The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  “Dreams!” he declared. “He said he’d dreamt of me.” His gaze darted between them both. “Does that mean anything?” he asked with a hitch in his voice. “Tell me it does.”

  Uriel cleared his throat while Gabriel shot him a thoughtful look.

  Michael glanced at Uriel, still standing in the doorway, and implored, “What? What’s up with the dreams?”

  Uriel’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “I have no idea what you two are discussing in here, but if you are asking me for my input . . .”

  Gabriel made a go-ahead motion with his hand. “You were on Crossovers for a long time, Uriel. Your insight would be valuable to Michael, I’m sure. Please.”

  Michael furrowed his brows, thoroughly confused. Nothing in his Love Detail training had prepared him for this and he had the distinct impression he was about to be schooled by the newbie.

  Uriel approached and ran a nervous hand through his thin ponytail. “Well.” He glanced at Gabriel before giving Michael his full attention. “In a nutshell? When a human is close to death, the veil between our two worlds is—what’s the best way to say it?—thinner? So, many of them, if they are spiritually receptive, can see our light. And, a select few even get dream visits if it’s part of Father’s plan for them.”

  “Dying?” Michael choked out, disbelieving.

  “Yes. Dying.” He offered a crooked grin. “And, occasionally young children see us, too. They’re the closest to the veil, having just come to Earth from home, you know.”

  Of course, it made perfect sense.

  But it also made zero sense at this critical juncture in his assignment. Talk about a monkey wrench in the works.

  Michael turned pleading eyes to Gabriel. “Even if all this is true, if Noble’s grandfather is dying and he can see me for what I am, what am I supposed to do with this? He’s not part of my assignment.” Not to mention what he could do to ruin it.

  Gabriel’s eyes took on that supernatural quality that happened when he was prayerful. “Isn’t he?”

  As Michael left the meeting that night and reflected on Gabriel’s words, a startling thought occurred to him. Perhaps, as he focused on the pain of losing Tristan, Father had been answering his prayers after all. Because who knew better how to heal Noble’s heavy heart then the One who’d created it?

  Chapter 32

  Noble flipped through the magazine, trying his best to ignore Ariel. It was bad enough that Jed had let her switch out his snoozefest elevator Muzak for infernal Christmas music, but he was letting her decorate the studio, too. The place looked like an evergreen farm and tinsel factory had bred then vomited their offspring all over the walls. Hideous.

  Kyle stepped out of Jed’s office, her face automatically lighting up like a kid on . . . well, on Christmas morning. “Oh, Ariel! It’s perfect!”

  Ariel grinned in return. “I’m glad you like it. I was going to make us some peppermint tea later, too.”

  Kyle’s hand moved to her slightly rounded tummy. “If you have a pastry of any kind to go with that, you’ll be my new best friend.”

  Jed left his office, came up behind his wife and rested his hand on hers. Finally, someone to put a stop to all this nonsense. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he eyed Ariel’s ‘handiwork.’ “Huh,” he said. “Never seen it like this.”

  Damn straight it’d never looked like this. Now he’d tell her to take it down.

  “But I like it.”

  Kyle giggled and leaned back into Jed’s arms.

  Noble wanted to gag. He picked up his bomber jacket and shrugged it on. “I’m heading out for some air.”

  The merry threesome glanced his way with goofy grins on their faces. “Sure, dude,” Jed said.

  Noble shoved out the door, making the annoying bell above chime as a blast of the cool night air smacked him in the face. He zipped up his jacket and tucked his hands deep into the lined pockets as he wandered down the strip walkway to nowhere in particular. The Little Angels Daycare sign lit up, its neon cherub fighting for space with all the children’s finger-painted artwork lining the front window.

  He glanced over as a car whirred past blaring its horn and noticed that a fine, misty drizzle had started to dust the air like crystallized diamonds. He’d almost swear the temperature dropped twenty degrees as the mist thickened to clingy condensation that he could taste along with the Italian spices carried on the air from Papa Turoni’s next door.

  A blue Beamer pulled in and parked. A young couple got out and entered the studio. Jed’s laughter carried on the breeze when the door opened, then shut, leaving the night silent. Silent and heavy. Like his heart.

  He turned around at the crunch of footfalls on the gravel behind him. His jaw tightened and his fists clenched, but he didn’t turn away. As much as he wanted to, he stood his ground.

  The two men stood facing each other for several heartbeats.

  “What are you doing here?” Noble finally asked, carefully schooling his face to give nothing away to the emotion roiling within him.

  He had to hand it to the old man, he held his own. “I told you, I wasn’t going to give up, Baptiste. I want you to forgive me. Have you thought about it?”

  He eyed his grandfather. “No. And the name’s Noble.”

  The older man dipped his head once. “Yes, fine. Noble.” He took a step forward. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  Yes, they were. Including hating someone your whole life. He glanced back toward the studio. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Don’t go.”

  Something in the old man’s tone stopped him short. It was more than a simple plea. It was a cry for mercy. And though Noble’s heart was pretty battered and black, he wasn’t a heartless bastard. He waited.

  “What can I do to make it up to you? I’ll do anything.”

  Noble sighed and watched his breath carry on the air in a gust of white. “There is nothing.” He paused. “I’m sorry.” And for once, he meant it.

  His grandfather nodded. “Well, I’ll keep trying. Maybe you’ll change your mind. After all, if Mrs. Montgomery’s family could find it in their hearts to forgive this old man for his sins, then I’m hoping you can, too.”

  Noble’s breath stuck in his throat. Mrs. Montgomery’s family had forgiven him? When? How?

  He must’ve seen the questions in his eyes. “I wrote to them just like I did to you all those months. Except they wrote back.” He offered a soft smile. “They’re nice people. They accepted my apology and said they had forgiven me.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Well, it wasn’t easy on either end. But, yes, just like that.” He waited a beat. “What I did wasn’t right and I can’t bring her back. But I’ve learned from my mistakes and we can all move on from here.”

  A couple more cars drove in, slicing the night air with their headlights. College kids piled out, filling the silence with their loud banter and laughter. They divided up between the studio and the pizza parlor, leaving Noble alone with his grandfather and his tumultuous thoughts. Bad combo.

  The drizzle began to beat down in earnest. Somewhere a drum beat steadily at a furious pace. Wait, that was his heart.

  The studio door swung open. Jed popped his head out. “Noble! Get your ass in here! I’m up to my eyeballs in clients all of a sudden.”

  He refocused on his grandfather. “I-I’ve gotta go.”

  “I understand.”

  Noble turned away. Just as his hand gripped the studio door, his grandfather called out, “There’s one more thing you need to know, son.”

  He closed his eyes. “What?”

  “I’m dying.”

  Noble sat with Jed at Shorty’s scarred wooden bar and tipped back his beer bottle for a long pull. It’d been way too long since they’d
been out for a guy’s drinking night. Since before Jed got married, to be exact. Too bad he wasn’t in much of a mood for ‘getting lit or getting laid’, as used to be their mantra.

  As he eyed his best and oldest friend, he saw his chance. “Can I ask you something?”

  Jed nodded and took a sip of his own drink. “Shoot, man.”

  But just as a thousand words came to mind to convince Jed to let him buy into Gentry’s and what an asset he could be to the business, a thousand and one doubts stopped him. Damn it! He glanced into his friend’s open, nonjudgmental eyes, and totally chickened out. “You ready to be a dad?”

  Jed grinned. “Shit, yes. More than ready.” He turned his eyes momentarily down to the bar. “I’ve been ready.”

  Noble didn’t know what to say to that, so he nodded and turned his attention to the game.

  “So, dude.” Jed shot a pointed glare his way after a few minutes. “What gives? You were pissy all night after I called you in from talking with that old guy.”

  He tipped back the rest of his beer and nodded for another before even thinking about answering. “Old guy was my grandfather.”

  Jed stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth. “No fuckin’ shit?”

  “No fuckin’ shit.”

  “So, wait a minute. When did he get out of the slammer?”

  He shrugged. “A couple weeks ago?”

  Jed nearly choked on his beer. “You mean to tell me your gramps has been out of jail for a couple of weeks and you’re just now telling me about it? Why the hell is that?”

  He shrugged then was distracted when a group of slightly inebriated football fans behind them cheered when their team scored. Then a perfume cloud drifted up next to Noble just before its owner, a busty redhead, followed. “Hello, boys,” she purred.

  He glanced over. “Hey.”

  Her heavily lined eyes skimmed Jed, then settled on Noble with hungry interest. “Great game, huh? Go Cowboys.”

  “Actually, we’re Redskins fans.” Jed stepped in, earning himself a hot glare.

  Noble tipped his bottle in her direction. “Enjoy the rest of the game.”

  She huffed off and they continued to drink in silence, as they often did. It was probably the best thing about their friendship. They’d perfected the “don’t need to talk” thing. But, Noble knew he’d eventually have to spill it. And, so he did. “He wants me to forgive him.”

  Jed glanced over and listened, letting Noble say as much or as little as he wanted. And suddenly he couldn’t hold the words back. So, as he concentrated on peeling the label on his beer bottle to keep his hands busy, he kept talking. “Ain’t gonna happen.” He shook his head. “I don’t give a flyin’ rat’s ass if Mrs. Montgomery’s family says they forgive him. How can you forgive something like that? How can you forgive someone who fucked up your whole life?”

  Jed offered no fake platitudes or answers. Just his presence, which was healing in and of itself because he was the only person in this world who knew, really knew, his pain. And that made all the difference.

  Noble idly wondered why his eyes suddenly felt damp. “How can you just erase the past like a giant chalkboard? That’s impossible.” He blinked against the sudden burning behind his eyes. “Dying or not, it’s fucking impossible.”

  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.