Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) (23 page)

Chapter 33

Three months later . . .

Delaney plopped cross-legged on Naomi’s bed. “So, you’re really gonna do it? You’re
really
gonna move all the way to big, bad Californ-i-a?”

Naomi glanced up from the box she was packing with her delicate knickknacks. She caressed the porcelain dolphin in her hand that Paul had given her the first Christmas she’d lived with them when he found out she loved the ocean. She swallowed and choked back the tears. She’d shed enough. “Yes. And California isn’t that far. It’s time for me to use my nursing degree.”

Delaney huffed out a breath. “What am I gonna do without you?”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “Continue to screw my best friend?”

“Well, who’s gonna commiserate with me when he acts like a jackass?”

“True.” Naomi placed her last pretty in the box and closed the flaps. “But you are always welcome to visit, and there is such a thing as a cell phone.” She smiled.

Delaney flopped back. “I still can’t believe you’re going to deal with sick kids every day. Seeing Emma go through that was hard enough.” She rolled over and eyed Naomi. “How’re you gonna do that?”

Naomi glanced out the window and shrugged. She truly had no idea. She just knew that Emma was the one who had inspired her to apply for the pediatric oncology nursing position in the first place. That, and she needed a fresh start as far from New Destiny as possible, and California seemed as good a place as any. Maybe the fresh air and the surf would be good for her heart and soul. It surely couldn’t hurt.

She was glad to see Vi so happy now that she’d found Sam. She was. Retirement obviously suited her. If only she could find her own heart’s home.

“Well,” Delaney continued, oblivious to her tumbling thoughts. “Beau and I want to take you out to dinner before you go. Get you rip-roaring drunk. Who knows? Maybe we can find you a hot guy and get you laid.” She giggled.

Naomi bowed her head. Shoved the hurt back. “Sounds good. The dinner part anyway.”

“What? Don’t want any hot monkey sex?”

She spun slowly. “Uh, no. Thanks.”

Delaney studied her face. “You still hung up on Eli?” She rose and put an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I wasn’t thinking. But, really, maybe it’s for the best he left town. What did you really know about him?”

That I loved him
.

“Apparently not enough.”

“Exactly. Let him go.”

Unbidden, tears filled her eyes. “I can’t.”

She sank to the bed and Delaney tucked her into her arms as she sobbed. “God, I’m such an idiot . . .” She sniffled. “Beau told me he’s probably not dangerous, but that he couldn’t find anything about him before two years ago.” She gazed into Delaney’s eyes. “Why would that be?”

Delaney stroked the damp hair back from her cheek. “Oh, hon, I don’t know. Probably not good.”

Naomi nodded. “You’re right.” Hiccup. “But I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gone.”

“I know, Naomi. I know.” Delaney held her and let her cry it out, as she mentally rewound every touch, every glance, every word they’d shared.

Why couldn’t she forget?

Why wasn’t the pain easing?

I haven’t always been a human.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the haunting words, denying them.

Eventually her cries eased down to sniffles and she was limp. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You needed to get that out. Honestly, I was wondering when you’d get around to it. You’ve been holding it in for a long time now.”

She nodded and eased away. “Well. Thank you.” She glanced at the bedside clock. “Don’t you have to get to work?”

Delaney checked her watch, a nice little gold number Beau had given her for her birthday, and hopped up. “Oh, hell’s bells! You’re right. Mrs. Parmer is coming in for her color touch-up.” She grinned mischievously. “Maybe the poor woman will pick a color besides fire-engine red this time. It sure doesn’t suit her.”

Naomi couldn’t stifle the laugh. “Why don’t you just tell her?”

“What? And blow my tip? The woman wants red, she gets red. I’m just doing my job.”

“Remind me of that next time I come in for a haircut.”

Delaney waved and headed out with a giggle.

Naomi grabbed a quick turkey sandwich then got back to packing, stifling every single, solitary thought of Eli Smith that tried to worm its way into her brain.

An hour later, as she was going through her kitchen utensils, the hair on the back of her arms suddenly stood on end as premonition flooded her body. She glanced at the front door.

Three seconds passed in utter silence.

Then the knock.

Her heart tripped over itself as her stomach filled with ice. Adrenalin poured through her system.

She rose on wobbly legs and felt the world tilt beneath her.

She didn’t have to look to know who was there. She just knew.

Chapter 34

Elijah could hardly believe he was back in New Destiny, Arizona, much less standing at Naomi’s door.

He’d made it all the way to California, Michael’s words eating a hole in his heart, but like a yo-yo, he’d been snapped back.

Three months of reflection and he kept circling back to the same place. Time after time, like a merry-go-round . . .

You were meant for
this
world . . . Not the Heavenlies.

Love, Elijah. Surely you know. It’s always been love.

As much as he hadn’t wanted to accept it, as much as he wanted to punish himself, he couldn’t deny the truth of Michael’s words.

Every single sun rise on the road, every innocent smile from a child, each beautiful thing in Father’s world, reminded him, in living color, that he
was
meant for this place. And that was okay. Especially since this world included the thing he loved the very most.

He faced her, his heart bleeding right into his chest, when the door cracked open, her emerald eyes shimmering uncertainly.

“Naomi,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper. He swallowed. “Hi.”

She didn’t budge. “What are you doing here?”

“Please,” he pleaded when he saw the alarm fill her eyes. “Don’t be scared. I’d never hurt you.”
God, please let her believe me.

“Why are you here, Eli?”

He breathed in. Out. So thankful she wasn’t slamming the door in his face. “You can call me Elijah. If you want. That’s my full name.”

Her eyes softened momentarily, then they turned wary again. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because . . .” He longed to reach out, but he tucked his hands in his pockets instead. “I’m sorry I hid so much from you. But I had my reasons. And I’m here to tell you the truth.” He held her gaze. “Everything.”

She tilted her head. “Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He took a tiny step forward. Her eyes flicked down then up and he knew she was deciding if she could trust him. He was happy to see her come to the decision that she could. “Because you deserve the truth, Naomi.”

She hesitated only a couple moments, then she swung open the door. “Don’t make me regret this, Eli . . .” She eyeballed him. “Elijah.” She said his name like she was trying it on for size and he liked how his full angelic name rolled off her tongue.

He followed her into the living room, swallowing his nerves. He’d come this far, he’d see it through.

She waved him toward the couch, but he shook his head. He was too wired to sit. Apparently she was, too, so they stared at each other from opposite sides of the room like fighters squared off for a bout.

“So?” she finally said.

“So . . .” he murmured, now unsure where to start. How
do
you explain being a fallen angel?

She arched a delicate brow. “Why don’t you start with why you don’t seem to have existed before two years ago?”

Oh, Father, here goes nothing . . .

“Well . . . I did exist. Just not here.”

“Here, as in Arizona?”

He tucked his hands back in his pockets. “No. Earth.”

Her face paled as her mouth fell open. “I . . . You . . .” She turned around, then spun back. “Okay, that’s it. You need to get the hell out. You
are
crazy.”

He stepped toward her, but she took a huge leap back, bumping into the coffee table and knocking over a candleholder. “Don’t touch me! Get. Out!”

“Please, Naomi.” He stopped so he wouldn’t frighten her. “Just listen to me!”

She stared at him through wide, frightened eyes. “Why should I listen to you?”

“Because—because I love you more than life itself.” His words were quiet, but they echoed in the room like a thunderclap.

And with that she absolutely wilted, her body crumpling to the ground in a folded heap, her golden hair hiding her face, sobs wracking her body.

He knelt down, unsure if he should touch her, but unable to stop himself. He gently stroked her back, running his fingers through the hair that had haunted his dreams for the last three months.

“Naomi,” he pleaded. “Please.”

She shook her head. “Just go, Elijah. I can’t do this.”

His heart caught at her use of his name. “Can’t do what?”

She lifted her head and peered into his eyes. The pain he was causing her nearly crushed him. “Let you break my heart again.” She swiped at her eyes. “All this talk of not being human . . . it’s crazy!”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, catching a stray tear. “But it’s true.”

She studied his eyes as if she was gauging whether to believe him. “If you’re not a human, then what
are
you?”

“I am human now. It’s what I
used
to be.”

She blinked, disbelief painted all over every fine feature. “Fine. What did you . . . what did you used to be?”

The breath raged in and out of his lungs as he realized these next moments would determine his fate for the rest of his earthly life. He watched another tear hover and catch on her lower lashes. He longed to ease this for her somehow. He sighed. “It might be easier if I just showed you.”

“Showed me?”

He eased to stand again and tossed up one last prayer for help as he tugged his T-shirt from his jeans. He ignored her startled gasp.

“Eli—Elijah . . . what are you doing?”

He yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it to the couch. He faced her and took a breath, met her gaze. Emotion clearly poured from her eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked again, her voice shaking.

“Showing you the truth the only way I know how.”

He sucked in a deep breath, tucked away his nerves, and slowly spun to present her his back. His former shame.

She said nothing at first. Only their ragged breathing filled the room until her refrigerator kicked on and hummed to life.

He heard the shuffle of her standing, smelled the scent of her sweet perfume—like a meadow of wildflowers. He remained motionless, vulnerable. A broken thing unworthy of her perfect love, but asking all the same.

“Your scars,” she breathed.

He said nothing.

She moved to face him, forced him to meet her eyes. “What happened to you?”

“I cut off my wings.”

“You . . .” She put a hand to her mouth. “Wings?”

He didn’t move. She would have to believe him, believe
in
him, for this to work. “Yes.”

She swallowed, obviously not convinced. “Why did you have, um, wings?” She nearly squeaked out the last word. But she was listening.

He clenched his fingers, willing himself still. “Because I was . . .” He glanced down.
Do it. Just say it.
“I was an angel.”

She froze. “You’re serious?”

He nodded.

“An angel?”

“Yes.”

“You realize how crazy you sound, right?” She reached over, grabbed his T-shirt, and handed it to him. “You should probably go.”

He still didn’t move. “I realize it sounds crazy. But it’s true. What can I say to make you believe me?”

Seconds ticked by painfully slow as she stared him down. “Nothing,” she finally said, forcing the shirt into his hands and brushing past him. “Go.”

Desperation urged him on as panic set in and he moved purely on instinct, sinking to his knees. “Please. I’m begging.” He bowed his head. “Naomi. I love you. I would not lie to you.”

She was within a step of him, her scent still wafting around him, teasing him. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. But he remained with his eyes downcast, at her mercy. His heart at her feet.

“Elijah, you need—” Her soft, warm hand touched his left shoulder, barely skimming the top of his shoulder blade and his scar. “. . . some help . . .” Her words died off in an awed whisper as her fingertips brushed further down his scarred back.

“Oh, God,” she gasped at the same time the stunning warmth cascaded through his body, lighting him like a newborn star.

He raised his head and met her eyes.

Tears were collecting and overflowing, making her eyes glow like emeralds. “I see . . . I can feel you,” she said with awe, pressing her other hand to the right side of his back. “My, God, Elijah. The pain.”

He rose and tried to collect her into his arms, but she pushed away. “No.” She rounded him so she faced his back and gently placed both hands to his scars, and again the heat rushed through him like a river.

“How could you stand it?” she murmured behind him.

He couldn’t reply, the sensations too intense.

But then, as if sensing his need, she wrapped her left arm around his chest and pressed her lips to his scarred back.

He nearly broke then. “Naomi. Stop.”

“No,” she whispered against his skin. “I’m sorry. I see now. I see . . .” She whispered it over and over like a chant as she pressed kisses to his flesh. “Elijah . . . you’re telling me the truth.” She heaved a ragged breath. “The agony was so brutal, yet you’re so tender and kind. How can this be true?”

God, he wished he knew what was happening. What she saw. But this connection was more than he could’ve hoped for. He reached up and interlaced their fingers and brought his other hand up to brush across her forearm. Her scars. If only he could heal her. But he realized she did not need that. She was a strong, beautiful woman, who had overcome her own painful past. Just as he had.

But the moment he touched her, they both gasped as a white-hot bolt of electricity shot through them and he drew back.

“Did you feel that?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered back, his heart a bit frightened at the intensity. The magic.

The heat thrummed in arcs between them as awareness grew. Her breath moved hot and moist against his back. “Touch me again, Elijah.”

He closed his eyes. Prepared himself. Slowly, he moved the pads of his fingers and caressed her wounded arm as she continued to love his scars.

Behind his eyelids brilliant sparks flew, sensation flooded his body from every nerve ending. He felt like he could float away. And instantaneously, he knew what she saw. Because he saw, too. But this time it wasn’t just his pain. It was their pain to share, no longer tethering them down.

Sarah.

His fall.

Her parents.

The day she was burned.

Vi selling the business, leaving her bereft. Lost.

The day he’d left her.

Their aching loneliness without the other.

Finally, someone understood his pain. Understood him. Slowly, he slid his eyes open and adjusted to the room as it quit spinning. He glanced down to her hand still in his.

There was a soft intake of air behind him and he felt her forehead against his back. What would she say? He swallowed back the nerves crowding his throat and focused on the feel of her body pressed against him.

“Naomi?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

He squeezed her fingers, still interlaced with his. “For being strong enough to see past my scars. For hearing the truth.” He glanced over his shoulder. “For being you. Strong. Beautiful. Giving.”

“You’re the strong one, Elijah,” she insisted. “And so much more.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if she was now in pain. “You went through all that and . . . and still manage to be so gentle. To do so much for others. Why?”

He hung his head in shame. “I wasn’t doing it for them. I was trying selfishly to earn redemption for my past sins.”

“Sins?”

He was silent a moment, studying her fragile hand against his chest. “Yes.” Though now, as this new found love poured through him, he couldn’t fathom why he would think the emotion a sin.

She didn’t say anything, just continued to hold him. Accept him.

And he loved her all the more for it.

“Now what?” he finally whispered.

She shifted, her cheek now flush against his shoulder. “I don’t know.” She sighed. “I just know that Beau wants to kill you.”