Quiet Angel (33 page)

Shadowed by the
darkness, Layla walked home alone. For weeks, she knew this day would suck, the last day of Story Wings. She’d never set foot in the store again. Her lifelong dream was now bearing a “For Sale” sign. Sure, it was Poppy, and not her, that caused the store to close, but that didn’t make her feel any better or ease the pain in any way. And now Layla had no clue where she’d work next, a bookstore or something else, or whether she’d ever have the courage to start another business.

On top of all that, Gage had suddenly screwed things up between them. It was infuriating he had someone watch her, invade her privacy, report back on her.
How dare he
. There was no excuse, but she knew why he did it. It was the same thing as always. It was the thing she couldn’t run from, the thing she could never escape, the thing that never went away. It was the thing she hated the most. Her past was always lurking, always haunting, like the ghosts roaming the streets of Savannah.

And she hated the way Gage treated her because of it—like she was helpless, like she was some lost child in need of a guardian. He probably decided not to run for governor because he thought she was too fragile.
He has no idea
. She wasn’t lost. She wasn’t a child. She’d been through hell and come out the other side. She’d fought battles—alone—that he could never even dream of. She was capable. She was tested. She could handle an occasional crazy or a bimbo reporter with a microphone.

She took a deep breath and tried to see it from his perspective. Gage was just trying to protect her, to look out for her. He probably felt guilty for allowing the media circus to continue and wanted to make sure she didn’t fall victim to it. He’d always looked out for her, ever since the first day they met on the beach. The man didn’t know any better. He couldn’t help himself. Maybe she should be grateful he wanted to care for her and keep her safe—especially since no one else ever bothered to.

All that sounded good, but she couldn’t shake that Gage should’ve trusted her—to live her life and take care of herself. And if he had any questions or concerns, he could’ve talked to her about them or at least told her what he was up to. The fact that he didn’t—and apparently didn’t trust her—made her worry. She didn’t want to marry too quickly.
Am I rushing into things? Is he?
Maybe Gage had Dash watch her out of fear, to make sure she didn’t run off again. He recently said he was worried she might. Fear is no reason to get married.

Her phone dinged with a text.
I’m sorry. Where R U? We need to work this out.

Layla stopped under a light post and looked down at her engagement ring. She slipped it off. She’d only taken it off to shower, move boxes, and let Ava try it on. This time was different. She placed it in a side pocket of her purse and studied her empty finger, a few tears running down her cheek. The ring had only been on her finger a month, but she’d grown used to seeing it there, feeling its beautiful weight, knowing the love behind it, a symbol of her life and future with Gage.

Gage texted again.
No running, right?

She leaned against the post and wept. She’d closed her store. She’d sold her house. Her whole life was in boxes ready to move to Atlanta. She wondered if they should postpone the wedding. But the thought of shifting gears now, running away again, was too much. And she knew it would crush him. She hated the thought of him in pain. It might crush her, too. And she’d promised not to run again. She looked down into her purse pocket, the ring glistening in the moonlight. She slipped it back on.

Another text from Gage.
Can I talk to you for two minutes?

A light flashed, and she jumped. She scanned the darkness for some photographer or cameraman. She tried to see who was out there, who was watching her. The photographer, the cameraman, could be anywhere. But maybe it wasn’t a media person—but someone worse. Her body shivered. She wasn’t sure whether to run or walk, whether that would attract more attention, or just stay put against the light post.

A group of tourists turned the corner, led by a tour guide with a flashlight, and she exhaled. She was losing her mind. She could use a light of her own, something to point her in the right direction. She started to walk again, realizing this was the first time she’d been alone in weeks. Gage had orchestrated things so well she hadn’t even noticed. His heart was in the right place. But she was still pissed. Her heart ached. She needed time to think, to clear her mind. Some meditation would help when she got home. She turned the block to her street.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to find her in the darkness. Of course, he could find her in the darkness. He’d guided her through it enough times before. She stepped up through her front gate and onto the porch, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“Can we talk?” Gage asked, his eyes puffy and scared.

“Now you want to talk? After keeping secrets from me?”

“I’m sorry. I think we can work this out if we talk.”

“Not tonight. I need some time.”

“Can you just tell me where you were? I was worried.”

“I went to get some things done before the wedding.”

“Like? I’ve got your passport and clothes already packed for you.”

“Like getting a wax!”

He hung his head. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“Happy now? I didn’t feel like broadcasting that to Dash,” she said and disappeared inside.

*

Layla spent the
next day—her last as a single girl—fending off his calls and texts. She even shooed him away from her house a time or two. She still didn’t know what to think. Meditation hadn’t helped. She still needed time, but she didn’t have much of it. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt.

When the night came, she and Poppy ordered pizza and watched chick flicks at her house, a couple of moving boxes serving as chairs and dinner trays. It seemed the perfect thing to do—something quiet, simple, with her best friend. They might not have the chance to do this again soon.

“I really liked Dash,” Poppy said, playing with her new jet black extensions. “He made me smile and laugh until my cheeks hurt.”

“You two were perfect together.”

“No, you and Gage are perfect together,” Poppy said. “How long are you going to make him suffer?”

“How long are you going to make
Dash
suffer?” Layla replied.

“It’s not the same. Gage loves you. Dash just loves my pussy.”

“Pop,” Layla said, “Dash looked pretty upset to me.”

“Why do I always do this? In a room full of good guys, I pick the one that will hurt me every time.”

“I think you’re wrong about Dash,” Layla said.

“I know you’re wrong about Gage.”

“I can’t be mad he had me
watched
for weeks?”

“
Protected
for weeks,” Poppy corrected.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” Poppy said. “But Gage is a good guy—misguided and quite possibly a total idiot—but a good guy. I really don’t know how he runs such a successful company. You two belong together. You’ve known that since you were a teenager. So, how long are you going to torture him?”

There was a knock on the front door. “Layla?” Gage called out.

“Go let him in,” Poppy said.

“Layla, please open the door,” Gage said.

Poppy frowned. “Either you go open the door, or I will.”

“Don’t you dare, Pop.”

“I hope I don’t wake up your neighbors,” Gage said.

A few guitar chords vibrated through the door. “Oh my God, Layla!” Poppy said. “He’s going to play for you!”

Layla took a deep breath, her heart melting just a little. She slowly walked to the front door then rested her head against it, listening to the man, her future husband, singing the hell out of Aerosmith’s “Angel,” his sweet Southern accent shining through. She put her hands over her chest, and her eyes began to water. Part of her wanted to take the guitar and hit him over the head with it. He could be so dense. But another part wanted to run to his arms and kiss him. He could be so sweet.

“I love Aerosmith,” Poppy said, talking to herself. “I would so have sex with Steven Tyler. I don’t care he’s like 100 years old now.”

Layla put her hand to the door knob, a few tears falling. Gage knew how to get to her. She’d loved the man her whole life. She couldn’t help herself. She opened the door, finding him leaning against her porch railing, strumming his guitar. He looked like hell, unshaven, bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said and took a huge step towards her. “I made a mistake. It was out of love.”

“Don’t,” Layla said, wiping her face.

“I swear that Dash likes Poppy and. . . .”

“Stop,” Layla said. “Poppy’s a mess. She’s been abusing her hair again. It’s jet black and hanging down to her waist. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Gage pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know I need to apologize to her, too.”

“You can’t just put a bodyguard on me without telling me.”

“I was worried about everything going on. I wanted to keep the press and any creeps away from you. And I didn’t want your abuse to become public.”

“At this point, if it comes out, then it comes out,” Layla said. “I’m not going to be ashamed of something someone else did to me. But you can’t hide things from me, even if you convince yourself it’s for my protection. I mean, do you trust me? Can you be honest with me?”

“Of course.”

“How am I supposed to trust you after something like this?”

“The same way I trusted you after you ran off and hurt me,” Gage said, holding her eyes. “You believed you were doing the right thing, and so did I. You weren’t trying to hurt me, and I wasn’t trying to hurt you. You had reasons for not telling me certain things, and so did I.”

Layla looked towards the dark Savannah sky. “You know how I feel about secrets.”

“Yes, and you know how I feel about you.” He reached for her hand. “How much I love you, how much I want you, need you. I’ll do anything to protect you—anything.”

She took his hand and squeezed it. “I wasn’t leaving you. But I need you to tell me the truth. Is the press coverage the reason you’re not running for governor?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Here’s the thing, Layla. You’re the reason I do
everything
.” She pulled back and looked into his deep blue eyes. “You’re the reason for every good and bad decision I’ve made since I threw that football and broke that prick’s nose.” Layla smiled, her dimples coming out. “
You
are my reason.” His eyes focused on her mouth, and he leaned in close. “Say you’ll marry me?”

“Not today.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

The wedding should’ve
started 10 minutes ago. Gage wasn’t sure what was going on, but apparently Layla and Poppy were late arriving to his mother’s house. He didn’t care. He’d been waiting for 12 years; a few extra minutes was nothing. The string quartet started up, and Gage took his place next to the priest and Dash, underneath the gazebo and roses gracing the backyard.

He scanned the small crowd, no more than 50 people or so, all seated in white chairs. He saw his mother was already crying. And he saw Governor Clements, Helen from Hope Cottage, his secretary Mary, and other familiar faces. Then there was Jacob silently, anxiously, going over his reading part.

Gage looked down the aisle, along a white carpet runner cascaded in white rose petals, hoping to catch a glimpse of his bride. Instead, he saw Emerson dusting some dirt off Connor’s tux. The boy was bouncing up and down like he was on a pogo stick, anxious to come down the aisle and officially start the ceremony.

Then it was time. Connor held up his pilot man like the Statue of Liberty. He looked straight ahead at the gazebo, and Gage gave him a little wave forward. The boy began his march, measuring each step, smiling and waving to the crowd. Connor made it to Gage and said, “Touchdown!” The crowd laughed, and Gage pulled the boy to his side, patting his head.

Gage looked down the aisle again, doing a double take when he saw Ava. Maybe it was the heels and strapless dress, but she looked like a young lady, not a young teenager. He wondered how Ava convinced her mother. It must’ve been quite a sales job. He was going to have to work hard to keep horny teenage boys away from her. Emerson followed her daughter down the aisle.

The music changed, and the crowd stood up. Gage cocked his head to see around them. But he couldn’t see anything. Layla hadn’t rounded the corner yet. He saw the back of Poppy, her hair back to its pixie length and blonde color. She was standing in front of Layla, talking. Poppy stepped aside, turned to face the gazebo, and took Layla by the hand.

They took a step towards the gazebo, towards him, and the entire world stopped spinning. He was sure he stopped breathing. Everyone, everything fell away. Everything fell quiet.

Layla walked down the aisle, bouquet in hand and barefoot, her chocolate brown hair flowing down her shoulders and back, the white gown hanging loosely from her body, making her appear she was floating.
Angel.
And when she moved just the right way, the dress clung to her curves, giving a peek at the sexy woman underneath.