Page 4 of His Relentless Angel

“Fuck.” I pace a few steps away, shivering at the blast of icy air from the cold front that blew in yesterday, and then turn back to him. “I don’t know what to do here. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I also don’t want her to think I love her the way she does me.”

Sherman squares his jaw. “I’m sure there are other ways of doing that without being a dick to her when you’re so wonderful to everyone else.”

It’s a punch to the gut. “I’m not trying to be a dick.”

“Try harder. I’m not saying you need to go overboard. A ninety-nine-cent bobbin of thread would have been better than something you get a shitty coworker when you can’t think of anything else.”

“Sherman…”

He clicks his tongue. “You know she sent your parents Christmas gifts in time to open them before their cruise? Matching hand-stitched handkerchiefs with their wedding date on them.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “No, I didn’t,” I say lowly. We barely got five minutes into our phone call when the service went in and out, and we had to hang up.

The anger winks out of his expression, and he sighs. “Look, you’re one of my closest friends, Isaiah, and you know I love you like a brother. But she’s my daughter, and right now, I’m scared to death that she’s learning how to accept even less than the bare minimum from the people she loves. What happens when she grows out of her crush on you and gets married, and her husband gives her the same kind of treatment because she thinks she doesn’t deserve any better?”

My stomach sinks lower than I thought possible.

“As her father, it’s up to me to make sure the people I bring around her treat her well. So if you can’t do that, then…”

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. Hell, he didn’t even need to say it to begin with. If I can’t figure out how to discourage Bailey’s feelings without treating her like she matters less than the rest of them, then they won’t be extending any more invitations to family gatherings my way.

* * *

After Christmas dinner with the candied yams that Bailey made, knowing it’s my favorite instead of the mashed sweet potatoes that she prefers, I slip down the hallway and wait for her to come out of the bathroom.

“Isaiah!” Her eyes, though puffy around the rims, sparkle at seeing me. She twists in her dress, making the long skirt portion swish around her ankles.

And I do something stupid. I put my arm around her shoulders and pull her in for a hug. “I’m sorry about the gift.”

Bailey takes a deep breath, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Best gift ever,” she says, her voice muffled in my green knit sweater.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, B.”

Alarm bells are ringing when she rubs her cheek against me, the top of her head barely coming up to my sternum. “I know you couldn’t give me my real gift in front of everyone.”

“What are you talking about?” I drop my arm and try to pull back. I haven’t told anyone that I’d ordered the one-hundred-and-fifty piece set of assorted bobbins of thread she had on her online wishlist, paying to upgrade the shipping to express delivery as soon as Sherman went back inside after our talk.

Bailey doesn’t let me go. “This hug is my real gift, isn’t it?” And then she tips her head back, giving me a smile with such devotion on her young face that it makes me blanch. “I know you love me.”

“Damnit, B, no.” I tug on her forearms until she’s forced to drop them. Then I rush out of the hallway and tell her family I have to go, thanking them for inviting me. I slap the guys on the back and give all the girls a quick kiss on the cheek…all except for Bailey. I don’t say anything to her when I pass her in the living room on my way out the front door.

It’s another mistake—one on top of all the others—looking at the house as I back my car out of the driveway. Bailey is standing at the front window with the tan curtains pulled back, her cheeks red. She waves to me as I drive past.

I don’t smile or wave back.

Chapter 3

Bailey - 18 years old

“He’s not coming,” Autumn says, uncharacteristically kind instead of teasing me like she usually does about my love for Isaiah.

“Yes, he is. I taped the invitation to his front door, so I know he got it. He loves me,” I say with more confidence than I feel, twisting in my dress with a huge smile, firmly pushing down the little voice in my head that grows louder with every passing hour, telling me Autumn is right. I play with my gold bumblebee pendant on my necklace and will him to show up and make my birthday wish come true. “He’s just…running late.”

“Bailey…”

“He’s coming,” I snap, though I force the smile to remain on my face, not taking my eye off the front window for one second as the party winds down all around me, my friends and family folding up their lawn chairs out in the yard to stow them in the garage before heading home. “He is. I’m eighteen now, and there’s nothing stopping us from being together. You’ll see.”

“Bailey…” she says again with a sad sigh, trailing off.

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