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I scoffed, seriously doubting that.
“They will. And you know why?” he said, as he slid his hand up to my chin and angled my face back to his. “Because I love you.”
“Angel…”
“Viper,” he whispered into the night, and that was it. I knew right then and there that I was done for. I was all in with the angel, and when he took my lips in the sweetest fucking kiss I’d ever received, I knew he felt the exact same way.
He might’ve been mine, that was true. But it had never been clearer than in that moment that I was forever going to be his.
Seven
Halo
AS THE CAR Viper had insisted I take pulled up to my parents’ home in Oyster Bay, a good forty-five minutes outside the city, the tangle of knots in my stomach tightened. I hadn’t expected to have this conversation with them—ever—but after the events of last night, I needed to make sure I was the one telling them about Viper instead of them hearing about it through the press. If I’d had any doubts about Viper and me being newsworthy—because that seemed ludicrous—they were thrown out the damn window when I’d made my way out of his building this morning to be greeted by throngs of reporters.
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.
