Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) (6 page)

And yet...how could she?

Maya looked so tiny. So vulnerable and forlorn in her puffy pink jacket with dangling purple mittens. In her other hand she clutched a floppy stuffed animal. A dog, maybe. Thank goodness the poor child had one small bit of comfort to hold on to.

They got settled, whereupon Angela’s guilt took over, shoving her grief aside.

When had she last seen Maya? When was the last time she’d spent more than three minutes talking to Maya when she
did
see her? She stretched her memory as far back as it could go, and still no answers were in sight. Carolyn had been right earlier, hadn’t she? Angela had spent her life being busy with work and figuring there was plenty of time for getting together with her family next weekend, or the weekend after that.

What a joke.

Focus, Angela.

She tried to think.

Did Maya know about death? Did she believe in heaven? How much should Angela tell her?

Maya stared at her, waiting patiently, her huge brown eyes wise and wide in the little chipmunk face that looked so much like Carolyn’s.

A single ray of sunshine dawned in Angela’s heart. No, God hadn’t taken everything, after all. She still had Maya.

She really was adorable. Carolyn had braided her long, wavy black hair in two ponytails on each side of her head, with colorful, beaded rubber bands at the top and bottom of each braid. So cute.

But then another wave of sorrow washed over Angela.

Carolyn was gone forever and tomorrow Angela would have to braid all that hair.

Angela felt her lips begin to quiver again. Pressing them tightly together, she tried to smile. “You’ve had a rough night, haven’t you?”

Tears shone in Maya’s eyes. “That deer ran into the car. It hit Mommy and Daddy.”

Nodding, Angela dipped her head and swiped a tear. “I know.”

Miracles did happen, didn’t they? How else could Maya have survived, unscathed, in the back seat of Carolyn and V.J.’s minivan, when a ten-point buck had mangled the vehicle’s front end beyond recognition?

Maya’s pouty little mouth twisted and her brow furrowed as she tried to understand the incomprehensible. She raised her dog and, hugging him, pressed him to her lips, clearly struggling not to cry.

“Are they in heaven?”

Angela’s neck and chest tightened to the point of agony, choking the word off in her throat. God, she didn’t want to be the one to tell this child her parents were dead. She’d give anything if the earth would just open up and swallow her whole so she didn’t have to deliver this news. Buying time, she cupped the side of Maya’s face, rubbing her thumb over a satiny, chubby cheek. Then she caught one her long braids and smoothed it.

“Yes,” she finally said.

Maya whimpered softly and tears ran down her face behind the dog. She lifted him and used his furry brown head to wipe her eyes. “Are they with Grandma and Grandpa?”

The question was Angela’s undoing.

She took a fresh tissue out of her pocket and, covering her mouth with it, wept quietly.

She should have known Carolyn would tell Maya about her grandparents, even though they’d died long before she was born. And of course Carolyn would have also told her about heaven.

Recovering, she tried to smile. “Yes. They’re all together now, and I think they’re happy. And I think they’re watching over us.
And they’ll always be in our hearts, so we’ll never forget them, will we?”

Maya just blinked at her, looking vaguely reproachful, as if she was offended Angela expected her to buy such a load of BS.

“I want to go to bed now.”

“Oh,” Angela said, surprised. “Okay. Let’s get you a bath first. How would that be?”

Maya didn’t answer, but she obligingly stood and walked with Angela down the hall to the bathroom. Angela turned on the taps, then opened the medicine cabinet to see if she had an extra toothbrush for Maya.

The sight of Ronnie’s red toothbrush in its cup froze Angela in her tracks. The blind fury she’d repressed until now surged back, pulling every muscle in her body taut.

She’d seen the bastard tonight in the hospital parking lot.

As she’d walked to her car with her orphaned niece...as she’d tried to absorb the knowledge that her sister and brother-in-law had been killed in their prime of life...as she’d wondered what the hell she was going to do...she’d looked up and seen him, the man she’d thought she’d marry, standing fifty feet away.

She’d seen
them
, actually.

Ronnie and the woman he’d dumped Angela for, kissing by Ronnie’s car, twined around each other like the strands of a rope.

With a silent curse, she hurled Ronnie’s toothbrush into the trashcan.

* * *

A
fter a quick bath
and a glass of milk, Maya went willingly to bed with her dog snuggled under her arm. Angela made up the double bed in the guest bedroom/office/exercise room for her and she fell asleep before Angela flipped the wall light switch. She left a small lamp burning on her desk in case Maya was afraid of the dark. The soft, even sound of the girl’s breathing reminded Angela she wasn’t entirely alone in the universe, after all. One other member of her family was still alive, and she was grateful.

Shutting the door behind her, Angela shuffled, exhausted, back out to the living room, wishing she could as easily put this nightmarish day behind her. She glanced at her watch: ten fifteen. There was no way she would sleep tonight.

So...what now?

She wandered into her walk-in closet, took off her shoes, lined them up in their slot at the end of the row on the floor, and tried to decide what to do next. Shower now, or wait? Start calling their mutual friends and distant relatives to give them the grim news? Maybe she should start with Vincent and Justus. Or would they have been V.J.’s
in case of emergency
contacts on his phone? Maybe the hospital already contacted them...? God only knew. She’d been too stunned and determined to get Maya out of there to ask.

And how light a sleeper was Maya? Would she wake up if Angela got on the phone and started—

Knock-knock-knock.

She looked around, startled. Who the hell could that be?

Quickly retracing her footsteps, she checked the peephole.

Justus
.

Her heart soared.

Someone from the hospital
had
called him. She swung the door open and stared at him for a long, charged moment. Big surprise: he looked wrecked. Strained face; bloodshot eyes; red nose; flaring nostrils. He seemed to have aged twenty years since she saw him last night.

At the sight of her, the edges of his lips turned up in the beginnings of a rueful smile and he opened his arms. With a cry, she threw herself at him, grateful to be with someone who could share her pain and help her through this long, dark night. His heavy, muscular arms clamped tight around her and she hung on tighter. His hands sifted through her hair before rubbing roughly over her shoulders and back as if he needed to make sure that she, at least, was still in one piece.

The same urge overcame her.

She clawed her way closer to him, fingers digging into his back and shoulders, reveling in his warmth and unyielding strength.

“Justus.” Sobs overtook her, nearly choking the words off in her throat. “What are we going to
do
?”

His hands gentled, soothing her. “Shhh. It’ll be okay,” he said hoarsely. “Everything’ll be okay.”

Still holding her, he backed her inside the door and shut it behind them.

“Where is she?” he whispered.

“Asleep. In the guest bedroom.”

“Show me.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say he’d have to see Maya tomorrow because Angela didn’t want to risk waking her up, but one look at his determined face told her that would be a waste of time. So she led him down the dark hall—she’d have to remember to get a night-light in case Maya had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night—and cracked open the door.

Justus hovered on the threshold, then sat on the enormous bed, which seemed like a soccer field compared to Maya’s tiny form. At first he just stroked her little cheek, but then he made a strangled sound from deep in his throat and picked her up, pulling her out from under the blankets and into his lap. The white T-shirt Angela had given Maya to sleep in rode up over her short, sturdy legs, and her head fell limply back over his arm, but she didn’t wake. Justus kissed her forehead and rocked back and forth, murmuring unintelligibly.

Angela wondered if she should give him a little privacy, but her feet were suddenly rooted to the floor and she couldn’t look away as he kissed Maya one last time.

“I’ll take care of you, baby girl.” He gently laid her back down and arranged the blankets and the dog around her. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of you.”

He got up. Swiping his hand under his eyes and nose, he brushed past Angela again and went back to the foyer.

Angela trailed after him, too moved to speak. At the front door he paused, and when he took her hands it felt natural and right.

It killed her to admit to a weakness, even tonight, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being alone with Maya.

“Don’t go,” she said, squeezing his hands. “You can sleep on the couch. And Maya will want to see you when she wakes up.”

Regret filled his dark eyes. “I have to go tell my father. I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”

She didn’t envy him that awful task, but he had to do it, so she let go of his strong hands.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning. We’ve got a lot of arrangements to make.”

She nodded.

He hesitated, then pressed a warm, hard kiss to her forehead. “We’ll get through this, Angela.”

She nodded again even though she didn’t believe him for a second.

* * *

A
t eleven o’clock that night
, Justus pulled past the tall English-ivy-covered brick wall and into the driveway of his father’s house, turned off the engine and headlights, and stared at the place.

Home again.

Not.

He’d never thought of the structure as home any more than a person could consider the Louvre home. Brian’s childhood house, half as big as this one and nowhere near as grand, with its slightly rumpled great room, where hockey sticks leaned in the corners, floor pillows invited people to settle in and stay for a while, and children could accidentally leave smudges on the walls without threat of immediate and severe sanctions, now
that
was home.

This
was just a building—a locale he avoided like a Congolese village during an Ebola outbreak.

When was he last here? Was it Christmas two years ago? He couldn’t remember. He’d pretty much kept his promise to himself not to return once he went to college, and he could count on one hand the number of times he had. Why bother visiting, anyway? He’d disliked the ostentatious shrine to his father’s ego, so unlike all the other kids’ houses, even when Mama was alive.

After she died when he was fifteen, he’d hated it.

It was pretty, though. He supposed.

Massive English Tudor with turret. Immaculate landscaping and rolling emerald grounds. A huge fall wreath on the front door.

The overall effect of this million-dollar piece of real estate was to impress, which was, of course, his father’s whole reason for existing.

That and being V.J.’s father.

After a while, Justus got out of the car, walked up the long cobblestone path to the door, and rang the fancy bell, which sounded like the carillon at St. Paul’s in London. He still had a key, but he hadn’t used it in years and didn’t plan to start now.

Footsteps sounded inside. A light came on behind the beveled glass.

Justus braced himself.

The door swung open and revealed his father, who stared at him with drop-jawed astonishment.

Vincent had aged, Justus realized. Badly. His short hair was almost entirely white now, and deep grooves framed his disapproving mouth. And he’d lost weight. Probably a good twenty pounds or so. A paisley silk robe hung limply over his dark pajamas.

“
Justus
,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”