Oh, what the f**k did it matter. He had his own problems—and Jim’s recovery was one of them.
“I’m all right,” the other angel said, as if on cue.
“Shut up and lie down.”
“You suck as a nurse.” But the guy did what he was told—likely because his body didn’t give his brain a choice.
Mels sat up. “A doctor has to take a look at him.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he’s been in this condition before. Just give him an hour or so.” Maybe longer. “He’ll be fine. Where’s the room service menu?”
“What exactly happened to him,” she demanded.
Ad turned around toward the desk. “Ah, here it is. Let’s see…” Thumbing through the laminated booklet, he eyed the entrees. “Nice selection.”
As he debated between a New York strip and the roast beef, there was some conversation in the background—Matthias telling his girlie to chill out and that they’d get the answers when Jim woke up.
Maybe, maybe not, Ad thought.
After passing the thing over to them, Ad hit the phone and ordered the crap out of dinner. Hanging up, he glanced at the couple. “We’re ruining your date night, aren’t we.”
Cue the foot shuffle on both sides—nice touch, as neither of them were standing up.
“I really can go,” Jim said, pushing himself off the pillows.
“Will you quit it?” Adrian snapped, abruptly feeling caged. “Fuck it, I’m going out in the hall to wait for the grub.”
The truth was, his brain was humming, and everything in that room was in danger of getting on his nerves: that woman, Matthias, Jim with his barfing. He suddenly wanted to scream at all of them, at himself, at f**king Eddie for dying, at Devina—
Always at Devina.
Out in the corridor, he shut the door and leaned against it, closing his eyes.
“Mommy, it’s the angel again!”
Oh, for f**k’s sake.
And he’d forgotten to go invisi.
Lifting his lids, he stared down at that little girl with the big eyes. Tonight, her hair was pulled back in a ribbon that matched her blue dress, and her smile was so open and honest, it made him feel a million years old.
“You’re a angel!” The skinny thing seemed capable of speaking only with exclamations—like maybe the height differential required greater volume. “Can I see your wings?”
The mother hightailed it down the hall and arrived with that same cloud of exhaustion, the weight of whatever world she was living in clearly wearing her out. “I’m sorry. Come on—”
“Please? I want to see your wings.”
Ad shook his head. “I don’t have any. Sorry.”
“You do—all angels have wings.”
“I’m not an angel.”
The mother put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder—and was no doubt ready to pull a fireman’s hold on the kid if things didn’t get moving. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”
Mom refused to make eye contact—then again, the child was doing enough of that for the pair of them.
“Come on.”
The whining started, but the little girl allowed herself to be pulled away. “I want to see your wings….”
Adrian focused on his combat boots, locking his eyeballs on the steel toes, letting the mother steer that precious cargo over to the elevators and off the floor.
“Rather harsh on the wee one, don’t you think?”
Adrian exhaled a curse at the familiar aristocratic inflection.
Fantastic, a visit from upstairs. Just what he needed. “Hello, Nigel.”
The archangel stayed quiet until Ad glanced up. Another nice outfit, go fig: The dandy was kitted out in a fitted linen suit with a matching waistcoat in a white so bright it made Ad want to Ray-Ban it up like Matthias. Cravat was candy-striped pink and white. So was the pocket square.
SOB looked like an ad for Orbit gum.
“I thought I’d come and check on you,” Nigel said, hauteur turning the kindness into condescension. Or maybe that was just Ad’s mood.
“Not Jim?”
“Him as well.”
“We’re great. Havin’ a ball, and you?” As those shimmering eyes of the Capo di tutti capi narrowed into slits, Ad cocked his head. “Tell me something—if you’re so concerned about your team down here, why don’t you bring Eddie back.”
“That is the Maker’s purview, not mine.”
“So talk to Him. Make yourself useful.”
“Your tone leaves a lot to be desired.”
“So sue me.” As Nigel just stared at him, Ad refocused on his goddamn boots. “Now’s not a good time to expect anything much from me.”
“Which is the tragedy, is it not. Because this is precisely the moment when you are needed the most.”
Adrian threw up his hands. “Nigel, buddy, boss, whatever the f**k you want me to call you. Give me a break, will you—”
“Your statement to that child is correct. You are not an angel—not with this attitude.”
Ad banged his skull against the door. “Fuck you. Fuck all this.”
There was a long silence—to the point where he wondered if the big man hadn’t poofed it back up to Heaven.
Except then Nigel said softly, “We are depending on you.”
“I thought it was Jim’s job to be the golden-boy savior.”
“He is ill. And now—now is the turning point.”
Adrian looked over at the Englishman. “I thought you weren’t supposed to influence things.”
“I am allowed to advise.”
“So what the hell do you want me to do?”
Nigel just shook his head slowly, as if Adrian had disappointed him so thoroughly, he had lost the ability to speak.
Then the archangel disappeared.
Which, if you considered the takeoff literally, meant he didn’t want Adrian to do shit.
Down at the far end of the hall, the employees-only door opened and a room service guy came out with a stainless-steel cart. He was moving fast, like this was something he did a lot.
“That for six forty-two?” Adrian said as the uniform got closer.
“Yup.”
“That’s me.” He jammed a hand into his ass pocket and took out his billfold. Peeling off a twenty, he handed it over. “Where do I sign.”
“Hey, thanks, man.” The kid took a white slip out. “And right here.”
Ad scribbled something, and knocked so that Matthias would open up. When the guy did, the waiter went to roll things into the room, but Ad stepped in between the doorjambs.