The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (24 page)

Chapter 33

Christmas Eve dawned bright and nippy, but not a hint of snow anywhere. It was such a welcome change for Braelyn, she took the trash out in her Tinkerbell pajamas without a sweater, just because she could.

Indiana-Scmnindiana. Snow was for the birds.

She dropped the bag into the garbage can and turned around. Mrs. Arnold had even kept in her yappy little Boudreaux. A Christmas miracle. She ducked over to make sure her little garden was still holding up well.

Behind her, a motor grumbled. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to. But she did.

Noble rode up the street looking far too dark and intimidating than a man had a right to on Christmas Eve and pulled into his driveway and her heart gave an automatic thump of yearning.

She’d been meaning to talk to him since their ill-fated encounter on his couch. Maybe this was her chance. She’d been too busy with holiday preparations at home and at the nursing home to talk to him before now.

Okay, so she’d been avoiding him.

She’d talk to him today. Invite him over for Christmas. She knew he didn’t have anybody other than his friends at work and his grandfather, who she was pretty sure was not one of his favorite people at the moment. But, thank God he’d interrupted them when he had. She’d relived that moment on the sofa in her mind a hundred ways in the past week and a half, wondering what would have happened if they had seen it through. Because she was pretty sure her body had no real control where he was concerned, and she would have
so
seen it through. Her brain was going to have to make up the difference.

He hopped off his huge, black bike and ran his fingers through his wind-tousled hair. She knew the moment he caught sight of her because instead of acknowledging her, his lips quirked in a show of mild amusement.

She glanced down and felt her face grow about a hundred shades of red. She gave a half-hearted wave and dashed inside to change, Tinkerbell laughing up at her from her fleecy, purple pajama home.

Braelyn needn’t have worried. Noble was more than happy to accept her invitation for Christmas Eve dinner, when she chickened out and sent Tristan over to invite him. Now, her plan was sometime between the main course and goodnight to squeeze in a little more time laying down the law of “let’s just be friends,” which would equal a whole lot less self-recrimination and imagining him without his clothes on and her heart remaining intact. She hoped.

Unlike Thanksgiving, it was just the three of them, so she didn’t do the whole feast thing. Instead, she prepared a simple beef roast and baked potatoes with salads and her specialty, a homemade pecan pie for dessert. Noble was suitably impressed, as she’d definitely
not
intended.

Tristan even looked happy. Which was saying something, given the rarity of his smiles lately. He glanced at Noble. “So, who was that old dude in front of your house the other day? I saw him talking to Michael. He was kinda weird.”

Braelyn peeked up from her bite of potato.
Uh, oh
.

Noble didn’t flinch. “My gramps.”

Tristan swallowed this news with a few bites of his dinner before nodding and throwing out the obvious. “So, he got out of jail?”

Noble speared his salad with a little more force than necessary. “Yup.”

Tristan watched as he brought the bite to his mouth and chewed methodically. “Sorry. That sucks. Is he still a douche?”

“Tristan!” Braelyn cut in, but Noble just barked out a laugh. Simultaneously, they turned their eyes to him.

“You know,” he said, “I want to think so, but the truth is, I really don’t know anymore.”

Braelyn dabbed her mouth with a napkin and averted her eyes nervously.
Uncomfortable!

But obviously her son had no such compunction as he trudged on with question after question like they were old friends. Obviously he knew more about Noble’s past than she did and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that. But she couldn’t help but look up at Tristan’s next question.

“So, what does he want from you?”

Noble was silent for several moments, her rooster clock ticking the only sound in the room. She almost thought he wasn’t going to answer. But finally, he dropped his fork and murmured, “Forgiveness.”

Her heart thumped at his reply. Not because she had any idea what his grandfather was seeking forgiveness for, but because of the utter darkness marring his face. Absolution did not come cheaply from this man.

“Dude,” Tristan cut in. “He really expects you to say it’s all good after he gets drunk and kills your teacher friend?” He stood with his empty plate. “Screw that. Tell him to get lost.”

“I wish it were that easy. I’ve tried.” Noble spoke to Tristan’s back as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Braelyn studied his crestfallen face. “You told me he was in jail for drunk driving and vehicular manslaughter. You never told me he killed someone you knew.” And by the look of despair on his face, someone he loved.

Behind them Tristan ran water in the sink. Several seconds ticked by and Noble didn’t make a move or respond.

Tristan reappeared, oblivious to the hurt thrumming in her heart. “Yeah, Mom,” he said. “That’d be like someone killing you then asking me to forgive ‘em. Uh, yeah,
no
.”

“Gee, thanks, sweetie.”

Noble picked his fork up, made a show of a couple more bites, then gently placed it back down. “So, here’s the thing. He’s dying and he’s trying to make good with me before he . . .”

“Bites it?”

Braelyn shot Tristan a sharp look.

“What?”

Noble nodded, the corner of his mouth turned up. “Yeah. Before he ‘bites it.’”

She was so glad her son’s lack of tact amused him. She stood. “Pie, anyone?”

Tristan ignored her. “What’s he dying from? He catch something in prison?”

That brought a full-fledged smile to Noble’s face, which momentarily brightened the room. “No. He’s got liver cancer. He caught
that
from too much drinking.” He glanced at Braelyn. “And yeah, I’ll take some pie. Please.”

Be still her beating heart. He’d saved a little more of that lopsided grin for the request.

Friends, anyone?

She scooted off to the kitchen to dish up the pie, but it only took a moment before she felt his presence behind her. She inhaled and drew in the subtle mix of fresh air, soap, and sandalwood she was learning was his scent alone.

The refrigerator kicked on, humming right along with her hyperaware nerves. He placed his big, warm hand over hers and she realized she was trembling.

“Want me to do that?”

Do what? Lick me up one side and down the other? Show me exactly what you had in mind, or more specifically in your pants, that day I straddled you on the couch?

He inclined his head to the pie slicer, now dangling helplessly from her fingertips.
Oh, right
. “No, I’ve got it. Thanks.” She turned away before he could see what she was thinking as it broadcast across her face.

“Thanks for having me over tonight.” His deep voice rolled across her skin like a caress. Where was Tristan when she needed the diversion?

She nodded. “Of course.” She glanced up into his midnight eyes. There was something she needed to talk to him about, wasn’t there?

All of a sudden, the heady scent of his soap, of him, was infiltrating her brain as he leaned into her personal space. His breath puffed across the skin of her jaw a moment before his lips.

Oh, God.

The pie slicer clanged to the floor, useless.

She felt his lips curl into a smile against her neck as he nibbled down the column of her throat. “You taste so good,” he whispered.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she needed to say something, anything. But what? Her brain went on hiatus as his lips did the mambo in the dip of her collarbone. She sucked in a breath when his tongue joined the party.

Her fingers wound themselves into his hair, supposedly to urge him away, but they ended up disobeying orders and drew him closer instead. He growled his pleasure against her chest as he nipped and kissed the exposed flesh.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“I . . .” she started, her mind revolting against the thought. She was in jeans and a thermal. Definitely nothing sexy.

“But,” he interrupted her, “I like the Tinkerbell PJs better.”

She yanked back and stared into his laughing eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Never.” He eyed her up and down. “I happen to find Tinkerbell very sexy.”

She shoved him back. Time to get a handle on the situation. She eyeballed him in return. No doubt about it, he was one fine specimen. Still, he was off limits.

But, why?

Damage control, she firmly reminded her heart.

She turned to the sink to catch her breath and studied the tiny
drip, drip, drip
of the ancient faucet. Just another thing to add to her list of things to fix.

“So, what happened to your ‘we’re just friends’ thing?” she asked as some stupid part of her wanted him to profess to something deeper than friendship. She quickly squelched that foolish notion and shoved it aside.

Friends. Period.

His ragged breath filled the kitchen. “You offered up the friends with benefits deal. We held off while I thought on it.” He paused. “I thought on it.”

She turned around, her arms crossed below her breasts. “So now you want the benefits part?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“I thought you turning me down had more to do with me than with you. Isn’t that what you said?”

His eyes gave him away as his gaze skittered about the room. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“So, you’re changing your mind?” She wasn’t sure why she was pushing him. She just needed him to say what he meant and mean what he said. He either wanted her or he didn’t. God, if only he cared. But she damn sure didn’t want to be used as some sort of crutch because he was emotionally needy.

“I guess.” He met her gaze. “Yes. If the offer still stands, I’m changing my mind.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. It was clear as day that this wasn’t about her and it wasn’t about a physical connection. It was about his need for an emotional outlet. And she wasn’t it. Pain lanced her reckless heart. “I’m sorry, Noble. You were right. I’m better than that offer I made you. I’m looking for more.” She smiled sadly, realizing that she just might’ve been a fool with her heart again. “Looks like I want those strings after all.”

Chapter 34

What a fuckin’ idiot he was, Noble thought. Of course she wanted strings. Sweet Cheeks was the kind of woman who collected strings like a seamstress. You just had to look at her cozy little house, with her neat little yard and her sunflower yellow curtains to know. She was all about the strings.

She turned from him and cut into the gooey pie. “I’m sorry, Noble,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

“You have every right to change your mind.”

She spared him a disbelieving glance.

“What? I changed my mind. You could say I led you on first. So we’re even.” He grabbed a plate. “Let’s just forget about it and enjoy Christmas, okay?”

She sighed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Thank you.”

He smiled, hoping some of the tension would leave his groin soon and took a bite of her pie. “No big deal.” Time to cut this night short before he made a bigger ass of himself and let her and the kid get back to their family time while he got back to his, well, back to his alone time.

It was just another normal day for him, especially since he wouldn’t be going to see Jed and his folks this year. It was their first official “married” Christmas and they were making a big deal. Kyle had put up a big tree and decorated the house to rival the studio. He was sure there would be Christmas carols and gingerbread and all sorts of goodies. He wondered if Jed had opened his gift yet. Kyle had confided, more like made him slit his wrist and give a blood oath of secrecy, that she’d gift wrapped a piece of paper telling him the sex of their baby. The poor sap didn’t stand a chance when he found out he was having a little girl.

Something pinged in Noble’s empty heart and tumbled down painfully as he realized he’d never have those things.

He set down his half-eaten dessert. “So, thanks for dinner. And the pie.” He shuffled toward the kitchen door. “I think I’ll split now.”

“So soon?” He didn’t have to turn around to see the disappointment on her face. He could picture her petite brows furrowed, her amber eyes filled with concern. “Tristan hasn’t given you your gift yet.”

Ah, Christ.
His heart did a freefall dive. A gift? He paused, his palm pressed to the cool kitchen door. “There was no need to get me anything.” He still couldn’t bear to look at her.

“
I
didn’t. Tristan did.”

Above his head her stupid rooster clock crowed seven times. He finally glanced over his shoulder. She was waiting, staring at him with her wide, gorgeous eyes.

“Don’t be a chicken,” she said. “It’s no big deal. He did it because you’re his friend.”

“But I don’t have anything for him.”

She smiled. “Of course you do.”

At his puzzled expression, she tilted her head and made a face like she couldn’t believe she was about to say it. “Tell him you’ll give him a riding lesson or something. When he’s ready,” she added hastily.

He nodded and headed to the living room like a man marching to his death. He found the kid playing his video games, his dinner plate forgotten on the table. A few steps behind him, Braelyn shuffled the plates and cleaned up after fussing at Tristan to pick up after himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy murmured after zapping about fifteen of the undead with some sort of laser gun. “Sorry, Mom.”

Noble sat down next to him on the couch, wondering how to get this over with and make his escape as quickly as possible. A Christmas alone was bad enough. Having to do the whole gift thing made it that much more uncomfortable.

“Tristan!” Braelyn called from the kitchen. “Shut that racket off and give Noble his present. I think he wants to go home, and I’d like to get to the nursing home before midnight.”

Tristan sighed dramatically, blasted his way through several dozen more zombies, then finally shut off the game. “Sweet, huh?” he said. “Midnight Apocalypse. Nate let me borrow it. He waited in line for the midnight release and got it brand new.
Mom
wouldn’t let me go.” He rolled his eyes.

“Nate must be a good friend.”

Tristan grinned. “Yeah.” He glanced at their Christmas tree. It was as homey as the rest of the place. White lights, tons of ornaments, popcorn on a string. “So, I got you a Christmas present.” A flush rose high on his cheekbones.

Noble waited until he returned and dropped the package onto his lap. It was oddly shaped and awkwardly wrapped, obviously done by a man or a child, in this case a little of both.

A sudden sense of déjà vu overcame Noble as he was yanked back in time to the Christmas he was eight years old. His mother was pretty much a distant memory, but the pain of his father’s death was still raw from the year before. Emotional, confused, and looking for love from the only personal available, he’d carefully crafted a ceramic dish at school to present to his grandfather for Christmas. He was so proud of it. He’d colored it blue and painted tiny red daisies on it.

That morning, he’d wrapped it up and laid it on his grandfather’s lap. He waited eagerly while he opened it, bouncing from foot-to-foot. But the look on that man’s face . . .

“What the hell is this, Baptiste? Boys don’t paint flowers! What, you queer or something?”

He hadn’t even known what ‘queer’ meant, but he’d sure known what the whiskey on his grandfather’s breath meant. He hid in his room for the rest of the day and Santa never came.

“You gonna open it?” Tristan prodded, forcing him out of the memory.

He glanced up. “Sure. Just enjoying the wrap job.”

Tristan’s flush deepened.

He ripped into the package and uncovered a brand new basketball.

“It’s for, you know, at the park. That one you have there is pretty old.”

Noble didn’t know what to say. He’d never had someone put such thought into a gift for him. So he settled for, “Thanks. It’s great.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tristan sat back down, his hands twisted in his lap. Braelyn entered the room, a soft smile on her face. She looked like an angel.

“So,” Noble started, wondering if they noticed the emotional hitch in his voice, “I didn’t exactly bring a gift for you.”

“That’s okay, dude.”

“No.” He glanced again at Braelyn, who gave him an encouraging nod of go-ahead. “What I mean is, instead of a gift, I was thinking that when your bike is ready maybe I could give you some riding lessons. If you want.”

The kid’s face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Awesome! That’d be sweet.”

“It’s settled then.” He stood. “I should go. I think y’all have somewhere to be?”

Braelyn stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Wait. Why don’t you join us?”

“Join you where?”

“I volunteer at a nursing home. We were going to go visit for Christmas. They sing carols and have goodies. Tristan visits a special friend. It’s fun. Then we could come back here and play games or watch a movie. There’s no reason for you to be alone on Christmas Eve, Noble.”

“Yeah, it’s only slightly lame,” Tristan piped up behind him. “Plus, they’ll have hot chocolate and cake.”

Nursing home? That meant old people. And old people meant death.
No, thanks
.

She must’ve seen retreat in his eyes. Her voice softened. “Come on, Noble. It’s not a scary place. I go there because it reminds me of my grandma and it makes me happy.” Her eyes dipped as obviously good memories filled her mind. “Let me show you. Please.”

Tristan tried to keep it cool as Noble strolled next to him into Angelic Shores. But, seriously, it was totally righteous to have him there. They’d even ridden together in his truck. He could hardly believe Noble had offered to give him riding lessons.
Sweeeeet!
That was more than a fair trade for a lousy basketball. Now he could hardly wait until he got his license and his bike running.

He glanced over and up into Noble’s stone-like face. He was probably holding his breath against the onslaught of
eau de old person
and piss. He understood perfectly. He shoulder-checked him in the ribs and offered him a goofy grin. “It gets better. I promise. Just breathe through your mouth.”

Mom walked ahead and bent over to kiss Mrs. Roth on the cheek.

Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.
“Shit,” he mumbled when she turned her hawk-like eyes in his direction.

“What?” Noble asked.

He sighed. “Oh, nothing. My cheeks are just about to get it from the amazing human pincher there, that’s all.” He waited until the wheelchair bumped his shins sharply.
Ouch
. “Hello, Mrs. Roth. Merry Christmas.”

Here it came. Luckily she smelled like baby powder and peppermint sticks instead of her usual dirty undergarments. “Hello, young man. My, aren’t you a handsome one!”

Tristan closed his eyes just as her bright red fingernails came into view. He smiled politely as he’d swear razors sliced through the flesh of his cheek. Noble just laughed.

“Mrs. Roth.” Mom’s voice cut in and he opened his eyes just as she yanked the wheelchair back, rescuing his cheeks from further maiming. “Why don’t we get to the rec hall for the carols?” She shot Tristan a glance and left them alone. “
You owe me
,” she mouthed as the two women moved away.

“Holy crap, dude,” Noble said, barely suppressing his grin. “You have claw marks on your face.”

“Yeah, thanks. Let’s go.”

“Where’re we going?”

“I have someone I want you to meet.”

Tristan all but ran down the hall to Mr. Myers’ room, hoping his old friend was still awake.

He peeked his head in. Watery, white-blue eyes peered back from his too big hospital grade bed with crisp white sheets. The room smelled freshly cleaned but like someone had put an evergreen room freshener in the corner to make it smell Christmassy.

“Mr. Myers?”

“Sonny!” he called, sounding more alert and chipper than he had last time. “Come in, come in. I’m so happy to see you.”

Tristan entered and pulled Noble behind him. He could sense the hesitation in the big man, as if the tiny confines of the room would suffocate him somehow. He watched him take in the old man in the bed, the cluttered bedside table with all the bits and pieces of an old man’s life; a box of Kleenex, fingerprint-smudged glasses, an empty medicine cup, a Bible, framed photographs of his days in the service, his dead wife, his grandchildren.

The two men studied each other for a moment.

Tristan had so wanted this to be cool. A time to share some of Mr. Myers’ awesome war stories. Talk about Noble’s bikes. Guy stuff. Instead, there was an undercurrent of something strange charging through the room and he had no idea what it was.

Noble shifted his weight, then tucked a loose hair behind his ear.

Mr. Myers finally spoke, his eyes never leaving Noble’s face. “Young man, would you mind giving us a moment to speak alone?”

Tristan waited a beat, not at all clear on what the heck was going on. Did they know each other?

Noble finally nodded. “It’s okay.”

He eventually ducked out when neither man moved a muscle or explained their crazy little showdown.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t eavesdrop.

Tristan was so relieved later that night that Noble didn’t let the nursing home scare him off and came over to watch a movie. After all, what was Christmas Eve without
A Christmas Story
? As the three of them crowded onto the couch with a bowl of buttery popcorn, Tristan couldn’t remember feeling happier.

He’d asked Noble about what Mr. Myers said, pretending he hadn’t heard every word. Noble blew it off as the ramblings of a dying old man. And, considering what he’d said, maybe that was true. Then why wouldn’t he just tell him?

He glanced over at Noble’s dark profile. Something about the whole thing made him uneasy. He knew Mr. Myers was old, but he’d seemed pretty lucid today. So why would he ask to speak to Noble alone, and why would he spout off all that nonsense? And Noble must’ve felt the same way, if the way he beat a path outta there was any indication.

Luckily, Tristan’s mom had intercepted him for Christmas carols and sweets, which seemed to mellow him a bit. But, he still seemed a bit distracted. Disturbed, even.

The shrill cry of the phone interrupted the movie.
Man
. Ralphie was just about to beat the shit outta that redheaded kid.

Mom jumped up to answer, but didn’t pause the movie, so the fight continued until Ralphie’s mom showed up.

“Hello?”

Tristan half-listened to the movie, half-listened to his mom, wondering who’d be calling so late on Christmas Eve. He hoped it wasn’t his dad, trying to act like he gave a crap.

“Oh, hi, Christie.”

Silence.

“Mmm hmmm. Oh.
Oh.
”

It was the second ‘oh’ that caught his attention. Something in her tone made him stiffen. Noble glanced over. Tristan turned, and his mom caught his eye. She bit her lip in that way that said something bad had happened.

“Right,” she continued. “I understand. That’s too bad. Thank you for calling.” She hung up slowly, obviously hesitating having to tell him whatever it was she’d heard.

He reached out and paused the movie, Ralphie’s little brother frozen in place under the sink. “What is it, Mom?”

When she turned, her eyes were shimmery with unshed tears. Noble must’ve noticed too, because he was immediately on his feet and headed her way. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Aw, sweetie,” she said, “I’m so sorry. Mr. Myers passed away just a little while ago.”

Noble froze. So did Tristan’s heart.

His thoughts raced a million mile marathon in a minute flat. How could he possibly dismiss Mr. Myers’ words as the ramblings of an old man now? When a dying man speaks of angels, it’s pretty damned convincing.