whose opinion he valued above all others. Finally, the pizzas and sodas were served by a horde of waitresses and everyone took their seats after Gabriel said a quick prayer over the meal.

Ariel plopped down in the seat next to him, her plate piled high with vegetarian pizza. He studied the amount of food. It was more than he could eat. She ignored his disbelieving stare and delved into her feast. “So, how’ve things been going at the nursing home?”

She glanced up and swallowed her mouthful. “Good.” Her eyes widened. “Oh! You mean have I made any headway with Braelyn and our assignment? Of course, duh.” She sipped her drink and dabbed her lips with her napkin.

She looked pensive a moment, which caused Michael’s stomach to clench. “Well,” she finally said, “she doesn’t say much about Noble, unfortunately. At least not in the friendly way I’d hoped. But, I do know they are together pretty often working on some mystery project. She still won’t say what, though, no matter how much I ask.”

Michael digested this bit of info with interest. Maybe it was a home improvement project. It was certainly what had brought them together in the first place. But why would she keep that secret?

He nibbled his pizza while he thought about it. Could be nothing. After all, he’d heard the damning “F” word directly from Noble’s mouth.
Friends.

“What about Tristan?” he asked. “Does he come to the nursing home often? How is he?” The guilt was eating at Michael for avoiding him lately, but it was all part of his plan.

Ariel shook her head. “Not too much. I think he stays home and does homework and tinkers with his bike.” Her eyes snapped up after a moment. “Come to think of it . . .”

Michael studied her face as something seemed to dawn on her. “What?”

She grinned. “Well, Braelyn did mention that Tristan spends most of his time with Noble lately, especially since you’ve been scarce, and she wasn’t sure if it was the best thing for him.” She reached out and gripped Michael’s hand. “But you knew it would be, didn’t you?”

Yes, his heart smiled. Yes, he did.

Nothing had changed.

The tiny, sassy, Mama Bear next door rocked Noble’s world—in dreamland, at least. During waking hours she was pretty damned amazing, too. She was funny and smart. And sexy as hell. And she’d pretty much helped him begin to cope with his dyslexia and had taught him to read. Who woulda thought?

It was getting harder and harder to remember why he was supposed to be keeping his hands away from her. Or his heart, for that matter.

This morning—well, it was nearly noon, but that was his morning—he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling as the afternoon sun forced itself through the blinds in oblong slices of cheer. Time to invest in room darkening drapes. He rolled from the bed and hit the shower. He was just sliding on some clean clothes when the doorbell sounded. Well, damn, whoever it was would have to take him as is without his morning shot of caffeine.

He padded to the door and threw it open, prepared to face down whoever was getting between him and his morning routine. Sweet Cheeks’ face stopped him short.

“Braelyn? What’s wrong?”

She just stood there, seemingly unable to speak, her amber eyes filled with emotion. He’d never seen her like this. Hell, he’d never seen anyone like this. It was scary as hell. He glanced toward her house. “Tristan?”

That seemed to snap her out of it a little bit. “Oh. He’s spending the weekend with this friend Nate. Some Halloween haunted house thing.”

He ushered her inside and shut the door. She made it as far as the living room before she turned to him, looking just as forlorn as she had at the door. He had to get her talking. “Hey, I can tell something is—”

“I need to talk to you,” she interrupted.

“Okay. Shoot. What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She paced a few steps mumbling about doing something horrible before planting herself on the couch and dropping her face into her hands. She finally glanced up. “Would you please sit down? You’re pretty intimidating standing over me like that.”

Silently he sat across from her, his elbows rested on his thighs and fingers laced together, as he waited her out.

She took a great, ragged breath and looked him in the eye. “Don’t hate me. At least try, okay?”

He raised a brow. “‘Kay.”

She bit her lip before she finally spit it out. “I found out what happened to your mother.”

He simply stared at her, not comprehending her words. But eventually she pulled a folded-up paper from her pocket and offered it to him. He didn’t move.

“Noble?” She kept the paper outstretched. “Don’t you want to see?”

He finally found his words as her purpose for coming over sank in. He wanted things to go back to the way they were before she’d knocked on his door, but he had a feeling everything had irrevocably changed now. And though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, the words slipped past his lips. “What does it say?”

She glanced at it, then back up with pain-filled eyes.

“What. Does. It. Say?”

His mind suddenly began reeling with the possibilities. Something horrible had happened to her—murder, rape, kidnapping. She was a drunken whore. She had found happiness and made a new family somewhere far away. He didn’t know which was more painful.

His eyes flashed to hers. “What. Does. It . . .”

“She’s dead, Noble.”

Silence hung thick and heavy in the room. He wasn’t sure what to say. Or ask. Or do.

Braelyn gently slid the piece of paper across the coffee table toward him. “I don’t know if it helps, but it wasn’t long after she left you.”

The blood rushed through his ears with each throbbing heartbeat as he fought for emotional equilibrium. He couldn’t focus. He could scarcely breathe.

Lub Dub.

Lub Dub.

Lub Dub.

He reached for the paper. It startled him that his hand was trembling.

The top sheet was a copy of an email from some Internet search company that helps locate missing loved ones. He scanned the contents. It was all very sterile. His mother’s name. Deceased. The date and city.

He flipped to a second page. Apparently Braelyn had taken it upon herself to verify the information. It was a copy of a short article from an Amarillo, Texas, newspaper. He glanced at the date. March 15, 1982. That would’ve been within weeks, maybe days, of her leaving the reservation. He kept reading:

Native American Woman dies in hospital ER

Rare case of Influenza from reservation brings fear of epidemic

A young woman, who is not being named at press time, has passed away from a rare and aggressive form of the flu virus Saturday night at Amarillo General Hospital. All precautions were taken to protect staff and other patients in the hospital at that time.

The woman was alone and thought to be traveling through Amarillo as a temporary stop. She hails from the Navajo Nation in Northeast Arizona, and health authorities there have been contacted so safety measures can be taken in the event that the virus originated there.

All reasonable attempts are being made to contact the woman’s family at this time.

Then, dated several days later, a small obituary:

Miakoda Rose Blackfeather

February 21, 1963
—
March 13, 1982

There was no picture. No mention that she had a family or a life. Just that she was a threat to public health because of the fucking
flu
?

“Noble? Are you all right?”

He glanced up. He’d momentarily forgotten Braelyn was there. He released his white-knuckled grip and tossed the paper back onto the table. He jumped up. “I gotta get the hell outta here.”

He went to his bedroom and tossed around some clothes until he came up with a flannel to slip over his T-shirt. He tied his hair back and was just pulling on his leather boots when Braelyn stepped in.

“Are you going to be okay?”

He pocketed his keys, not saying a word.

She watched him as he tucked his wallet into his back pocket and shoved his sunglasses on top of his head. “Where’re you going?”

He quirked a brow.

“Look, Noble, you have every right to be pissed at me. I pushed you to let me search for your mom. But it was only because I wanted something good for you. A family again.” Tears filled her voice as she reached out and squeezed his forearm. “I never meant to hurt you. I swear.”

He brushed past her. “I’m not pissed at you.”

She followed him down the hall and out to the garage. “Really? Cuz you’re sure acting it.”

He ignored her and checked the pack on his Harley, making sure he had what he’d need for a long ride. He wasn’t planning on coming back for a good long while. Next, he plucked open his cell, dialing Gentry’s to let Jed know he needed the night off. Maybe the weekend. He took the expected ass-chewing, but when he explained it was personal, Jed seemed to get the underlying meaning and let it go at that.

He moved toward his bike, ready to get outta Dodge, but Sweet Cheeks was still there, tapping her foot. “Listen, I said I’m not pissed at you. I’m not. It’s just a lot for me to take, okay? I need to get away for a while.”

Her face softened a bit. “You sure? Because I would hate it if I’d made you mad.”

“I’m sure.” He swung his leg over the bike. “So, I’ll see you later?”

She stared at him for several moments. Then, her gaze took in his bike as if she was studying it. Finally, she sidled over and ran her fingertips across the fender. “You know,” she practically purred. “I’ve never ridden on one of these things.”

“Really?”

Her amber eyes snared his. “Really. Seems kind of a shame, doesn’t it? Since my son loves ‘em so much?”

“I suppose.”

“Noble?”

“Yeah?”

She bit the edge of her lower lip. “Any chance you might take me with you today? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I think you could use a friend and I’d like a ride.”

No. Say no. It’s easy. You never take anybody with you.

But the craziest thing happened. His mouth got ahead of his brain. “Climb on.”