Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) (34 page)

“Well.” Vincent sat quietly for a minute. Finally he got up and threw his plate away. “I guess I’ll kiss Maya good night and go on home. But maybe you should stick around and make sure our ladies are all right.”

Justus bristled at the word
our
. Well, there it was, at last: the portion of the conversation where Vincent told him what to do. Next would come some sort of recitation about how disappointed Vincent was in him, followed by the inevitable name-calling and lecture.

“I know you don’t believe it,” he barked, “but I know what Maya and Angela need and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of both of them.”

To Justus’s astonishment, Vincent didn’t lash back at him.

Instead, he flashed a smile that would almost fool a casual observer into thinking it was full of fatherly pride.

Justus stilled. What the
hell
?

“I know you are,” Vincent said. “Why else do you think I asked you?”

* * *

B
y the time
Angela got to Maya’s room, Maya was sitting up in bed, yawning and rubbing her eyes with her trusty dog by her side. Angela had to do a double take, because it was so hard to believe that Maya had been seriously ill just a few hours ago.

“Hi, sweetie.” Angela sat on the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good.” Her brow furrowed. “Aunt Ang-la?”

“Yes, Maya?” She smoothed Maya’s rumpled hair away from her face.

Maya’s wide eyes seemed to take up three-fourths of her face, and she hunched like a little turtle in need of a shell. “Are you mad at me?”

The child’s soft voice, so sweet and uncertain, made Angela’s heart ache as she pulled Maya close. “
No
.”

Maya gratefully snuggled closer, her short arms clutching Angela’s sides and her head resting on Angela’s bosom, and there was more heartbreak.

“I’m so sorry I yelled at you this morning, sweetie. Please forgive me.”

“I didn’t listen,” Maya said, her voice muffled against Angela’s blouse.

“I still shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“It’s okay.” Maya pulled away to look up at her. “Aunt Ang-la?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Can I have some juice?”

Angela had to smile. Maya was not, apparently, too sick to take advantage of the situation. Pressing her hands together as if she was praying, Maya held her breath and stared hopefully at Angela.

“
Maya
,” Angela said reproachfully. Health crisis or no, she just couldn’t let go of the rules entirely. Her genetic makeup didn’t seem to allow such deviations. “You know my position on sugary drinks.”

Maya had apparently thought of that already. “I know. But if I eat all my dinner...”

The child was obviously a born lawyer.

“Well,” Angela said, pursing her lips to make it look good, “I guess this one time won’t hurt anything.”

“Yay!” Clapping her hands, Maya scrambled out of bed, pausing only to slide her Barbie ballet house slippers on her feet. “But, Aunt Ang-la?” The girl’s expression turned grave.

“Yes, Maya?”

“No peanut butter, okay?” Maya made a face. “I don’t like peanut butter.”

* * *

“
J
ustus
, really. I’m fine,” Angela insisted. “You should go on home and get some sleep. I really don’t want to take the chance of Maya seeing us together. I’d be surprised if she slept through the whole night, and if she comes into my room...”

“I can sleep on the sofa,” Justus said, clicking off the TV.

After helping with bath time, he’d settled on the sofa while Angela got Maya to bed, a process that included a second bowl of rainbow sherbet ice cream for the girl, who seemed to be completely recovered. Huge relief. Angela, on the other hand, was strung tighter than tightrope wire. He wasn’t about to walk off and leave her to her own dark thoughts, which had her eyes shadowed and her mouth grim.

“I want to be here if either of you need anything,” he added.

Angela leaned against the archway, her arms folded across her chest in what she probably thought was a relaxed look. It wasn’t. So much tension ran through her body that she practically glowed like one of those phosphorescent cave-dwelling fish.

“
Seriously
. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you should just go home and get a good night’s sleep in your own bed.”

Yeah, okay.

Enough
.

Justus stood and tossed the remote onto the sofa. It skidded over the side and hit the floor with a hard clunk. “Really? You think I can go home and sleep well tonight? You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Angela blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Did it ever occur to you, Duchess—”

The hard edge to his voice made her wince.

“—that maybe we need each other tonight? That maybe I need you tonight as much as you need me? Or do you just not care about what I need?”

Aha. There it is
, he thought.

Angela’s defiantly independent gaze wavered for the first time. Misery—or was it plain old fear?— streaked across her face, but she decided to stick to her stupid script.

“I keep telling you I’m
fine
.”

At the word, something inside him snapped like a pulled wishbone.

“Only a heartless bitch would be fine after her niece almost died on her watch,” he said quietly. “You may have ninety-nine problems, Angela, but being a heartless bitch ain’t one.”

Angela’s low moan gave him just enough notice to leap forward and catch her as she crumpled. They sank to the floor together. Justus cradled her between his legs, leaning back against the nearest chair and pressing her head to his chest as tortured sobs racked her body.

Ah, shit
, he thought, hanging on to her as best he could even though every one of her hot tears that fell onto his chest felt as though it ripped a strip of flesh off his hide. This was bad.

This was really bad.

He rocked her, trying to keep his own surging emotions at bay.

She ruined him when she cried. Absolutely killed him.

“Shh,” he said, clearing his hoarse throat. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I-I almost killed her—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“—and she was grabbing at her throat and trying to get some air and she stared at me the whole time like she was begging me to help her, but I didn’t know what to do—”

“No.”

“—and do you want to know the funny part?” Wrenching away, Angela twisted to face him. Her face was a scary wreck of wild eyes and running makeup, and that was before she broke into the maniacal laughter. “Do—do you want to know the funny part?”

“
No
,” he said, tightening his grip on her.

“The funny part is that she shouldn’t have been asking
me
for help because I’m the one who poisoned her in the first place.
I
fed her the peanut butter!”

“
No
. No one’s to blame here. None of us knew she was allergic to peanuts—”

“But I
should’ve
known.” She dropped her head so he couldn’t see her face, but her heaving shoulders told him she was crying—or laughing—again. “That’s the whole point.”

“How?” he cried helplessly. “How could any of us have known?”

“That day I fed her peanut butter and jelly and she got hives on her face. Remember?”

The memory rushed back to him, making him gasp: Maya with angry red marks on her face. That was bad enough. Worse was the sudden realization of where Angela was going with this.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “That wasn’t your fault.”

She smiled tiredly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Of course it was. You know why? Because I have no maternal instincts.
Your
instincts are great, though.
You
wanted to take her to the doctor. Remember? And
I
talked you out of it.”

“
Angela
.” He heard the rising desperation in his voice and tried to tamp it down. “That’s the kind of judgment call every parent makes.”

She turned her face away from him. “
You
did the right thing.
Carolyn
would’ve done the right thing.
I
wouldn’t know the right thing if it bit me in the ass.”

Justus stared at her while dread uncoiled in his belly and slithered up his spine. It was like watching while she stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon, preparing to jump, and he was trapped in the car a hundred yards away.

There was nothing he could do. Anything he tried was already way too late.

But he had to try.

He smoothed her hair back and kissed her temple. “Don’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you. Neither would Carolyn.”

“Oh,
Carolyn
,” she said in a mocking little tone that made the fine hair on his arms stand on end. “Funny you should mention her. You want to know what Carolyn told me the last time I ever spoke to her?”

Justus’s heart thudded like a sledgehammer trying to get out of his chest. Angela’s toes were hanging over the edge of the canyon now, and he was still trying to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out of the car.

“It doesn’t matter what Carolyn said,” he said, desperate to stop this chain of events from unfolding. “Forget it—”

“She said I was a terrible aunt,” Angela said, staring him in the face. “That I was a self-absorbed and selfish workaholic. And she said I didn’t know anything about Maya.”

Whoa
, he thought, reeling.
Harsh
.

His mind tried to generate the image, but he just couldn’t see sweet Carolyn saying something so cruel. He had an easier time imagining Mister Rogers telling little kids to go to hell.

“Angela,” he began, “I’m sure she didn’t really—”

Angela stared at him with eyes that were now clear and calm. “She meant it. And she was right. I didn’t spend time with Maya. I didn’t try to get to know her.”

“Angela—”

“I didn’t even like her,” she said on a choked sob.

Justus tried not to recoil, but this kind of blasphemy was like a sword thrust through his heart.

He paused, trying to regroup.

“Okay, but that was then. It’s in the past. It’s
over
. When Carolyn died, all that changed. You stepped up to the plate. You took Maya in. You gave her a room and a home. It’s all good now.”

She gaped at him as if he’d told her chocolate came from dogs. “No it’s not! Don’t you get it? This morning I was rushing around, yelling at her to hurry up because she was making me late for court.”

“You had a hearing! Of course you were rushing!”

Angela just shook her head. “I’m not sure anything has changed at all. Except that I do love her. So much. She’s the most precious thing in the world.”

A wave of relief hit him hard. “See? Everything’s different now.
You’re
different now. You’ve changed.”

“I’ve changed enough to realize what’s best for her, yeah.”

The new resignation in Angela’s voice somehow scared him worse than everything she’d said up to this point. Dread quickly replaced the relief.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Angela shrugged dispassionately.

“That I was so busy trying to prove my dead sister wrong I didn’t bother thinking about what was best for Maya. Until now.” She hesitated. “I mean Maya belongs with you.”

J
ustus followed
Vincent into his library, took his usual seat in the chair opposite the desk, and watched while Vincent sank into his chair. He considered it a sign of how bad he had it for Angela that he’d come here, to the lion’s den, for help.

An insidious little idea had burrowed its way into Justus’s brain the way a rabbit tunnels through the ground. Once there, the idea had taken hold, but if he was being honest with himself, he had to admit he really didn’t want to dislodge it. And as long as he was being honest, he should also admit that although the idea solved a pressing problem, it would have eventually occurred to him anyway.

Vincent folded his hands in his lap and tried to control his amused smirk. “I didn’t know hell had frozen over today.”

“Yep.” Justus shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s all over the news.”

“So. What can I do for you?”

“I need two favors,” Justus admitted.

Vincent’s eyes widened. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Justus held up a hand, slowing things down a little. “Before you go promising things you won’t be able to deliver on, I also need to tell you I don’t want you asking a lot of questions.”

Vincent blinked twice. “Of course.”

“Well, okay.” Justus rubbed the back of his neck, which was shot through with tension. “Can Maya stay here tonight? I can bring her over right after sch—”

“Of course.”

Well, that wasn’t so hard, but it was the easier of the two favors. When had a doting grandfather ever said no to having his grandchild spend the night? Justus hesitated and broke into a fine sweat as he tried to decide how to ask for the second favor. His fidgety hands rubbed up and down his thighs several times, making a high-pitched whistling as they skimmed over the nylon of his athletic pants. Realizing what he was doing, he took a deep breath and blew it out his mouth.

Jesus, man
, he told himself.
Get a grip
.

“And I need Mom’s ruby ring.”

It took several long seconds for Vincent to process this information.

“Is it time?” he finally asked.

A fair question.

Justus thought of Angela, and his heart swelled like a dry sponge hitting water. Was it time to burn his little black book—all twelve volumes of it—and build a life with the most amazing woman he’d ever met? To come home at a decent hour and do the dishes after dinner? To put someone else’s needs before his? To embrace fiscal responsibility? To be a father and bring other children into the world as soon as possible?

With Angela by his side?

“Hell yeah,” he told Vincent. “It’s time.”

Vincent’s eyes warmed and misted. He gave a sharp nod of satisfaction as he planted his palms on his desk, got up, turned to the wall behind him, and went to work on the safe hidden behind a hinged painting. A black velvet box appeared in his hand, and he quickly shut the safe and put the picture back in its place.

Then he sat again and hesitated, his unfocused gaze staring off in the distance. Finally he brought the box to his lips.

“This is hard,” he said. “I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

Justus heard the tears in his voice, but for once his father’s show of emotion over his mother didn’t infuriate him. It made him sad and bewildered. Had Vincent really loved her, then?

“Take your time,” he said.

Blinking furiously, Vincent came back online. “Well.” He opened the box and held it for Justus to see under the green glass of his banker’s lamp.

Justus’s heart twisted, making him gasp. Vincent was right: this was
hard
. H-A-R-D. There was something deeply unsettling about seeing his mother’s ruby ring without also seeing his mother. He’d gotten used to seeing Carolyn wear Mom’s diamond anniversary ring over the years, but this was somehow different.

This was...

Shit, man.

Hanging his head, he used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his eyes. When his vision cleared, he looked objectively at the ruby and diamond ring that would surely cover the entire bottom third of Angela’s finger.

Even though he was no expert on jewelry, Justus could see what a work of art it was. The shape reminded him of the way a child draws a flower, with a large central oval ringed by eight loop-de-loop circles for the petals. But saying the ring looked like a flower was like saying the ocean looked like many drops of water. If forced at gunpoint, Justus couldn’t begin to describe its magic—the flaming, bloody red of the ruby and the icy clarity and rainbow brilliance of the diamonds.

Normally Justus would roll his eyes with disgust and snort at such an outrageous display of conspicuous consumption. What woman, in good conscience, could wear this...this
mineral
, when she could sell it and buy a lovely four bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath house for some deserving needy family instead?

But staring at the ring now, his mind on the woman who’d hopefully wear it, he could only think one thing:
I hope it’s good enough for her
.

“I bought this for your mother after I settled my second big case,” Vincent said. Leaning back in his chair, he propped his feet on the desk and crossed his ankles. “I paid off the mortgage with the first settlement.” He chuckled. “She about died when she saw it. Cried and said it was too much and we needed to save for college.” Turning, he winked at Justus. “But that ring stayed on her finger until the day she died.”

Justus remembered. The fiery ring had perfectly complemented his mother’s understated elegance. Sometimes, as much as he hated to admit it, he had trouble seeing her face, but he could always remember her delicate hands with the flashing ring. What other kid’s mother wore a ruby while she rolled out a piecrust or Play-Doh?

“I know, Pops.”

Lost in his thoughts, Vincent studied the ring, turning it this way and that under the lamp. Justus studied his father. The harsh light was not flattering. Vincent’s eyes looked hollow, his skin waxy, and his jaw gaunt. Almost skeletal. His face sagged, as if the weight of his memories, good and bad, was too much for him.

“Ah, well.” With the delicacy and precision of a technician disarming a bomb, Vincent closed the box, pressing both halves together so they didn’t snap. “It’ll be nice to see it on a woman’s hand again.”

He held the box out to Justus, but when Justus reached across the desk for it, Vincent’s arm drew back and he touched the box to his lips again.

“I wish—” Vincent’s voice cracked like a preteen boy’s, and he broke off.

Justus shifted awkwardly in his chair, too fascinated to look away. In his entire life he couldn’t ever remember his father voluntarily sharing any vulnerability with him.

Nostrils flaring, Vincent took several deep breaths. “I wish I’d known I didn’t have forever to be with her.”

He got quickly to his feet and walked around the desk and past Justus’s chair, pressing the box into Justus’s hand as he went. “Give it to Angela with my blessings. Now if you’ll excuse—”

“I’m not sure...”

Pausing, Vincent turned and quirked one tufted white brow, genuine concern written all over his face. “Not sure about what, son?”

Slumping back in his chair, Justus stared up at the beamed ceiling and wondered what stupid impulse had made him open his big mouth. He was not, to say the least, in the habit of confiding in Vincent. But he may as well admit it, to himself if no one else: he was petrified. He, Justus Robinson, who’d slung more women’s panties over his shoulder than almost anyone he knew, was terrified that, once he finally got up the nerve to ask her, Angela would reject him. Why wouldn’t she? God knew she rejected him on just about everything else.

As a betting man, Justus had to put his odds at about fifty-fifty, if that. Sure, Angela was fond of him. Sure, they had phenomenal sex. But she’d never claimed to love him, and he knew a woman like Angela would
never
marry someone she didn’t love.

And even if she
did
love him, Justus wasn’t anything like Ron. He wasn’t a doctor, lawyer, or accountant, and he never would be. If Angela wanted to spend her evenings sitting around discussing the law and politics and other matters of Great Interest, then she was sorely out of luck with Justus.

Plus, he was seven years younger than she was. She’d never really mentioned that fact, but what if she thought Justus was too immature for her? What the hell would he do then? He couldn’t very well age himself like they did to the children on all the soaps.

“Justus?” Vincent said quietly. “Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t okay. He was afraid. More afraid than he’d been of losing Maya to Angela. More afraid than he was of financial failure with the club. Staring up into his father’s sympathetic face, he revealed his worst vulnerability:

“I’m not sure she’ll say yes.”

“Ah.” Vincent nodded with complete understanding, as though he believed that only fools would be unafraid at a time like this. Then he leaned in and clapped Justus on the shoulder, marking the first time Justus could remember Vincent voluntarily touching him in more than ten years.

“You can trust me on this, Justus.” Vincent squeezed Justus’s shoulder. “You may have to ask her more than once, but she’ll say yes. Don’t you worry.”

* * *

T
hat night after work
, Angela sat brooding on the steps of the wide, curved staircase in Carolyn’s house, her back to the wall. She’d flicked on a couple of lights, including the foyer lamp, but the house didn’t feel creepy, much to her surprise. She felt oddly comforted, as if Carolyn was closer here, which was, of course, the reason she’d come. Maybe if Angela sat quietly enough, listened hard enough, and concentrated enough, Carolyn would give her some sign she was doing the right thing by giving Maya to Justus.

Angela sat quietly, holding her breath and waiting.

Nothing happened.

Which meant she was wasting her time.

She was just about to stand and give her back a little relief when she heard a car pull into the driveway. Within seconds, a key turned in the door and she watched as Justus let himself inside.

Her pulse rate ticked higher. Ten years and all these weeks later, she still hadn’t gotten over the breathless excitement she always felt whenever Justus walked into the room. Tonight’s moody intensity in his eyes deepened the usual air of danger that surrounded him.

“Hi.” He pocketed the keys and leaned back against the door. “Looks like I found your hiding place.”

“Who’s hiding? We need to list the house, and I—”

One heavy brow slid toward his hairline in open challenge. “You’re not going to waste my time and deny it, are you?”

That shut her up. Unable to meet the weight of his gaze, she looked to the living room, the polished hardwood floor, her lap—anywhere but in his speculative, intense eyes.

Smoothing her dress over her knees, she finally said, “How was your day?”

“Okay, I guess.” His hands slid into the pockets of his jeans. “I called the school about thirty times to check on Maya.”

“Yeah.” She smiled grimly. “So did I. Where is she?”

“My dad’s. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.”

She watched warily as he came closer, sat on the step at her feet, and leaned against the railing. A crowded, claustrophobic feeling made her wrap her arms around her legs, as close to the fetal position as she could get.

The hard glitter in his eyes told her she’d irritated him.

“I’m not going to bite, Angela.”

“I know. But I don’t want you to try to talk me out of what I’ve decided. And I don’t want to fight with you.”

His jaw tightened. Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back until it also rested against the railing. “What happened at the meeting with your boss?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged impatiently. They had raging forest fires to put out. Who cared about the smoldering ashes of her career?

“He didn’t fire me outright. He offered me a transfer to the D.C. office.”

Justus’s head jerked upright. His eyes flew open. “You’re not
leaving
?”

He may have tacked a question mark on the end of his sentence for form’s sake, but she knew—and hated—a command when she heard one. Anyway, they had far more important things to discuss.

She waved a hand. “I told him I’d think about it.”

His brows sank over his wide, shocked eyes, as if he’d just seen her steal a car and wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

“Justus, we have more important things to talk about,” she said. “We need to figure out how to tell Maya she’s going to live with you, and—”

“No.” His voice, which was as adamant as it was angry, cracked through the air like a sonic boom. “We’re not
us
and
them
anymore, Angela. We’re
us
. We can work this out another way.”

She saw no reason for and couldn’t understand his determined optimism. “How?” she asked irritably. “We can’t both adopt her, and I can’t see any other way—”

“I can.” For the first time, his gaze wavered. He swallowed hard. A deep flush crept over his cheeks as the silence stretched. “I know a perfect solution.”

“What?”