When We Met
Page 25

“You were that sure of me?”
“I asked around. You seemed like the type to agree.”
Angel didn’t bother asking what type that was—mostly because he didn’t want to know.
Just about fifteen minutes later he and Raoul were walking into Fool’s Gold High School. They signed in at the front desk and were then shown to an empty classroom. They’d barely walked inside when five guys joined them.
The students were younger than Angel had expected. They were still small and skinny. Awkward in their bodies, with too-long legs and arms. Later they would fill out, but right now they were trapped between childhood and manhood. Sophomores, he thought, taking in their curious expressions.
He would guess they were about the same age Marcus had been. Marcus, who had loved baseball and comic books and “Halo 2.” Who’d been good at math, loved to read but hated writing essays in English. Marcus, who had been bugging his parents to get him a dog and who’d helped his mom make breakfast every Sunday morning.
Time seemed to bend and shift. The classroom disappeared. Angel had been on a job, protecting some rich banker who’d pissed off the wrong South American drug runners. He and his boss at the time, Tanner Keane, had been holed up with the family at an out-of-the-way cabin near Asheville. Because who would look for the banker and his family in North Carolina?
Angel had been in town buying groceries when the call came in. A state trooper had broken the news about the rainstorm and the single-car rollover. He’d said that both the driver and passenger had died instantly. They hadn’t suffered.
Angel remembered listening to the information but not believing it. Not understanding Marie and Marcus were gone. Later, he’d been grateful for the knowledge that they’d gone quickly, but at the time he’d told the officer he was wrong. He had to be wrong. Because Angel had spoken to Marie not an hour before. She’d never said it was raining.
Tanner had sent Angel home on the company jet. Their family doctor, also a close friend, had identified the bodies, but Angel had insisted on seeing them. He’d ignored the blood, the broken bones and held each of them. But he’d been too late. They were cold and whatever had made them the people he loved had been gone.
Tanner’s wife, Madison, had made all the arrangements for the funeral. Angel had started drinking and he hadn’t stopped for nearly six months. In that time he’d thought about putting a gun to his head. The only thing that had stopped him was the knowledge that Marie would be so disappointed if he did.
He’d tried to work through the stages of grief—but he kept coming back to anger. And the person he couldn’t forgive was himself. Because if he’d been there—if he’d been driving—they would both still be alive.
“Angel?”
Angel felt more than heard Raoul speaking his name. He was pulled back to the present with a gut-clenching jerk. The past faded and he was left standing in a classroom with five teenage boys staring at him.
He forced himself to remain in this moment, to introduce himself and shake hands with the kids. He learned their names and their stories. But all the while, all he could think about was his son. The son he would never see again. The son he hadn’t been able to save.
* * *
TARYN STUDIED THE graphics for the preliminary presentation for Cole and the [email protected] team. She wasn’t sure they’d captured the spirit of the company yet. But as she studied the pictures and lettering, she had the thought that maybe she and Angel could brainstorm some kind of art project using computer graphics. The Acorns would love it. There had to be an FWM bead for being creative. There seemed to be a bead for everything else.
But not art for the sake of it, she thought. There would have to be a practical use. Posters for a festival, maybe. Or an awareness campaign. It seemed that every month celebrated something. They could pick a cause and design posters. The girls would love that.
She went online and started searching for lists of what was celebrated when. There was national ice cream month—something she could seriously support. Maybe a day was better, she thought. Something about community service might be nice. National something...
She continued to search online. Her phone rang and she picked it up. “This is Taryn.”
There was a pause before the caller spoke. “It’s Justice.”
Taryn stopped typing. There was a problem. She could hear it in his voice. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Angel had a meeting this morning with Raoul Moreno. He’s a local former football player.”
“I know who he is,” she told Justice. Raoul was the one who had invited the boys to Fool’s Gold in the first place. They’d played in his Pro-Am golf tournament and subsequently changed her life forever. Although she was less annoyed about that than she had been.
“He got back and went into the workout room. He’s on a punching bag.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, not sure what to do with the information.
“You should get here as soon as you can,” Justice told her.
The statement wasn’t a request.
“Give me five minutes,” she said, and hung up.
Which was about how long it took her to grab her bag, head to her car and drive the few blocks to CDS. When she arrived, she parked, then hurried inside. Justice was waiting by the door.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said with a shrug. “He won’t talk to me or Ford. I can’t find Consuelo, so...”
“I’m glad you called.”
They were walking down the hallway. She was aware of a thunking noise that got louder with each step. They walked into the big workout room and she saw Angel hitting the punching bags over and over. Even from across the large space, she could see he’d taped his hands and yet blood seeped through the tape and dripped onto the floor.
But what really scared her was the look on his face and the expression in his eyes. It was as if he’d seen a monster. No, she thought. Not a monster. Something much bigger and more frightening. He’d seen into the pit of hell, and whatever was there was coming after him.
She took a step toward him. Her high heels made her sway on the mat. She bent down and took them off, then walked barefoot to where he continued to punish the bag. Or maybe just himself.
She stopped next to him. “Angel.”
He looked at her. She could tell he wasn’t seeing her. Not at first, then his eyes cleared.
“Taryn? What are you doing here?”
“I came to get you. Come on. We’re going to my place.”
“What? Why?”
He was pale. Sweat drenched his T-shirt. When she touched his upper arm, his skin was clammy. She pulled gently.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
She’d thought he might fight. Instead he nodded and moved toward her. She led him across the mats. After stepping into her shoes, she headed for the front of the building. Justice met them in the hall. He handed Taryn a small black duffel bag.
“A change of clothes,” he said.
She took them. “I’ll call you later.”
She and Angel walked out of the building and toward her car. When she’d unlocked the passenger door, he got in without being asked.
She watched him fumble with the seat belt. But his hands were taped and swollen and he couldn’t move his fingers. She bent down and fastened it for him, then kissed his cheek.
He turned toward her. For a second, she would have sworn she saw tears in his eyes. Then he blinked and it was as if they’d never been there at all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ANGEL DIDN’T SPEAK on the short drive to Taryn’s house. She kept glancing at him, trying to see if he was okay, but she couldn’t tell much from his profile. When they got to her place, she guided him inside. She checked the duffel and saw that Justice had given her a full set of clothing, so she led Angel to the bathroom off the master and started the shower.
After kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her jacket, she pulled off his T-shirt. He toed out of his sneakers and pulled off his socks, then stood immobile while she carefully unwrapped the tape on his hands.
She went as slowly and carefully as she could, but she knew she had to be hurting him. His skin was cut, raw and bruised. Blood seeped from open wounds. He looked as if he’d been in a hell of a fight and she supposed he had been. She wondered who the opponent had been and suspected it had been himself. But why?
When she was done with the tape, she opened the shower door. “Finish undressing,” she told him. “Take a shower. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
He nodded. She went out and closed the bathroom door behind him. She exhaled slowly when she heard him close the shower door.
She changed her clothes quickly and then dug out an old first aid kit. By the time she returned to the bathroom, Angel was toweling off. His blood left stains on her towel, but she didn’t care.
After he was dressed, she took him to the dining room, where she’d set out her supplies. At least now his hands were clean. She used an antiseptic spray and the largest bandages she owned to patch him.
“Is this going to be okay?” she asked. “Should you go to a doctor or the hospital?”
“Just a few scratches,” he told her.
His voice was low and rough. As if he hadn’t spoken in days. Or had been screaming until he was hoarse. She knew neither was true. She kept her hands lightly on top of his, careful not to put any weight on his wounds. She studied him.
His hair was mussed—damp and sticking up in places. He was pale. Still broad through the shoulders. Powerful, yet not fully with her.
“Angel? What happened?”
He looked at her. There was something in his eyes, she thought. A vacancy. For a second she wondered if he even knew she was in the room.
He swallowed. “We were both so damn young, Marie and I. Kids, really. I was a new recruit and she worked in her uncle’s store. Her family wasn’t happy about us dating. Not at first. But I was like that stray dog you can’t shake. No matter what, I wouldn’t go away. So they accepted the inevitable and we got married. Two months later, I shipped out.”
He was still staring at something she couldn’t see. Telling the story to her or to someone else? Maybe himself? She knew it didn’t matter. That in the telling came whatever healing he would have today.
He swore. “I missed her and I loved what I was doing about the same. Which made for a difficult time. When I got home a year later, she held out a baby boy. She’d been pregnant and hadn’t told me. She’d said she didn’t want to worry me. That I was doing dangerous things and needed to concentrate. She’d named him Marcus, after my dad.”
“That must have made you feel good,” she said quietly. “Happy.”
“I was. We were. We were a family and I loved them both.”
She moved her hands to his forearms and squeezed. She didn’t know why he was dealing with this today, but she could feel his pain. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”
“If I had been there... If I had been driving...”
“It’s not possible for one person to protect another from life.”
“I know.” His voice filled the room as he roared the words and stood. “I know that I couldn’t shield them from accidents and pain. But I should have tried. I should have been there. I loved them and I didn’t keep them safe.”
He crossed to the window and stared out at her small yard. She watched him, not sure what to do. She could intellectually understand his pain but couldn’t know what it felt like in her heart. Because she’d never allowed herself to love that much. Not even Jack, who had squeezed his way in more than anyone else.
She’d never been in love, had never wanted to be. Faced with his tangible grief, she wondered if it was ever worth it.
“What happened today?” she asked.
“I talked to Raoul Moreno. He wants my help with an antibullying program he’s starting. I said I would and he took me to the high school. I talked with some teenagers there. Boys.”
He turned slowly and faced her. His jaw tightened, as if he was holding in as much as he could.
“You know the irony?” he asked. “When I went to see Mayor Marsha about volunteering and she told me about the FWM, I thought I’d be working with boys. I figured I knew what that was like because of Marcus. Then, when I found out about the girls, I freaked.”
She smiled. “Yes, I was there.”
His mouth curved up slightly, then twisted again. “I was wrong. Being with those kids nearly did me in. All I could think about was Marcus. What he was like, how he died. I could barely talk. Raoul covered for me. I’m going to have to tell him what happened.”
And get over it, she thought. Because there was no way Angel was going to back away from the challenge.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted. “The bag’s a safe place.”
By “bag” he must mean the punching bag, she thought. Hitting that was safer than driving too fast, or getting drunk and then driving. Her gaze dropped to his bandaged hands. Not that it was an easy way to deal with emotion.
“I’m sorry to put you through this,” he told her.
“Why?” She stood and crossed to him. “You’re feeling what you feel. You had a wife and a child. You lost them both in a horrible way and every now and then you’re in a bad place.”
He looked into her eyes. “That’s it?”
“What else would there be?”
“You could tell me to get over it. That it’s time to move on.”
“Not my job or my style,” she said.