“That’s what I need, another doctor. Oh, and you haven’t heard the best part. Last night I asked for a glass of milk.”
She co
uldn’t think of what to say. “Nonfat milk is good for you.”
“If you’re going to spout physician-babble like some sort of medical communist, you can get the hell out. I’m trying to talk to you, Mad. I’m tryin’ to tell you …” He released a heavy sigh and shoved a hand through his tangled hair. “Never mind.”
She scooted closer. “What?”
He looked up at her, and the sadness in his eyes almost broke her heart. “You doctors keep offering me ‘life’ as if it were a plum role in a Spielberg flick, but it’s not my life, Mad. This heart’s like a shoe that doesn’t fit right. It never lets me forget that I wasn’t born with it. Maybe if Francis were alive, or I had someone to talk to, someone who could take my hand and help lead me somewhere … I don’t know. I feel like a freak.”
She reached out and took his hand, squeezing gently. “I’m here for you, Angel.”
He tried to smile. “No offense, Mad, but you’re like a mirage I can see but can’t touch. Sometimes I think I dreamed our time together. That crazy, head-over-heels boy couldn’t have been me. Now, the kid that roared out of town on a brand-new Harley, that kid was me.”
She stared down at him, seeing the pain and loneliness that haunted his green eyes. She cared for him so much in that moment that the feeling was almost an ache in her chest. He was hurting now, for himself and for the brother he lost. She knew how it felt to lose someone suddenly. All you had left was faith, and if you didn’t have that, the emptiness could swallow you whole.
And Angel had never truly believed in anything, least of all himself.
“A dream, you forget over time.” She leaned toward him. “Have you forgotten me, Angel?”
The second she asked the loaded question, she saw the answer in his eyes, the flash of longing, the fear of responding. “No,” he answered quietly.
“I know I’m not Francis. I know I’m not family, but I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” he asked in a harsh voice.
Madelaine nodded. “That’s why I can’t be your cardiologist anymore. I’m going to let Marcus Sarandon take over from here. He’s an excellent physician. I’ll still be around for you whenever you want … as your friend.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand….”
“I’m too emotionally involved.” She swallowed hard and said quietly, “I care about you too much.”
He was silent for a long minute, studying her, then he said, “I don’t deserve you, Mad.”
She gave him a quick, teasing smile. “You never did.”
“Yeah, just ask Fr—”
“Francis,” she finished, and her smile faded. Silence settled heavily between them.
“He loved you,” Angel told her, watching her steadily as he spoke.
For a moment the grief was so strong, she couldn’t speak. Finally she nodded. “He loved you, too.”
“I miss him. It’s strange … after all those years apart, I always knew he was just a phone call away. I hardly ever thought about him, and when I did, I laughed and had another drink and told myself I’d call in the morning. Course, I never did. And now he’s gone, and sometimes I miss him so much….”
Madelaine couldn’t help herself. She went to him then. Placing her hands on his cheeks, she stared down at his handsome face, staring deep, deep into his eyes.
Francis, she thought. Are you there? You’d better be there….
She had to take a chance on him—on all of them. It was time.
“He’s not your only family, you know,” she said quietly.
Angel frowned up at her. She knew the moment he understood what she was saying—his frown lifted and a cold, stark fear widened his eyes. He shook his head. “Don’t you do it, Mad,” he said, still shaking his head. “Don’t put that on me.”
Madelaine didn’t look away. For the first time in her life, she felt strong and in control, and God, it felt good. She gave him a slow, steady smile. “Her name is Lina.”