Free Heather Graham by Angel's Touch

up. Cream and sugar?” Cathy asked Jimmy.
    “I don’t want coffee.”
    “Black. Black coffee,” Don told Cathy.
    Jimmy looked down. Suddenly there was a Styrofoam cup of steaming dark liquid in his hands. He screamed. Threw the cup away from himself. Hot coffee flew everywhere, luckily missing his clothing and skin.
    “He needs another cup,” Don said.
    “Now don’t lose this one. I’m not good at all at this stuff yet,” Cathy warned.
    Another cup appeared in Jimmy’s hands. He held on to it, his hands shaking violently.
    “Come on, now, have a sip,” Cathy urged.
    Jimmy O’Connor sipped his coffee, staring at them. “I’ve gone to hell!” he whispered, and sipped the coffee.
    “Not yet, but you might well have been headed there,” Cathy told him.
    Jimmy took a look at her. Drank the rest of the coffee in one swallow.
    “Think he’s ready to go home?” Don asked Cathy.
    “Sure.”
    “Where’s his car?”
    Jimmy O’Connor’s eyes darted toward a smart-looking little Mazda. The Mazda’s lights blinked on; its engine revved. A second later, the Mazda leapt toward them.
    “No,” Jimmy O’Connor said. “No, no, no…”
    He shook his head, stared at his car, dropped the coffee cup, and started running toward the street.
    “Truck!” Cathy cried out.
    Jimmy O’Connor didn’t hear her. He raced out onto the road, then stood dead still in the center of it, mesmerized by the lights.
    Don came flying out, slamming into Jimmy, hurtling them both to the side of the road as the vehicle sped on by.
    “Hey!” Cathy shrieked after the truck, but it was gone, heading into the night. Cathy ran over to where both men lay on their backs, side by side now. She dropped to one knee beside them. Don groaned. Jimmy just stared up at her.
    “Don, are you … hurt?”
    He groaned. “The brown ale was good. The truck was bad,” he said. Cathy helped him up. In turn, he stretched a hand down to Jimmy O’Connor.
    Jimmy came to his feet, staring at them both. “I saw my life,” he said. “Saw those lights, then my life. And I wanted to live. To go home. To Sharon. My kids. I have the world’s greatest son, the prettiest daughter. My in-laws …” He shrugged.
    “Hey, you know a little schism with the in-laws is natural,” Don said.
    “It is?” Cathy demanded.
    “A tiny schism,” Don said.
    “I just always thought that Sharon—she was always there—that she should be, that she’d always be. And I didn’t really realize just what that meant. I have to get home, I have to—” He broke off, staring at Cathy. “Can you do more of that coffee thing?” He started patting his coat pockets. “I need a comb. I need—”
    “Coffee,” Cathy told him.
    “Comb.” Don produced one.
    Jimmy drank another cup of coffee. Accepted the comb, pulled it through his hair.
    “How do I look?”
    “You’ll do,” Cathy told him.
    He grinned at her suddenly, glanced at Don wryly. “She does nicely, too.”
    “Yeah?” Don arched a brow to his wife.
    “Who are you two? What are you?” Jimmy demanded.
    “The Angels,” Don said.
    “Cathy and Don Angel,” Cathy said firmly, staring at her husband.
    “But what—” Jimmy began.
    “Does it matter who or what we are?” Don asked him quietly.
    Jimmy shook his head. “Not if… not if you’ll pretend to be clients for me—for a little bit. Please. Give me an excuse for being so late tonight. I swear to you, I’ll never need another one.”
    “I’ll get the car,” Don said.
    “I’ll drive!” Jimmy insisted.
    “I’ll get the car,” Cathy said.
    The Mazda’s lights blazed; the car came forward, just like an obedient puppy. The three of them piled into it. Before Jimmy could touch the wheel, the Mazda jerked into action, taking them the few blocks home to Jimmy O’Connor’s house.
    As Jimmy got out of the car and stared at the place, Cathy and Don got out to stand behind him.
    “I’m suddenly afraid to go home,” Jimmy said. He’d come home,