Lifting his lids, he stared down at that little girl with the big eyes. Tonight, her hair was pulled back in a ribbon that matched her blue dress, and her smile was so open and honest, it made him feel a million years old.
“You’re a angel!” The skinny thing seemed capable of speaking only with exclamations—like maybe the height differential required greater volume. “Can I see your wings?”
The mother hightailed it down the hall and arrived with that same cloud of exhaustion, the weight of whatever world she was living in clearly wearing her out. “I’m sorry. Come on—”
“Please? I want to see your wings.”
Ad shook his head. “I don’t have any. Sorry.”
“You do—all angels have wings.”
“I’m not an angel.”
The mother put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder—and was no doubt ready to pull a fireman’s hold on the kid if things didn’t get moving. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”
Mom refused to make eye contact—then again, the child was doing enough of that for the pair of them.
“Come
The whining started, but the little girl allowed herself to be pulled away. “I want to see your wings….”
Adrian focused on his combat boots, locking his eyeballs on the steel toes, letting the mother steer that precious cargo over to the elevators and off the floor.
“Rather harsh on the wee one, don’t you think?”
Adrian exhaled a curse at the familiar aristocratic inflection.
Fantastic, a visit from upstairs. Just what he needed. “Hello, Nigel.”
The archangel stayed quiet until Ad glanced up. Another nice outfit, go fig: The dandy was kitted out in a fitted linen suit with a matching waistcoat in a white so bright it made Ad want to Ray-Ban it up like Matthias. Cravat was candy-striped pink and white. So was the pocket square.
SOB looked like an ad for Orbit gum.
“I thought I’d come and check on you,” Nigel said, hauteur turning the kindness into condescension. Or maybe that was just Ad’s mood.
“Not Jim?”
“Him as well.”
“We’re great. Havin’ a ball, and you?” As those shimmering eyes of the
“That is the Maker’s purview, not mine.”
“So talk to Him. Make yourself useful.”
“Your tone leaves a lot to be desired.”
“So sue me.” As Nigel just stared at him, Ad refocused on his goddamn boots. “Now’s not a good time to expect anything much from me.”
“Which is the tragedy, is it not. Because this is precisely the moment when you are needed the most.”
Adrian threw up his hands. “Nigel, buddy, boss, whatever the fuck you want me to call you. Give me a break, will you—”
“Your statement to that child is correct. You are not an angel—not with this attitude.”
Ad banged his skull against the door. “Fuck you. Fuck all this.”
There was a long silence—to the point where he wondered if the big man hadn’t poofed it back up to Heaven.
Except then Nigel said softly, “We are depending on you.”
“I thought it was Jim’s job to be the golden-boy savior.”
“He is ill. And now—now is the turning point.”
Adrian looked over at the Englishman. “I thought you weren’t supposed to influence things.”
“I am allowed to advise.”
“So what the hell do you want me to do?”
Nigel just shook his head slowly, as if Adrian had disappointed him so thoroughly, he had lost the ability to speak.
Then the archangel disappeared.
Which, if you considered the takeoff literally, meant he didn’t want Adrian to do shit.
Down at the far end of the hall, the employees-only door opened and a room service guy came out with a stainless-steel cart. He was moving fast, like this was something he did a lot.
“That for six forty-two?” Adrian said as the uniform got closer.
“Yup.”
“That’s me.” He jammed a hand into his ass pocket and took out his billfold. Peeling off a twenty, he handed it over. “Where do I sign.”
“Hey, thanks, man.” The kid took a white slip out. “And right here.”
Ad scribbled something, and knocked so that Matthias would open up. When the guy did, the waiter went to roll things into the room, but Ad stepped in between the doorjambs.
“We’ve got this.”
“Okay, just set it out here when you’re done. Have a good evening.”
Fat chance of that.
Matthias held the way open as Ad pushed dinner into the room, and, man, the whistle of the cart’s wheels seemed way too loud. So did the closing of the door. So did the soft voices that sprang up as the reporter and Matthias arranged stuff on the desk and asked Jim if he could stomach any food.
Ad backed away, that hum in his head making him feel as if the barometric pressure in the room had exploded. Pulling at the low collar of his muscle shirt—like that was going to help?—he backed into something.
Ah, yes, the door again.
Perfect timing. He
The sad truth was that he was better at anger than responsibility. More competent at fighting than logic. And that bastard Nigel hadn’t given him anything to rail against.
Yet being pissed off wasn’t bringing Eddie back, and it wasn’t going to change the game or the fact that all of them, even that bitch Devina, were locked on this path, the rules of the conflict defining the landscape and trapping them in the game.
The whole goddamn thing made him want to scream—and left him missing Eddie so bad it hurt. With his buddy around, he’d always had a check and balance…had relied on Eddie to make decisions and provide that all- important pull-back-from-the-ledge when it was appropriate.
Except he was a grown-ass man—angel, whatever.
Maybe it was time to do that shit for himself.
Abruptly, he stared at the pair across the room.
As Mels started popping the covers off of plates, Matthias was hanging back, his eyes all but eating her up.
From out of nowhere, Jim’s voice banged around Ad’s head.
Eddie would not have wasted time stamping his boots and getting frustrated, wouldn’t have allowed himself diversions into the land of cocktail waitresses and grungy service corridors, would have stayed sharp even when shit didn’t seem fair.
Adrian dragged in a deep breath, and on the exhale, the path became clear to him.
Applying Eddie logic, he knew what he could do to help.
Little bit of a game changer, but…what are you going to do. Nigel wanted him to get involved? Roger that.
Besides, it was what Eddie would have done.
As Matthias sat back down in the wing chair with his food, the weight blessedly off his tired, aching legs, he watched Mels as she ate at the desk.
