Redemption (3 page)

“All right,” he conceded. “Listen, Roy isn’t going anywhere; photography is his hobby, so it’s not like people are rushing to book him. He’s kind of on standby, anyway, after your conversation with him. When does your cousin fly in?”

“Cassidy will be here on Thursday.”

“And how long is she staying with you?” Nick asked.

“There’s really no time frame, Nick,” Carrie snapped. “I’m about all she’s got in the way of family, and she needs a fresh start.” She scowled at her fiance’s seeming lack of empathy.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to put this together in my head.”

Carrie squinted at him.

“Okay. Give Bryan until this Sunday. If he still hasn’t called back, we’ll go with Roy. Can you agree to that?”

Carrie looked far from pleased. After many nights of endless debating, Nick had gotten her to agree to the small wedding with the idea that they’d use the remainder of the funds for her dream honeymoon. So, she’d been on board with the reception in a local banquet hall, the friend-of-a-guy-on-the-department caterer. All she’d asked for were two things: good music and amazing pictures. She hadn’t budged on the DJ, and she thought she’d be able to be just as convincing when it came to the photographer. But Nick had this persistent
idea
that Bryan had to be the one. He kept saying how Bryan was supposed to be in New Jersey, not way out in California, hiding. She was starting to panic, and in typical Carrie fashion had devised a back-up plan featuring Roy, amateur photographer, friendly church guy,
not,
she knew, anywhere close to being on the same level as Bryan. But he’d do a fine enough job...

In all reality, she kept trying to convince herself, what mattered most was starting her new life with Nick. What mattered was standing up before all the people who they loved and who loved them in return and making a vow before them and God to love each other forever.

Still, was it too much to ask that she get some decent photos out of the deal?

“Sunday,” she said firmly.

“Sunday,” Nick repeated, sounding happier. “You’ll see; he’s going to call.”

Carrie frowned, “Uh-huh.” She went back to her book and popcorn.

The conversation was over. Bryan had five days to return Nick’s call. That meant that Nick had five days to make sure he left messages that were convincing enough to
make
him want to call back. He couldn’t explain what he felt when it came to making sure he returned to Jersey. He could understand Bryan’s reluctance to see Miranda again and his desire to avoid that awkward reunion, but something kept telling Nick that there was danger in California. Separation from the group put Bryan at great risk. It really didn’t make any logical sense, but he didn’t care about logic. He’d heard a very clear and strong message to get Bryan from Point A (California) to Point B (New Jersey), and fast.

If he didn’t, Bryan wouldn’t make it. Something was draining him of life, of his will. Nick wasn’t sure what this...thing...was, but he was sure that he was right about one thing. Bryan needed the safety of the group, even if it meant being around Miranda.

Carrie thought he was losing his mind.

If he was honest with himself, there were days when Nick wondered the same thing.

 

Bastion shook his head and leaned against the door. Mara was good at her job, he’d give her points for that. She’d managed to get the jump on him, positioning herself next to Bryan on the plane. All he’d been able to do was watch her move in. Just like he watched Bryan now as he struggled to remember what he was planning to do for the day. The guy was a total mess - wild hair, crazy beard in need of shaving. The man he used to be had been swallowed up by this stranger. This person who seemed unfamiliar with the concept of personal hygiene. He’d given up, or more accurately, given in. To Mara.

Bryan had been a strong man; he could be again.

He just needed to get away from the devil girl in his bed. Bastion scowled. Sometimes, the confines of being an angel made his job more difficult. With that stipulation to follow the rules and all.

Mara had no rules to follow except one: break all the rules.

The second she was away from the human, Bastion would approach her. He knew she wouldn’t really listen; she’d made her choice millennia ago. Still, the time had been when she’d been the closest thing someone like him could have to a sister. They’d been created to balance one another - she was energy, passion, warmth, and he was security, support, a safeguard.

Now, the apathy she spread slowly ate her victims alive from the inside out. She consumed them, made them give up, made them blind to the life that teemed in the world around them. She sucked out their souls and ate them with whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He hated to admit it, and would never say it aloud to either Vizuhn or Feyth - they would never understand - but he missed her.

Bastion turned and vanished into the shadows. Bryan would leave the house as soon as Mara was sure her hold on him was strong enough. He’d make
his
move then. There was really no point in trying now; the mortal wouldn’t hear a thing through Mara’s sex-induced coma, anyway.

S
omething was stabbing him, and Bryan was pretty sure he was going to die. He clutched his chest and shot up in bed, sweating and breathing hard. Mara was gone. He looked around the room, disoriented. Nothing made sense in waking moments like these except for the intense pain. That was familiar. That had a name.

Miranda.

He winced and fell back against his pillow. Time was supposed to heal all, or some crap like that. Nick would have another cliche to quote to him. Nick always had a cliche handy.

Nick.

He swore.

Bryan sat up again; he was supposed to call Nick back. There were messages, many of them. At this point, Bryan had probably done a good job of making himself out to be a world-class jerk. He picked up his cell and scrolled to voice mail. There were, he noticed, five new messages.

“Bryan, it’s Nick. Listen, I’ve been trying to get you for a while, man. Have you gotten any of my messages? Call me.”

“Bryan, Nick again. Carrie and I are getting married in two weeks. We need a photographer. You’re the best we know.”

“Bryan, where are you, man? Call me.”

“Bryan, Carrie’s on me about this photographer thing. Time’s running out. Call me.”

“Hey, Bryan. It’s Nick. I don’t know if you’re screening your calls or what. Call back. Let me know I’m not leaving messages on some other poor guy’s phone bugging the crap out of him for no good reason....” BEEP.

“...unlike the good reason I have for bugging the crap out of you. Call.”

“Bryan. Last chance, buddy. You have until Sunday to either take the job or stick me with Roy-the-amateur from church. Don’t let me down. Call me.”

Married. Bryan swore again under his breath, pressed his hand to his chest - maybe he was having a heart attack - and hit send. Going back to Jersey was a fate worse than death (
Crap, another cliche. Freakin’ Nick.
), but he’d do it. Nick had taken the time to visit him in the hospital after Jerry’s attack. He’d sat with Bryan and talked to him like a friend even though they barely knew one another. In a way, Bryan supposed, he owed the guy. So, he’d take the job. Besides, he really needed the money, if they were even paying him.

The phone rang a few times, and his heart began to speed up. Maybe no one would answer. He could just leave a message, say he’d be there by Wednesday the latest, and fall back into the abyss of his life for a few days.

No such luck.

“Bryan! Where have you been, man?” Nick’s voice, ever upbeat.

Despite himself, Bryan felt a small smile creep across his face. There was something about this guy that always made him feel like smiling. Weird.

“Oh, you know,” he began. “Keeping busy. Nothing too important.”

Dying a bit more each day, but other than that...

“So, you got my messages?”

“Yeah, all three thousand of them.” Bryan yawned.

Nick laughed. “Persistence is key.”

Was that a cliche? It sure sounded like one.

“So,” he continued, “you’ll do it? I mean, you’re the best we know, Bry. Besides, Carrie has her heart set on having you here for the wedding!”

A tiny white lie. God would forgive that.

Bryan leaned forward on his knees; he hung his head, closing his eyes. He wanted to say no, wanted to forget about this strange sense of owing Nick anything. He barely knew the guy. So what if he’d sat with him in the hospital. Or driven him to the airport. He’d say no.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Great! That’s fantastic, really!” Nick’s enthusiasm rocketed through the phone, nearly knocking Bryan over.

He mustered up as much energy as he could find within himself. “Glad to help. When do you want me in Jersey?”

“As soon as humanly possible would be ideal. You know Carrie.”

“Yeah. I can be there on Wednesday; there are a few loose ends I need to tie up here before I can leave.” He winced again, this time at the words coming from his mouth.

One conversation, and Bryan was unable to stop the flow of cliches. Thanks, Nick. They said goodbye, hung up, and Bryan lounged in the bed, tired and spent from effort required to maintain the front he put up for Nick’s benefit. Suddenly, it seemed to him that he’d been in this bed for a very long time. A long, long, long time.

He got up and trudged to the bathroom; he should shower. The scruff on his face needed to be tamed. Mara should’ve mentioned it. Speaking of Mara, he wondered where she’d gone since there was no note. He looked at the calendar; it wasn’t either one of her days at the office. No worries, though. She’d be back; she always came back.

After showering away the grunge of his world, Bryan wiped the steam from the mirror and looked at himself. He pressed the heel of his palm to his chest to stop the burning. What was wrong with him? Something wasn’t right. He looked at the beard that had moved in and built its home on his face. It made him look like a deranged lumberjack. He’d trim it. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes that he didn’t remember seeing the last time he’d really paid attention to his face. Sleep would fix those. And his hair needed help. Birds might live in it. Or small animals. Maybe both. Either way, he couldn’t go back looking like this. It needed more work than he could do on his own. A quick call would take care of it.

See. Bryan could fix his life. Really. He sighed.

Wednesday. He’d be in Jersey on Wednesday. He’d have to see her again, like it or not. There was no way Carrie was getting married and Miranda
wouldn’t
be an integral part of it all. He’d avoided, or tried to avoid, thinking about her ever since Mara had come into his life. Now, left alone and to his own devices, he found his mind drifting to the days when it used to be her voice on the other end of the phone. Days when he could stand being close to her, holding her, without the fear of his body betraying him and his heart simply giving out from the strain. He wasn’t sure he had enough strength to see her again. Not so soon, anyway. Because, if she was there, Gainnes would be, too.

He really hated that guy.

Maybe he should just call Nick again and back out. He didn’t ever need to see these people again. He didn’t ever want to see her again.

Bryan tossed his towel into the hamper and pulled on a T-shirt and jeans. Living this way wasn’t healthy, he knew. He closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply, hoping the intake of oxygen would cleanse his system of the poison Miranda’s memory had become.

He wouldn’t cancel. He’d man up and do this for Nick and Carrie. The heck with what’s-her-name.

Yeah, right.

A key in the lock told him that Mara had returned. He was surprised when he glanced back at himself in the mirror. A tear slid down his cheek. Bryan didn’t want to cry over Miranda anymore. He didn’t want to
want
her anymore. Love had proven to be one, giant, sucking sore that festered and left him rotting.

“Hey, sexy.” Mara’s voice enveloped him like a blanket.

“Hey,” he said, grateful for the distraction her presence provided.

“I see you decided to get out of that bed and shower. Too bad I missed it.” She frowned in the most seductive way and held up a bag and a tray bearing two cups of steaming coffee. “It may be almost noon, but...breakfast?”

He smiled, a shadow of his former charming self. “Perfect.”

They made their way to his kitchen table and sat opposite one another. Bryan took advantage of every chance to brush against her hand, her skin, anything to maintain contact and get a fix of whatever it was that she could do to make Miranda vanish a bit more into the blackness of his mind.

“I called Nick back,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh?” Mara broke off a piece of her scone and slowly slid it into her mouth. The way he saw that pastry hit her lips made Bryan wish he could be that scone.