Part 2 (1/2)

All she wants? What about what I want? f.u.c.k, do I even know what I want?

Not really. But I know what I need: Angel.

I study my mother, trying to find words. She doesn't look the same as I remember her, but in some ways she hasn't changed. Her face is a bit longer, wiser, but her eyes are quiet, just as they always were. And her hands; they're always moving, small motions that are barely noticeable, but constant none the less. Feeling the textures of things around her. And as much as I want to deny it, there's love in her eyes. Love for me. But it's too much, too soon. ”I need some time. I need to try to wrap my head around this s.h.i.+t.” I need to get away from them all. The father who kept her away. The mother who didn't fight for me. And the brother I didn't know I had, who's looking like he wants to pummel me.

I need away from them all, so I leave without another word. After glancing into the kitchen to make sure with my own eyes that Angel is okay, I head outside. I'm hoping the cool air will calm my rage. Angel hates the cold, so I leave her inside under Chelsea's watch. Right now I think I just need to be alone anyway.

Isn't it ironic? The person who instilled in me an intense fear of being left returns, and yet I've never felt more alone.

Chapter Four.

a-aa- I didn't really have a plan for where I was heading when I stormed out, but I'm not surprised to find myself at the small cottage that used to be my mother's studio. It's nestled in the woods at the back of our property. I wonder if she remembers it, and all the time we spent here. I used to come here when I wanted to remember her, when I desperately wanted to feel close to her. Being here now should hurt, but it doesn't. As always, it calms me.

I used this cabin as a retreat when Angel didn't want me close, but I couldn't stay away. It's like something about this cabin lets me touch the untouchable. I breathe easier the moment I'm inside.

Mom wants to get to know me. Has that s.h.i.+p sailed?

I'm not ready to forge a mother and son bond, learning the things we should already know about each other. Every moment of it would be a dagger, painfully driving home the point that we don't know each other because she left.

And what about my brother? Do I want to get to know him?

It's his fault she stayed away! I feel guilty the moment the thought pa.s.ses through my mind, but my guilt doesn't make it feel any less true. If she hadn't wanted to hold on to him, she wouldn't have stayed away for so long. I almost lost Angel because I clung to her so tightly, a direct result of the broken heart my mother left me with. Angel is the most important thing in the world to me, and my mother and brother nearly took her from me. I decide I hate them, and immediately feel better. Knowing how I feel is so much easier than wallowing in uncertainty.

Okay, so I hate them. What next? Hate or not, I've got to face them. Or, actually... There's nothing keeping me here, really. The only thing that matters is Angel. This is not at all how I pictured our first holiday together.

There's a lightness in my step that's been missing since the moment my mother arrived. I duck my head against the cold, hurrying through the wooded path that leads past the back door of the house. I'm going to find Angel, and then she and I are going to go home, crawl under the covers, and not surface for the rest of the night.

It's the only thing I want, the only thing that will make me feel better. No, not s.e.x, although that's part of the plan, but Angel herself. I'm almost back to the house when I hear someone shout for Chelsea, or maybe shouting at her. Leaves crunch under my feet as I double my pace, coming through the opening in the trees just in time to see Chelsea spin toward Warren, annoyance hanging on her face like a lopsided mask. I can see her vulnerability underneath it, and uneasiness twists a knot in my stomach. Their heads are close now as they talk animatedly, and I feel strangely like I'm intruding on a private moment. The f.u.c.k?

Then she's turning away from him, but before she does I see tears pooling in her eyes. Warren calls out to her, but she doesn't look back.

Oh h.e.l.l no. I don't know what he said or did, but I know he upset her, and that s.h.i.+t isn't going to fly. I stride toward him. ”What the f.u.c.k did you do to her?”

”Nothing.” He gives me a taunting look.

aNothing,' my a.s.s. ”You stay the f.u.c.k away from her.”

”That's not going to be possible.”

The little s.h.i.+t is grinning. He's enjoying this, and that only p.i.s.ses me off more. ”You'll make it possible, or else I will.”

”Maybe you shouldn't have left the little pow-wow with Daddy Dearest so fast, then. I'm sure he wants to talk to you, to fill you in. Why don't you go on and talk, and then we'll just see who I will and won't be staying away from. aCause Chelsea and I? She and I are going to be getting real d.a.m.n close. We're going to be like this.” He holds up two fingers, crossing them tightly.

I've known guys like Warren my whole life. They think because I'm rich, the only way I'll value and respect them is if they show they can beat my a.s.s. Warren won't be the first of them to find himself landing on his own a.s.s if he crosses me. I step closer to him, until my chest is almost up against his. ”I don't know what your deal is, or why you're here. But there's one thing you'd better learn and you'd better learn it fast. I take care of what's mine. Right now we aren't enemies. In fact, you're less than nothing to me. But if you screw with me, my father, or Chelsea, that's going to change real f.u.c.king fast.”

It's time for a new rule. People who leave should stay gone. Don't waste your time on them, or the baggage they bring back with them from their travels. If I've learned anything today, it's that I was perfectly happy being an only child.

”I'm not the only one being an a.s.s here, you know.”

”What the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean?” I think I might have said that out loud, rather than just thinking it.

”Our mother came all this way because she wanted to see you. Have you given her the time of day?”

My shoulders slump. She came back for me. She came back too late, but she came back. It's what I thought I wanted for so long. I should be glad, but the only emotion I can bring to the surface is anger. ”I don't know what to say to her.” It's not an excuse, just the truth.

Warren lets out an uncomfortable laugh. ”I know the feeling. It's taken me all week to be even halfway ready for this s.h.i.+t, and I still feel like I'm floundering. Look, the thing is, even though there's a lot of anger to go aroundaand rightly soaboth our parents are hurting.”

”So am I.” G.o.d, am I ever. ”I know I'm mad at someone, I just don't know who. He kept her away, but she could have fought harder, you know? That s.h.i.+t hurts.”

Warren holds his hand out to me. ”Maybe you and I can agree that no matter how you look at it, it isn't our fault. Use that as a starting point and move forward from there.

I stare at his outstretched hand, not saying a word. Can I risk trusting him? My heart is in my throat as I force my own hand to take his. ”It's worth a try.” Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. That's a good rule, and seems applicable. I don't know what game this fool is playing, but I know that I'll beat him at it. I always win, and this will be no exception. I may not know yet whether he's an enemy or a friend, but I know I'm going to watch him closely. Very f.u.c.king closely. And if he tries to f.u.c.k with what's mine, he'll never know what hit him.

Chapter Five.

a-aa- Dad wastes no time confirming that what Warren said is true. He actually expects me to let him work at the bar, and thinks he and Chelsea will be fine as roommates. Obviously, my father has never tried to live with a twenty-two year-old girl. But whatever, I'll let that bomb explode on its own and just try to steer clear of the wreckage. I'm not keen on letting anyone f.u.c.k with the bar, though.

”Just give him a chance, son. Just like I gave you one. Don't give him too much responsibility right away, we can work up to it. But...he's a Chadwell, and that should mean something.”

For a moment I'm blinded by white-hot jealousy, and I have to take several slow breaths while I try not to bite Dad's head off. I've been here my whole life, feeling the pressure of my obligations to this family, proving myself, slowly earning more responsibility. My so-called brother walks in, and on day one Dad is ready to welcome him as a son, wanting to give him the privilege of our name and status. Just this morning I was elated at the prospect of a new Chadwell. My new Chadwell. My Angel.

f.u.c.k, Angel. This day has turned into such a f.u.c.ked-up mess, and she and I have barely seen each other. When I came inside she was helping Chelsea and my mom prepare our turkey. I got the h.e.l.l out of that kitchen faster than if a two-ton alligator was snapping at my heels. Way too many women, all of whom just might turn on me at any moment. Or worse, ask me how I'm feeling.

Angel and I haven't talked about her part in this. I'm dreading that conversation, and yet I want to get it over with. ”I don't think Angel and I are going to stay for dinner. This day's just been a bit too much to swallow, and she and I need to talk.”

Dad folds his arms across his chest. He doesn't scold, or argue, just regards me quietly. G.o.d, I used to hate that s.h.i.+t when I was a kid. I don't particularly like it even now.

Someone raps on the door, and at my father's invitation, Chelsea pokes her head into the room. ”Dinner is ready.” Her nervous smile is more fake than Vanessa's t.i.ts.

”We'll be right there,” Dad tells her, making it clear whether it's okay for me to leave early or not.

Because I'm used to following his rules as much as my own, I don't bother to protest. Dad has always given me leeway in a lot of things, but when he makes an expectation clear, there's no arguing with it. I'm not afraid to go against my father, but I learned a long time ago not to waste energy fighting losing battles just for the sake of my pride. Pride is a cruel b.i.t.c.h, and she won't care how hard you fought on her behalf. She'll make her wounds known just the same.

Our formal dining room is just off the kitchen. As soon as I step into it, the aroma of home-cooked food draws me toward the table. Wow. This house hasn't been filled with scents like this since...well, since Mom left, really. My mouth is watering, and my stomach growls. Angel cooks for us more nights than not, but so many of those meals don't get eaten until two in the morning, when I make it back from the bar and pop it in the microwave. Plus, there's just something to be said for a traditional holiday meal that reminds you of your childhood.

Angel is already seated at the table, and I slip into the open spot next to her. The spot on my left, the head of the table, is where Dad will sit. Chelsea is directly across from me, and Warren settles next to her. Mom comes in carrying the turkey, then pauses, looking around the table. I think there are tears in her eyes.

Whatever. If she's thinking about all the holiday meals she's missed, it's her own d.a.m.n fault. Dad settles into his chair, we say a quick grace, and then the room is quiet except for polite requests to pa.s.s this or that. By the time we've all filled our plates, the silence is so complete that we can hear each other chewing. Maybe that's better than talking. Angel winces beside me when her fork sc.r.a.pes against her plate, echoing around the tense table.