The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (21 page)

Ariel stopped and caught her in the ice blue of her stare. “He loves her. He told me she’s his soulmate and he believes she was sent to him by God. They’ve had a lot of happy years together, so he’s more than happy to take care of her now when she needs him. That kind of love doesn’t die. That’s
true
love. Timeless.”

Does that kind of love even exist anymore?

She hadn’t realized she’d whispered her question aloud until Ariel reached over and gripped her hand. “Yes. It absolutely does. And yours is out there, too. Much closer than you imagine. I’d be willing to bet on it.”

Braelyn didn’t know what to say other than to tell her to stay away from Vegas. But she kept that thought to herself.

“So.” Ariel dropped her hand, breaking the moment. “Shall we make one more stop? We’ve got to at least see Mr. Myers.”

“Sure. I need to let him know Tristan aced his history exam and sends a ‘What’s up?’”

They moseyed down to the next hallway in time to see a familiar face exit Mr. Myers’ room. It took a moment for the name to click. She tapped Ariel’s arm. “Hey. Isn’t that what’s-her-name from the hospice company?”

Concern skittered through her as Ariel met her glance. “Yeah. Christie. We see her entirely too much around here sometimes.”

Braelyn’s feet were frozen in place. She didn’t know if she could stand it if Mr. Myers was close to death or, God forbid, had already—Suddenly, Ariel zipped down the hall in the opposite direction. “Go ahead. I’ll be right back. I forgot something.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Braelyn somehow unglued the soles of her shoes from the ground and moved to the doorway. She swallowed and peeked in only after she heard Mr. Myers’ rattled breathing.

He glanced over with watery eyes. “Hello, young lady.” His voice was weak with fatigue, his bony, frail body engulfed by the bed.

She stepped into the room and offered him what she hoped was a bright smile. “Hi, Mr. Myers.”

“How’s that young man of yours?”

“He’s great. Says to tell you hello.” She sat in the empty chair next to his bed and tried to ignore the oxygen tubing and hospice company pamphlets on the bedside table.

“That’s a fine lad you’re raising there. You should be very proud.”

She smiled and reached over for his hand. “I am. Thank you.” She glanced again at the hospice papers. They were like the elephant in the room, especially after seeing Christie leaving earlier. “So, how are
you
?”

He caught the direction of her momentary glance. “They signed me up this week. Doc says my heart’s failing.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Isn’t there anything they can do?”

“Oh, sweet thing, I’m old. I’m tired. My heart’s plumb wore out. I take my medicine the doc prescribes, but there’s nothing more can be done. I’m pretty much stuck in this bed now.” He patted her hand, the contrast between her young, supple skin and his wrinkled, nearly translucent flesh depressingly obvious. “Don’t worry. They take good care of me here and I’m not keeling over tonight.”

She swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks as Ariel came sweeping into the room. “Sorry about that. I forgot to grab my purse and the leftover sack of ornament glitter to take home. Hey, Mr. Myers! We missed you tonight. How are you feeling this evening?”

Braelyn offered a weak smile at Ariel’s usual abounding effervescence and glanced from Mr. Myers to her friend.

But, strangely, the energy in the room, which usually sparkled when Ariel was around, had gone nearly stock-still. Ariel seemed oblivious as she puttered around, pouring Mr. Myers some leftover hot chocolate and digging him out some cookies.

Braelyn studied Mr. Myers’ face. He’d turned pale and was staring at Ariel as if seeing a ghost. She squeezed his hand. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she whispered, hoping his heart wasn’t giving out on him already.

Suddenly, Ariel turned and faced him.

“I dreamed of you,” he said, with more than a hint of awe in his voice. “And now I see it’s true. You’re an angel.”

Chapter 28

When she got home from her odd encounters at the nursing home and the treacherous drive on the sleet-iced streets, Braelyn found herself greeted by the tangy and spicy aromas of something cooking in her kitchen.

She shucked her coat and purse and followed her nose. “Mmm, what have we here?”

Tristan turned from stirring something on the stove. “Hey, Mom.”

She walked over and peeked over his shoulder. “Spaghetti?”

A sweet flush crept up his cheeks. “Yeah. That okay?”

Oh, it was more than okay. She wanted to smother him in a bear hug and plant kisses all over his face. He’d never taken it upon himself to cook dinner for them before. But, she knew she had to play it cool. She nodded and made her way to the fridge. “Sure. It’s great. Thanks.” She pulled out the tea and Parmesan cheese before facing him again. “So, how was school today?”

He was bent over removing a loaf of garlic bread from the oven. Her mouth started watering. “It was okay. There’s a letter from the counselor for you on the table.”

Her eyes automatically shot over to the table. “For me? Why? What is it?”

Tristan turned to her after shutting off all the burners. “I have no idea, Mom. I didn’t open it.” She could hear the eye rolling in his tone. “It’s probably about the Buddy Program or something.”

“Oh, right.” She sat and picked up the envelope. She slid it open semi-confidently, hoping that if Tristan were in trouble again they would’ve called her like they usually did. She scanned the short letter and her heart sank.

Tristan slid a steaming plate in front of her. “What is it?”

She glanced up at him. Why in the world had they broken the news through a letter? Poor Tristan.

“What?” he demanded again as he studied her face. “Is it bad? Am I in trouble?” His eyes darted down to the offending piece of paper in her hand. “Let me see.” He snatched it from her and started reading.

She watched the emotions roll across his features. Fear and anxiety. Disbelief. Hurt. And, finally, anger.

He threw the paper down. “This is bull! I don’t want another Buddy! The whole thing is stupid anyway. If Michael doesn’t want me anymore, then I just won’t have a damned
Buddy!
” He all but screamed the last word as he stormed out of the kitchen and slammed into his room.

Braelyn dropped her head into her hands as her heart ached for her boy. He must feel abandoned by yet another man. What had happened with Michael?

Three hours later, as she lay staring at the ceiling trying in vain to sleep, she was no closer to an answer. Tristan had refused to open his door so she’d allowed him his space, but tomorrow was a new day and the beginning of the weekend. Surely, he’d come around and talk to her. At least she hoped so. And, she decided, she’d give Michael a call and ask him what had happened. There had to be a reasonable explanation for him abruptly leaving Tristan and the Buddy program. But, what?

Her cell phone’s shrill ring from the nightstand startled her. She glanced at the digital clock. Who would be calling after ten? And why did she forget to silence her phone? She picked it up and squinted at the bright LCD display. Gentry’s?
Noble?

She scrambled to her knees and peeked through her blinds. His truck remained parked, dark and silent, in his driveway where it had been all day as far as she could tell.

She flipped her phone open. “Hello?” she whispered.

“Miz Campbell?”

“Michael?” She sank back against her pillows as a million thoughts raced through her mind. Why was he calling now, after he’d already dumped Tristan? A surge of anger knotted in her stomach.

“I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m so glad I reached you.” The relief in Michael’s voice was palpable.

“I don’t understand.”

“Noble—”

Noble? He was calling about Noble when he’d hurt her son so badly? A renewed spurt of fierce protectiveness shot through her. “Wait one minute.” She interrupted him. “What about Tristan?”

He paused. “Tristan?”

“Yes.” She sat up straighter. “He brought home a letter from school about the Buddy Program. Weren’t you even going to talk to him before you ditched him?” She hated that she could hear the tears quivering in her voice. “Didn’t you want to be his Buddy anymore?”

“Goodness, Miz Campbell, I’m sorry. They weren’t supposed to send that until I’d had a chance to talk to him.” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with great care. “I didn’t want this. I was told it was a red-tape issue and a higher authority made the decision. And as much as it pains me deeply, I have to believe that in the end, it will be best for Tristan.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. Not his decision? “Thank you for telling me.” Though she didn’t think that would ease her son’s pain.

An uncomfortable silence filled the line.

She sighed. “Well, if you didn’t call about Tristan, why did you call?”

“It’s Noble. He never came to work and he’s not answering his phone. We’re worried about him. Do you know where he is? Can you tell if he’s home?”

“Oh.” Again, she peeked through the blinds, searching for signs of movement. “Well, his truck is there, but it’s been there all day.” She scanned the outside of the house. “I don’t see any lights or anything and I haven’t seen him come or go on his bikes today.”

Michael sucked in a breath. “Please, Miz Campbell, Jed or I can come check on him, but you’re much closer. Would you mind? Then call me back? This is not like him at all.”

She heard the true anxiety in his voice and her heart began to beat a thudding rhythm against her ribcage. “Um, okay. But how do I get in if he doesn’t answer?”

“Jed says there’s a spare key under the plant by his back door. Please hurry, Miz Campbell.”

“Okay.” She jumped up out of bed and flipped on the lamp to locate her yoga pants and a hoodie.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll call you from Noble’s.” She wanted to say more, but really, what was there to say? He’d hurt her son. She’d help Tristan pick up the pieces. Again.

He thanked her and they hung up.

She peeked in on Tristan before she ducked out, thankful he’d unlocked his bedroom door. She locked the front door behind her and slipped across the dark yard, sucking in the cold night air and exhaling puffs of white in the frigid air. Everything around her was still and silent in the chill of the winter night and she wished she’d taken the time to grab her jacket.

She trudged across the grass toward Noble’s front porch. The house remained dark and quiet after she rang the bell twice and knocked. She very nearly turned around to go home, but she remembered the urgency in Michael’s voice. Sighing, she decided to try the back door.

She glanced up to the velvety black sky pock-marked with millions of brilliant stars and only a sliver of a moon as she made her way around to Noble’s back gate. She let herself in, feeling like a cat burglar. She tried to peer into his windows, but he kept everything shut tight, no lights visible.

“Should just knock,” she mumbled to herself.

“Noble!” She pounded on his back door, hoping she didn’t wake any of the neighbors. Nothing. She knocked again for good measure as she dug out her cell phone and dialed his number. Might as well try everything. But, darn it, she was starting to freeze her ass off. Her teeth were chattering.

His phone rolled over to voicemail as her gaze fell on the outline of a wilting potted plant in the faint moonlight. “Bingo.” Well, here went nothing. She knelt down and lifted the pathetic wilted thing to feel around. Sure enough, her fingers found the sharp ridges of a key.

She rose and brushed the soil from it before fumbling around trying to slide it into the doorknob. Finally, it slid home and the knob turned easy enough. The door creaked open into Noble’s dark, silent dining room.

“Noble?” Her voice reverberated back to her eerily.

She stepped inside and closed the door. She called again and felt along the wall until she found a light switch. The room flooded with light. She glanced over to the kitchen and bit back a groan. What a pigsty. Food-caked dishes were strewn all over the place and the trash was piling up. And the place stank to high heaven.

“Noble?” She continued further into the living room. It was pretty messy, too, but no Noble. His cell phone beeping on the coffee table explained the missed calls.

A soft noise down the hallway caught her attention. Sudden visions of a possible attacker paralyzed her. She froze. Maybe coming over here wasn’t such a great idea. But then, as she listened, the noise sounded more like a moan or a groan. Surely a savage attacker wouldn’t give away his presence by sounding so pathetic.

Slowly, she followed the noise, hoping she wouldn’t find a bloodied or dying Noble. His phone clutched in her sweaty hand like a lifeline, she peered around his bedroom doorway with wide eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness. The smell hit her first. Then the pitiful sight that greeted her made her heart drop.

Noble was sure he’d died and gone to Hell except for the sweet voice humming as cool hands brushed the hair from his forehead. Hell didn’t have angels.

The soothing continued as water sloshed next to his ear like it was being wrung from a cloth, then something cold ran across his face as his angel murmured nonsensical words. His body still felt like it was on fire, threatening to burn from the inside out, but some of the pain was starting to subside.

His own moan ricocheted through the thick air when he tried to swallow past the razors in his throat.

The room went perfectly still. Where had she gone?

Then the bed next to him dipped. Something pressed to his lips. “Here, sweetheart, drink,” she whispered.

He tried to turn away as his body complained, but she urged him again. “No. Drink, Noble. You’re very sick. You need something in your stomach.”

She placed the drink to his mouth again and he caught the effervescent bubbles of a lemon-lime soda. Reluctantly he accepted it. He grimaced as the bubbly liquid rolled down his tortured throat.

He opened his burning eyes to narrow slits as chills began to wrack his body.

Sweet Cheeks was his angel. His heart gave a grateful thump. “Wha—” He coughed, grimaced, and tried again. “What are you doing here?” His words came out as a pained whisper.

“How long have you been like this?” she demanded with a pointed look.

Another bout of chills shook his body and he couldn’t speak. She seemed to take pity on him as she eyed him up and down. “Michael called me. They were worried when you didn’t show up to work and didn’t answer your phone.”

Ah, Hell.
He shifted his lump of an unforgiving body and tried to stand. The awkward movement didn’t go so well.

She stood and shoved him back easily. “Don’t even think about it. You look like shit. I already called Gentry’s and told them you were sick as a dog and I had you under control, so you can relax there, big boy.” She continued to study him. “You really do look like warmed over dog crap.”

“Thanks,” he croaked.

“And by the looks of your kitchen I’m guessing you’ve been holed up in here for a while. Why didn’t you call?”

Because he’d never had anyone but himself to call other than Jed, and he didn’t expect his friend to be his nursemaid. But instead of saying so, he shrugged. “Wasn’t up to it. Plus, I figured you’d be busy and didn’t want to bug you.”

She sat next to him, making the bed dip again delicately. “Noble. You’ve done so much more for me and Tristan than I could ever repay. You could
never
bug me.” She leaned over and brushed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “So now I’ll take care of you, my poor, incapacitated, sickly friend.”

He studied her eyes. It was obvious she wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “No worries, babe.”

“But you should keep your distance. I’m probably contagious.”

She dipped one delicate brow disbelievingly. “You and your germs don’t scare me. I’m a teacher, remember? I’ve been exposed to worse.”

He watched as she slipped from the room. She returned a few minutes later with an armload of supplies. “Okay, first things first. You stink. We’ve gotta get the funk off you. You’ll feel better once you’re clean and sleeping on clean sheets. You think you can handle a shower? Or do you want a bed bath?” She shot him a saucy grin.

“I think I’ll try a shower.”

Her smile widened. “Darn.”

A smile floated about his lips for the first time in days. He groaned as he tried to sit up on the edge of the bed.

She flopped down her load of stuff in the corner chair and rifled through his closet. She reappeared with a pair of his flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt. “All righty. Let me get the shower going for you. Hold on a sec.” She ducked into the bathroom. Water sputtered from the faucets before the shower hissed to life. “Okay, it’s ready. I put everything you’d need right there so you can wash, shave, whatever. Get in, get out. Fast. I’ll change the sheets while you’re in there.”

She stood with her hand out expectantly. He took her palm and gently stood, his head only spinning a tad. She escorted him to the bathroom and peered up at him with her glorious tawny eyes. “Well. This is as far as I go.” She winked. “Call me if you need help washing your back.” She turned and closed the door.

When he came out from his shower, his bed was made with fresh sheets and she was returning with a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

She inclined her head toward the bed. “Settle in so you can eat.” She smiled. “Fresh from the can.”

He collapsed onto the bed out of sheer exhaustion. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Sure I did. Now sit up so you can try this. Doctor’s orders.”

He managed a few bites and the Tylenol she force-fed him before she was literally tucking him in. “Now try to get some sleep,” she said. “I need to go back home and check on Tristan and get some rest myself. I’ll check on you again tomorrow, okay?”

He was too out of it to answer as sleep claimed him and she let herself out, but his last waking thought was what he wouldn’t give to be worthy of an angel.