All Amity Allows (Fall for You Book 2) (7 page)

Michael had given Amity the case rather late in the piece. Her duty was to show Rose’s husband the truth: that the marriage was a loveless one and that both he and Rose would be happier if they were apart. Heaven had expected her to do it the proper way, guiding the man slowly to reality. Amity had decided to do things her way, but she’d had no way of anticipating the reactions her methods would inspire though. The damage that the truth had caused on that occasion raced through her mind and caused her hands to tremor. And now, now she’d forced Drew into seeing similar truths with the same lack of care. She couldn’t help but question, once again, how she’d got everything so wrong.

Back then, she’d always had five or six special cases at a time. In fact, despite the perfunctory manner in which she performed her tasks, she’d been the perfect angel. She’d even worn clothing off the rack. But the truth was that humanity sucked and the truth hurt. Free will was synonymous with pain and suffering. And that was why she’d run from her duty.

After sensing Rose’s panic that day, Amity had raced to her side, but it was too late. Less than a second after her arrival, she’d felt the presence of Michael’s grace in the room and sensed Rose’s soul slipping away for judgment. It had been too much for Amity to cope with and she’d walked away after that. She’d hidden from the truth and tried as hard as she could to turn her mind away from that pain.

Until the moment Michael revealed Evan’s subsequent choices, she hadn’t even known of his tragic decision after learning of Rose’s death. She hadn’t known of his date with the bottom of a cliff. Or his agreement to serve a stint as a cupid.

With the new information at her disposal, Heaven’s decision to give the cupid a human life as a reward made more sense. He was merely being given what had been snatched away by Heaven’s own previous missteps.

My missteps, she thought bitterly.

The fact remained that if she hadn’t pushed Rose’s husband with a hard jolt of the bitter truth—hadn’t enraged his jealousy and clued him in to the existence of the letters between Evan and Rose—things might have been very different. Rose and Evan may have secured their happily ever after a lifetime ago.

Michael’s fingers stroked a gentle path over her arm, the touch giving her something concrete to focus on rather than the agony of the past.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “No one could have predicted what would happen after he’d learned of the truth.”

Amity nodded at his platitude, not believing it for a moment. When she opened her mouth, her newest fear rushed out. “What if Drew’s just the same as he was?”

“Even if he is, you aren’t responsible for his actions.”

She pulled away from Michael’s touch.

“I won’t let it happen again,” she hissed. An instant later, she was cloaked and back at Drew’s side ready to do whatever it took to stop him from hurting Becca or Evan.

Chapter Six

Drew had never
had a more embarrassing day.

The humiliation of everyone knowing about him and Becca breaking up would have been bad enough, without the added fact that after Cathy’s visit to his office, he didn’t seem to be able to keep any of his little secrets inside. Each time he opened his trap, something he’d have preferred to keep hidden came spilling out. He didn’t know why, but put it down to a bout of insanity that he wished would stop. He’d even spent twenty minutes telling the janitor about the little strawberry birthmark Becca had on her inner-left thigh—everything from the way the skin tasted, to the way the slightly raised bump felt against his tongue.

In the end, his father sent him home on stress-leave.

“Take tomorrow off to recuperate.” He’d been instructed as he’d been walked out of the hospital.

His jaw was so tightly clenched that he worried he might be causing permanent damage to the veneer of his teeth, especially with all the extra pressure he’d been exerting on them in the last day. He reasoned it would have to get easier when he was home, and away from other people.
Home
. Even the word seemed to mock him. He’d barely moved in yet he was already sick of it and ready to move out. Move
on
.

The fact remained that everything about his home was arranged with the understanding that he’d soon be showing Becca the space. He’d planned on bringing Becca back home for their first full night together. Planned on holding her tightly in his arms and giving himself to her, falling asleep at her side—a deed, which to him, required a much greater level of intimacy than something as common as sex. He’d done it before with other girls, almost exclusively because of too much alcohol consumption, and he’d always hated himself in the morning. A long time ago, he’d learned it was far easier to get the job done and then just go his own way rather than try to deal with awkward morning afters.

With Becca, it was going to be different though—special. He was building up to it and had intended to bring her over as soon as he had everything just right. In hindsight, he could see how idiotic he’d been. Maybe if he’d shared more, been more open about everything, then that fucker Evan wouldn’t have had a chance to muscle in on his girl.

Becca didn’t even know he’d leased the place—he’d wanted to surprise her. It seemed so stupid now, but carving out this little slice of privacy for himself was Drew’s way of recognizing he was almost ready to make a longer-term commitment to her. Not entirely ready, because marriage was a huge step and he didn’t want to end up having multiple wives like his father, but certainly closer to investigating the options of thinking about getting engaged.

He’d set the getting-a-place-of-his-own wheel in motion the day after she’d given him a key to her own house. That simple gesture had made him believe they were on the same page about the direction things were moving in. That it was the way she’d wanted them to go.

Could I have been a bigger fool
?

He clenched his hands around the steering wheel. The skin over his knuckles and all of his joints, still sore from the pounding he’d given his punching bag the night before, ached in protest. How had it all gone so wrong in the space of twenty-four hours?

Without a second thought, he twisted the wheel so he was headed toward Becca’s house. Yesterday, confronted with the multiple images of Evan, he’d told her to let him go. Today, after everything he’d endured and the knowledge of what life was like after losing her, he wasn’t nearly so ready to give up without a fight.

“Goddamn you, Becca,” he growled as he turned onto her street and saw the house where he’d spent a number of evenings with her panting and desperate in his arms. He’d given her experiences unlike any she’d had before. She’d told him as much, and his pride desperately needed to remind him of them all.

His mind whispered cruel thoughts at him about the things Evan might have done with her—things which could have wiped all thoughts of Drew from her mind.

Drew’s painfully tight grip on the steering wheel impossibly tensed even further until his knuckles threatened to burst through his already white and stretched skin.

“I should just
show
you why I’m better than he is,” Drew muttered, thinking about how easy it would be to reenact the pummeling he’d given the punching bag with the real thing.

The steering wheel that had been so tight in his grip an instant earlier took a sharp turn to the right, throwing him against the door as the car lurched into a spin.

Although the temptation was there to ram his foot onto the brake as hard and fast as he could to bring the car to a complete stop, he knew that it would be a mistake. Instead, he feathered his foot on the pedal to bring his Merc to a steady halt.

He looked around the car, wondering if anyone in the houses that lined Becca’s street had their noses pressed against their windows to watch his humiliating spin.

That’s just what I need
. He placed his hands in a steel grip at a perfect ten and two.

With care, he moved the car out of the middle of the road, trying to ensure he didn’t further damage whatever had broken to cause the spin. The car drove perfectly—moved perfectly. He started to wonder whether he’d accidentally knocked the steering wheel out of alignment. The skin of his knuckles protested as he pushed the speed of the car higher until he was at the speed limit.

Once he was satisfied that whatever had caused the issue was clearly not repeating itself, he brought the car around so that he was heading for Becca’s once again.

He was only a few houses away when the wheel yanked sharply to the right again. He tried to fight it, the muscles in his arms straining as he used everything he had in him to hold the wheel straight and stay on the road.

“What the hell?” he growled. He mentally catalogued everything that could be wrong with the car to make it lose control twice in such quick succession. He got as far as flat tire, damaged steering arm, or broken axel before he ran out of ideas. He was a doctor, not a mechanic.

Once again, he was able to bring the car to a careful stop. This time, he climbed from the vehicle and did a quick circuit around the car to see if he could figure out what was wrong. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, at least nothing he could see from a standing, and then a kneeling, position. He was damned if he was going to lie down on the road or slide underneath to see if he could see something wrong. It wasn’t like he’d know what to look for anyway.

There were only a few choices Drew could make. He could ring AAA and wait for someone to come to his rescue, as if he were some goddamn damsel in distress. Alternatively, he could attempt to drive the car home and hope to God that the steering held out until he made it back; or he could walk to Becca’s house, knock on her door, and use the whole broken down car thing as an excuse to talk to her. Except then he’d have to explain why he was on her street in the first place—and he would potentially be stuck without an escape route if things went badly.

That wouldn’t be good at all.

Unless
 . . . He stood a little straighter at the thought.
Unless it was
the
moment
.

His smile stretched wider. That was what it would be. The moment. That perfect time where what happened wouldn’t matter anymore and things would suddenly become right between them again. He allowed himself to envisage the scene. He’d ring the bell and then wait, posed on the doorstep, for Becca to answer. The instant she pulled the door open and saw it was him, she’d throw herself into his arms and apologize again and again for not believing him when he’d warned her of Evan’s true intentions. They’d kiss. They’d make-up. He’d carry her to her bedroom where they’d spend the better part of the night having wild and wonderful make-up sex in every position possible before inventing some new ones.

He was ready to rush to her place just thinking about it. Only the whole idea felt wrong. The concept of her taking him back felt foreign and inconceivable in the back of his mind. He shook his head to clear the feeling, but it only grew stronger. The closer he got to Becca’s house, the more concentrated the feeling became, until he almost wanted to vomit from the pressure of it. The more he thought about it, the more intense the ache of wrongness grew.

Maybe going to Becca’s isn’t the best thing to do after all, he decided. The relief that flooded him at the thought was palpable and instant.

He was back at his car in no time, but still couldn’t decide what to do next. Say a prayer and hope for a safe drive, or wait for assistance in a place where Becca could easily spot him if she looked outside her house. That thought sealed the decision for him. There was no way he’d hang around and make an even bigger fool of himself than she’d already made him.

He reached for the car door, almost ripping off the handle when it didn’t budge.

What the hell
?
It’s locked
?

He tried the handle again.
Why’s it locked
?

He looked through the window to the steering column where his key ring was still dangling from the key stuck in the ignition.

How is it locked
?

It was supposed to be one of those foolproof locks that meant you couldn’t lock the keys in the car. He frowned at the car, as if his burning stare alone would force the locks to pop open and allow him entrance. Instead, the car sat still and silent as Drew decided what to do next.

He recalled a little cocktail bar just a short walk away—he and Becca had shared a few drinks there one night when they were still dating. As soon as the thought popped into his mind, his decision was made.

Nothing like a night out to clear my head.
I’ll deal with this crap tomorrow.

Amity watched
as Drew dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged his jacket further around him before heading down the street. She wasn’t sure where exactly he was going, but his anger had burned away to disappointment, and she didn’t think he posed a threat to Becca or Evan any longer.

She felt a little guilty about forcing Drew off the road the way she had and then for locking him out of his car. There was little else she could have done though. He’d had murder in his tone when he’d muttered to himself about going over to Becca’s. Although Amity didn’t detect in him any specific capacity to cause injury, she couldn’t risk making the same mistake twice. She couldn’t do that to Evan and Becca—and she couldn’t do it to herself.

If yanking Drew’s car off the road kept everyone safe, she’d do it over and over.

Besides, Michael said that Evan and Becca had their own story, she added internally. She couldn’t let Drew interfere with that, not if she could help it.

Not that she was entirely sure why she was taking Michael’s words into account all of a sudden. She put it down to the fact that he was just one of those people—
angels
—that others couldn’t help but listen to. One afternoon in his company, and Amity was practically toeing the company line again. Not that she was about to give up her Jimmys anytime soon. No, Heaven would have to send the whole hoard to pry
them
from her feet, but everything else was practically by the letter.

Well, everything except for the way she’d tried to heal Drew. She wasn’t supposed to try for miraculous changes of mind. It wasn’t natural, and human souls tended to get a little scarred in the process. She’d prepared him so he would be better able to see the truth she wanted to implant, but because of the surprise she’d received, she hadn’t been able to finish the task. Now it was too late.

It hadn’t taken her long to realize that her forceful touch had torn open his humanity, and opened his soul up. Internally, he was on display for her—for any passing angel in fact—begging for her grace to heal the damage she’d caused when she’d tried to force the truth into him. He might not have felt anything, but his soul had a giant wound rent through it. A wound that was weeping his pain, and all of his truths into the world. She would have been surprised if he’d been able to lie since she’d torn him open—even a small, white one to spare someone’s feelings.

His already partially healing soul was too fragile to force another miracle onto just yet. She could try, but she worried it might kill him. There were only so many forcible jolts of energy a human soul could take before failing after all. If that happened, it would be another human life on her hands.

The link she’d created when she’d tried to meddle in his mind was still open and her grace willingly wrapped around his soul to help soothe the worst parts of the damage she’d caused. In truth, it was closer than she’d allowed herself to get to anyone else in at least a century and a half. There was a comfort to it that she was surprised to feel. It fed the need to nurture that was a natural part of her make-up, but that she’d kept buried deep inside for countless years. Despite his obvious heartbreak and the echo of the same, which reverberated through her body, it was almost a relief knowing she could help him at least a little.

If she could help him heal himself, before he’d lost all hope, then there was a chance he would escape from a life of torment. He’d have no lingering issues which would see him sad and alone for the rest of his days. She owed him that much for inflicting the damage on him in the first place. If nothing else, it would give her the opportunity to assess any possible risk he might pose—to himself or to Becca.