Page 3 of His Relentless Angel

“He’s too old for me now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t dance and hug and—”

“That’s exactly what it means. I’m not saying this to hurt you, but you need to know that he’s mentioned how uncomfortable he is about your crush. It would be best if you…if you left him alone.”

Because this is supposed to be one of the happiest days of Shayla’s life, I don’t scream at her to shut up like I would if she were Autumn. I don’t want to spoil her wedding by being overly dramatic, as my family sometimes calls me, so I turn sideways to hug her and change the topic.

“I’m so happy for you and James. I’m even going to miss you a little.”

Shayla laughs as she extends the hug. “Only a little?”

“We have a lot more room without you and Lainey taking up all our space. As soon as you moved out, I put up a curtain between my side and Autumn’s and can almost pretend she isn’t there.” I lean back. “Only five more years to go before I can move in with Isaiah,” I add without thinking.

Any good humor evaporates when Shayla says my name in the way our parents do when they’re exasperated by me. Noise from behind us draws our attention, and we turn to find James crossing the clearing carrying his dark brown-haired nephew, Grayson, whom he took guardianship of after his sister passed, and Shayla’s bright blonde-haired daughter, Lainey. Now that James and Shayla are married, once their adoption papers go through, they’ll officially be mother and father to both.

Thankfully, Shayla forgets all about me and goes to her husband, taking Grayson from him when the baby boy reaches for her. James is ten years older than Shayla, and she only just graduated high school. Our parents quickly looked past their age difference when they saw how in love they were with each other, so I don’t know why everyone is always lecturing me about Isaiah when he’s only fifteen years older than me.

James and Shayla whisper lovingly to each other, and I can’t look away when she tips her head back. James slips his hand in her hair and pulls her into a deep kiss for so long that the kids eventually squirm between them. They’re such a beautiful family—the kind I want with Isaiah when I grow up.

Wishing Shayla would leave me alone to my heartbreak, but knowing she won’t, I follow them back inside so she won’t miss any more of her reception thanks to me and my drama. I even manage not to let a single tear slip out when Daddy tells me I’m not allowed to approach Isaiah again, though there will be plenty of that later when I get home. The dark, hopeless haze is swirling thicker in my head, no matter how many times I remind myself to think positively. At the very least, I can look at Isaiah all I want, even though it kills me to watch him dance with my stupid cousin when she’s finally able to drag him onto the dance floor like I had.

It will be a very long five years until I turn eighteen, and I’m going to count down every single day until Isaiah can finally be mine.

Chapter 2

Isaiah - 3 years later

“Saved the best for last!” Bailey says excitedly, giving me the biggest smile from the couch in her parent’s living room when I hand her the Christmas present I brought, careful not to let our fingertips touch. “Oooh, what could it be?”

She blows a raspberry on the cheek of her nephew, Gentry, making him giggle adorably before passing him to Sherman, sitting in his recliner. At two years old, James’s son is obsessed with dinosaurs. He lost his mind with delight when he unwrapped the customized children’s picture book I ordered for him where the main dinosaur’s name is Gentry. The adults have all taken turns reading the book to him, and he can’t get enough of it.

Bailey is wearing a cranberry-red velvet wrap dress that I know she hand-sewed herself. The hem and the cuffs at the ends of her long sleeves have more than a few loose threads, and the stitching isn’t all that straight, but I made sure to compliment her handiwork, which had her beaming just as brightly as she is now. It was a mistake, of course, because she’s been on cloud nine all day at the fact that I noticed.

She won’t be for long.

Not as soon as she rips the wrapping paper off her gift. My stomach dips, and I have the overwhelming urge to slip out the door. I edge back to lean against the wall beside the Christmas tree that reaches the ceiling opposite her, which is as far as I can get in the mid-sized living room.

Bailey’s giddy smile turns strained, though she keeps it plastered to her face, and I feel like the biggest asshole when the light dims in her silvery-blue eyes. Usually, she’s the loudest in the room with the kind of laugh that makes everyone turn her way and smile, either with mirth or a that silly girl look. But no one is smiling when she says in a voice so unlike her usual tone, “Thank you, Isaiah.” And because she was raised to be grateful and polite, she follows it up with a lie. “This is so thoughtful.”

Bailey’s cheeks start to redden with her upset, and she bites her bottom lip as she examines the slim Hello Kitty To Do List notepad with a magnet on the back and a tiny red pen clipped to the top. She holds it up for everyone to see so they can oooh and ahhh as they’ve done for all the other presents exchanged so far. No one does.

Her father gives me a look like he’s disappointed in me.

I’m disappointed in myself.

I know Bailey must have been saving up her allowance for months—if not for a whole year—to get me a special edition box set of The Patternist Series. It truly blew me away. Yet here I am, repaying her with this bullshit.

What kind of sixteen-year-old would be happy to receive that notepad, which cost less than five dollars? We hurt the ones who love us the most, and that’s precisely what I did to her tender heart by throwing that crap in my shopping cart because I didn’t want her to read too much into it if I gave her a genuinely thoughtful gift—like I did with the expensive, professional fifty-piece set of watercolor pencils I gifted her younger sister and the silver charm shaped like Birkenstock sandals to her mother, Miranda.

It doesn’t make me feel any better when she tears the cellophane off the pad and writes down a few things with a smile that still doesn’t reach her eyes before sticking it to the refrigerator.

* * *

I step out into the backyard carpeted with fallen pine needles so I can call my parents to wish them a Merry Christmas since they decided to take a cruise ship to the Bahamas as a present to themselves instead of hosting for the holidays. As soon as I hang up, Sherman steps out and hands me a glass mug of homemade mulled wine that has been simmering in the slow cooker for hours. His festive sweater vest with the tiny red lights blinking on and off doesn’t match either of our moods.

His gruff voice is low, upset on Bailey’s behalf. “What was that?”

I gulp my wine, then give him the same excuse I gave myself. “I didn’t want Bailey to read too much into it if I got her a nice gift.”

“Oh, she read into it all right.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder toward the brightly lit, warm house with the family that’s come to mean as much to me as my own. “She’s crushed and trying her hardest not to cry.”

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