Soul Weaver (18 page)
“Is everything okay with him?” She gave an amused smile. “He almost popped the balloons jerking them through the door on his way out.”
“I think I screwed things up.” Chloe hated the thought. “He asked what I was doing this weekend and instead of being civil or acting like a normal person, I attacked him for wanting to help me.” She stared at her feet, wiggled the toes of her shoes. “I’m used to being ignored by men. Being invisible I can handle, but Nathaniel shines a spotlight on me. He looks at me and I… worry what he sees.”
She thumped her forehead on the metal rim of the sink for emphasis.
Neve chuckled. “I doubt one little spat will run him off. You should have seen the way he charged up the stairs and ran right to you. He wouldn’t even let me get close.”
“Really?” She liked the idea more than she probably should. “I must have screamed bloody murder for him to hear me all the way from out there.”
She laughed but Neve didn’t.
“You didn’t scream,” she said slowly, as if only now realizing it. “You went to the window and you passed out. The next thing I knew, he was coming up the stairs and taking charge.” She glanced at Chloe. “I wonder how he knew?”
“I don’t know.” He always seemed to know too much where she was concerned.
Neve’s frown relaxed. “Oh. I forgot. Nathaniel’s brother must have changed his mind. I told them to call me if they wanted another plate fixed. Nathaniel must have come looking for me when he found us in the kitchen.”
“Yeah.” Chloe suppressed a shudder. “That must be it.”
The man had luck on his side for sure, and a boatload of convenient answers. He hadn’t mentioned a brother, either. Though it made sense they would meet to discuss concerns for Bran.
“Speaking of the weekend…” Neve leaned an elbow on the counter and grinned at Chloe. “Are we still on? I was thinking tonight worked better than tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”
“Of course.” Her cheeks stretched in a matching grin despite the headache still thumping in her skull. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”
“Not quite.” She gave a sly look. “I guess we’ll just have to do this again sometime between now and when the fair comes.”
Chloe beamed. “Well, I guess we do have a responsibility to the public. I mean, we want only the highest quality plastic frogs and yo-yos.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you want something to drink?” She coughed into her hand. Her mouth tasted foul from the pill clinging to the back of her throat. She barely lasted through the sound of Nathaniel’s footsteps fading before she popped the one in her pocket. “I made some sweet tea this morning.”
Neve’s nose wrinkled. “No thanks, I’m good.” She pulled Chloe upright. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about waiting on other people. You don’t even need to be on your feet.”
Before Chloe took offense at the snub to her tea-making skills, Neve turned her around and shoved her toward the living room. “What is it with you two and the mothering routine?”
“We care about you.” They reached the couch and she pressed down on Chloe’s shoulder until she sat. “Since I don’t have to worry about losing make-out rights if I tick you off, unlike Nathaniel, I get to be the one who tells you like it is.” Her expression gentled. “You had a rough day. It’s hot. You obviously don’t feel well and you have guy stress on you too. That adds up to me handling closing and you taking a break.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Between her weak knees and the hand pinning her in place, she couldn’t rise.
“Yes, I do.” Neve tossed a pillow to her. “It’s what friends do. We take care of each other when we’re too caught up in the drama of life to take care of ourselves.”
Retrieving a small fan from the kitchen, Neve plugged it in and set the dial to oscillate. Her fingers drummed the plastic top until Chloe lay down and folded her hands over her stomach.
“Good enough?”
“Stay down,” Neve warned. “I’ll be up to check on you in a little bit.”
“Thanks.” She turned onto her side. The living room was hotter than she had cared to admit to Nathaniel. She should have fought Neve about how much cooler she would be in the store than in her living room, but her eyes were already growing heavy.
In the past week, she had netted more sleep than in the last year combined. Her body must have tallied every second lost and planned to force her into repaying the tab.
Sinking into the worn cushions, she hit a comfortable spot and tossed her afghan over the back. The only lump in her road to sleep wasn’t on the couch but on her conscience. Regardless of how certain Neve was that Nathaniel would forgive her, she had a hard time excusing her behavior. He’d absorbed a lot without blinking an eye, and he deserved kinder treatment than she’d given him.
Come Monday morning, she would give him an explanation of her condition and an answer to his question. His concern deserved a measure of trust in return. Without the pressure of his presence, she could reflect, and she decided she was willing to give him that small token of faith.
Her tired eyes closed. Chloe wished she had his phone number. Now that she thought about it, she had no way to contact him. No address, no phone number, nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
The thought lingered, then seemed to echo and fade away as sleep claimed her.
Nathaniel prowled the halls of the medical wing at the Order’s compound, ready to lash out at the first person foolish enough to ask what he was doing in the restricted area. His spat with Chloe had him spoiling for a good fight. Just his luck, no one met his gaze or even glanced in his direction.
He rounded a corner and spotted a door with a medical chart clipped to the front. It appeared to be the only room in use. He paused with a hand on the doorknob and skimmed the top sheet where
Bran Berwyn
was scribbled in a looping scrawl. Yeah, he’d come to the right place.
Braced for the worst, Nathaniel sucked in a sharp breath before he entered the room. When he found Bran sitting upright, he exhaled with relief. “So I hear you’re going to live after all.”
Bran winced when he turned his head. “That’s what Hannah tells me.” Blinking his eyes, he seemed to test their focus. “What the hell is that?”
Battling the fistful of balloons through the tight doorway, Nathaniel gathered them as best he could, then presented the cluster to Bran. “A gift from a friend.”
His brow furrowed. “A friend of yours or a friend of mine?”
“A friend of mine.”
Bran plucked the card from his bear’s paws, then lay back against the pillows, taking the baby blue envelope with him, while Nathaniel set the bear on a tray beside the bed.
He took a seat and waited, but Bran’s gaze remained riveted to his card. “You’re staring so hard, your eyes are crossing. Do you need help reading it?”
The card lowered as Bran glanced between it and him. “It says, ‘I hope you can run home soon.’ ” His eyebrows rose. “There’s a gift card for twenty dollars and a coupon for a free ice-cream cone in here.”
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair and laughed through the absurdity of it all.
“I don’t get it.” Bran flipped the card over. “Is this a joke? Or am I so high on pain medication I don’t get what’s so funny?”
“It’s no joke,” Nathaniel said. “You had a handful of zeros shaved off your age.”
Bran angled his head to one side as he entered a staring match with the stuffed toy, as if he couldn’t decide what to make of his gift. “Is there a reason your friend thinks I’m Little League material?”
“My friend thinks I’m human. That makes you human by default.”
Bran faced him with no small amount of effort. “This woman?” He checked the card. “Chloe?”
“Yes.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “That’s why you wanted time away from harvesting.”
It looked like Saul wasn’t the only one with a nose for gossip.
“She’s part of the reason.” Nathaniel smoothed a hand over his scalp. “It’s complicated.”
“It sounds serious,” Bran teased.
“It is.” Deadly serious. “I wanted you to know so if Saul comes around…”
“I won’t let it slip by accident?” Bran stared at the ceiling. “He can’t pump me for information I don’t have.”
It pained Nathaniel how quickly Bran jumped to his same conclusions. “I didn’t want you to feel left out.”
He chuckled, then flinched from the pain in his ribs. “Is this an aunt introduction, then?” He tapped the card across his palm. “She sounds like a very sweet, if misguided, lady.”
“You can’t imagine.” Nathaniel was surprised how much he was enjoying talking to Bran about Chloe. There wasn’t much information he could share without endangering Bran, but even their light banter relaxed him. “I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”
“Well, give me the details. Tall or short? Light or dark?”
“She’s short and dark,” he answered automatically.
“That’s the best you can do?” Bran slapped his card across Nathaniel’s forehead. “You’re making her sound like a latte.”
With a scowl, Nathaniel elaborated. “The top of her head reaches my chest and her hair is brown,
chestnut
, and her eyes are dark, like chocolate. Satisfied?”
“Very.” Bran’s expression turned smug. “You proved my point for me. You have got it
bad
.” He rolled his eyes. “I like how you ran with my food analogy but ‘chestnut’ hair and ‘dark chocolate’ eyes, really?”
“Who has chocolate?” Hannah, the Order’s physician, strolled into the room and butted right into their conversation.
Her thumbs were hooked in the back pockets of her jeans, and the pose thrust her breasts forward in a way that strained the thin black material of her navy tank top. A stethoscope hanging around her neck was the only indication of her profession, but the quarter-sized angel wings nestled against her spine marked her as Nephilim.
All Nephilim suffered birth defects, some less obvious or more attractive than others.
“Nathaniel’s girlfriend, that’s who. Apparently that’s what color her eyes are.” Bran smirked. “Who knew he had it in him to become all poetic about a woman’s looks?”
“I sure didn’t.” Hannah eyed the colossal mass on the bedside table. “What the hell is that?”
Bran sounded amused. “It’s a gift from Chloe.” He winked at Nathaniel. “If she keeps this up, she’ll be my aunt in no time.”
Nathaniel’s cheeks burned. “I never said that. She’s my
friend
. That’s all. Just a friend.”
“With ‘chestnut’ hair.” Bran’s mood seemed lighter, more boyish and carefree, than it had in ages. The drugs were definitely in effect, wiping away his worries. It was a good look for him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t go through life hooked to a morphine drip. “I wonder where I can find one of those?”
“If you mean a woman who makes you see color in shades of L’Oréal, check any street corner in Mercerville.”
Both men’s attention converged on Hannah.
Bran sat a little straighter. “I would appreciate it if you kept your comments civil where Chloe is concerned.”
“Sorry. It was a joke.” She reached for Bran’s arm where an IV pierced his skin.
“You’re being cruel, Hannah, and you know it.” He stared at her, waiting.
“I said I was sorry.” She set her jaw. “I wish you happiness, Nate, really. You deserve it.”
Bran tucked his arm at his side, then glanced at Nathaniel. “How long will you be staying?”
“I’m here until Monday or until you’re up and walking.”
Despite his nephew’s bravado, Bran needed him, and Chloe needed time for the raw edge of her pain and embarrassment to fade. A weekend apart was a good thing, but damn if he knew how he would endure it without seeing her. He supposed if he could survive a week in Dis, then he could make it another forty-eight hours without Chloe. He hoped he lasted that long.
Bran turned back to Hannah. “Can we do the checkup later? I need to finish talking to my uncle.”
She cast Nathaniel a warning glance that said visiting hours were over. “Fine.”
He watched her leave. “I get the feeling I missed something there.”
Bran slumped against his pillow as if the argument had sapped all of his strength. “It’s nothing. She’s just jealous. I could have handled the situation better, though. I know she has a thing for you, and teasing her wasn’t fair.”
Even drugged up, Bran remained more diplomatic than most of their kin managed on their best days. “You were pumped full of pain medication. Hannah will forgive you.”
“You mean after she makes me pay for snapping at her?” He snorted, then winced. “Probably.” He rubbed his face. “I can’t swear to it, but it seems like Reuel swung by earlier. I’m pretty sure he was looking for Saul.”
Nathaniel leaned forward. “Any idea why?”
Bran stifled a sigh. “Why does anyone ever look for him?”
“Good point.” Still, it made Nathaniel curious. “If Reuel’s after Saul, it’s probably to do with money he’s owed from the last card game. We broke up the party before anyone cashed out their chips.”
Bran frowned. “I can’t see Reuel needing the money.”
“He doesn’t.” Nathaniel smirked. “He took a bet he could earn enough playing cards to live on for a year.”
At the rate Reuel was mooching, Nathaniel thought he just might make it.
“Ah.” Bran exhaled. “Now that sounds more like Reuel.”
“He loves a good challenge.” Be it women or money or damn near anything else.
“So does Saul. Good luck to Reuel.” Bran sounded grim. “I doubt he’ll see a dime of that money. Saul isn’t big on keeping his word.”
Nathaniel regretted probing an old wound but wondered if there was another reason Reuel had come here looking for Saul. “Has Saul been by?”
“Hannah told me he brought me here.” Bran looked puzzled by the fact. “I’m guessing that’s why Reuel stopped by.”
“I’m sure it was.” Nathaniel kept quiet about how he’d been surprised by the offer when Saul made it.
“I had this dream about Saul…” Bran’s lips pressed together. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t real.” Bran settled lower into his bed, a sullen mask slipping over his features. “Family. Can’t live with them, can’t throw them into a soul pit.”