Broken Angels by Anne Hope

fade away—piled on top of the problems he was having with Becca at the time—had been one of the greatest challenges of his life.
    If Phyllis Ryler were here, she would have known what to do. She would have known exactly how to console these kids, how to make the tears come. That was what Noah needed—a good cry. But he was a boy, and boys were taught at a very young age that tears were for babies and girls.
    If anyone could have convinced him that it was all right to cry and that no one would think he was a sissy, it was Phyllis. Zach had never missed his mother as much as he did now, with his sister gone and her three kids looking to him for guidance. Then again, maybe it was a blessing that she hadn’t lived long enough to see her daughter murdered.
    Noah grabbed the couch cushions and flung them, one by one, on the floor. A thick cloud of rage pulsated around him. Will watched his brother with round, startled eyes, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or bawl.
    After Noah finished assaulting the furniture, he stood amidst the wreckage, panting.
    Zach cocked a brow and reined in his own temper. “Are you done?”
    The boy shrugged, then nodded.
    “Good. Now you can clean this mess up,” he said, his tone far calmer than he felt.
    The boy narrowed his eyes and wrapped his arms across his chest. Defiance rolled off him in aggravating waves. “Only if you put my game back on.”
    “I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate. Clean this mess up or you won’t play for a week.”
    Their gazes locked, Noah’s brimming with resentment, Zach’s firm and resolute. He sensed his nephew was sizing him up, trying to determine whether he had any intention of following through with his threat.
    “I don’t have to listen to you.” The boy stood his ground. His arms flexed as he squeezed his thin, lanky body. “You’re not my father.”
    Zach had been expecting that statement sooner or later, and it didn’t cut as deep as he’d thought. He had no intention of replacing Liam. He didn’t want these kids to ever forget their parents. He just wanted to do the best he could by them, and maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right he might carve his own place in their lives…and hearts.
    “No,” he replied, “but I am your guardian. And yes, you do have to listen to me. At least for the next decade or so.”
    Noah hunched his shoulders and kicked the hand-knit rug blanketing the floor. “This isn’t fair.” Despite his protests, he bent over and carelessly threw the cushions back on the sofa.
    It wasn’t an ideal job, but Zach was satisfied. He placed his thumb on the power button and prepared to turn the boy’s game back on. “One more question before I let you play. Where’s your Aunt Becca?”
    Noah huffed. “She went after Kristen, all right? I think they’re at Mrs. Petrakis’s house.”
    Zach smiled. “Much better. Thank you.” Then he fired up the game and let the boy shoot away his frustrations.

    When Rebecca returned from Voula’s with Kristen practically fused to her hip, she found Zach sitting on the living room rug next to Will, building castles out of colorful blocks. For a brief wedge of time before he realized she was there, she just watched him. Watched the way he helped the baby stack the blocks, the tenderness on his face, the calm fluidity of his movements, the way his strong hands cupped and guided Will’s. She listened to his soft words of encouragement, his quiet whispers of praise, and shocked herself by admiring the very patience she’d once found annoying.
    Even as affection washed over her, her sense of failure returned to hammer her. Somehow she’d always known he’d be good with children, the way you know when the sun’s about to pierce through the clouds or a raindrop’s about to fall. She’d felt it deep down within her, in that place where instinct and consciousness merged. And that had only made her inability to conceive all the more