by Rose Wulf
Angela muffled her giggle by snuggling into the crook of his neck, teasing, “As opposed to your mature twenty-one?”
Vaughn scoffed and amusement colored his voice when he said, “And what are you?”
Withholding her answer long enough to sneak a glance at the nearest clock, Angela eased back and replied, “Hungry. What about you?”
Something dark flashed in his eyes. He allowed her to take his hand and said, “Starved.”
An exciting chill raced down her spine and Angela had to swallow to find her voice. She suspected she knew what he’d meant, and as startling as it should have been, all she felt was exhilaration. But this wasn’t the time or the place for that kind of thinking, so she merely grinned back at him and turned toward the door, his hand still held in hers as she declared, “Then let’s grab food. We both missed dinner yesterday.”
****
“Can I ask you something?” Angela asked a couple of hours later. They’d shared breakfast with her parents, both of whom had done their best to embarrass Vaughn with thanks for the way he’d handled the situation the day before, and then Vaughn had acknowledged—with heavy reluctance—that he needed to at least go home in order to grab some clean clothes. Amazingly enough, Riley hadn’t been there when he and Angela had arrived. It was a reprieve he was grateful for, however small he knew it would be.
“That was rhetorical, right?” Vaughn teased as he leaned back into the corner of the couch and cocked a brow at her.
Angela met his raised brow with one of her own, her lips trembling with the effort it took her to contain her grin. At length, she surrendered, laughed briefly, and shifted so she was sitting sideways on the couch, facing him. “This might sound weird,” she said, “but … well, you weren’t as hurt as I’d expected you to be.”
Vaughn scowled, immediately suspecting where she was going with her question. It wasn’t like he didn’t remember his fight with Eric, and it wasn’t like Eric hadn’t gotten in a few good shots. There was a reason his clothes had been tattered and burned beyond salvation. But he offered nothing, letting her articulate the question in her own way and hoping it would provide a decent way for him to answer it.
She paused, chewed on her lip for a second, and finally blurted, “Did something strange happen out there? I mean, your clothes were burned, so it seemed like he hit you with at least a little lightning and I’d think you’d have been … worse off than that if he had.”
For a moment, he considered not telling her, because he didn’t know how. He wasn’t sure what he would say, let alone how she would take it. He sure as hell didn’t know what it meant that Eric’s lightning didn’t seem to have as damaging an effect on him as it realistically should. But he wasn’t going to lie to her, either.
“Honestly,” he began, “I’d have thought so, too. Before Friday, anyway.”
Angela blinked at him, obviously thrown by his response. “Before Friday? What happened Friday?”
Vaughn looked away on reflex, knowing she wasn’t going to like this story. Neither was she going to like that he hadn’t already told her about it. “It’s possible I had a small run-in with Eric Friday night.”
“What?” Angela exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Vaughn! Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”
It was hard to take solace in being right sometimes. “I didn’t want to upset you,” he explained calmly. He offered a shrug to emphasize his next point. “It wasn’t that big a deal, except—”
“Anybody home?” Riley called as she popped her head in the front door, perfectly interrupting him. She spotted him easily enough and, before he could acknowledge her, grinned wide and exclaimed, “Vaughny! There you are!” She was fully inside, the door shut behind her, before she seemed to register Angela’s presence. “Oh, and a friend!” A very different, knowing grin settled over her face and she added, “I guess I shouldn’t have worried when you didn’t come home last night, should I? So, who’s the girlfriend?”
Sighing, Vaughn gestured to his eccentric aunt and obligingly said, “This is my Aunt Riley. Aunt Riley, this is Angela. I’d appreciate it if you don’t go spreading rumors about us.”
“I would never say anything that wasn’t true,” Riley promised him as she rounded on Angela. She held out her hand. “You can just call me Riley. Vaughny’s the only one who bothers with titles.”
“Do you have another title?” Vaughn asked pointedly.
“Psh! Details!” Riley moved back, plopped into Vaughn’s armchair, and asked, “So how long have you two known each other? C’mon, you can tell me the truth, I promise I won’t judge!”
“Ah,” Angela stuttered, self-consciously clearing her throat. “There isn’t much to tell.”
Before Riley could jump on that declaration, Vaughn added, “We’ve been friends since our family moved to town.”
“And how long has that been, exactly? I can’t remember,” Riley inquired, adjusting to sit on her feet.
Angela cut a disbelieving look to Vaughn, who evenly replied, “Almost three years.”
“So you know each other pretty well?” Riley asked casually. She didn’t wait for a response before switching gears. “Hey, I saw a nice Mercedes outside, but where’s your Audi?”
This time Vaughn’s sigh was uncontrollable. His Audi, of course, was with the mechanic. Christopher had informed him over breakfast that they’d thought up something creative enough to avoid mass suspicion when they’d had it towed for him. Not that the story mattered, because it was going to be a few weeks at best before his car was again in his possession. He was honestly amazed it wasn’t totaled. Eric’s Bentley had done a number on it. His only real consolation was that apparently Dean had taken the liberty of making sure the Bentley was in even worse condition. But it was a small consolation. Vaughn merely replied, “The Audi’s out of commission for a while. The Mercedes is Angela’s.”
“Bummer,” Riley said, her nose scrunching sympathetically for a second. She shrugged and added, “You can borrow my Porsche while I’m around if you want. It’s only fair, right?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Vaughn assured her before he could even think about it. Riley’s car was gorgeous, actually, and she did seem to take impressive care of it, but he couldn’t get past the fear of what might have happened inside it. There was no way he’d be driving that car.
“Well, if you change your mind…” Riley offered, letting the sentence trail.
Vaughn’s phone interrupted whatever might have been said next, cutting through the conversation and drawing everyone’s attention as he tugged it from his jeans pocket. It had to be his boss. He’d definitely missed work the night before and had a warning voicemail waiting for him when he’d finally checked his phone after breakfast. But it wasn’t. It was his mother. Guilt churned in his stomach and it took a surprising amount of willpower not to cut a glance across the living room, to the aunt he doubted his mother knew was sitting there with him. Surely, he’d hear about that in person. So maybe this was a coincidence. “Hello?” he greeted as he put the phone to his ear.
“Vaughn Prescott,” Vanessa’s scolding voice snapped on the other end of the line. “Why in the world am I staring at your Audi at the mechanic’s? Why did I not know you’d been in an accident? My God, Vaughn, why wouldn’t you call me? Just because my car’s at the mechanic’s, too, doesn’t mean I’m useless.”
Shit. It hadn’t even occurred to him that his mother might be going to the mechanic’s in the near future to retrieve her own car. He’d completely forgotten her car was there in the first place. She was far less likely to quietly accept the far-fetched, all-out lie Christopher had cooked up. He could only pray she’d gone along with it so far. Assuming, of course, the mechanic had told her. Doing his best to keep his tone calm, and faintly apologetic, he replied, “I’m sorry, Mom. I was kind of busy yesterday and I just got distracted. I’m fine. I wasn’t in the car when the accident happened.”
“Yes,” Vanessa acknowledged, sounding
far from pacified, “so I hear. I hear Christopher Hawke and one of Angela’s brothers were the ones who called for the tow and explained everything. But I don’t fully trust that story, so I expect you to tell me the truth.”
Vaughn cringed and his head fell back until he was staring at the ceiling. “Mom … are you still at the mechanic’s?”
“Of course,” she replied as if his question was ridiculous. “I’m standing right in front of a nearly totaled car that cost your father and I a pretty penny not that long ago.”
“I’m paying for the restoration,” Vaughn assured her. Just because he had a day-job didn’t mean he didn’t have access to his trust fund. “But I don’t think I should get into that right now. Can I come over later and talk to you then?” It would be best to tell her in person, when she wasn’t around any eavesdropping ears and, more importantly, when he wasn’t around any, either. Just because Riley had invited herself to live with him didn’t mean he intended to tell her all of the extraordinary secrets he was privy to.
Vanessa sighed on the other end of the line, seemingly realizing his point. “All right, fine, I can accept that. Come home for dinner. Or do you need me to pick you up? My car’s ready. I can do that.”
“No, that’s fine,” Vaughn assured her. Angela shifted beside him and thoughtlessly he blurted, “Angela can give me a lift.”
“Good,” Vanessa replied. “Tell her she’s staying for dinner, too. Is she still looking for a new place to live?”
“Yeah,” he said, suddenly anxious to get off the phone. “Listen, Mom, I have to go. I’ll see you later.” His mother took the hint, perceptive as always, and he disconnected, barely biting back another sigh. That had only been about ten shades of awkward. He slid a glance to Angela. “Sorry. You got roped into dinner.”
She smiled. “Not a problem. I like your mom.” She leaned closer, curling the fingers of one hand loosely into his bicep. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “By the way, your aunt disappeared into the kitchen.”
“What?” he asked stupidly, the statement throwing him off.
“When she realized you were on the phone with your mom,” Angela explained. “She got up and practically ran into the kitchen, holding her finger over her lips to hush me.” Angela mimicked the motion with her free hand.
“You’re kidding, right?” Although, he didn’t know why he bothered with the rhetorical question. He could hear Riley moving around in the kitchen now and it made perfect sense that she’d avoid anything to do with his mother. Other than one flippant comment when she’d first arrived, the subject of his mother hadn’t come up in any way. He’d been a little anxious to mention it himself, and so, it seemed, was Riley.
Thinking about the tension between his mother and her sister reminded him of Angela’s own family situation, and the estranged uncle who was supposed to be arriving sometime that day. He scowled and shifted his attention back to her, quietly asking, “Are you sure you can make dinner? Isn’t Daniel supposed to be getting in today?”
Angela cringed and waved her hand dismissively. “My parents won’t be surprised if I ditch the first reunion dinner. Remember I didn’t even come back to town while he was here last time?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Vaughn assured her. “I just don’t want to make things any worse for you.”
“Are you kidding?” Angela said. “You’re the big hero of the moment. No one’s going to argue if I insist on spending dinner with you and your mom.”
“I’m not a hero, Angie,” he said with a grunt, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. If Riley was hiding in the kitchen, he could at least take a minute to pretend she wasn’t there at all.
“Liar.” Angela laughed, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Seriously, though, I still want you to tell me what happened the other day.”
“I will.”
“Who wants lunch?” Riley called from the kitchen.
Groaning, Vaughn leaned closer to Angela and whispered, “Just not here.”
****
Vaughn had to work an afternoon shift before dinner with his mother, leaving Angela with several hours of time to kill. They hadn’t been able to break away from Riley before he’d had to head to work, so she still didn’t know what had happened to him on Friday. Other than that, he’d had a “run-in” with Eric, which pretty much only told her his macho thing was worse than she’d given it credit for. Surely, whatever had happened, he could have used a little healing. Although she was forced to admit he’d seemed perfectly fine, other than being exasperated, on Saturday.
Angela sighed and pulled one leg up to her chest. She was perched on the swinging bench her parents kept on their back deck, impatiently awaiting the time she could go pick Vaughn up from work. Just because she’d gotten out of dinner with her own family didn’t mean she’d completely gotten out of having to be around during the day. No one was quite sure what time Daniel would be arriving, but he was expected before dinner, and that meant she was going to be stuck being in his presence this time. Yay.
“Don’t you look excited,” Christopher said sarcastically as he stepped out onto the deck.
Dragging her attention away from the backyard, Angela looked up at her father and made an exaggerated face of disapproval. “I’m so thrilled I can barely contain myself.” She paused for only a moment, letting her expression settle. “Do we know when he’s supposed to get here yet?”
Christopher inclined his head. “He just called. Should be here in about ten minutes.” He moved forward and claimed the open seat beside her, his long legs extending and automatically beginning a light rocking rhythm. “You know your mom expects you to be nice when he gets here, right?”
“Yeah,” Angela grumbled.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he said casually, reaching over and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “she gave me the same order.”
Angela blinked and looked over at him again. It was the first time he’d admitted—to her, at least—that he might not be thrilled about this, either. “She did?”
“Yep,” he assured her. “You see, it’s possible you’re not the only one in the family with mixed feelings about all of this.”
“I shouldn’t be.”
Christopher gave her shoulders another squeeze before straightening and pushing to his feet. “We all do, to some degree or another. I think it’s hardest on your mom, so would you play nice for her sake?”
Angela sighed, followed her father’s lead, and stood. “Of course,” she promised. It was nice to at least hear acknowledgment that someone else had noticed how weird this entire thing was. But that acknowledgment did nothing to ease the gnawing anxiety in her stomach as she trailed along behind her father.
She knew her mother had changed the sheets on Blake’s bed again in preparation for Daniel’s visit, assuming he’d be most comfortable in the room most representative of his own element. And she knew her mother had been in the kitchen most of the afternoon, preparing a fancy meal for dinner in some twisted effort to impress her brother. She just didn’t understand why it had to be like this.
It shouldn’t. If any of her brothers ever walked away like Daniel had, she wouldn’t forgive them. It was enough of a struggle for her to forgive a man who hadn’t been a part of her life for the majority of it, mostly on the principle of the pain he’d caused her mother. But she was going to have to find a way to at least fake it because the last ten minutes before her estranged uncle’s arrival were quickly disappearing.
Then the doorbell rang, echoing throughout the large house like some ominous church bell.
“That should be him,” Lillian declared unnecessarily. She pushed to her feet and led the way out of the living room. She’d only been off her feet for a couple of minutes, but neither Christopher nor Angela said a word. Lillian had changed out of her casual clothes, applied a fresh coat of makeup, and styled her hair like she was going somewhere important. She was trying hard to make a good impression, or
perhaps to show she was doing just fine for herself. No matter which it was, the fact that she was doing it at all made Angela’s heart hurt.
Angela exchanged a look with her father as they trailed in Lillian’s wake down the hall. For once, she could see the conflicting emotions shining back at her in his eyes, and the sight comforted her a little. But she wished, dearly, that more of the family could be here for this. Or at least Vaughn.
How long until he got off work again?
“Daniel, it’s so good to see you,” Lillian said when she opened the door, her older brother standing on the other side.
“Hey, Lillian,” he replied, a smile in his voice.
Angela watched as this veritable stranger wrapped her mother in a hug, which her mother returned. Then her father stepped up and clapped him briefly on the shoulder. Angela’s stomach churned uncomfortably. The stranger, her uncle, turned away from her parents and his faded blue eyes met hers. The moment of the awkward reunion had arrived.
Chapter Eight
Angela swallowed and forced back her nerves as best she could as she studied her uncle.
Daniel Page was fifty-five years old and, like all the men in their family, he was tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed. His stomach was round, protruding a bit over the top of his belt, and his hairline had started to recede above the wire-framed glasses covering his eyes. He wore a navy windbreaker over an ivory button-down shirt, black slacks, and black loafers. The smile he offered her was hesitant, making it clear he was aware he hadn’t earned her favor yet, and something about the gesture eased her nerves.
Lillian stepped up after a brief, awkward second, and placed a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “You remember Angela, of course. She’s a bit taller now.”
Angela barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. A bit taller? You think? She’d still believed in Santa Claus the last time she’d seen Daniel.
Daniel laughed, the sound a little tense, and exclaimed, “I’d say so! But of course, I remember my only niece.” His smile softened, becoming more natural, and a flare of apology dimmed his eyes. “It’s good to see you again, Angela. You look well.”