by J. M. Adele
The woman stood trembling, staring straight at him, barely holding it together. She was beyond beautiful, although agony etched her features. Her distressed state tugged at his protective side more than it should have, drawing the corners of his mouth down. Her big, doe-shaped eyes blinked through her tears, draining more rapidly now. Mouth quivering, her distress seemed to grow as she watched him. Jesus, she looked like she was going to collapse.
Aiden’s right foot lifted and he stumbled forward slightly, catching himself before he could go any further. A prickle of awareness caused his stare to shift, taking in the narrowed gaze of her friend as she gripped onto her companion around the waist. He schooled his features, and quickly turned away. What the hell did he think he’d be able to do for her anyway?
Once again facing the Minister, he joined in the last prayers for his dear friend. “Rest in peace, old man,” he said to himself, letting his grief wash over him once again. The minister finished the service and the coffin was lowered. A tepid breeze carried some dry leaves to join his friend in his final resting place in the ground.
Aiden watched as the woman broke away from her friend to throw a folded piece of paper and the rose onto the coffin. She made her way straight to him, stopping when the toes of their shoes tapped together, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight into his blood stream. He looked down at her leaning his shoulders away. The fuck? The closeness was jarring. Did she recognize him?
Her face tipped up, presenting him with her tear-stained beauty once more. Aiden pulled out a hanky from his jacket and offered it, needing to comfort her somehow.
“Thank y—” A sniffle and a gasp cut off her words. “… ou.”
“Sorry for your loss.” The rumble of his voice sounded deep as the inane words tumbled out of his mouth. He cringed inwardly. What could he say that didn’t sound trite? Hank would know what to say.
Aiden’s brown eyes drilled into her vivid green ones. She was an ethereal beauty. It was heartbreaking to witness the sadness pouring out of such perfection. Her head bobbed as she curled an unsteady hand around her throat, and burst into sobs.
“Oh sh—” He grimaced, raising a cautious hand to pat her on the shoulder. In response, she stepped into his side, grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket. Her jerky movements sent shock waves racing through his veins, the weight of her grip seeping into his bones. His mind blanked for a minute as his body took over. He shook his head to set his synapses scrambling, trying to make sense of this bizarre interaction.
When he arrived this morning, it sure didn’t equate to a feeling of homecoming. He shouldn’t have been surprised at the feeling of displacement and disconnection. That shit was pretty standard. But, this was Alabama. Where he grew up. The only place that had ever felt like home. Now? Sweet home Alabama? Not so much. Standing with his arm around this stranger … this felt more like home. Aiden’s eyes almost crossed from system overload. His body hadn’t really felt anything in so long. He was used to living the life of an international nomad, roaming between photo shoots. His only interactions with others coming from behind a camera lens.
What the hell is happening?
The woman’s shudders slowly lessened to the softer, rise and fall of her chest, as she breathed deeply in acceptance of his comfort. Huh. He had been able to offer something after all. It speared his soul, connecting him to another in a way he had forgotten existed. His breathing slowed in time with hers, every inhale drawing her delicate, jasmine perfume, and the scent of salty tears. Aiden was drawing as much comfort as he was giving, the exchange probably weighing more heavily in his favor. In a moment of tortured surrender, this petite woman had made him see how lonely he was.
Loneliness was his MO.
His life sucked.
Goddamn.
It made him want to wrap himself around this woman, and never let go.
Their cocoon of comfort was shattered as she yanked her body away from his, crossing her arms, consternation written all over her face. At a loss for what to do, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Aiden dimly registered the sounds of car engines starting as the mourners lined up to leave, and the whispers of those few who remained.
“Are you coming to the wake?” Her eyes were almost pleading.
“Yes,” his mouth spoke without connecting to his brain. His intention had been to pay his respects and leave, unsure if he’d even be welcome. Actually, he was certain he was unwelcome. Why was she asking him, a stranger?
Her head jerked in approval, before she again burrowed in the envelope of her friend’s arms, the women then marched away. Aiden hadn’t even noticed the blonde move toward them. He’d been blissfully oblivious, completely absorbed by a woman for the first time in …forever.
He stood on liquid legs, elbows loose, missing the feel of her. Bewilderment doused his ability to think, as he watched her retreat. Something about the texture of her movement stirred the familiarity again. His memories rose closer to the surface, but faded again as she disappeared out of sight.
The energy in the air was noticeably different. Heaviness descended over him again as he turned to the grave to add a shovelful of dirt. Three other men remained to do the same.
“It’s good to see ye again, Aiden. Sorry it couldn’t have been under happier circumstances.” Harry, his friend’s brother, gave him a slap on the shoulder in greeting. The sentiment confused and chipped at his expectation to be treated like a stranger.
He paused to collect his wits, gathering the appropriate words from unused corners of his brain. “I’m crushed that I didn’t get to see him again. He was more of a father to me than my own.” The truth came rushing out, striking him straight through the heart. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He addressed all three men, again frustrated that he couldn’t think of anything better to say. Harry’s younger brother, Harvey, and Mr. Saunders, the neighbor from across the street, joined Harry.
Hank had been the oldest brother. A tall and sturdy Irishman with masses of black hair, and a beard to match. The younger brothers had inherited red hair from their mother, but they all had the same goliath stature.
In comical contrast, Mr. Saunders was a petite man with thin white wisps of hair. His eyebrows and eyelashes almost invisible against his pale pink skin.
All three men were in their sixties now. Patches of white had bleached the red hair at the brothers’ temples, with several strays flecked about, elsewhere. It was shocking, how much they had aged. He supposed they could say the same about him. He was not yet sixteen when his parents moved him north.
“Would ye like a lift to the wake, then?” Harry asked.
“I don’t suppose ye’ve got a car, at the minute?” Harvey threw a heavy arm around Aiden’s shoulder, stretching slightly, as they were the same height.
“That’d be great, thanks.”
Harry and Mr. Saunders took a more luxurious, Buick, while Harvey promptly guided Aiden to a rusty, old, Chevy pick-up. He knew that it used to be candy apple red. The painted logo of Harvey’s Auto Shop had faded from the hood over time.
The slamming of their doors was loud, but the rumble of the engine was deafening. His shoes slipped and crunched on the collection of empty chip packets and coffee cups strewn on the floor of the passenger side. Harvey looked over to investigate, propping his sunglasses on his nose. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. I needed sustenance to get me through the long hospital waits. Just kick it out of the way.” He waved his hand as if brushing the offending items away, stirring the smell of sweat and stale coffee.
Aiden took in the scenery as the old truck bumped along; its shock absorbers not up to the task. The town had changed in his absence. Grassy fields had made way for new housing developments. The single traffic light had spawned some friends, though the center of town had mostly remained in its time capsule.
Aiden’s knee jiggled against the door as his nervous energy found an outlet. He was still reeling from the weirdest moment of his life. Seeing his friend put underground, and expe
riencing what felt like salvation all within moments of each other. He had to put her out of his mind and focus on Hank.
“How long was he ill?”
“Oh, he had the first stroke about a month ago. It wasn’t too bad. He could still talk, though his words were slurred. We thought he’d recover. He was starting rehab, but then he had a massive stroke. Turned him into a vegetable. No coming back from that. He was in a coma for a week before he died. Nasty business, seeing a strong, proud man brought to his knees. Even more horrible, seeing a brother suffer.”
Aiden kept a steady eye on the road, using the horizon to ground him, and stop the flow of tears that threatened. He swallowed against a tight throat before attempting to speak. “I didn’t know.” He cursed under his breath. “I would have come.” I should have been here.
“I just happened to look up the local paper online. I don’t even know what made me do it. His name caught my eye while I was skimming.” Aiden swallowed again, and turned to the window to squeeze his eyes shut.
He felt a firm grip on his shoulder. “Per’aps you wanted news of a certain young lady, as well as her pa?”
Hank’s daughter, Angel. If he weren’t in the habit of denying his true desires, he’d admit that he’d been searching the group of mourners for her. The girl he would never forget no matter how hard he tried. Angel. An appropriate name for the girl who weaved through his thoughts whenever he let them drift.
He sucked in a breath. Light dawned, and memories of green eyes that used to be shadowed behind glasses rose abruptly into transparency. Climbing trees and fishing, later became holding hands and kissing.
Angel.
His plans just changed.
Author of smart, sexy characters, J.M. Adele loves to flit between the dark and light sides of romance. Somewhere along the way an almost constant procession of imaginary characters settled into her thoughts and she picked up a pen to share their stories.
She lives in Queensland with her three greatest loves, her children. When she’s not writing or being a mum, you might find her hiking up a mountain, singing in the car when nobody is looking, or curled up with a good book.
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