The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (7 page)

Chapter 9

Noble straddled his Hog, just about to crank her up and give his tune-up a test run when Tristan came bolting in the open garage door, breathless and wide-eyed.

“Help,” he heaved between pants. “Need . . . your . . . help.” He bent over like he was about to puke and sucked in air like a starving man.

Noble jumped from his bike and rushed over, his eyes scanning outside for any sign of Sweet Cheeks. “Where’s your mom?” he demanded.

The kid tilted his head toward his house. “Inside,” he sucked in another breath. “She’s hurt . . . water . . .”

Noble didn’t hear another word. He took off for next door, his legs pumping beneath him in a mad sprint. He mounted the steps and burst in the front door, his eyes scanning the living area for her. “Hello?” he called out.

There was a whimpering cry from down the hall. “I’m here,” she answered, her voice weak with obvious pain.

He rushed toward her voice and stopped short when he found her amid a free-flowing river of water, propped between the toilet and the sink, her ankle cradled in her hand and tears streaking down her face. She looked up at him and a fresh cry burst from her. He wasn’t sure what to do. The carpet squished beneath his boots as he took a step in her direction.

“Are you okay?” he asked, venturing into the mini lake that was her bathroom.

She shook her head. “Hell, no.”

He knelt down in front of her just as Tristan banged in the front door and made his way behind him. “Let me see.”

She didn’t move.

Water continued to pump out of the pipe around them. He caught her gaze. Tears had made her amber brown eyes hauntingly fragile. He reached out and touched the hand that held her injured foot. “Let me. You’re hurt.”

She blinked once then let go, her fingers brushing across his. He looked down and gently took her foot in his hand. Her ankle was obviously swollen and already bruising an angry purple. She flinched and hissed between her teeth at the slightest touch.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he gingerly released her. He stood and glanced at the wrench and rusty valve on the commode. “I need to get this water off for you first. Let me go shut it off outside the house.” He turned to go but paused at the door. “Then I’ll get you outta here.”

She didn’t say a word, but nodded gratefully and swiped at the tears still flowing down her cheeks.

Tristan followed him outside to the backyard where they quickly shut off the main water supply to the house. He peeled off his wet boots and socks and set them outside the front door so he wouldn’t track any more water through her already waterlogged house before returning to her in the bathroom.

Silently, he went to her and knelt down to help her scoot out of the cramped space she’d ended up in. Her tears had dried up, but she fought back little winces of discomfort with every movement.

Her gaze locked on his as he placed one arm under her knees and one behind her back. She automatically wrapped her arms around his neck and clung as close to him as she could get, her eyes never leaving his face. She was so tiny and frail in his arms, he was afraid he’d break her.

A soft gasp escaped her as he stood. He remained still a moment to allow her to get her bearings. She shifted her weight fractionally, bringing herself in closer alignment with his chest. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair.

His eyes darted to her lips—they were the softest pink and parted as she took a gentle breath. His gaze traveled back up her delicate face. Her fingertips were making sweet, maddening little circles at the base of his skull.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t. He simply stared as cool water slid over his feet and soaked into his jean legs and her eyes held him captive.

“Mom?” Tristan’s uncertain voice broke the moment.

Braelyn didn’t take her eyes off his face. “Yes, baby?”

“You okay?” he sounded unsure.

“Yeah.” She licked her lips. “I’m fine.”

Noble shifted and carried her from the bathroom, breaking their eye contact and severing the arc of whatever connection was bouncing between them. It was too much. Too much, too fast. It had to be his protective instincts because she was hurt, he reassured himself.

He carried her to the living room. “You think you need to go to the hospital or something?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s not broken. Just put me down here.” She indicated the couch behind them.

He nodded once and gently deposited her on the sofa before facing Tristan. “Can I borrow some of your tools? I’ll see if I can fix your toilet.”

Tristan glanced at his mom, who seemed a bit shell-shocked, but otherwise didn’t say anything. “Yeah. Sure.”

While the kid was out getting the tools, Noble went to the kitchen to make Braelyn an ice pack for her ankle. He rifled through her drawers, finding utensils and multicolored pot holders, until he came up with a gallon-sized Ziploc and opened the freezer to fill it with ice. He pulled back his hand, startled to find it shaking.

He took a breath and quickly finished his task. He brought it to her and pressed it into her hand. “Here,” he said. He didn’t give her a chance to thank him or comment. He grabbed the toolbox from Tristan when he returned and they ducked down the hall.

It didn’t take long, nor did it take a rocket scientist, to see that the toilet had been tampered with. Noble grunted and glanced up. “Now who in the hell would snap this piece off?”

The kid shrugged. “I’ve no clue. Michael was the last one in here, but why would he do it? And I wouldn’t have.” He bit his lip. “Everything in this house is old. It probably snapped from old age, dude.”

Whatever. Luckily, it would be easy enough—if a mess—to fix. He ran to his house for a part then patched it all up before he and Tristan mopped up the soggy mess of the bathroom.

When they were done, he found Braelyn lying on the couch with her eyes closed and her ankle propped on a pillow with the ice pack. She opened her eyes when she heard them come in. She smiled sleepily.

“Hey.”

He tamped down his automatic visceral reaction to her sexy smile. “Hey. It’s all fixed.”

She sat up. “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. Again.” She laughed softly. “And again.”

He nodded once and headed to the door. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Wait.”

He turned with his hand on the knob.

She was standing, her weight on her uninjured foot. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s the least we can do to thank you for all your help.”

He glanced over, tempted, and saw a glimmer of hope in Tristan’s eyes just before he saw the trust and . . . attraction shining clear in hers. His gut clenched. He couldn’t handle this.

“No. Thanks.”

He opened the door and stepped out, quietly closing it behind him.

Braelyn watched Noble leave and wondered why it hurt. Couldn’t the guy just stay for dinner? Did he have a girlfriend? She thought about the way he’d gazed at her—all but eating her alive with his eyes. God, she hoped he didn’t have a girl. And the way he picked her up and carried her like she was a feather? Her heart went
pittery pat.

Well, whatever. The man obviously wasn’t interested. She shouldn’t be, either. Her track record with men wasn’t exactly stellar. She was focused on raising her little man right now, just like she should be.

She hobbled on her sore foot to the kitchen. She stopped, surprised, when she found Tristan sitting quietly at the table
reading.

“Whatcha doin’?” she asked, peeking over his shoulder at his book. When was the last time he’d had one of those?

He glanced up. “Homework.”

“Homework?”

“Um,
yeah
. Midterms, Mom.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to his studies.

“Right. I forgot,” she lied. She wanted to kiss this Michael guy. He was doing wonders for her son. Miracles.

“So,” she interrupted him again, earning herself another hard stare. “Dinner? I was gonna do those steaks. But since I jacked up my ankle, I really don’t feel up to cooking them tonight. Whad’ya say to ordering pizza instead?”

He glanced back down to his book. “Cool.”

Whatever he was reading, must be good. “Okay.”

She picked up the phone and dialed the number to order delivery. She turned and glanced out the window while she waited on hold. Noble’s truck still sat in the driveway. She was pretty sure he would be leaving in about an hour. How sad that she knew his schedule. She did wonder, though, what he did so late at night.

Finally, someone picked up to take her order. She rattled off her and Tristan’s usual.

She glanced again toward the big, sexy truck parked next door and was bombarded with an instant visual of his large, warm, brown hand holding her pale foot as if it were a delicate flower. It was easily the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her in her life—pain or not. But it was probably the man himself.

Well, she decided, if he wouldn’t have dinner with them, she could still feed him. On a whim, she ordered another pizza to be delivered to his house. She sure hoped, being a man, he loved all things meaty.

Chapter 10

Michael was in a catch-22. Things were going super with Tristan. Better than he’d hoped, actually. The boy was opening up to him, they were spending lots of time together. Their bond was special. And he knew that Tristan was an integral piece to the puzzle. But, things were moving frustratingly slow between Noble and Braelyn. A half-dead, frozen sloth’s pace, really. They appeared to be cordial, if a bit distant, but that was a far cry from the love match he was hoping for.

He sighed as he sank into his seat next to Ariel at their weekly AA meeting, and reminded himself that patience was, indeed, a virtue.

“Hey, boss.” She tapped his thigh and offered him an ultra bright smile.

He smiled at her ensemble for the day—lime green capri pants and a rainbow-colored vest over what could only be described as a hot, hot pink, shimmery blouse. “Ariel. You’re looking especially colorful this evening.”

“Thank you!” She bounced her crossed leg and exuded general happiness with everything in the world. He wondered if she knew something he didn’t, or if she was just too new to understand what they were up against with this whole love game.

Gabriel eventually took his place at the podium, running uncharacteristically late tonight. Even his light seemed a bit dimmer. “Sorry for the delay, everyone.” He smiled at the crowd. “Let’s get started.” He rattled his sheets of notes and began their Angels Anonymous meeting with their creed and news from On High.

“Father would like it known that effective immediately, unless extenuating circumstances prevent it, all successful matches made will be rewarded with automatic assignment—per angel request—to any present or future children of said love match.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. What could such a decree mean? What were the details?

Michael sat still and listened, too stunned to absorb much. Father was a constant surprise.

Gabriel offered no further information before he moved on to more news of angel promotions and lateral transfers within the realm. Their old
compadre
, Rafael, was still doing wonderfully in Messaging.

Finally, it was time to get started on the business at hand.

Gabriel tried to start with him, but Michael deferred, saying things were moving slowly and he had no news. He used his nonverbal cues to let his leader know he wished to speak with him afterwards privately. Gabriel simply nodded and moved on to the next angel.

Uriel reported that his humans, Jennifer and Alan, had begun dating seriously, which was good considering this was his second assignment on Love Detail. Most of the other angels also reported good news, or at least status quo.

The meeting concluded uneventfully and everyone helped put up the chairs before spreading out for home. For some reason, tonight was quieter than most.

Michael lagged behind, waiting to talk with Gabriel alone. Finally, it was just them and a couple stragglers chatting in the corner. Michael took the opportunity to pull Gabriel aside.

“Brother, may I speak with you?” he asked, his voice low.

Gabriel looked around. “Where’s Ariel? If this involves your match, shouldn’t she be here?”

Michael shrugged. “I suppose. But I went on and sent her home.” He was hesitant to admit that he was at a loss and didn’t want Ariel—the one he was supposed to be teaching—to see that. He was ashamed on both accounts.

Gabriel studied him with his intense, deep eyes. Finally, he nodded once. “Very well. Let’s take a seat and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

They moved out to the small lobby area and found two plastic seats near the water cooler. He glanced up to the benign oil painting of what was supposed to be the Archangel Michael, his namesake, and sat below it. He shook his head. Poor rendition. Looked nothing like him.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably—these chairs were not made for human vessels of his girth.

“So.” Gabriel’s concerned gaze caught his. “Tell me, Brother, what is it? Troubles in paradise?” He smiled.

Michael laughed. He knew his leader and friend would understand and help him to gain some perspective. He’d always been able to make him feel better. And, more importantly, he’d always been someone he could count on to help him sort out his messes and form a plan.

“You could say that,” he admitted.

“Well . . .” Gabriel’s eyes drifted to the portrait above their heads. “You did say this would be your most difficult assignment.”

“It is.”

He looked him dead in the eye. “Do you feel you’re not up for the task?”

“I . . .” Michael’s words left him. He wasn’t sure he was, which was such a shame given his earlier confidence.

“Would you like to be reassigned? I could ask Father to have someone else take over your case. If you’ve done all you can, that wouldn’t be against our Commandments, Brother.”

Michael slumped back into his seat, defeat settling heavy into his bones. He could feel his people, as he’d come to know and love them, being pulled from his grasp. And all because he couldn’t get his work done.

He glanced into Gabriel’s eyes. He gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. Who could he possibly reassign to the case at this late date? And after Michael had already bonded with Tristan and been working with Noble so closely? He sat up straighter in his seat. Oh, heck no!

“I’ll finish it, Gabriel. Somehow, someway, I will find a way to make Father’s match,” he said as much as a vow to himself as to his fellow angel.

Gabriel grinned triumphantly. “I know you will, Michael. You always do. You work best under pressure.”

He was baiting him all along? Michael shook his head. “You’re good for me, Gabriel. Really. Thank you for that.”

“No worries, Brother.”

“But, I must tell you, I’ve bonded well with the child, Tristan, which I’m very pleased about. And I’ve done what I can to prod Noble’s most basic sense of duty to the vulnerable.”

“That sounds either very smart or very dangerous.”

Michael stared down at the toe of his boot. He wasn’t sure some of his choices were the smartest, but his intentions had been good. And he’d been close-by to make sure all was safe. He met Gabriel’s questioning eyes. “I tapped into Braelyn’s weaknesses and Noble’s strengths.”

Gabriel raised a brow.

“I might’ve loosened some wires in her car’s engine so it didn’t run so good.”

Gabriel studied him. “And?”

“And I might’ve used angel intention for it to die right in front of Noble’s house. Don’t worry, she was safe the whole time. I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he promised.

Gabriel waited silently. Obviously he knew there was more.

“And I made sure her air conditioner ran out of Freon because I happen to know Noble is a whiz at fixing those.” He glanced up from under his lashes, suddenly embarrassed. His great ideas at the time now seemed juvenile and bumbling. “And I fiddled with her toilet so it would overflow because I knew Noble was home and would come help her fix it.”

Gabriel’s jaw slacked open. “You did
what
?! Michael!” His voice sharpened to an angry pitch and Michael cringed. “You’ve got to watch yourself.” He caught Michael’s gaze, his eyes flickering with some anger, yes, but also concern. “And you know what could happen if you cross the line. Please be careful. You’re bordering on over-involvement and downright cruelty.”

Michael flushed at the chastisement. He never,
ever
intended to be cruel. Not even a little mean. He was sorry anything he did inconvenienced any of them at all. But, if it served the greater purpose in the end, then it was well worth it. And if they were privy to it, they would appreciate his efforts. “I’m sorry. I just thought . . .” He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking. He was working on instinct.

“Michael,” Gabriel finally said, his voice softer. “I realize you’re trying. And you are to be commended for your work with the boy.” He continued once Michael looked at him. “But you need to be more mindful about what you choose to do and how you intervene. At least don’t choose things that are potentially dangerous—like her car!”

Michael sighed. “Yes, Brother. I understand. No cars, ever again.”

“Now, that said, how’d that all go? Any results?”

“No,” Michael admitted. “Nothing. Not one spark.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? You’re sure?”

Michael rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Yup.” He turned earnest eyes to his leader. “I’m trying to keep my faith in Father’s Plan, Brother. Really, I am. But, tell me. What can I do now?”

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, tuning his thoughts Heavenward. Finally, he smiled at Michael. “When will you be going to see your Little Buddy again?”

“Tomorrow. Why?”

“Well, I might have an idea.”

Michael waited. Whatever it was, if it came from Above, it had to be good.

Gabriel continued. “We’ve already agreed we’re going to stay clear from cars and anything that could potentially cause harm. And, for goodness sake, no flooding her house! But, there are still some things left to do.” He winked. “After all, we’ve been commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves.”

Tristan loafed on the couch after Michael left, debating what to do. He was still grounded from his video games until next month. He glanced at his Super Smash Brothers Brawl with longing. His mom wasn’t home. She wouldn’t have to know. But it was her birthday, and somehow it seemed extra wrong to break the rules today.

He checked the clock. Another couple hours till she got home from working Saturday detention at the middle school. He kinda felt sorry for her having to work on her birthday. She always did nice stuff for him on his birthdays. Like cooking him homemade waffles and taking him out for pizza and buying him video games. He gazed over at Mario again with a longing sigh.

He hopped up and went to the kitchen for a soda. The hummingbird-shaped thermometer in the window read 88 degrees. Man, he was glad Noble had been able to fix up their AC. And their toilet too, for that matter. The guy was a regular Mr. Fix-It. He was pretty cool, too. Tristan sure wished he could get a good look at his motorcycle. That’d be sweet.

He leaned into the fridge and reached for a Dr. Pepper, idly noticing the light was out before slamming it shut. He popped the top on his soda and took a swig.
Aaack.
They weren’t cold yet.

He turned around. That was weird. His mom must’ve left her cookbook out on the kitchen table. He ambled over and took a peek to see what recipe she was going to be guinea pigging on him soon. He furrowed his brow. Yellow cake?

Ah. It was a hint! Mom wanted a cake for her birthday. He smiled to himself. He could probably do that. He scanned the ingredient list. Seemed easy enough.

All right. First things first, preheat oven. He walked over and turned the dial to get it to the correct temperature before pulling out the cake pan. Oh, yeah. He could do this.

Feeling confident, he grabbed the cookbook and headed back to the pantry for the flour and sugar and such. Once he’d assembled his dry ingredients, he returned to the fridge. Man, would Mom be surprised! He yanked open the door with a smile and started searching for the eggs and butter.

He pulled out the carton of eggs and put them onto the counter. Next, he grabbed the tub of butter, but he noticed it felt hot and squishy. He opened the lid. Yuck. It was halfway melted. He opened the eggs and touched them. Warm.

He rushed back to the fridge. “Oh, man!” It was out. Everything was warm. Mom was gonna be pissed!

And so much for her cake. Darn. He went to turn off the oven. He twisted the dial and it snapped into his hand.

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!”

How was he gonna get it off? He studied it for a moment and pinched the knob, twisting and turning the bare piece. It didn’t take long for him to realize that no heat was pumping out from the back part of the oven like it should’ve been. He yanked open the oven door. It was still cold. It was broken, too?

He stumbled back, upset. This house was an absolute piece of crap. And now his mom’s birthday was going to be shot to shit by a broken refrigerator
and
oven. Now he really felt sorry for her. He glanced out the side window and noticed the big, black truck next door.

He collected his cake pan, the cookbook, his not-ruined ingredients, as well as his pride, and trudged out the door. He was not about to let his mom’s day be totally ruined.

A couple minutes later, Tristan stood on Noble’s doorstep wondering if he was the biggest dumbass in the world.
“Dude, can I borrow your kitchen to bake a cake for my mommy?”

But he was saved from worrying anymore when Noble opened the door with a scowl. He looked down into his face and furrowed his brows when he noticed the bundle of stuff in Tristan’s hands. “What’s up?”

Tristan took a breath and hoped he didn’t sound like a dweeb. “Sorry to bother you, man.” He glanced toward his house. “But our stupid fridge and oven are out.”

Noble leaned against the doorframe and waited.

He soldiered on. “And I know it’s kinda dumb, but today’s my mom’s birthday, and I, well . . .”

“You what?”

He shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. “I was wonderin’ if I could borrow some stuff and use your kitchen.” He held up the cake pan. “To make her a cake.”

Noble studied him like he’d spoken a foreign language. “A cake?”

He swallowed and nodded. Yeah, he knew. Kinda gay.

“Hmmm.” He stepped back and opened the door wider. “Sure, whatever. Come on in.”

He followed him in and bumped the door closed with the heel of his foot. They moved through the living room, which held only a worn leather sofa, a recliner, and a large, flat screen TV. Tristan turned and nearly bumped into Noble’s back once they reached the threshold of the kitchen.

He glanced up. “Sorry.”

Noble stepped out of the way, moving to sit on a bar stool with a bowl of cereal Tristan must’ve interrupted him from.