Angela’s gaze wavered and fell.
He gestured toward the hall. “Let’s go,” he barked. “Dr. Brenner said we should tell her straight out. I want to get this over with.”
They went down to the bedroom, where Maya sat on the end of his bed, remote in hand, watching Scooby Doo.
Angela sat down and pulled her into a hug. “Hi, sweetie!”
Maya’s delighted smile was a stab directly to Justus’s heart as he sat on her other side. When would they see that glorious smile again after tonight?
Angela smoothed Maya’s hair with fidgety hands, obviously stalling for time. “How was Grandpa’s last night?”
“Good. We had hot dogs and French fries for dinner. With strawberry ice cream.”
Angela recoiled as if Maya had said they’d eaten a stray puppy. If Justus hadn’t been so upset, he would have laughed at the absurdity. Angela just couldn’t help herself.
“Any veggies?” she asked.
Maya smiled with obvious pride. “I told Gran’pa I needed some carrot sticks.”
Angela kissed her forehead and hugged her again. “Good girl.”
Over the top of Maya’s head, Angela caught Justus’s gaze and stared beseechingly at him, but he shook his head.
If Angela thought he’d help her break Maya’s heart, she damn well better think again.
“Sweetie,” Angela began tentatively, again smoothing Maya’s braids, “Uncle Justus and I have been talking about what’s best for you and we have something to tell you.”
Maya sat up a little straighter, as if she sensed something important was at hand and wanted to take it as seriously as they did.
“Okay.”
Angela swallowed hard. “Well...you know how I always have to work late at night and go to work early and I hardly ever get to see you? Well, that’s not the best thing for a little kid like you. So we thought maybe it would be best if...” She hesitated for so long Justus began to wonder if she’d changed her mind. “You came here to live with Uncle Justus.”
Everyone froze.
The words hung in the air like a cloud of mustard gas over a battlefield.
“But...” Maya blinked furiously. Justus felt her little mind struggling to understand the inexplicable. He wanted to tell her not to waste her time. “I live with you now.”
Angela nodded, her lips pressed together around a strained smile. “I know. But from now on you’ll stay here with Uncle Justus. He’s going to fix up his extra room for you.”
Maya looked to him, the question written all over her face.
He tried to smile encouragingly, but with his hand, heart, and soul already broken, a smile was out of the question.
Apparently realizing that Justus would be of no assistance, Maya frowned as if she couldn’t quite believe this little farce and looked back at Angela. “What about my purple room?”
“I’m sure Uncle Justus would be happy to paint your new room any color you like.”
“But you said I could live with you,” Maya said, a plaintive note finally creeping into her voice.
Tears filled Angela’s eyes, and she didn’t bother hiding them. “I’m not sure I’ve done such a good job taking care of you, sweetie.”
Maya’s eyes widened with sudden comprehension. “Yes, you have! And I won’t eat any more peanut butter. I promise!”
And she smiled, clearly thrilled to have discovered a workable solution to their problem.
“I know you won’t eat any more peanut butter, Maya,” Angela said, her voice thick with emotion. “But you still need to live with Uncle Justus.”
A heavy, pregnant silence fell.
Knowing Maya had finally reached the end of her short rope, Justus braced himself.
Wait for it...wait for it...
Maya’s entire body went rigid as her face twisted into a spiteful three-and-a-half-year-old’s scowl.
“You said!” she screeched, her fists balling on either side of her folded legs. “You said we’d be a family now! You said!”
Tears spilled openly down Angela’s face. “I’m sorry, Maya.”
And that was it for him. It was bad enough when one or the other of his girls cried.
Watching both of them fall apart at the same time was the rough equivalent of feeding his battered heart through a meat grinder.
Pulling Maya back against him, he kissed the top of her head and stared malevolently at Angela. “You’ve done your damage. You can go now.”
Nodding, Angela got up and looked blindly around, as if she couldn’t remember where the door was and needed someone to guide her.
Maya, realizing Angela actually meant to go and actually meant to leave Maya with Justus, broke away from his arms, leapt off the bed, threw herself at Angela’s legs, and shrieked like she was being hacked to pieces with a machete.
“You said! You said!”
Angela bent at the waist and tried to comfort her. “Shhh, don’t cry, sweetie,” she said, patting the girl’s back and shoulders. “It’s okay.”
Maya howled like a dying animal.
Angela tried to step away, but Maya wouldn’t let go. Angela wobbled precariously.
Cursing, Justus knelt. He ignored the pain in his injured hand, peeled Maya’s strong little arms away from Angela, and wrapped her up against his chest.
Jesus.
The girl was a wreck of tears, snot, and shuddering sobs that threatened to tear her tiny body apart. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help her.
He couldn’t even help himself.
“Maya.” He rocked her with rising desperation, willing to do whatever he could—to sell whatever body part to whoever was buying—just to settle this precious child down and stop her thrashing. “Come on, now. It’ll be okay.”
But Maya kept shrieking.
“Shit,” he said.
This was exactly the kind of breakdown he’d feared she’d have right after her parents died.
The kind of breakdown that was long overdue.
He shifted his grip on her, trying to favor his bad hand. Bad move. One little arm caught him squarely across the nose, generating sparks of pain.
“Shit!”
Angela, meanwhile, dropped her head into her hands and sobbed quietly, but the sight of her pain only infuriated him more. He wanted to jerk her hands down and rub her face in the mess she’d made of all their lives.
This is your fault!
Look what you’ve done!
We could’ve been a family, but you ruined it!
But he didn’t.
When Maya finally went limp, he balanced her over his shoulder and used his other hand to grab Angela’s upper arm, frogmarch her to the bedroom door and shove her out into the hall.
“Get out.”
He had a brief glimpse of Angela’s agonized expression before he slammed the door in her face.
He carried Maya back to the bed, sank onto it, rested against the headboard, and cradled her. She was insensible, shaking and crying worse than he’d imagined was possible.
Rocking her, he murmured for what seemed like decades.
“Shhh, little girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
“Unnnhh, unnnhh, unnnhh,” she said, shuddering, gasping and sobbing.
Finally, when long shadows drifted over his bed, she went slack.
Checking her face, he realized she’d fallen asleep. Only then did he lay her on the bed and go to the bathroom, where he cried like a baby himself.
26
The juice bar was overflowing with people just like the parking lot was overflowing with cars, Vincent noted. Nine thirty on a weekday morning, when the early crowd had come and left for work already, and well before the lunch crowd, and the place was still packed with clients. He felt a surge of satisfaction and fatherly pride. Justus’s club was clearly a huge success, and his hardheaded son had built it from the ground up without a lick of help from him.
Vincent had expected as much.
Sure, he’d hop
ed Justus would be a lawyer and join the firm like Vincent Jr. had, and he’d tried everything short of armed robbery to bend his stubborn son to his will. It hadn’t worked, of course. It never did with Justus. But Vincent had always known Justus would be successful at whatever he chose, even if it was—Vincent sighed—a fitness club.
Brian appeared from around the corner, saw him, and grinned. “Mr. Robinson! Good to see you.”
Vincent clapped him on the back. “How are you, son?”
“I’m fine. Justus isn’t so good, though.”
Vincent’s heart fell even though Brian had only confirmed his suspicions. It’d been ten days since Justus got the ring, and the ensuing silence had been ominous. Neither he nor Angela returned Vincent’s calls, which he took to mean either they’d both disappeared into witness protection for some reason, or things had gone badly and they’d retreated to their respective corners to nurse their wounds.
He nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”
Brian pointed him to an elevator hidden beneath the curve of the stairs. “He’s on the third floor. You can go on up.”
When the elevator doors slid open, Vincent stepped off and detected movement out of the corner of his eyes. Turning, he saw Justus furiously doing one-armed pull-ups with his left hand on some exercise contraption over by the window. Up and down he surged, panting and grimacing with every repetition, his feet never touching the floor and his biceps bulging so violently Vincent wondered if he wouldn’t rip the seams of his short-sleeved shirt.
Vincent stood there for about a minute and stopped counting when Justus got to thirty-five.
God only knew how long Justus had been at it.
Vincent’s paternal instincts, long dormant where Justus was concerned, awakened and kicked into overdrive, tying his gut into knots.
Eventually Justus tired himself out and dropped to the floor, his face dripping with sweat. He didn’t glance up or seem to notice as Vincent crossed the hardwood floors and walked up to him.
“Hello, son.”
Justus started and met his gaze, giving Vincent a brief glimpse of a young face so lost and forlorn he was immediately catapulted back to that black time after Sharon first died and he’d wondered if grief wouldn’t kill all the Robinson males. But then Justus collected himself enough to shutter his expression and give him a surly stare instead.
“What’s up, Pops?”
Oh, no, Vincent thought.
Things were much worse than he’d imagined.
“I came to exercise. Thought I’d say hello.”
“Huh,” Justus grunted. He found a white towel in a chair, shook it out, used it to wipe a minute smudge on the window, and wiped his own face with it. “Now’s not a great time. I’ve got a client coming soon.”
“Oh.” Vincent rubbed the back of his neck and tried for a nonchalant, nonjudgmental tone. “I’ve been wondering what happened with Angela.”
Justus’s face tightened. He shoved a hand deep in the pocket of his warmup pants, pulled out the ring box, and gave it to Vincent.
“Let’s just say I won’t be needing this.”
Vincent’s heart sank even further. Justus had been carrying the ring around? In his pocket? For God’s sake, how bad did this boy have it?
“What happened, Justus?”
“I proposed. She said no.”
“Why?”
Justus shrugged as if he’d gotten over it long ago and couldn’t understand Vincent’s continued interest in the topic.
“You’ll have to ask her.” He headed toward the elevator. “I really need to get back to work, so if you don’t mind—”
Vincent caught Justus’s arm as he went past.
Justus jerked away, looking equally surprised and irritated.
Vincent’s growing alarm made him forget about his intention to keep his tone bland and non-combative. His voice rose.
“What about Maya?”
Justus’s feet widened into the fighting stance Vincent knew so well, and a muscle throbbed in his temple. “Angela’s letting me keep her. She’s moving to the D.C. office of her firm.” He turned toward the elevator again. “If that’s all—”
“That’s not all!” Vincent’s voice boomed through the air like cannon fire.
Justus immediately went rigid, making Vincent regret his loss of control. But what was he supposed to do with the inmates running the asylum? He put one fist on his hip and pointed at Justus with the other hand.
“I want you to tell me how this happened,” he said, vaguely aware he must look and sound like Yul Brynner’s Pharaoh in outtakes from The Ten Commandments. “And then I want you to tell me how you’re going to fix this mess!”
“Fix it?” Justus’s face twisted with malevolence. “What the hell do you expect me to do? You think I have magic ruby slippers I can click together three times and make this whole thing go away?”
Vincent’s bewilderment battled with his anger. What on earth could be so bad? They loved each other, ergo they should get married. What was complicated about that?
“What did you say to her?”
“I told her I wanted to get married. Be a family. She more or less spat in my face. You want me to draw a picture?”
Vincent had a sudden flare of comprehension. He smacked his forehead, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “For God’s sake, son! You can’t propose and make it sound like a corporate merger! Haven’t you learned anything? You’ve got to tell her you love her and—”
Justus lunged forward a couple of steps, as if he wanted to go for his throat, and Vincent resisted the blind instinct to dive for cover.
“I did tell her I love her!” Justus roared, eyes bulging. “I did everything but kiss her feet! What more do you want?”
Flabbergasted, Vincent could only stare, his mouth flapping like a flag in the breeze. He was totally at a loss. Never in a million years had he dreamed Angela would turn Justus down outright—not with the way Vincent had seen her look at Justus.
Taking a moment to regroup, Vincent paced away, rubbing his forehead. He turned back to discover Justus watching him, his jaw rigid enough to cut diamonds.
“I don’t understand, Justus,” he said quietly. “I know she loves you.”
“Yeah?” Justus snorted. “Well, you should mention it to her, because I don’t think she’s up on current events. She told me to my face I’m not the right man. Looks like I’m not good enough for her.”
“Not good enough? That’s ridiculous!”
Justus stared incredulously. “What’re you talking about? I was never good enough for you, either, was I, Vincent?”
Hanging his head, Vincent exhaled a long, choppy breath. What could he say?
“I guess we never understood each other very well, did we, son?”
A pulse ticked in Justus’s temple. “No.”
“I intend to work on that.”
Justus looked away, shrugging impatiently.
Vincent folded his hands together, absently tapped his forefingers against his lips, and paced in a loose circle while he thought of a plan. “Well,” he said finally, “you’ve just got to go back and try again. Tell her—”
“What?” Justus recoiled as if he’d said Justus needed to try sword swallowing again. “Try to keep up, will you? It’s over. She’s moving to the D.C. office and Maya and I are staying here. I wish her well. I hope she has a great life.”
Vincent couldn’t stop his horrified gasp. “You can’t be serious! You can’t let that woman go! You’ll regret it the rest of your life!”
Crooked smile from Justus. “I gave it my best shot. I’m not going to beg anyone to marry me. Forget it.”
A glare of anger clouded Vincent’s vision as he stared into his son’s proud, stubborn face. How dare this young fool throw away his chance at happiness? Didn’t he realize what he was giving up? Didn’t he know how lucky he was to have found the woman of his dreams?
“How can you just throw Angela away?” Vincent sho
uted. “If I was lucky enough to have one more day with your mother—”
Justus went wild, lunging forward to jab two fingers in Vincent’s face. “I told you never to mention my mother to me again,” he yelled. “You never gave a damn about her and you made her life a living hell until the day—”
Without conscious thought, Vincent raised his arm and backhanded Justus across the mouth, the first time in his life he could ever remember touching him in anger.
Justus’s head whipped around as the loud crack hung in the air. Then he froze, his blinking eyes wide with astonishment as a vivid red mark appeared on his cheek.
Vincent stared at him for long seconds, too choked up to speak, his body shaking uncontrollably.
“I worshipped your mother,” he finally said, his voice cracking on every other syllable. “She was—is—the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of at night.”
Justus’s eyes narrowed skeptically, but he said nothing.
Vincent struggled to reduce the most profound thing in his life to a few sentences. “Every dime I made, I made for her. Every day I went into work I did it so she’d be proud of me. From the second I laid eyes on her, I never looked at another woman.”
Vincent paused to blink back his tears and get his hoarse voice under control.
Something in Justus’s expression softened.
“The mistake I made,” Vincent said, “was thinking she’d always be here. Thinking the money was more important to her than I was.”
He smiled ruefully.
“If I could have one more hour with your mother, I’d give back every cent I ever made and go back to the flea-bit apartment we lived in when I was in law school.”
Swiping at his eyes, Vincent looked up at Justus, who’d come to stand in front of him.
“Don’t make my mistakes, son. Don’t have my regrets.”
The stunned look on Justus’s face reminded Vincent of when Justus, age six, finally tried peas for the first time and discovered they weren’t disgusting. It seemed too much to hope that Justus had changed his opinion of him after all these years—but to his astonishment, Justus put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.
“Pops,” he said, his voice gravelly and resigned, “I’d give thirty years off my life if I could change Angela’s mind.” He dropped his hand and turned away. “But I know I can’t.”
Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) Page 33