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23
On Friday evening, Liam woke to find himself sprawled on the living room sofa. On the television a woman in a hot-pink dress was raving about a special type of squeezable kitchen mop, and while Liam wasn’t the least bit interested in the item she was selling, he was certainly intrigued by her enthusiasm.
His throat was as scratchy as dry leaves, and his head felt as if it were stuffed with sheep’s wool. He fumbled for something to ease his parched throat, but the whiskey and few scattered beer bottles on the coffee table were empty. A bowl of half-eaten popcorn fell off his lap, spilling onto the floor as he sat up.
Angel meowed from the end of the couch, then flicked an ear at Liam.
“Save it, cat,” Liam muttered, clutching his head. “I’ll take no judgment from you.”
The cat gave Liam a slow blink, then continued to stare with round, headlamp eyes.
“When you’re a murder suspect bound for hell, and the woman you love no longer remembers you, then you can judge me. But until then, back off and let me watch Squeezy Mop in peace.”
He glanced at the wall clock. It was a little after five, and Cora was bound to be home soon. He’d missed seeing her last night because he’d passed out in bed before she’d returned, but maybe that was for the best. The look on her face when she’d confronted him about the tie... It was clear as the wind she didn’t trust him, and that made his insides ache worse than the time he’d cracked a rib falling from a tree.
Spotting a half-empty bottle of stale beer, Liam fumbled for it and drained it with a grimace. Then he tossed the empty bottle onto the coffee table where it rolled off onto the carpet. Time for another trip to the local market. Mental clarity was vastly overrated, he’d decided. Ever since last Saturday night, things just kept getting worse, so escapism was high on his list of priorities.
“Enjoying your downward spiral, I see.”
Liam swung his head toward the television. The infomercial was gone, and in its place was roiling white mist. The blond angel leaned through the flat-screen TV like it was a window, his elbows perched on the edge.
“Blondie!” Liam said with false enthusiasm. “How lovely of you to visit. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put out the good china.”
The angel rolled his shoulders in irritation and spoke to the corner bookshelf. “He’s still as arrogant as ever.”
“Yes, but it’s just a shield.” The tall, dark-haired angel was leaning against Cora’s bookshelf, casually reading the back of a romance novel. “One has only to look at this dwelling space to see the truth.”
“Yes,” the blond angel agreed, surveying the mess. “He is losing his sense of purpose.”
“Worse,” the other said. “I believe he may be losing hope.”
Liam scowled and propped his feet on the coffee table. “Aye, well thanks for the diagnosis, Doctors. Any time you want to hit me with the cure, I’m ready.”
“Have you tried one of these lovely books?” The dark-haired angel held up the paperback novel. “I understand they can be quite uplifting.”
Liam eyed the cover of the book with suspicion. He failed to see how a bare-chested man holding a sword was going to instill hope in a situation as dire as his.
“We’ve come to remind you to stay the course,” the blond angel said briskly. “Your true purpose of uniting Cora and Finn is more important than any of your other trivial matters.”
“Trivial?” Liam growled. “Being accused of murder doesn’t do much to endear me to her right now, and it would be a bit hard to play matchmaker from prison. Speaking of which, why am I still a murder suspect?”
“I should think that would be obvious,” the blond one said. “Your actions put you there.”
“But can’t you just wave your wings, or whatever it is you do, and make it all go away? You said I should focus solely on Cora and Finn. If you help clear my name, then it would be much easier for me to—”
“We are not here to pave the way for you, ruffian.” The blond angel suddenly swooped into the room, his power crackling in the air until Liam could feel it against his skin like a low-level electrical charge. It reminded him just how formidable the angels could be. If he weren’t three sheets to the wind already, he might’ve felt a bit more fear. Good thing he had several bottles of liquid courage in him.
“Everything you choose to do has consequences, and you must bear those consequences,” the blond said. “We have set the plan in motion, but we cannot interfere with free will. Your choices have led you here.”
“But I was trying to save Margaret from getting hurt,” Liam pointed out. By all that was holy, did good intentions count for nothing with them?
“Who are you to assume Margaret would have been in danger, at all? There are an infinite number of ways that situation on Saturday night could’ve gone. You forget your place, rogue. Margaret is not part of your task. Cora is.”
Liam’s frustration spiked. “So, you toss me back down to earth to save Cora’s destiny and right past wrongs, but when I try to do good deeds like saving another innocent woman, or helping an old man who’s getting mugged, I get punished for it. How is that justice?”
“Again, you fail to understand your actions have brought you to this point.” The blond angel’s calm, almost bored demeanor grated against Liam’s nerves. “No one is punishing you.”
“Aye, well, you sure as hell aren’t helping me, either.” Liam gripped the nearest throw pillow and hurled it against the wall.
