Broken Wings (An Angel Eyes Novel) by Shannon Dittemore Read Free Book Online

least?”
    He kisses my forehead again, apologetic. “I have to be there at one.”
    I groan, but only a little. It’s not his fault they’re shorthanded, and if the Throne Room is to be trusted, we’ll have the rest of our lives to be together.
    “Good thing you had pancakes for breakfast.”
    “Yeah,” he says, his shoulder suddenly rigid, “good thing.”
    I roll my face toward his, loving the feel of his shirt against my cheek, but hating whatever emotion suddenly has his face in a choke hold.
    “What, you don’t like my dad’s pancakes?”
    A muscle in his cheek twitches, but he says nothing. He pulls his beater onto our gravel driveway and parks it behind Dad’s truck. I sit up, preparing myself for whatever’s bubbling behind the silence.
    “What’s going on, Jake?”
    It’s another minute before he says anything, his fingers deathly still on my leg.
    “Your dad hates me.”
    The words are flat. There’s no anger in them, but I don’t need the halo on my head to see the storm brewing in Jake’s eyes. Dad’s really gotten to him.
    “I’m sorry about this morning. He can be a jerk sometimes. He doesn’t like change, and having his Sundays interrupted is like the—”
    “It’s not just this morning. It’s . . . Canaan’s seen fear on your dad. He’s seen it multiply when he looks at me.”
    Dad afraid of Jake? The thought is ludicrous. “Jake, this—”
    “Have you seen it? The fear—have you seen it on your dad?” There’s something of an accusation in his tone, and it irritates me.
    “I see fear on everyone , Jake, all the time. I’ve seen fear on Kaylee when she’s scrubbing a table at Jelly’s, for crying out loud. I see fear on the pizza delivery guy and the mailman. I’ve seen it on Miss Macy. Jake, I’ve seen fear on you.”
    He blanches, but I press a hand to his chest, doing my best to still his thundering heart.
    “ Everyone’s afraid of something. But I swear to you, I’ve never seen anything excessive on Dad. Nothing that he hasn’t just shrugged off. If Canaan’s seen it—”
    “He has.”
    “It’s not you,” I say, squeezing his hand. “It’s not you at all. It’s . . . when he looks at you he sees . . .”
    “God,” Jake says, his voice quiet. “And your dad hates God. He hates that your mom put her trust in God and then she died.”
    I shift, moving away from him, from words that wedge into my ribs. I’ve come to grips with the reality that I may never understand my mom’s death, but it still hurts when it’s put out there like that. That for whatever reason God chose not to heal my mom.
    “He thinks you trust your mom’s God because I do. He can’t see me without thinking of your mom. Without thinking of her death.”
    The car feels smaller. All this talk of death and hate, suffocating.
    “I think you’re overstating things a bit,” I say, finding a shaky version of my voice. “I’m his daughter—the only one he has. He’s jealous of my time and overprotective.”
    “No, it’s more than that.” Jake shakes his head. Fear is invisible to me without the halo in place, but I hear it in his words, see it in the heaviness of his shoulders. “Canaan’s overprotective. Your dad’s got a vendetta or . . .”
    He looks at me, really looks at me. I’m not sure what it is he’s seeing, but the hard shell of frustration that so quickly encased him begins to melt away. The rigidity leaves his arms and neck, and he hangs his head.
    “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s not you.”
    “Of course it’s me. Dad’s a part of me, of who I am.” I run a finger from his ear down his jawline, wishing I could make this better for him. He closes his eyes at my touch, tiny bead-like tears pressing through his lashes. My heart breaks, and I press my lips to his. “I’m sorry this is so hard. I’m sure he’ll . . .”
    “Come around?” Jake finishes. “But what if he doesn’t?”
    Jake and I both know I could never walk away from Dad. I’m all