Forever My Angel Part 2

All she wants? What about what I want? f.u.c.k, do I even know what I want?

Not really. But I know what I need: Angel.

I study my mother, trying to find words. She doesn't look the same as I remember her, but in some ways she hasn't changed. Her face is a bit longer, wiser, but her eyes are quiet, just as they always were. And her hands; they're always moving, small motions that are barely noticeable, but constant none the less. Feeling the textures of things around her. And as much as I want to deny it, there's love in her eyes. Love for me. But it's too much, too soon. "I need some time. I need to try to wrap my head around this s.h.i.+t." I need to get away from them all. The father who kept her away. The mother who didn't fight for me. And the brother I didn't know I had, who's looking like he wants to pummel me.

I need away from them all, so I leave without another word. After glancing into the kitchen to make sure with my own eyes that Angel is okay, I head outside. I'm hoping the cool air will calm my rage. Angel hates the cold, so I leave her inside under Chelsea's watch. Right now I think I just need to be alone anyway.

Isn't it ironic? The person who instilled in me an intense fear of being left returns, and yet I've never felt more alone.

Chapter Four.

a-aa- I didn't really have a plan for where I was heading when I stormed out, but I'm not surprised to find myself at the small cottage that used to be my mother's studio. It's nestled in the woods at the back of our property. I wonder if she remembers it, and all the time we spent here. I used to come here when I wanted to remember her, when I desperately wanted to feel close to her. Being here now should hurt, but it doesn't. As always, it calms me.

I used this cabin as a retreat when Angel didn't want me close, but I couldn't stay away. It's like something about this cabin lets me touch the untouchable. I breathe easier the moment I'm inside.

Mom wants to get to know me. Has that s.h.i.+p sailed?

I'm not ready to forge a mother and son bond, learning the things we should already know about each other. Every moment of it would be a dagger, painfully driving home the point that we don't know each other because she left.

And what about my brother? Do I want to get to know him?

It's his fault she stayed away! I feel guilty the moment the thought pa.s.ses through my mind, but my guilt doesn't make it feel any less true. If she hadn't wanted to hold on to him, she wouldn't have stayed away for so long. I almost lost Angel because I clung to her so tightly, a direct result of the broken heart my mother left me with. Angel is the most important thing in the world to me, and my mother and brother nearly took her from me. I decide I hate them, and immediately feel better. Knowing how I feel is so much easier than wallowing in uncertainty.

Okay, so I hate them. What next? Hate or not, I've got to face them. Or, actually... There's nothing keeping me here, really. The only thing that matters is Angel. This is not at all how I pictured our first holiday together.

There's a lightness in my step that's been missing since the moment my mother arrived. I duck my head against the cold, hurrying through the wooded path that leads past the back door of the house. I'm going to find Angel, and then she and I are going to go home, crawl under the covers, and not surface for the rest of the night.

It's the only thing I want, the only thing that will make me feel better. No, not s.e.x, although that's part of the plan, but Angel herself. I'm almost back to the house when I hear someone shout for Chelsea, or maybe shouting at her. Leaves crunch under my feet as I double my pace, coming through the opening in the trees just in time to see Chelsea spin toward Warren, annoyance hanging on her face like a lopsided mask. I can see her vulnerability underneath it, and uneasiness twists a knot in my stomach. Their heads are close now as they talk animatedly, and I feel strangely like I'm intruding on a private moment. The f.u.c.k?

Then she's turning away from him, but before she does I see tears pooling in her eyes. Warren calls out to her, but she doesn't look back.

Oh h.e.l.l no. I don't know what he said or did, but I know he upset her, and that s.h.i.+t isn't going to fly. I stride toward him. "What the f.u.c.k did you do to her?"

"Nothing." He gives me a taunting look.

aNothing,' my a.s.s. "You stay the f.u.c.k away from her."

"That's not going to be possible."

The little s.h.i.+t is grinning. He's enjoying this, and that only p.i.s.ses me off more. "You'll make it possible, or else I will."

"Maybe you shouldn't have left the little pow-wow with Daddy Dearest so fast, then. I'm sure he wants to talk to you, to fill you in. Why don't you go on and talk, and then we'll just see who I will and won't be staying away from. aCause Chelsea and I? She and I are going to be getting real d.a.m.n close. We're going to be like this." He holds up two fingers, crossing them tightly.

I've known guys like Warren my whole life. They think because I'm rich, the only way I'll value and respect them is if they show they can beat my a.s.s. Warren won't be the first of them to find himself landing on his own a.s.s if he crosses me. I step closer to him, until my chest is almost up against his. "I don't know what your deal is, or why you're here. But there's one thing you'd better learn and you'd better learn it fast. I take care of what's mine. Right now we aren't enemies. In fact, you're less than nothing to me. But if you screw with me, my father, or Chelsea, that's going to change real f.u.c.king fast."

It's time for a new rule. People who leave should stay gone. Don't waste your time on them, or the baggage they bring back with them from their travels. If I've learned anything today, it's that I was perfectly happy being an only child.

"I'm not the only one being an a.s.s here, you know."

"What the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean?" I think I might have said that out loud, rather than just thinking it.

"Our mother came all this way because she wanted to see you. Have you given her the time of day?"

My shoulders slump. She came back for me. She came back too late, but she came back. It's what I thought I wanted for so long. I should be glad, but the only emotion I can bring to the surface is anger. "I don't know what to say to her." It's not an excuse, just the truth.

Warren lets out an uncomfortable laugh. "I know the feeling. It's taken me all week to be even halfway ready for this s.h.i.+t, and I still feel like I'm floundering. Look, the thing is, even though there's a lot of anger to go aroundaand rightly soaboth our parents are hurting."

"So am I." G.o.d, am I ever. "I know I'm mad at someone, I just don't know who. He kept her away, but she could have fought harder, you know? That s.h.i.+t hurts."

Warren holds his hand out to me. "Maybe you and I can agree that no matter how you look at it, it isn't our fault. Use that as a starting point and move forward from there.

I stare at his outstretched hand, not saying a word. Can I risk trusting him? My heart is in my throat as I force my own hand to take his. "It's worth a try." Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. That's a good rule, and seems applicable. I don't know what game this fool is playing, but I know that I'll beat him at it. I always win, and this will be no exception. I may not know yet whether he's an enemy or a friend, but I know I'm going to watch him closely. Very f.u.c.king closely. And if he tries to f.u.c.k with what's mine, he'll never know what hit him.

Chapter Five.

a-aa- Dad wastes no time confirming that what Warren said is true. He actually expects me to let him work at the bar, and thinks he and Chelsea will be fine as roommates. Obviously, my father has never tried to live with a twenty-two year-old girl. But whatever, I'll let that bomb explode on its own and just try to steer clear of the wreckage. I'm not keen on letting anyone f.u.c.k with the bar, though.

"Just give him a chance, son. Just like I gave you one. Don't give him too much responsibility right away, we can work up to it. But...he's a Chadwell, and that should mean something."

For a moment I'm blinded by white-hot jealousy, and I have to take several slow breaths while I try not to bite Dad's head off. I've been here my whole life, feeling the pressure of my obligations to this family, proving myself, slowly earning more responsibility. My so-called brother walks in, and on day one Dad is ready to welcome him as a son, wanting to give him the privilege of our name and status. Just this morning I was elated at the prospect of a new Chadwell. My new Chadwell. My Angel.

f.u.c.k, Angel. This day has turned into such a f.u.c.ked-up mess, and she and I have barely seen each other. When I came inside she was helping Chelsea and my mom prepare our turkey. I got the h.e.l.l out of that kitchen faster than if a two-ton alligator was snapping at my heels. Way too many women, all of whom just might turn on me at any moment. Or worse, ask me how I'm feeling.

Angel and I haven't talked about her part in this. I'm dreading that conversation, and yet I want to get it over with. "I don't think Angel and I are going to stay for dinner. This day's just been a bit too much to swallow, and she and I need to talk."

Dad folds his arms across his chest. He doesn't scold, or argue, just regards me quietly. G.o.d, I used to hate that s.h.i.+t when I was a kid. I don't particularly like it even now.

Someone raps on the door, and at my father's invitation, Chelsea pokes her head into the room. "Dinner is ready." Her nervous smile is more fake than Vanessa's t.i.ts.

"We'll be right there," Dad tells her, making it clear whether it's okay for me to leave early or not.

Because I'm used to following his rules as much as my own, I don't bother to protest. Dad has always given me leeway in a lot of things, but when he makes an expectation clear, there's no arguing with it. I'm not afraid to go against my father, but I learned a long time ago not to waste energy fighting losing battles just for the sake of my pride. Pride is a cruel b.i.t.c.h, and she won't care how hard you fought on her behalf. She'll make her wounds known just the same.

Our formal dining room is just off the kitchen. As soon as I step into it, the aroma of home-cooked food draws me toward the table. Wow. This house hasn't been filled with scents like this since...well, since Mom left, really. My mouth is watering, and my stomach growls. Angel cooks for us more nights than not, but so many of those meals don't get eaten until two in the morning, when I make it back from the bar and pop it in the microwave. Plus, there's just something to be said for a traditional holiday meal that reminds you of your childhood.

Angel is already seated at the table, and I slip into the open spot next to her. The spot on my left, the head of the table, is where Dad will sit. Chelsea is directly across from me, and Warren settles next to her. Mom comes in carrying the turkey, then pauses, looking around the table. I think there are tears in her eyes.

Whatever. If she's thinking about all the holiday meals she's missed, it's her own d.a.m.n fault. Dad settles into his chair, we say a quick grace, and then the room is quiet except for polite requests to pa.s.s this or that. By the time we've all filled our plates, the silence is so complete that we can hear each other chewing. Maybe that's better than talking. Angel winces beside me when her fork sc.r.a.pes against her plate, echoing around the tense table.

Chelsea is looking everywhere but at Warren. Angel mostly keeps her eyes on her plate. Dad is barely eating, intent on watching Warren. And I can feel the weight of my mother's heavy looks tossed frequently in my direction.

Dad is the first to speak. "The weather man said it might snow this week. Bit early for that, I think."

I expect Chelsea to be the one to respond, because she's usually good at helping defuse awkward situations, but she just stares at her plate. I don't even want to be here; I'm sure as h.e.l.l not making idle conversation. Angel surprises me by speaking up. "I think I'd like to make a snowman."

"That sounds lovely," my mother says. And then we're all quiet again.

"The turkey is great," Angel says from beside me, her voice soft.

My mom smiles. "We were just lucky that the turkey turned out to be the heat-and-eat, pre-cooked kind, or else we would've been here all night waiting for it to finish cooking."

Lucky indeed. The longer I'm here, the more I want to get away.

Dad sets his silverware on his plate, which is still nearly full. "We've got a few horses who will foal this winter, some great bloodlines." Leave it to him to revert to talking about business when he's nervous. No one else at the table really seems to care. If Lexi were still here, she'd be happy to discuss each mare and their pedigrees, but that s.h.i.+t bores me to tears.

Mom shrugs apologetically, as if it's her fault that no one's really talking. Though really, it is, so yeah.

Dad, never one to give up easily, tries again. "So, Warren, what do you like to do?"

"Ware," Warren says before falling silent again.

What kind of name is Ware? Like abe-ware, trouble ahead,' I bet. My brother has a rough look to him. Not really sc.r.a.ppy, but also not refined by any means. Like he's willing to fight, and fight hard. I'm willing to fight too, I just don't broadcast it as clearly. Plus, I can pay people to do most of my fighting for me, keeping my own hands clean. Speaking of which, Kevin and I need to have a talk.

"I know!" Dad says, flas.h.i.+ng a hopeful smile around the table at all of us. "Let's go around the table and say what we're all thankful for."

I groan openly. I can't remember the last time I heard a more awful idea.

"I'll start," Dad says with a bright smile. "I'm thankful that I get a chance to get to know a son I didn't know I had. Having Axel has been such a blessing, and now I feel twice blessed."

Dad turns to Chelsea, and she looks around nervously. "I'm thankful for the raise Axel is going to be giving me, since I've been taking on more responsibilities at the bar."

Leave it to my sister to work this to her advantage. I acknowledge with a nod that I'll do as she suggests, while Dad chuckles, a proud gleam in his eye. She has been taking on more responsibilities, since I've been at the bar less, although she doesn't do things exactly the way I would. You'd think she'd know how I want things done after all this time, but now isn't the time to press that issue. I think maybe details just aren't important to her.

Ware turns away from Chelsea, his eyes locking with mine. "I'm grateful for the beautiful girls Philly has to offer. Pretty sure I can think of a great way to spend my time here." The wicked wink he gives me makes it pretty d.a.m.n clear what he's referring to.

I see f.u.c.king red. Dad made him agree to spend four days a week here in Philly to work hard and earn the money he's asking for, not to screw random women. And if he wasn't talking about random women, and was suggesting he might try a go with Angel, I'lla Angel's hand finds its way onto my knee underneath the table, gently squeezing. She's mine, I remind myself, not because I claimed her, but because she gives herself freely. If my brother thinks he has a shot in h.e.l.l with her, I can sit back and laugh, because it's going to be entertaining. My girl doesn't want anyone but me.

It's my mother's turn. "I'm thankful for second chances."

How presumptuous of her to a.s.sume she's getting one. But her eyes aren't on me. They're on my dad.

Seriously?

I don't think I can handle much more today.

"I'm thankful for the way you all have accepted me and made me feel like part of your family." Angel squeezes my leg again, casting her eyes nervously downward as everyone around the table smiles at her.

And then it's to me. I'm supposed to say something nice, I guess. What was that rule I learned when I was a kid? If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?

I stand and pull Angel to her feet beside me. "I'm thankful that I've sat through enough of this that I can get the h.e.l.l out of here and go home. Chelsea, take Angel's Mustang when you're ready to leave. She's riding with me." That way, I can spend the rest of the night on the only thing that matters: making sure my Angel knows she's what I'm thankful for.

Chapter Six.

a-aa- Angel is quiet on the ride home. Even though she's in the pa.s.senger seat, I feel like there's an ocean between us. When we stop at a red light, she turns sad eyes to me. I want to stare back at her, try to figure out what's going through her head, but I've gotta keep my attention at least partially on the road. The light turns green, and I press the gas. She and I can talk when we get home.

Her voice cuts through the quiet darkness of the truck's interior. "You're angry with me."

Angry is an understatement. When she first showed up on my doorstep, I gave her all the time she needed to face her demons, even when the waiting was killing me. But she couldn't give me the same courtesy. "Yes," I say quietly. I might as well be honest about it. Couples fight. Couples get angry. But it doesn't change anything. "I'm angry that you did this without talking to me about what I wanted. You just decided you knew what was best for me." Like Dad did when he kept Mom away.

"It's not that," she snaps. "I just... I'm so close to my mom. And I saw how it hurts you that you don't have that. You try to fix things immediately the moment anything bothers me. Why can't I try to fix something for you?"

"It's different." I don't want to say it's because I'm a man, but that's honestly the first thought that comes to mind. I need to take care of her. It's deeply ingrained in who I am.

"How?"

"It just is!" I raise my voice without meaning to, then feel like an a.s.s. "I'm supposed to take care of you," I say more softly, "not the other way around." If I can't take care of her, then what good am I? I don't expect her to hold herself to the same standard. Maybe it's s.e.xist, but it's also honest.

"Aren't relations.h.i.+ps supposed to be a two-way street?"

"Look, I love that you wanted to do this for me. Truly, I can't help but love you for it. But you blindsided me, even if you didn't mean to. I just need some time."

She huffs out a hot, angry breath. "In other words, you don't want to talk about it. Ever. You're just going to ignore it."

"That's not what I said." G.o.ddammit! Why is she trying to put words into my mouth?

"Well, let me ask it a different way. You told your mom you need time, but do you have any actual intention of pursuing a relations.h.i.+p with her?"

My silence is my answer, and we both know it.

"That's what I thought." She turns her head and stares out the window.

"You have enough things to worry about without worrying about fixing the things you think are wrong in my life."

"Really?" Her voice rises to a dangerous octave. "Like what? Fixing your dinner? Letting you get me barefoot and pregnant? What do I have to occupy my hours, A?"