Forever My Angel Part 3

For the first time today, I realize I'm in trouble. Like, big trouble. My girl is not happy, and I didn't know. The elation of this morning, when she said she was ready to marry me, is gone, crushed into a fine dust that clogs the air and makes it hard to breathe. How did I not know she was feeling like this? I don't deserve to be her husband.

"I don't know," I say quietly.

"Me either." She resumes staring out the window, and the ocean between us grows wider.

I should tell her I'm sorry. Or thank her. Or, f.u.c.k, I don't know. Everything I consider sounds lame and contrived in my head. I still haven't said anything by the time we pull up in front of the apartment, and she hasn't either.

Not while she turns the key, unlocking the apartment.

Not until she steps inside, a few strides ahead of me.

And then she screams.

I can't get through the door to her fast enough, and then I'm at her side, scanning for the danger. It's pretty f.u.c.king obvious as soon as I look for it. The end table is knocked over, the lamp it used to support in pieces. Couch cushions have been displaced. The comfortable chair Angel likes to curl up in when she reads is sitting at a funny angle. Every drawer in the kitchen sits open, or has been pulled out onto the floor. And that's just in this room.

Angel's hand finds mine, and she's squeezing hard enough I think she might cut off my circulation. I immediately pull her with me, out of the apartment. I glance at the door jamb as we go, and my heart nearly stops. There are obvious marks of forced entry. If I hadn't had my head stuck so far up my a.s.s thinking about the s.h.i.t between me and Angel, I would have noticed it.

"Wait." Her voice wavers. "Molly!" she calls out, planting her feet and refusing to follow me any further than the hallway.

Of all the times for her to be f.u.c.king stubborn. I want to tell her that we'll worry about the dog later, but while I can prioritize, I know for d.a.m.n sure Angel will worry about the dog now. I sigh, unable to curb my irritation. Angel flashes me an angry look of her own. This day from h.e.l.l is never going to end. "Go down and let yourself into Mrs. Peters' townhouse if she doesn't open the door. I'll look for Molly and then I'll be right there."

I try to take a mental inventory of the things that might be missing as I search, calling softly for Molly. It's hard because so much of the stuff here is Chelsea's, not ours. I'm getting angrier by the minute. Angry at Angel about my mom, angry that I've got to find the d.a.m.n dog instead of holding Angel close, angry at the motherf.u.c.kers who've made this night worse by breaking in. And angry at myself for letting things spiral so out of control.

I find Molly in the linen closet, huddled behind a stack of towels. Oh thank G.o.d. Her and Angel have a bond, and if anything had happened to her... I don't even want to think about it. Angel is safe. Molly is safe. Everything is going to be okay. Once I've scooped the pup up into my arms, I take her down to Mrs. Peters' place. She huffs lightly against my cheek, soft fur and warm puppy breath mixing together to ease some of my anxiety as Molly gives me a tentative lick.

"Molly!" Angel cries out, darting forward to take the whining, wriggling pup from my arms. She immediately presses a million kisses to the dog's forehead. Well, I'm sure she's glad that I didn't encounter the robber still hiding in the townhouse or something, too, right? She just knew that as a big, strong man I can take care of myself.

More likely, the dog just ranks a h.e.l.l of a lot higher on her apeople and things I like' list than I do today.

Mrs. Peters pats my arm. "Don't take it to heart, dear." She gives me a knowing smile. "We called the police. They're en route."

They weren't going to be my first call, but I'm glad just the same. If I had to guess, Mrs. Peters probably insisted. My phone is to my ear, but my eyes don't leave Angel. What if whoever it was had broken in this morning, before she left to head to the farm? She was here alone and unprotected. And then there's the question I'm sure we're both thinking, even if neither of us want to voice it: did Nick do this? He's in prison, but sometimes it seems like people in prison have awfully long arms. Long enough to reach out and f.u.c.k with those they think have wronged them.

If I dwell too much about how much worse this could have been, I might f.u.c.king break. I've got to harden my heart and just handle s.h.i.t.

"What?" Kevin answers, brusque as ever.

"I need you. There's been a break-in at the townhouse. Locals are en route."

"I'm at Lexi's. It'll take me an hour."

"See you in forty minutes."

He doesn't argue, we just disconnect the call, and then all I can do is wait. I'm afraid to ask Angel if she's okay. I don't want her to feel like I think of her as weak or helpless. I keep my focus on handling the situation, that if she needs to lean against me she'll let me know.

When they arrive, I take the officers through the house one room at a time. Angel trails silently behind us, Molly pressed close to her chest. She hasn't put the dog down since I handed her over. I'm not quite sure who's comforting who.

"Mr. Chadwell, would it be possible to get Ms. Arnold over here? It would really help if she could identify more of what is or isn't missing. If we don't catch this guy pretty quickly, odds are we won't, and the more information we have the easier that will be."

"Of course. I'll call her right now." I step a few feet away from them so I'll be able to hear, keeping an eye on Angel. She's stroking Molly's fur, but her eyes are bright, though a bit fearful. She isn't shaking or crying, so I think she's doing okay.

I hang up when I reach Chelsea's voicemail, rather than leaving a message that she probably won't check until morning. I'll just try her again in a few minutes.

She doesn't answer the second time I call either, and by the third time I'm getting worried. After the fourth time her chipper greeting invites me to leave a message, I start to freak. This is not like her at all. I mean s.h.i.t, after the day I've had, I'd sort of thought she might have expected my call. We've always been close, and we talk all the d.a.m.n time. About her shopping trips and her fights with her mother, about everything that's not important for any other reason than that it matters to her. And we talked until I couldn't utter another word when Angel first disappeared, which seems like so long ago. Anytime something happens, good or bad, I want to share it with my sister. I hope someday she'll decide to dream bigger than a bartender, and then she'll have important things to share too, rather than just trivial ones. But for all the talking we do, how is it that the one time I need her to she won't pick up her d.a.m.n phone? And h.e.l.l, why wasn't she already dialing my number to check on me?

"She isn't answering," I tell the officer. Angel's brow furrows. She knows as well as I do that this isn't normal behavior for Chelsea. "I think I better go seea" Before I can finish that statement, the phone lights up in my hand and "Barbie Girl" begins to play. The officer smirks, but I don't care.

"There you are! I was worried." I have zero shame in telling my sister I was concerned about her.

Chelsea is clearly distracted. She's on the phone with me, but I don't know where her mind is. "Sorry, had my phone on silent."

I could throttle her. Maybe someday she'll care enough about someone to have half a clue what it's like to worry when they don't pick up the phone. "Cut that s.h.i.t out. I worry about you."

"You worry about everyone. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." I know she likes to think she can, but she doesn't have any clue just how breakable she is. She's fierce, sure, but what does she think she's going to do? Scratch someone's eyes out with her cherry-red nails? No. I know, she thinks she'll just solve any trouble that comes her way with her magical rusty spoon. Well, she can keep her delusions while I watch her back.

"I need you to come over to your townhouse." Exasperation creeps into my tone.

"Just take a deep breath and try to relax. I'll come by in the morning."

I didn't want to scare her over the phone, but as usual she's being difficult. "I need you to come now. Listen, don't freak, but someone broke into your house tonight, anda"

"aI'll have to call you back." There's a short beep in my ear, followed by a dial tone.

I'm going to f.u.c.king kill her. As soon as I make sure she's safe, I'm going to kill her.

Chapter Seven.

a-aa- "I'll just stay here and start cleaning up the mess," Angel says with a weary sigh.

I don't have time to argue with her. I need to go to the bar and shake some sense into Chelsea, then drag her back here with me. My patience with my two girls has grown so thin tonight, it's nonexistent. The officers are finishing up processing the scene, and my dingbat sister hasn't called back. What part of aI was worried and there was a d.a.m.n break-in' did she not comprehend?

"Get your coat, Angel."

She doesn't argue or fight me on it. She just nods and lowers her eyes. Mrs. Peters pats Angel's arm. "Just leave Miss Molly with me. We'll keep each other company until you get back."

We're about to leave when Chelsea finally calls me back. Before I can even yell at her, she tells me there's been a break-in at the bar, too. I confer briefly with the officers, letting them know about the second breech, and they a.s.sure me they'll speak with the neighboring precinct right away. Yeah right. Then I hurry Angel to my Denali and break every speed limit between the townhouse and the bar, arriving in record time.

I spend most of the drive on the phone with Kevin, who's running about twenty minutes behind me. We go over what we know, which is very little at this point. The rest of the time, my mind spins with what-ifs.

As soon as I pull into the parking lot, I stop the truck beside Angel's Mustang and throw it into park. The lot is relatively full, considering the late hour: police cruisers, unmarked sedans, and Ware's truck. What in the world is he doing here? If he came to hara.s.s Chelsea, I'm going to hara.s.s his a.s.s with my foot.

I can't make it through the door fast enough. I need to see with my own eyes that Chelsea is okay. A chair falls off one of the tables as I make my way through, b.u.mping into my hip. I grunt in pain, but keep going. Chelsea's standing near the bar, deep in conversation with Ware and an officer. Both of the men move aside as soon as they see me making a very obvious path to Chelsea's side.

Chelsea ignores me, though, instead looking past me, over my shoulder. Her eyes narrow. "Are you okay?" she asks Angel.

I glance behind me, belatedly realizing Angel hasn't spoken a single word since we found out there was a second break-in. And she didn't argue about coming with me; she just quietly followed orders, doing as she was told.

Oh, s.h.i.t. I'm a giant a.s.shole.

Angel briefly lifts her eyes to me before dropping them to the floor. "We weren't there when they broke in, and it looks like Molly hid in the closet."

Before I can apologize for the way I've been acting, Chelsea goes into hurricane mode. "You!" She points her finger at my chest. "Get the f.u.c.k over your mommy issues and stop blaming one of the only two people in the world who will alwaysaalwaysahave your back. Anyone who knows you, knows you wanted to see your mom again, and Tess loves you enough to make it happen. She might have gone about it wrong, but she did it for you. Do you know how many men come crying in here because their girlfriend, wife, whatever, can't get along with their precious mommy? She's making an effort to do something most men can only dream of, and you're too big of a fool to f.u.c.king see it. So get over yourself, quit your sniveling, and tell her thank you before you scare her away. Then, have some d.a.m.n sense and realize how freaked out she is."

Like I said, Chelsea goes along with things until she needs to defend someone she cares about, or she can point out something stupid that I'm doing. Clearly, this is one of those times.

My jaw drops, and so does the officer's and Ware's. I should be embarra.s.sed they saw that, but I'm too embarra.s.sed that I didn't see how much I was hurting Angel without having to have it pointed out. I'm s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g everything up today, and if what Angel said earlier is any indication, I've been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up for a while. There are no words that can make it right.

I find Angel's eyes with my own, hoping my expression shows how much I love her. Her returned gaze is tentative at first, but it warms as the tension leaves her body. She slips her small, soft hand into mine, and it's like suddenly I can breathe again. The world rights itself on its axis a bit, and I know things are going to be okay. More importantly, I know Angel and I are going to be okay. Whatever the h.e.l.l is going on here at the bar, and with my momawith everything, reallyawe'll face it together.

Chelsea ruins my moment by taking Angel by the shoulders and claiming her attention. "And you. You are stronger than this, okay? I don't think it's Nickaand I know that's what you're thinking. But he's in jail, and even if it is him, you're safe. Axel will not let anything happen to you. You don't need to be afraid."

Angel nods, but I don't think any of us are convinced.

And holy h.e.l.l. Chelsea just said everything I was thinking but was afraid to say. Why can Chelsea say all these things without Angel accusing her of thinking she's weak or helpless? If I'd said it, she probably would have claimed that I didn't trust her, or that I was babying her. Girls. f.u.c.king impossible. And yet I can't help the tiny smile that forces its way to my lips.

"I mean it," Chelsea says, giving Angel a brief hug. "It's okay to cry, but you can't crumble."

Angel's voice is stronger when she responds. "I've been doing better."

"I know you have. Don't let this get you down. I think we're all a little freaked. It's to be expected." Chelsea shoots me a warning glance over Angel's shoulder, making sure I won't contradict her.

Not that I would anyway, because she's right. It's completely okay to be freaked out right now. I think any sane person would be.

The officer tries to get Chelsea's attention. "Ma'am? I need to finish getting your statement. Perhaps the gentleman herea"

Time for me to take charge. My girls have obviously been pulling the weightaI need to remember to thank Chelsea laterabut they, and this bar, are my responsibility. I stick my hand out. "Axel Chadwell. I'm the owner."

The officer nods wearily as he takes my hand. "Right. An acquaintance of mine down at the 18th Precinct radioed over and said you were on your way. I understand there was a break-in at your home tonight as well?"

"It's rented in her name, but I'm staying there." I point to Chelsea.

"Right. If you'd just take a look around, start making a list of anything missing or out of the ordinary. I'll be with you after I finish taking Ms. Randall's statement."

There's only one thing blatantly out of the ordinary: Ware.

I peer hard at him, trying to get a feel for what it is that I'm missing. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here? Dad said you weren't moving in until next week after you get things arranged back wherever."

Ware looks to Chelsea. "There was something I needed to do first."

Chelsea looks like she's about to jump out of her skin. I knew she wouldn't like having him here. "He doesn't mean me! He just wanted to talk to me, not do me."

I manage not to laugh. Like I'd think otherwise.

Ware is smirking; at me or Chelsea, I'm not sure. Either way it rubs me wrong. "When she left your dad's, I was fairly certain Chelsea here thought she was being forced out of the apartment upstairs. I wanted to make sure she knew that wasn't the case."

I narrow my eyes at my sister. "Chelsea knows better than that. Right? Not that I'm happy about you being here either. But she knows I'd never let anyone push her aside." Aside from Angel, Chelsea means more to me than anyone, and she better know it.

"Whatever. We're good, and all that matters right now is figuring out who broke in and why." Chelsea brushes Ware's words aside, and I take it as a sign that I'm right and he's wrong. Chelsea knows exactly how important she is to me, and Ware can b.u.t.t the f.u.c.k out.

Angel shifts on her feet beside me. "How'd you know she lived upstairs?" She's looking at Ware funny.

"Tucker told me."

I'm barely listening to them. My brain is still reeling; not from my mother showing up, and not from two of the properties connected to me being broken into in one day, but from how much I nearly screwed things up with Angel. It's all I can do not to pull her ring out of my pocket, drop to one knee, and propose right this d.a.m.n minute. I need to make her mineaaforever' mine, not just afor now' mine. I need to stand beside her in front of G.o.d and our families, and promise to be whatever she needs, whenever she needs it. But while that would make me feel so much better, it wouldn't be fair to her. It would only be for my benefit. She deserves the world, and if she'll let me I'll give it to her. Starting with the perfect proposal.

I pull her to the side, away from everyone else. Ever so lightly, I run the tip of one of my thumbs along her lower lip. She sighs, her lips parting, and I lean down and softly kiss her. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my mouth still pressed lightly against hers.

"I know."

"I'll make an effort with my mother if it will make you happy." I kiss her again, and I feel her lips smile against mine.

"It would. But you could start by making an effort with your brother."

I groan.

"Please?"

Her body presses closer to mine, and I know I'm going to say yes. I can't deny her anything she asks for.

"For you? Anything."

"Good. Go, do what you need to. Talk with the officers, Kevin, whatever. I'll start picking up the mess behind the bar so that when you're done with them, you can take me home and I can show how appreciative I am." She practically purrs, and I briefly consider just taking her home now. She laughs, reading my mindaor maybe I'm just predictable. "Go," she says again.

Kevin's just arrived, so I do as she says and start the long process of going through the bar inch by inch.

My cell rings, and I take the call in my office. It's the officers from across town, letting me know they're finishing up at the townhouse. I'm half listening to them, and half listening to Kevin. He, Ware, and Chelsea have crowded into my office.

"Unless you find money or other valuablesalike maybe alcoholamissing, I'm inclined to believe the break-in here was not about theft, but about fact finding. And since you all didn't surprise them and interrupt their search, they most likely found what they were looking for, or something they deemed more valuable."

Kevin's probably referring to the employee records that were left scattered on my desk. But why are they valuable? For identify theft, maybe?

I hang up my phone and face my sister. "The officers are done at the townhouse. No fingerprints other than mine, Tess's, and some that they're a.s.suming belong to you and Dougie. You'll both need to go be printed to be sure, but whoever it was, they were in and out without leaving a trace." Chelsea looks like she'd rather swallow rat poison. "Don't worry, I'll contact Dougie about it. You don't have to. I need to talk to him about his rea.s.signment anyway. But I do need you to come over in the morning to help figure out what's missing."

"Is there anything missing here?"

I frown at Ware. "Not that it's any of your business, but not much. A few bottles of alcohol. Some cleaning supplies that the officer said teens are using for DIY highs. Stupid, really." And with the vast amounts of liquor behind the bar, the fact that only a few bottles are missing is shocking.

"So the officer thinks this was just kids causing trouble?"

Chelsea pokes her head out of my office, likely to make sure Angel isn't in earshot, then answers, "Kids would've left prints. They never would have been this precise. Did Nick do this?"