Forever My Angel (18 page)

With that decided, I set out on foot through the underbrush that’s encroaching on the trail that leads from the house’s back door. This trail isn’t used often, and nature always seems determined to reclaim it. The only time it ever stayed neat and tidy was before Mom left, when it was used multiple times a day.

Now, I think I’m the only one who uses it.

At last the clutching vines and thorns release me into the tiny clearing by the cabin’s front door. I both hate and love this place, but I’m hoping that today, the feelings it conjures with its silent wizardry will help me sort out all the shit swirling around in my head.

The door creaks in protest at its silent slumber being disturbed as I open it and step in, waking the cabin from its hibernation. Somehow, this place has always seemed asleep when Mom isn’t here, even though it’s only been a few weeks since I’ve been inside. It’s like when she left, she took that vital spark that made this place alive and cheerful with her.

I wonder if she thought about us after she left; if she felt broken and lost inside, like she’d left a piece of her soul behind, the way I felt like a piece of mine disappeared. I wonder if on Christmas mornings, she looked at the faces around the tree and couldn’t bring herself to smile because someone important was missing. I wonder if she looked at Ware and blamed him for him keeping her away, or if she always took ownership of her choices.

Dammit! I know it wasn’t his fault. He was like me, just a kid, except even younger. I shouldn’t blame him for her choices, but fuck it’s hard not to. The fact remains that if she hadn’t had him, she would have come home to me. Right?

Suddenly I’m not so sure. Things with her and my father were not exactly stable. I want to believe that she would’ve come back to see me, though, even if Dad wouldn’t let me go live with her. She wouldn’t have vanished without ever returning.

I need to forgive her, and accept that it isn’t about who’s at fault, it’s about healing. But if I let go of the anger and blame, the sense of abandonment hurts so damn much. Hell, the damage she did to me by leaving almost cost me Angel. Yet another reason for me to hate Mom and Ware.

But can I really hate Ware? He had no say in Mom leaving, and he brought her back, giving me a second chance if I want it. He’s clearly a hard worker. Already everyone at the bar loves him, especially Chelsea, and I can’t say they’re wrong. He does every task I ask of him without complaining, and after being shown how to do something, he picks it up fast, able to help with whatever I need. He could have walked in here, told Dad about Lily, and collected a hefty payday. It surely would’ve been a much easier route for him, but instead he’s working hard for it. I can’t not respect that. Dammit, if he wasn’t my brother, I’d like him a hell of a lot.

So why don’t I? Why the hell does he rub me the wrong way?

Do I think he’s going to take Chelsea from me? That can’t be it. I never minded her with Dougie. But I never felt like she and Dougie had something real. Am I worried that she could really fall for Ware? Is he going to make her choose between me and him?

A nagging voice reminds me that if anyone’s making her choose, it’s me. If I could just get on better with Ware, she could happily have us both.

As hard as I’m trying, I can’t find any real reason to hate Ware. I think...he’s a good guy.

The knowledge hits me hard, but brings me a deep sense of peace. I have a brother, and he’s a good guy. If I stop being a dick, maybe things could be good between us. I’m sure I won’t accomplish it overnight; it’s going to take me some work to mind my tongue. But Chelsea is worth trying for. Though, if I’m being completely honest, I’m going to do it for myself as much as her.

So that’s Ware, but what about Mom?

I think if I remain angry at her, I have to at least direct some of that anger at my dad. She tried to come back and settle things, and he kept her away out of pride or some bullshit like that. And I fully believe it, because isn’t that sort of what he’s doing with Vanessa? Yeah, he’s making sure Vanessa knows he wants her to come home, but he’s also taking a hard line. Come home now, or end this. My father is a great businessman, and he’s a great father. But I’m not so sure he was a good husband.

So maybe I can understand Mom wanting to leave, and if he’d let her, she would have taken me. I’m really not sure which of them is truly at fault, so maybe my only way forward is to forgive them both. Can I really do that? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

I’ll call Ware tomorrow and ask him to be one of my groomsmen. But this time, I’m not doing it because Angel asked me to. I’m doing it because someday I’m going to look back and be glad I had my brother by my side.

—-♥—-

I
’m working at the bar on Monday afternoon when the phone rings. There’s a brief flutter in my chest when I see Angel’s name.

“Hey, baby. Everything okay?” I don’t mind her calling me, even when I’m at work, but she almost never does.

“No!” she screeches. “Not okay! Everything is not okay!”

I have to force myself not to panic. I’m already shoving my wallet in my back pocket and reaching for my keys to hurry home. “What’s wrong?”

“There are people here!”

I swallow. “In the house?” Did she not have the alarm system on?

“Yes. They say you sent them. I told them to leave, but they keep insisting that they’re supposed to be here.” She snorts in frustration.

“Oh! The interior decorators. Yeah, I’m sorry, baby. With everything going on I completely forgot to let you know I’d called and scheduled them. They’re there to put up the Christmas tree. Dad and Vanessa use them every year; they’re great.”

She’s silent, and for some reason, the silence worries me.

“Angel?”

I look down at my phone and see the call has ended. Did she hang up on me, or did we simply lose the connection?

I try to call her back, but it goes straight to voicemail.

Shit.

“Chelsea! I’m headed out. Call if you need me,” I holler as I head out to my truck.

I don’t know whether to be mad or amused, and I still haven’t made up my mind by the time I reach my front door.

Holy hell. My house is absolute madness.

Angel is barricading the doorway, while a man in an ugly Christmas sweater and black dress pants yells at her, his hands on his hips. “Mr. Chadwell said to be here today. He pays us, not you. We do what he says, not what crazy lady says.”

Oh hell no. I tap him on the shoulder while Angel shoots daggers at me with her eyes. “I’m Mr. Chadwell, and I don’t like people who piss off the future Mrs. Chadwell. You’re fired, and you have thirty seconds to disappear.” Clearly, I need to add a new rule to my list: don't let people piss off Angel.

He huffs out an aggravated breath, muttering to himself as he instructs his team to retreat. I don't catch everything he says, but it's something about the other Mrs. Chadwell not using him either, and stinking rich bastards with no loyalty. I make a mental note to tell Dad that if Vanessa hasn't had someone put the tree up at the farm, he should schedule that soon. With a
different
company. He turns back just before leaving and shouts, “Good riddance!” and flips us the bird. I caught that part just fine.

I’m chuckling, and so is Angel when I spin around to look at her. Until she catches me looking, and then she’s back to pissed.

She does at least move out of the way so I can enter my own home, though I get the sense that it’s grudgingly. After I empty my pockets of my wallet, keys, and phone and deposit them on the kitchen counter, I turn to her. “Do you have something against Christmas trees?”

Angel crosses her arms against her chest, leaning against the front door. “Do you have a problem with doing things yourself, instead of paying people to do them for you?”

Ouch. I take a moment, considering my response. “I won’t apologize for having money, Angel.”

She sighs, and as her anger slips I see she’s fighting tears. I resist the urge to go to her. “I don’t mind that you have money. I
mind
the way you use it. This is our first Christmas as a couple, and I thought we’d be decorating our tree together.” She bites her lip. “Mom and I always made a day of it. It’s kind of a thing.”

Dammit, I fucked this up without a clue. “Baby, all you had to do was say so. If you want to decorate a tree, we’ll decorate a tree.”

“I didn’t realize I had to say so. I think most normal people do their own trees.”

I try to remember back to when Mom was around, and I think I can vaguely recall something about popcorn and yarn, but that’s about it. It was such a long time ago. “Baby, just be patient with me. I’m going to screw stuff like this up, but I’m willing to learn. Let’s decorate the tree.”

“Okay.” She still looks a little pissy, but she’s coming around. “Where are your decorations stored? I’ll start getting them out.”

Oh. She wants to decorate the tree
today
. “We don’t have any.”

Her brow furrows. “How can you not have decorations?”

I wave my hand in the air. “Um, we just went through this. We hire people to do it, remember? They coordinate it and make it look good, and we don’t have to deal with the hassle.”

She’s pouting again. “It’s not a hassle, A. It’s special! What about all those special ornaments for things like ‘Baby’s First Christmas,’ or ones with your childhood pictures in them?”

“I don’t have anything like that, Angel.” Now that she mentions it, I wonder if I was missing out. One more casualty of my mother leaving. I have to look away for a minute, to settle the storm brewing inside.

She walks toward me slowly, wrapping her slender arms around my neck. “Then I guess now’s as good a time as any to start.”

Three hours later, I’ve frozen my balls off at a tree farm. Angel pointed out twenty different trees that all looked the same, expecting me to tell her which I liked. I finally just pointed, but she made a face. So I pointed to a different one, and then another one, until at last I pointed and she beamed. “Perfect!”

The store didn’t go much better, but eventually we came out with eight strands of lights that will probably have my feet tied together by the end of the evening, and an entire cart full of ornaments. There were plenty of multi-packs of ornaments that we could have just grabbed and been done with it, but she had to pick out each individual one. And dammit, seeing how happy it made her, I’m finding it hard to be cranky. I even picked out one I liked, a silver-and-white angel.

Angel found an angel for the top of the tree–why can't we just put her picture up there?–and now I’m standing precariously on one of the stools that goes at our center island, pretty sure I’m going to break my neck before this damn angel stands up straight.

At last Angel gives her approval, and I climb down.

“What’s next?” I ask.

Angel takes me by the hand. “We take a break, and I thank you for being such a good sport. We should make another Christmas memory.” She starts to lead me to the bedroom.

This decorating thing might not be so bad after all.

—-♥—-

T
he morning of the Gala is cold, but clear. There’s not a cloud in the sky, and it’s one of those perfect winter days. The type of cold that makes you think you’re going to freeze your balls off is right around the corner, but for now everything is balanced on the cusp, not quite winter, not quite fall.

Angel’s not liking winter nearly as much as she liked fall, but she’s adapting, and more and more I think she’s going to be willing to stay here permanently with me. Her mother arrives on Saturday, and she’s looking forward to seeing her, but I don’t get the sense that she’s longing for the warmer temperatures of Arizona as much as I feared.

The girls are doing something to get ready that Chelsea says will take them all afternoon. She doesn’t want me to see Angel’s dress until it’s time to go, so I’m getting ready at the bar. I think she believes if I see Angel getting ready I won’t let her finish, and we’ll never make it out to the Gala. She might be right, on any other day, but this time I’m not dreading the black-tie affair. I get to walk arm in arm with Angel into a room of my father’s most powerful friends and have her announced as my fiancée. My chest swells with pride. I don’t know why she chose me, but I sure as hell want the world to know she did. So my sister doesn't have to worry, there will be no staying home tonight.

I've been thinking about Chelsea a lot lately, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I've been completely wrong about her. Reflecting back over everything I know regarding my sister, I realize she does want more out of life, but she's so selfless that she focuses on taking care of everyone else. It isn't that she doesn't have ambition, it's that she doesn't ever put herself first. I don't know if that will ever change, but I can at least make sure she's valued, and work my ass off to help her do things for herself, not just for others. She's smart, talented, and loyal to a fault. To start with, I'm going to officially promote her to front-end manager, but more importantly I'm going to trust her judgment on decisions. And I'm going to bide my time until I can figure out what else she might want. I bought her a little sudoku book for Christmas. It cost me less than a dollar, but I'm hoping it's the gesture that will matter, that she'll see that I'm trying to tell her I support her interests, no matter what they are. She doesn't have to hide from me. She shouldn't hide from anyone.

And she certainly doesn't need to hide my fiancée from me. I cringe when I look at the clock and find it's barely moved. I wonder if Ware's as anxious as I am about tonight.

Speaking of Ware, I don’t know if he’s getting ready with the girls or not. I hope not, because it’s not fair for him to be there and me not. I almost call him, maybe ask him to snap a couple of pictures and text them to me, but I don’t want to show how anxious I am. So I pout alone in my office, trying to distract myself until it’s time to slip into the tux that’s been hanging behind my office door since I picked it up from the cleaners a few days ago.