Angel (Fallen Angel, #3)(9)
Jesus, would this be my life now? Having press follow me around the city, waiting outside Viper’s apartment, or, shit, mine? Any of them could be following us right now, though at least they wouldn’t be able to get past the neighborhood gates to get to my parents’ place. I wasn’t equipped in the slightest with how to deal with the attention, but the guys had warned me that this would happen, and I hadn’t listened. Because who was I? No one.
“You don’t need to get out. I can get it,” I told the driver, Arnold, as he popped open his door. Before he could step out anyway, I exited the back seat and then leaned in to ask, “You’ll be here when I’m done?”
Arnold looked perturbed by the way I’d taken it upon myself to do his job, but he nodded and held up a worn paperback. “Take your time, Mr. Halo.”
I almost grinned at that. No one had ever called me “Mr. Halo” before, and it sounded about as ridiculous as you’d expect. “Thanks, Arnold.”
I shut the door and turned to look up at the light grey colonial craftsman I’d spent my formative years in. My parents had wanted Im and me to grow up outside Manhattan in upper-middle-class suburbia, while still remaining close enough to the city for Mom’s gigs and our monthly weekend getaways. Those getaways were always packed full of museum visits, theater shows, operas, concerts, and any other cultural event my parents could interest us in going to—which was practically anything. Imogen and I had been greedy for those weekends spent in the city, and as soon as we graduated, that was where we both headed.
For a moment, my thoughts turned to Viper and his vastly different upbringing. I felt a twinge of guilt at having grown up with two parents, wealthy ones at that, who’d been able to provide opportunities for my sister and me that so many others weren’t afforded. It made me equal parts grateful and uncomfortable, especially when I thought of Viper’s mom working several jobs, still finding ways to get Viper into music, and doing her best to raise a wild child.
A smile tipped my lips as I thought of a teenage Viper terrorizing everyone around him, spending his nights with a guitar in his lap, honing his songwriting talents. It hadn’t mattered that he hadn’t gone to some fancy musical conservatory or that he was never able to afford top-of-the-line instruments—Viper had forged his own damn path, and look at him now. A rock legend and all-around badass.
How the hell was he mine?
I made my way up the stone steps and fished the house key out of my pocket. I’d shot Mom a text earlier to make sure they were home, so they were already expecting me. I only hoped they hadn’t turned on the news. Or read the paper. Or had friends calling wondering what the hell was going on.
As I entered, the soft sounds of classical music met my ears. It wasn’t the sound of one of my parents playing, but the constant background noise that floated throughout the house, making it feel more like a home. It eased the knots in my stomach slightly. This was familiar. This was my family. I didn’t have any reason to be nervous…did I?
“Halo? We’re in the study,” Mom called out, and as I made my way to the study at the back of the first floor, I thought about the first time I’d told them I no longer wanted to go by “Howard” but by “Halo.” I’d been seven and so adamant that they call me by my new name that I refused to respond to anything else. For such a by-the-rules, agreeable child, I’d taken them by surprise, and though I knew it had to kill my mom to do so, she and my father both started calling me Halo soon after. I was sure they assumed it was a phase, and that was why they went along with it, but it had stuck, and the “old man” name had been swept under the rug like it never existed.
The double doors of the study were wide open, my mom sitting on the arm of the couch beside where my father worked at his desk. He was pointing at something on the computer screen as she hummed along, but when she saw me in the doorway, she stopped, and a wide smile crossed her face.
“There’s our rock star,” she said, standing up and crossing the room to give me a big hug. I wrapped my arms around her slight shoulders and kissed the top of her blond head, the same golden color that I had, though it was straight and usually pinned up.
“That’s not what you’ve been calling me to all your friends, is it?” I asked.
Mom pulled back and smiled up at me. “Of course. We’ve got a famous son. You’re all they want to talk about.”
My stomach dropped as I wondered what the last Mom had heard was, but she winked at me. Whew, okay, she didn’t know yet. I’d gotten here as early as I dared, but I knew word traveled fast.
“Hey, son,” Dad said, stealing me away for a big bear hug of his own. That was one of the things I appreciated most about my parents—they weren’t shy about giving affection, not even my dad, who came from a long line of strong, silent types. With hair as fire-engine red as Imogen’s and as curly as mine, he was also the one I’d inherited my easy blushing ability from. His cheeks were stained a permanent pink flush, giving him a look I called “perpetually jolly.” We both had the same tall, lean frame, and though we looked almost nothing alike, I’d definitely inherited my love of music from him and my mom.
“You guys working on something?” I asked, nodding at the computer.
“Your mom was helping me work out a new composition.”
“You’re going to enjoy this one, Halo,” Mom said, taking a seat on the couch and patting the cushion beside her for me to join. “Your dad’s tapping into his romantic side.”