Broken Angels by Anne Hope Page A

gut-wrenching.
    Seeing the proof before her now shook her, drilled a hole straight through her and left her hollow. It only drove in what she’d always known to be true. He was born to have the one thing she could never give him. No wonder he’d cut her loose.
    He sensed her presence and looked up, flashing the wry grin that had always turned her knees to water. Some things never changed.
    “Look, Will,” he said in that upbeat voice people tend to adopt when addressing a baby. “The girls are back. I was starting to worry.”
    “We were visiting with the next-door neighbor,” she explained. “Kristen took off without saying anything.”
    The girl looked at her shoes, squirming.
    “She does that sometimes.” Zach stacked another block. The tower quivered, then stilled.
    “So I heard. She scared the living daylights out of me.”
    He directed an admonishing stare at his niece. “Kristen, please tell us next time before you take off.”
    Kristen pouted and her eyes misted. “I wanted to play with Kanela.”
    Zach stood, closed the distance between them and crouched beside the child. “I know you like visiting Voula. I’m not telling you not to go. But it’s important that you tell us where you are so we don’t worry.” He took her small, pale hand in his large one.
    The girl nodded, pouting so hard her lower lip covered her top one. “Where’s Noah?” she asked.
    “Upstairs in his room,” Zach replied.
    “Can I go play with him?”
    He hesitated. “Sure. But the minute you two start fighting, I’m splitting you up.”
    Kristen hardly heard him. She bulleted up the stairs in search of her big brother, her body so taut with anticipation one would think she hadn’t seen him in weeks.
    Rebecca raised two curious brows. “I thought they didn’t get along.”
    “It’s a love-hate thing.” He stood and stretched. Muscles rippled over his arms and chest, tapering down to a washboard stomach, then wending their way across a pair of strong, sinewy legs.
    Rebecca’s mouth went dry. He smelled so good—like soap and man, spiced with a hint of that musky aftershave. She fought the urge to lean forward and breathe him in.
    Will giggled and cooed, sending his blocks toppling to the floor.
    “Things look…calmer around here,” she observed.
    He massaged the nape of his neck, as if to relieve the tension that coiled there. “Enjoy it while it lasts.” His words dripped with resignation, underscored by dread.
    She took a few hesitant steps toward the baby, realizing she hardly knew him at all. He’d been born after the divorce, and she’d only seen him once, briefly when he was an infant. She’d visited Lindsay in the hospital with a generic gift and nothing inspiring to say. He looked very different now, plumper, with wide eyes as crystal blue as his sister’s and blond hair that curled at the ends. Both Kristen and Will had inherited their father’s pale looks, but Noah was the spitting image of Zach. His hair was so dark it was almost black, and his navy blue eyes were deep and every bit as unreadable as his uncle’s.
    Will glanced up at her and smiled, a shiny coat of drool on his chin.
    She forced herself to smile back, even as unease snaked through her. “He seems happier now.”
    “He always is after his nap. But the minute he gets hungry, or tired, or bored, all hell will break loose again.”
    If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn he was trying to scare her.
    “We need to talk.” He took her by the elbow and led her to the couch. Her skin sparked and hummed at his touch, but she ignored it. Instead she lowered herself onto the sofa, as far away from him as possible.
    He raked his fingers through his hair, his favorite gesture when he was upset or edgy. “You and I living together again,” he said after a long, nerve-rattling pause, “it can’t possibly work.”
    So that was it. He hated the idea of living with her. His words shouldn’t have stung, but they did. “We