by Rose Wulf
Dammit. If that was the case, taking her outside in her condition could be deadly. He wasn’t willing to risk her life like that. So he turned and moved back toward his sofa. Plan B, then. He’d make her some tea, let her rest, and they’d wait out the storm. Eric never had been the patient type. She’d be safe with him, locked away in his house and shielded from the outside.
“Here,” he said as gently as he could manage as he set her properly onto the couch. “Rest.” He should probably also contact her parents. Angela was safe for the moment, but he remembered their standing system. Spreading the word as quickly as possible was crucial.
Angela frowned stubbornly. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he interrupted firmly, still crouching in front of the couch. He reached out and covered her nearest hand with his. “Trust me.”
She stared at him for several seconds without saying a word, her eyes semi-focused and her breathing beginning to stabilize. That was as good as he was likely to get for a while. Vaughn forced himself to accept the slight improvements and pushed to his feet. He could feel her watching him as he strode back to the door, shut and locked it, and tugged his phone from his back pocket. It wasn’t until after he’d offered her what he hoped passed for a reassuring grin he finally remembered he was still shirtless. He should probably fix that.
Tea first.
When he returned to the living room a couple of minutes later, Angela was still on the couch where he’d left her. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed. For a second, he wondered if she’d passed out and his gut clenched.
“Angie?” he asked, voice hushed, as he carefully settled his free hand on her shoulder.
She started, lifted her head, and blinked over at him with a stain of pink on her cheeks. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Everything’s still sort of … wobbly. Who did you call?” Her sentence structuring had improved, but her voice itself was still weaker than usual.
At least it’s something. “Your mom,” he replied calmly. “I warned her. And I made you some tea.” He lifted the mug in his other hand, drawing her attention to it, for emphasis. “Do you want anything to eat? I’ve got soup.”
Angela drew a breath, straightened in order to accept the tea with both hands, and shook her head. “No,” she said. “Thank you. I don’t know that I could keep anything down right now.”
He gave her shoulder a squeeze, unsurprised by her answer. “You don’t have to thank me.” Vaughn retracted his hand, making a conscious effort to give her at least a tiny bit of breathing room, and cast a glare toward his living room window. The drapes were already drawn, since he’d been preparing to leave, but it was still barely light enough outside to make it possible to see shapes moving beyond the glass. If any were.
Everything seemed still. Even the rain had begun to lessen.
Chapter Four
Angela and Vaughn gathered with the rest of her family the next day to discuss Eric’s attack. As she watched her family process the story she’d had to tell, she couldn’t help but feel a horrible sense of déjà vu. Here we go again…
“This couldn’t possibly have happened at a worse time,” Nate said, voice heavy with frustration. It was frustration Angela whole-heartedly sympathized with.
“And what time would be better?” Blake asked with an arched eyebrow as he looked over at Nate.
Nate offered his brother an irritated frown from the adjacent sofa and replied, “I dunno. Maybe in a hundred years?”
Madison, sitting beside Nate, frowned and lowered a hand to her swollen tummy. “You’d rather dump this problem on your grandchildren?”
Angela felt her lips twitch and pulled them between her teeth, not wanting to sour the amusement they were about to be offered. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Brooke struggling with her own laughter.
Nate made a choking sound as he looked over at his wife, exclaiming, “You know that’s not what I meant!”
“That’s a depressing thought,” Clarabelle said on a sigh, shifting and leaning in to Logan as everyone’s attention switched to her. She lifted one hand to dance her fingers over her faintly protruding belly and mumbled, “If we can’t end this, what kind of world are we bringing our babies into?”
Silence settled over the group for several seconds and Angela found herself staring at the floor. As terrible as it was, she supposed her sister-in-law raised a good point. She’d been lucky enough to live the majority of her life peacefully, without fear of being murdered on the street, but it honestly felt as if they were struggling to stay afloat in a lifelong war. Just when I dared hope they were done tormenting us. What a naïve thought that turned out to have been.
“We will find a way to end this,” Logan said, voice quiet and firm. He was probably only technically speaking to Clare, but his words resonated through the room as if he’d announced them on a loudspeaker.
“You’re damn right we will,” Dean echoed from his position beside the fireplace.
“We need to be smarter about things this time,” Blake said thoughtfully. “We had too many close calls before.”
“Smarter how?” Angela asked as she finally lifted her gaze from the floor. “We were so paranoid before we practically didn’t have a life.” Or at least I didn’t.
Blake sighed, holding her stare for a long second before looking away with a shake of his head. “I wish I had a good answer for that, Angie.”
“I think we need to be more proactive this time,” Dean suggested, straightening. “We fared better than they did that time we called them out. Maybe we should—”
“Absolutely not,” Arianna interrupted firmly. “You got lucky before. You are not doing something like that again.”
“Seconded,” Madison said quickly. “None of us want to be single parents, understand?”
“We need a new kind of strategy,” Logan stated before Dean had found his tongue. “Something they won’t see coming.”
“Anyone want to wager they’ve been thinking the same thing?” Blake asked rhetorically.
Nate groaned loudly and slumped back against the couch. “I forgot how much this sucks!”
No kidding. But Angela bit the response back, knowing it was pointless. She knew exactly how this impromptu meeting was going to go. It would end exactly the way they always had before. With everyone feeling more frustrated than when they’d arrived, still no closer to a viable solution, because there wasn’t much they could do to plan ahead. There never had been.
It didn’t take long for the rest of the family to reach a similar conclusion and less than twenty minutes later, Angela walked out the front door, half a step ahead of Vaughn. She didn’t need to check her watch to know they’d talked through lunch, the pit in her stomach was proof enough. So when inspiration struck, she offered no resistance, turned to glance over her shoulder, and said, “I’m starved. Wanna go to Earl’s?”
Earl’s Diner, always a personal favorite of hers, had become something of a family staple since Brooke—and then Madison—had come into the family.
Vaughn smirked, just a little. “Sounds good. I’ll follow you.”
Earl’s Diner was thriving when they walked inside. Nearly every table was occupied and the new hostess was busy with another customer, so they waited patiently in the small lobby area. While they were waiting, Angela’s gaze swept over the dining space. She was still a little proud to know that her brother had been so heavily involved in rebuilding it after it had burned to the ground. Because of us. The people of Darien had no idea how horribly she and her family had impacted their lives in recent years. No amount of rebuilding could truly make up for the damage they’d caused to the community in one way or another.
“You okay?” Vaughn whispered in her ear, his presence strong and warm at her side.
Angela blinked, jerking herself back to the moment, and turned a flushed smile up at him. “Yes,” she promised quietly. “Sorry. Just distracted.”
He inclined his head, though she had the distinct i
mpression he wasn’t entirely satisfied by her answer. “That’s understandable.”
“Good afternoon!” the hostess chirped, interrupting their hushed conversation. “Two today?”
“Yes,” Angela confirmed with an easy smile and a bob of her head. They navigated the bustling dining space and settled themselves in an indicated window-side booth near the back. Their menus were deposited, drink orders were taken, and then they were alone again. Alone in a crowd, anyway. “So,” she said, eyes affixed to the menu, “let’s talk about something other than psychopaths, if that’s okay with you?”
Vaughn chuckled faintly and she swore she could feel the burn of his stare through the laminated booklet in her hands. “I guess I can live with that,” he replied teasingly. “But only over lunch.”
She laughed, lowered the menu to smile over at him, and said, “That’s good enough, I suppose.” He was examining his menu, which was nearly flat on the table, but her cheeks flushed anyway. It had been a while, she suddenly realized, since she’d gone out to eat with just Vaughn. Before Geoff, definitely. She pretty much hadn’t gone anywhere without Geoff, in social settings, since they’d started dating. Yet she hadn’t noticed how restrictive that relationship had been until it had ended. Idiot.
Their waitress swooped in to deliver their drinks and take their orders moments later.
“How’re your classes coming?” Vaughn asked once the waitress had departed for another table.
Angela sighed and offered a shrug. “They’re all right, I suppose. I have to admit what we’re studying right now in American History isn’t the most enthralling thing.” There were days, even, when she wondered why she’d decided to double-major. She certainly knew why she had an interest in history as a subject, but she also knew she wouldn’t be learning anything about that particular aspect of history in school. Oh well. Smiling a little, she added, “My psychology classes are getting fun, though.”
Vaughn’s lips tipped up at the edges. “That’s good, at least.” The hint of a smirk widened. “Although it scares me a little to think of you as a psychiatrist.”
“Hey!” Angela pretended to swat at him from across the table, laughing. She eased back, pulled her drink closer, and took a sip before returning the question. “What about you? How’re your classes going?”
“They’re going,” he replied, sounding distinctly bored. “There’s nothing fascinating about them, but I’ve had worse.”
“I guess that’s something, right?” she asked. She wasn’t sure how many classes he’d saddled himself with for the semester, but she knew they were mostly business-related. Business classes had always sounded exceedingly boring to her, even if they made sense for him. “Still, I hope you enjoy them a little more than that.”
He paused, fingers curled around the coffee mug in front of him. “The work is okay,” he responded after a moment. “It’s the classes.” He smirked briefly. “Or maybe the people in them.” He proceeded to gulp about half of his coffee while Angela laughed. A few more seconds passed before he asked, “Have you found a place yet?”
“No,” Angela groaned, resting her elbows on the table and slumping forward. “All the places I’ve liked so far are full, and I can’t bring myself to settle for one I’m not crazy about. I think I keep hoping that if I wait a few more days, I’ll get in somewhere good.”
“Have you asked about wait-lists?”
“I’m on two already,” she replied. “I’m just also rather eager to get back out of my parents’ house, you know?”
One corner of his lips lifted in a lopsided grin that did stupid things to her insides and he said, “Oh, I get it.”
“I’m thinking about looking into actual houses,” Angela blurted before she could think better of it. She hadn’t discussed that errant thought with anyone and she hadn’t expected it to roll so casually off her tongue.
Vaughn nodded slowly. “I can see the appeal there. Might even be a good idea.”
Their waitress returned a moment later, bearing gifts in the form of hot, greasy food, and conversation lulled. Angela’s mouth watered at the sight of her fried chicken sandwich and fries, reminding her she hadn’t had the appetite to eat her breakfast that morning. She eagerly popped the first hot fry into her mouth before the waitress was even gone.
The subject changed when conversation resumed, but Vaughn’s earlier words lingered in her head. He could have had any number of reasons for agreeing with her idea to get a house instead, and she couldn’t be offended by any of them. She knew her strongest reasons, but she also knew why she was hesitating.
For all her vaunted independence, she wasn’t really ready to live alone. She’d grown up in a full, lively house. Even when her brothers had moved out, they hadn’t gone far, and they came home often. When her turn to leave had come, she’d been focused on getting out from beneath her family’s thumb. But she’d been glad to have Hilary. Then she’d had Geoff, and she suspected the alternative option of living alone was a large part of why she’d agreed to move in with him. Now she was facing something new. Living by herself. That was probably why she’d decided to return to Darien. Which is stupid. Whether I take an apartment or a house, I’ll still be by myself.
So why did the idea of being alone in a house seem so much worse?
****
“I really appreciate this, Vaughn,” Vanessa Prescott said as Vaughn eased his car to a stop in the center of his parents’ circular driveway. She released her seatbelt and smiled at him. “Are you sure you won’t stay?”
She was referring to dinner, of course. She wanted to thank him for doing what any half-decent son would have done. Her car had broken down on the interstate on the way back from the airport, where she’d dropped off Vaughn’s father for one of his obligatory business appearances, and so she’d called to ask him to meet her at the mechanic’s shop. Why she felt the need to thank him for that was beyond him.
Vaughn shook his head. “Sorry, Mom. I’ve got a paper that needs to be finished by midnight.” There was no need to explain that if his extra time that week had been as distraction-free as he’d originally anticipated, it’d be done already, because then he’d feel obligated to explain what had happened to Angela the other day. His parents already knew about the Hawke family’s secrets, but they’d never really had to dwell on them, and he suspected telling his mother that story would unsettle her. He didn’t want to concern his own family unnecessarily, and he was well aware that the fewer people who knew the details, the better off everyone was in the end.
Vanessa sighed and nodded. “That’s what I get for insisting you work a normal job, right?” Her smile returned, she popped the door open, and she added, “Then you’d better get home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Call if you need a lift back to the mechanic’s.”
“I promise,” she assured him before easing the door shut and waving at him through the glass.
Vaughn pulled out of his parents’ drive and turned in the direction of his condo. That paper wasn’t going to finish itself.
His street was in sight when he noticed someone suspicious walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. It took him a second to figure out why he labeled the man suspicious. The guy was dressed normally, in dark-blue jeans and a long-sleeved, dark-gray shirt. He walked with his head bowed slightly. But then the figure lifted his head, likely checking the traffic as he neared the corner, and Vaughn recognized him.
It was Eric.
Vaughn reacted on instinct. He jerked his car to the side of the road and swung to his feet. He didn’t care that he was poorly and illegally parked or that he was barely out of the way of any potential traffic. He only cared that it was far past time someone put Eric Matthews in his place. For all the pain Eric had caused Angela, Vaughn was more than happy to be the one who did it.
“Matthews!” he bellowed unnecessarily as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Eric had already been watching him, visibly startled at Vaughn’s impromptu parking job.
>
Eric’s raised eyebrows lowered as an unhindered glare settled in his eyes. “Vaughn. How do you manage to always get in my way at the last minute?”
Vaughn returned the glare without difficulty, striding forward as he replied, “Luck, I guess. Something you clearly don’t have any of.”
Scoffing, Eric shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back as if he were amused. “Why, because I had the misfortune of getting caught by you? Don’t insult me.”
“That’d be hard to do,” Vaughn said, his voice darkening as he neared Angela’s ex. “Considering I already have such a low opinion of you.”
Eric’s glare returned and he ground out, “Give me one reason not to finally pay you back for the last time we met.”
Vaughn didn’t bother responding. He’d wasted enough words on the arrogant bastard. Instead, he threw his fist into Eric’s stomach. Eric coughed, slumped forward, and finally stumbled backward, nearly slamming into the wall of the building behind him. But nearly wasn’t good enough.
Wheezing from the force of the punch, Eric struggled with another glare, but he managed—if only barely—to dodge Vaughn’s second swing. His gasping voice was full of venom and pain when he snarled, “You’re dead, Prescott!”
“You first,” Vaughn growled. He ducked as Eric reached for him and spun enough to throw his elbow into Eric’s hip. Whatever brief flare of pain the impact ignited in his own arm was eclipsed by the sensation of something giving in the bone he’d hit. It didn’t give enough to break, but it had to hurt like a son of a bitch.
Eric cried out, stumbled back, and braced himself against the wall of the building. There were a couple of drops of already drying blood beneath the corner of his lips and the pain-filled sneer contorting his face showed him for the monster he really was. He coughed again, covered his wounded hip with one hand, and jeered, “Should just … call you … Bruno. All brawn and … no brain.” His brown eyes flashed in accordance with the strike of lightning that followed.
But Vaughn saw the move coming and threw himself to the side, closer to Eric. The lightning crashed behind him, landing on the concrete instead of his head. Vaughn reached over and wrapped a hand around Eric’s throat. “Should I report you to the police,” he said pointedly. “Or just take you to Angela’s brothers? You got a preference?”