Page 71 of Angels Fall

I think I might be ready to move on.

Tyler did that, Angel says.

And for once, as I climb the stairs up to Pete’s office and hear the murmur of him and Tyler talking at the top, I don’t call the devil to get his opinion on the matter.

Because she’s right.

I’m right, because I’m her.

Tyler did do that.

Sometimes angels fall.

And that’s OK.

Because there are lots of people who still give a shit. There are lots of people willing to extend a hand and lift you back up.

I’m not Tyler’s angel.

He’s mine.

Chapter Seventeen - Tyler & Maddie

TYLER

There’s a soft knock on Pete’s office door. From where I’m sitting in my Pete-facing chair, I turn to see Maddie swing the door open and poke her head in right as Pete answers the question I just asked him. “Shit, kid, I dunno. Maybe a couple hundred? Not all confirmed. It was the fuckin’ jungle.”

Maddie gives me a ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ look. I shake my head the tiniest bit in a ‘you don’t wanna know’ response, and smile. She smiles back. Which makes me hard.

Jesus. If I don’t stop getting hard in front of Pete, I’m worried he’s gonna get the wrong idea. I mean he’s a cool old guy and all, but—

“Scarlett.” Pete waves to her and says, “Can you do me a favor?”

“Uh, sure. What’s up?”

“Can you take this guy off my hands? I got accounting to do.”

Pete…

There’s almost the hint of a smile in his question. Almost. That’s OK. I know Pete likes me. I’m not sure why it’s so important to me what Pete thinks of me, but it seems to be, so I’m glad I’m confident he thinks I’m so excellent.

“Sure,” Maddie says. “Thanks for letting me off early.”

Pete shrugs. “It ain’t Starbucks. If you don’t steam the milk, there’s a buncha other girls who’ll heat it up instead.”

“Ha!” I laugh. “Fucking killer metaphor, man.”

Pete sighs. “See? Seems like the only way to keep this asshole here from bugging me all night is to send him off with you.”

I smile. I knew he liked me. I slap his desk, stand, extend my hand.

“You’re a good man, Pete.”

Pete forces himself up from his chair, seizes my grip.

“I’m a no-good son-of-a-bitch. I’m just your kinda no-good son-of-a-bitch.”

We shake. And for a second, I feel like I can glimpse what Pete might have been like as a younger man. There’s a ghost behind his eyes that peeks out at me.