Broken Angels

by Anne Hope

  Emboldened, he inched closer. To his great surprise, Will didn’t let loose an ear-splitting scream but a giggle, and a grin tugged at Zach’s mouth. Things were finally looking up.

  Gathering his courage, he lifted the squirming baby, half expecting the melt. The melt was that thing Will did when he didn’t want to be picked up. The little rug rat had the uncanny ability to turn his bones to rubber and somehow make himself as easy to grasp as a wad of half-set Jell-O.

  Will didn’t engage in the melt. He actually smiled as if he was happy to see him, then wrapped his tiny arms around Zach’s neck. A funny sensation swelled in his chest, tingling in his throat. He’d never realized how comforting a baby’s hug could be. The sense of acceptance, of complete trust reached deep inside him and squeezed.

  “Feeling a little better?” He barely recognized his own voice. It sounded gruff, yet softer somehow.

  The baby cooed, then squealed again.

  “Let’s go see what your brother and sister are up to. What do you say, buddy?”

  Will answered by blowing a spit bubble.

  With a heartfelt chuckle, Zach hastened downstairs. He found Noah in the living room, frying his brain in front of the screen again. He was playing some war game on PlayStation 3. The rapid sound of gunfire thundered from the speakers.

  “Aren’t you too young to be playing this game?”

  Noah didn’t take his eyes off the television set. “Nope. Dad always let me play it.”

  He shook his head. “Where’s your sister?”

  The infuriating kid didn’t answer, so Zach did the only thing a self-respecting uncle and guardian could do—he shut off the game.

  Noah exploded in a fit of rage. “Why’d you do that? I was winning!” His body was wired tighter than a guitar, his shoulders hunched forward, his hands balled into fists. Anger bled from every pore.

  “Next time, please answer me when I ask you a question.”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me about Kristen? I don’t know where my stupid sister went.”

  Will sensed the tension, and his little body stiffened. Zach rubbed his back in an effort to soothe. “Watch your mouth,” he told Noah.

  The boy scoffed and kicked at the couch. Fury contorted his features. Zach sensed the kid was trying very hard not to tackle him. He almost wished he would. Maybe then they’d make some progress. There was nothing healthy about bottling up pain. It ate you up and left you empty. He’d experienced it firsthand when he’d lost his mother to cancer five years ago. Watching her battle that unforgiving disease, then slowly fade away—piled on top of the problems he was having with Becca at the time—had been one of the greatest challenges of his life.

  If Phyllis Ryler were here, she would have known what to do. She would have known exactly how to console these kids, how to make the tears come. That was what Noah needed—a good cry. But he was a boy, and boys were taught at a very young age that tears were for babies and girls.

  If anyone could have convinced him that it was all right to cry and that no one would think he was a sissy, it was Phyllis. Zach had never missed his mother as much as he did now, with his sister gone and her three kids looking to him for guidance. Then again, maybe it was a blessing that she hadn’t lived long enough to see her daughter murdered.

  Noah grabbed the couch cushions and flung them, one by one, on the floor. A thick cloud of rage pulsated around him. Will watched his brother with round, startled eyes, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or bawl.

  After Noah finished assaulting the furniture, he stood amidst the wreckage, panting.

  Zach cocked a brow and reined in his own temper. “Are you done?”

  The boy shrugged, then nodded.

  “Good. Now you can clean this mess up,” he said, his tone far calmer than he felt.

  The boy narrowed his eyes and wrapped his arms across his chest. Defiance rolled off him in aggravating waves. “Only if you put my game back on.”

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate. Clean this mess up or you won’t play for a week.”

  Their gazes locked, Noah’s brimming with resentment, Zach’s firm and resolute. He sensed his nephew was sizing him up, trying to determine whether he had any intention of following through with his threat.

  “I don’t have to listen to you.” The boy stood his ground. His arms flexed as he squeezed his thin, lanky body. “You’re not my father.”

  Zach had been expecting that statement sooner or later, and it didn’t cut as deep as he’d thought. He had no intention of replacing Liam. He didn’t want these kids to ever forget their parents. He just wanted to do the best he could by them, and maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right he might carve his own place in their lives…and hearts.

  “No,” he replied, “but I am your guardian. And yes, you do have to listen to me. At least for the next decade or so.”

  Noah hunched his shoulders and kicked the hand-knit rug blanketing the floor. “This isn’t fair.” Despite his protests, he bent over and carelessly threw the cushions back on the sofa.

  It wasn’t an ideal job, but Zach was satisfied. He placed his thumb on the power button and prepared to turn the boy’s game back on. “One more question before I let you play. Where’s your Aunt Becca?”

  Noah huffed. “She went after Kristen, all right? I think they’re at Mrs. Petrakis’s house.”

  Zach smiled. “Much better. Thank you.” Then he fired up the game and let the boy shoot away his frustrations.

  When Rebecca returned from Voula’s with Kristen practically fused to her hip, she found Zach sitting on the living room rug next to Will, building castles out of colorful blocks. For a brief wedge of time before he realized she was there, she just watched him. Watched the way he helped the baby stack the blocks, the tenderness on his face, the calm fluidity of his movements, the way his strong hands cupped and guided Will’s. She listened to his soft words of encouragement, his quiet whispers of praise, and shocked herself by admiring the very patience she’d once found annoying.

  Even as affection washed over her, her sense of failure returned to hammer her. Somehow she’d always known he’d be good with children, the way you know when the sun’s about to pierce through the clouds or a raindrop’s about to fall. She’d felt it deep down within her, in that place where instinct and consciousness merged. And that had only made her inability to conceive all the more gut-wrenching.

  Seeing the proof before her now shook her, drilled a hole straight through her and left her hollow. It only drove in what she’d always known to be true. He was born to have the one thing she could never give him. No wonder he’d cut her loose.

  He sensed her presence and looked up, flashing the wry grin that had always turned her knees to water. Some things never changed.

  “Look, Will,” he said in that upbeat voice people tend to adopt when addressing a baby. “The girls are back. I was starting to worry.”

  “We were visiting with the next-door neighbor,” she explained. “Kristen took off without saying anything.”

  The girl looked at her shoes, squirming.

  “She does that sometimes.” Zach stacked another block. The tower quivered, then stilled.

  “So I heard. She scared the living daylights out of me.”

  He directed an admonishing stare at his niece. “Kristen, please tell us next time before you take off.”

  Kristen pouted and her eyes misted. “I wanted to play with Kanela.”

  Zach stood, closed the distance between them and crouched beside the child. “I know you like visiting Voula. I’m not telling you not to go. But it’s important that you tell us where you are so we don’t worry.” He took her small, pale hand in his large one.

  The girl nodded, pouting so hard her lower lip covered her top one. “Where’s Noah?” she asked.

  “Upstairs in his room,” Zach replied.

  “Can I go play with him?”

  He hesitated. “Sure. But the minute you
two start fighting, I’m splitting you up.”

  Kristen hardly heard him. She bulleted up the stairs in search of her big brother, her body so taut with anticipation one would think she hadn’t seen him in weeks.

  Rebecca raised two curious brows. “I thought they didn’t get along.”

  “It’s a love-hate thing.” He stood and stretched. Muscles rippled over his arms and chest, tapering down to a washboard stomach, then wending their way across a pair of strong, sinewy legs.

  Rebecca’s mouth went dry. He smelled so good—like soap and man, spiced with a hint of that musky aftershave. She fought the urge to lean forward and breathe him in.

  Will giggled and cooed, sending his blocks toppling to the floor.

  “Things look…calmer around here,” she observed.

  He massaged the nape of his neck, as if to relieve the tension that coiled there. “Enjoy it while it lasts.” His words dripped with resignation, underscored by dread.

  She took a few hesitant steps toward the baby, realizing she hardly knew him at all. He’d been born after the divorce, and she’d only seen him once, briefly when he was an infant. She’d visited Lindsay in the hospital with a generic gift and nothing inspiring to say. He looked very different now, plumper, with wide eyes as crystal blue as his sister’s and blond hair that curled at the ends. Both Kristen and Will had inherited their father’s pale looks, but Noah was the spitting image of Zach. His hair was so dark it was almost black, and his navy blue eyes were deep and every bit as unreadable as his uncle’s.

  Will glanced up at her and smiled, a shiny coat of drool on his chin.

  She forced herself to smile back, even as unease snaked through her. “He seems happier now.”

  “He always is after his nap. But the minute he gets hungry, or tired, or bored, all hell will break loose again.”

  If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn he was trying to scare her.

  “We need to talk.” He took her by the elbow and led her to the couch. Her skin sparked and hummed at his touch, but she ignored it. Instead she lowered herself onto the sofa, as far away from him as possible.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, his favorite gesture when he was upset or edgy. “You and I living together again,” he said after a long, nerve-rattling pause, “it can’t possibly work.”

  So that was it. He hated the idea of living with her. His words shouldn’t have stung, but they did. “We managed all right for eight years,” came her biting reply. “Surely we can endure each other’s presence long enough to help these kids through this difficult time.”

  “Which brings me to my next question.” He met and held her gaze. “How long do you plan on staying?”

  “Until I’m convinced you—” embarrassment flooded her cheeks, “—they don’t need me anymore.” She studied Will, who’d abandoned stacking the blocks in favor of chewing on them. Insecurity instantly swelled to strangle her. What made her think she could do this? How could she possibly help these kids when she couldn’t even bring herself to touch them? “Look, I know I’m not the best person for the job. Far from it. But I’m the one Lindsay chose.” Her friend’s wedding picture towered over the fireplace, and Rebecca couldn’t help but feel that—wherever she was—she was watching her. “I won’t let her down again. I can’t.”

  Zach’s face mirrored exasperation and frustration, but at the same time his lips slackened with acceptance. In his eyes she caught a gleam that hadn’t been there before. Was it admiration or outright terror?

  “Then we have one more thing to sort out.” He buried his fingers in his hair again. “The sleeping arrangements.”

  Noah sat on his bed, playing Pokémon. Uncle Zach thought he’d spent enough time in front of the television set, so he’d told him to go find something else to do. Noah hadn’t bothered arguing. Instead, he’d trudged to his room and fished out his Game Boy. The fact that Uncle Zach had no idea he was still playing video games filled him with satisfaction.

  Who did he think he was, anyway, moving into his house and telling him what to do? Noah didn’t have to take his uncle’s crap…or his aunt’s for that matter. As if having Uncle Zach here wasn’t bad enough, now Aunt Becca had to come live with them, too. He hadn’t seen her since he was seven, and all of a sudden, here she was, moving into their house.

  He didn’t get it. She didn’t even like kids; he could tell. Every time she smiled she looked like she was sucking on a lemon. She reminded him of his grade one teacher, Mrs. Reid. She didn’t like kids, either, which was weird ’cause she was a teacher and had to hang around kids all the time. It made no sense, like Aunt Becca moving in.

  The door swung open, startling him. Noah shoved his Game Boy under his sheets, but it was Kristen who came crashing in, not Uncle Zach.

  “What do you want?” he grunted, getting back to his game.

  “I played tag with Kanela.” His sister hopped onto his bed. “I won.”

  Noah shrugged, not even bothering to look at her. He had to keep his eyes on the game or he’d lose. “Big deal. That cat is so fat she can barely run.”

  “Not true! She’s very fast, but I’m faster.”

  He snorted. “Who cares anyway?”

  “You’re so mean!”

  “And you’re such a baby.”

  His sister gave him a nice hard shove. He missed his next move, ended up getting killed. “What d’you do that for?”

  “Don’t call me a baby.” She folded her arms over her chest and frowned. “Mommy and Daddy hate it when you call me that. When they wake up—”

  Noah had had enough. “They’re not going to wake up! Don’t you get it? They’re dead.” His throat thickened so much it hurt, like he’d swallowed a sourball and it had lodged itself in his esophagus. That’s what it was called, an esophagus. He’d learned it at school last year.

  Kristen didn’t know what an esophagus was, just like she was too dumb to understand their parents weren’t coming back—ever.

  All because of me.

  “Don’t say that.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she started breathing real funny. “The witch—” she panted. “The witch put a spell on them—”

  She stopped talking. Her skin turned a frightful shade of blue. His own breath hitched. “Crap.” Noah shot to his feet and sped to the door. “Uncle Zach,” he hollered. “It’s Kristen. She’s having an asthma attack.”

  Not bothering to wait for his uncle, he rushed to her bedroom in search of her pump. He found it on the dresser, snatched it and darted back to his room, where his sister lay gasping on his bed.

  Don’t die, please don’t die.

  He lifted her head, forced her to breathe as he pumped the medicine into her mouth.

  Then, fighting tears, he nestled next to her, held her hand and prayed with every inch of his heart.

  Chapter Six

  The minute Noah called him, Zach’s blood turned to ice water. Kristen suffered from a severe case of asthma. She didn’t get attacks too often, but when she did, they were sudden and brutal.

  “Watch Will.” He vaulted off the couch and took the steps two by two, leaving Becca with the baby.

  When he got to Noah’s room, he found the kids lying side by side. Kristen rested her head on her brother’s shoulder while he tenderly stroked her hair. She was so still fear sank pointed hooks in his gut. He couldn’t tell whether or not she was breathing. The asthma pump rested on the bed next to Noah, and he realized the boy had acted quickly.

  Thank God.

  “Kristen?”

  Noah released his sister and bulleted out of bed, adopting his usual I-couldn’t-give-a-damn expression.

  Kristen opened her eyes, turned her head toward Zach. She looked exhausted, but her skin was rosy and her breathing slow and even. Relief submerged him. He sat beside her, the twin mattress sinking beneath his weight. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

  “Okay.” Her voice was gravelly. “Noah got—” She cleared her throat as mucus rose to clatt
er in her windpipe. “Noah got my pump.”

  He captured his nephew’s gaze, held it briefly. “Nice going. You acted instead of panicking. Probably saved your sister’s life.”

  The boy shrugged, staring at the floor. “Didn’t want her croaking in my bed.”

  Zach didn’t buy his act for a second. The kid looked terrified. His skin was pale, his hands jittery, his voice thin and winded. He wanted to shake him, hug him, knock some sense into him. There was nothing wrong with being afraid…or caring.

  He grabbed the pump and placed it in Kristen’s limp hand. “I want you to have this on you at all times. Understand?”

  The girl nodded weakly. “I forgot it.”

  Regret swept through him. “So did I.” Was he ever going to get a handle on this parenting thing?

  On the edge of the bed Noah’s Game Boy idled, beeping and blinking. Zach shook his head. So much for the boy not playing video games.

  Following Zach’s gaze, Noah grabbed the device and turned it off. Color swamped his cheeks. At least he had enough sense to feel bad about trying to deceive him.

  “How about you rest a little?” Zach told Kristen. “Would you like me to take you to your room?”

  She wagged her head with as much passion as she could muster. “I want to stay with Noah.”

  Zach turned an assessing stare toward his nephew. The boy nodded noncommittally. “She can stay, as long as she promises not to be too annoying.”

  “I won’t,” she whispered. “Be annoying,” she explained.

  Zach bit back a smile, knowing that—despite all his grumblings—his nephew would watch over his sister like a hawk. There was a time when he’d been the same with Lindsay—aloof, condescending, but always the protective older brother, ready to sacrifice life and limb for his younger sibling.

  He saw a lot of himself in Noah. That was what scared him.

  “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I left Becca alone with Will.”

  “Better hurry,” Noah scoffed. “She might eat him.”