by Snow, Nicole
Riker lets out a rumbling sound, almost reluctant, then mutters, “There’s moo goo gai pan left for you. If you're hungry...”
I gesture weakly at the sandwich resting on the little side table. “I made something for myself.” But I can’t help but bite back, “I could’ve made you more than moo goo gai pan. Something healthier.”
“With your Martha Stewart cookbook?” he fires back.
“Julia Child, thank you, and yes.” I glower at him. “I’m not that helpless, Riker. I can follow simple instructions. I do fine with breakfast, and you ate it right up. So why's dinner such a big deal?”
His jaw tightens subtly. It’s always subtle with him, but every action speaks so loud, and I wonder if it’s because I’m listening so hard or if it’s just because on some deep, strange level, it’s like I feel him, all the things he doesn’t say.
But I’m not sure where he’s going with this as he cuts his gaze toward the garage and asks neutrally, “Do you hear that? Do you hear my daughter laughing?”
It’s hard not to. Em’s laughter is shy but lovely, this bright, unrestrained thing, effusive and sweet, and the boy’s laughter is just as youthful and exuberant, completely unashamed of his happiness, unlike the shame and self-restraint we’re taught as adults. As if being happy is something wrong, and we shouldn’t be too loud or too joyous about it, or else we’ll make other people miserable and angry.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Yeah, I hear her.”
“Funny. I haven’t heard her laugh that way in years. Fuck, at this age, her life should be nothing but laughter.” There’s something grim in his voice, dark and determined. “This is a job, Liv. You know that. You're a guest in my home, and a client. I don’t want Em to get confused that this means anything else. I don’t want her thinking you'll stay, only to lose the laughter in her life when you go, and she doesn’t understand why someone else had to leave her behind. She’s finally making friends, and that’s not easy for her when bratty high school kids in her advanced courses don’t want to talk to the precocious monster making better grades than all of them combined, or they want to treat her like a pet and a mascot when she’s too proud for that. Finding balance for Em is damn hard. And I don’t want your presence here to tip her in the wrong direction. That's why I said no dinner. Understood?”
I suddenly feel smaller than ever.
Like I'm so ready for a hole to open up under me and pull me under.
Again, I'm someone’s problem. Something to be dealt with, and I shrink down into myself, plucking at the spiral rings of my notebook. Any desire to fight has gone out of me. “It was just dinner. It didn’t have to mean anything else.”
“It’s never ‘just dinner,’” Riker says. “It’s never ‘just’ anything. So I don’t want to have any drama, complications, or misunderstandings. This is strictly business. If my boss even thinks there’s anything inappropriate happening here, it could ruin the entire operation.”
Anything inappropriate? I shake my head. “I still don’t get what’s so inappropriate about me making dinner.”
He just looks at me, the towel stopping between his hands, twisted and curled tight between his knuckles.
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me alone as the first chill of evening starts to sink in, seeping into my bones with a finality as harsh as the kitchen door slamming shut.
I don’t understand what just happened.
And I don’t understand how a man who’s so kind and gentle with his daughter and real in his pain can be such a massive jerk to me.
6
Give Just a Little (Riker)
I’m starting to realize my house isn’t big enough for the three of us.
It was just fine with me and Em. We coexisted, and we found balance. I was her friend when I could be, her father when she needed me to be, her protector always, but we fit in and out of each other’s intertwined lives with the balance only a father and daughter could have.
We could occupy the same space and have it be our space, or go to our separate corners. Either was fine.
What isn’t fine is the bizarre dance I keep doing to avoid being alone in a room with Liv. And it's a necessary dance when this girl is a natural at doing dark, confounding shit to my body and mind.
The only relief I ever have is at work.
It’s odd to do my job at the office and also have a full-time protection gig waiting at home, just taking up space. Enguard's HQ is a sanctuary of sorts. A safe harbor where I can be the man I thought I was before Olivia Holly.
There, I’m not noticing how thin and gauzy her little dresses are, or how the sun shines through them so that every time she moves, her body becomes a silhouette in pastel shades.
I’m not noticing how whenever she forgets herself, she hums these tuneless little melodies that are really just her working through soft, thoughtful rainbows of sound.
I’m not escaping every room she’s in, shutting myself in my workshop and trying to find the concentration needed to fit a masthead to a miniature ship through the neck of a bottle. And failing every damn time.
I’m not wanting to pull that pen out of her mouth and replace it with something warmer, softer.
I'm not torturing myself with how fucking bad her very presence makes me throb.
I remember what it was like to relax at home. Building wooden ships – the precision, the expertise, the delicacy necessary – used to be my way to unwind. My Zen place.
Now it’s pure frustration. Because every time I try, I find myself stopping and listening to the sound of laughter coming from the living room while they talk about star-something or X-Men or I think, this morning, Tesla. Em’s always had a fascination with electric cars, and apparently Liv is, in her words, “Here for it.”
If you held a magnum to my head, I couldn't tell you which is worse: my daughter's authentic happiness with Liv, or the siren call to self-destruct that woman puts in my blood.
I’m not here for this. Her, getting comfortable in Em’s life, only to abandon her and go back to her own once there’s no longer a need for us and the convenient illusions of our world.
Or me, lashing out and doing something incredibly stupid the next time I catch a glimpse of Liv's lush little ass, something that'll win me a pink slip from Landon and possibly a lawsuit from her uptight CEO prick of a father.
“Riker. Hey, Riker?”
It takes me a minute to realize Skylar’s been calling my name, probably for a while. I pull myself from my blank stare out the window and swivel my chair around toward her. “Sorry. Yeah?”
She frowns, tilting her head. “I was going to ask if you had inventory numbers for ammo clips, but now I just want to know where the hell you were right now.”
I frown. “Where I...was?”
“Yeah.” She shifts her pixie-like frame around to straddle the back of her chair and folds her arms over it, watching me with knowing eyes.
Somehow, we’re the only people left in the office, burning the evening oil, though I know she’ll be leaving soon to make her way home to Gabe. He always leaves before she does, just so she can come home to someone warm and welcoming with dinner already waiting so she can settle down and relax.
I wonder what that must be like.
I wonder if I want to wonder.
“See?” she says. “You’re doing it again. Drifting off. Daydreaming. And that’s not your MO, man.”
With a scowl, I glance back at the map I was supposed to be studying. A blueprint, actually, of the auditorium for tomorrow’s easy job: afternoon security for a speech by a Tibetan religious leader. “I’m not daydreaming. I’m thinking.”
“Not about work, clearly. What’s really on your mind?”
“Nothing,” I deflect, when the real answer is everything. “Just work, Sky.”
Because just work is why I avoid her further questions. Of course. And just work is why I stay even when she goes with one last light, affectionate tap on my shoulder, leaving me brooding at the sc
reen when there’s really nothing left for me to do but wrap it up and go home.
Em will be waiting, anyway. She’d texted me she was catching a ride home from school with that boy she likes, Ryan, but she’ll still wait for me to get home and order in so we can have dinner.
Rather, so she can have dinner with Liv while I carry my takeout container to the workshop and try once again not to hear how happy Em sounds when talking with this stranger who was thrust into my life.
Fuck. I pinch the bridge of my nose, then force myself up and gather my things into my briefcase.
Home. Home is just another extension of work right now, but this isn’t permanent.
I don’t want it to be permanent.
As I’m locking my briefcase, the door swings open. Landon steps in, caught in the fading colors of sunset. He blinks at me, frowning.
“Shouldn’t you have left by now? Who’s got Em?”
“Caught a ride home with her self-defense instructor. He lives a few blocks away.” I shrug into my suit coat. “Are we any closer to leads on the Holly case?”
“No. It’s been bizarrely quiet, but I missed a call from Milah while I was driving.” He grimaces. “I can’t say I was really sorry about that.”
“What? She's still flirting with you?”
“No, but that doesn’t stop my wife from wanting to murder her.” He smiles and spreads his hands. “Trying to keep the peace. But for now, I need to lock up, so go home.”
I don’t want to say how reluctant I am to go home.
Or how, despite my reluctance…something’s pulling on me anyway, drawing me out the door and to my car.
I haven’t felt this much of a chaotic tangle inside since I was a teenager and first in love. That's how I know I'm well and truly fucked.
I don’t remember her name now, but I remember this shirt she’d wear, spangled with blue glitter and seeming to just burn with the brightness she brought into every room. I always thought falling hard, falling fast, was for kids like the boy I was then, while as adults you took things slow and reasoned, followed the formula, took one step after another to progress at a sensible pace.
That's how it was with me and Crystal. And maybe that's why things got messy before she died.
There’s nothing slow, reasoned, or formulaic about the way everything in my head gets scrambled up the moment I’m within sight of Liv.
Liv – who, when I pull into the garage and step into the house, is angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
She’s pacing the living room, iPhone pressed to her ear, her hair lashing around her, her eyes snapping. Every line of her body is so tense she’s practically having trouble walking because her muscles are locked so tight. “Fine,” she snaps, her soft voice hard-edged and trembling with a restrained edge of fury. “Just do whatever you have to do.”
Then she hangs up, rounding in a frustrated whirl – only to freeze when she sees me. She blanks, her eyes widening and sort of looking through me, before skittering away. “Oh. Hi, Riker.”
I eyeball her, especially what she's hiding. Her defensive body language, the flush of anger in her cheeks. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she bites off sullenly, and suddenly I see the resemblance to Milah Holly all too well.
It just doesn’t annoy me as much as it should.
“Liv,” I start, then sigh. I know I’ve made this distance, this tension, and right now might not be the best time to prod at it, but dammit, I need to. “What happened? If there’s something I need to know, tell me. Was someone threatening you?”
“No,” she says firmly, then breaks off as Em comes running downstairs in her gym pants and protective gear.
“Ready?” she asks breathlessly, that light in her eyes, completely oblivious to the stifling miasma between me and Liv.
Whatever this is, we can't finish it now. Not in front of my girl.
“You know it,” I say, and toss my head to both of them. “Come on.”
* * *
At Em’s classes, Liv and I have developed a routine.
We sit far enough from the other parents so that we seem lost in our own little world, soon-to-be newlyweds too wrapped up in each other to want to engage with anyone else. Nobody questions it.
She curls her hand on my arm and leans her head on my shoulder. I lean subtly into her, and we murmur to each other about the case while people think we’re whispering sweet nothings.
Only today, it's different. Everything's different.
Liv sits stiffly away from me, her arms folded over her chest, and while she’s watching Em, her eyes are glassy and lost and distant. Lover’s quarrel, anyone would think.
I probably did or said something shitty.
They’d be right, I think, but I know my coldness isn't why Liv is like this right now.
And I’m surprised how much I miss her slight, sweet warmth against my side. I miss the delicate torture of her soft young skin on mine.
I glance up, watching Em a few minutes. She’s absorbed in learning about ankle holds and doesn’t even remember I’m in the room. She’ll be fine for a little time without us.
Standing, I lightly brush my fingers over Liv’s shoulder. She glances at me sidelong, watching me from the corner of her eye but saying nothing.
“Hallway. Need a few words,” I growl. When her mouth tightens, I add, “Please.”
She’s good at talking with silence, and right now her quiet says that while her mood might not be wholly because of me, I’m not helping. But after a pointed moment, she stands, following me out into the hall.
Why the hell does this guilt leap up and bite me?
I know why. I can’t let this go on any longer. And the moment the classroom door closes behind us and we’re alone in the dim gray-white fluorescents of the hall, I spit it the fuck out, “I’m sorry.”
She stills, looking at me like she’s never heard those words in her life. “Excuse me?”
“I said I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath. “I always tell Em that part of growing up is being willing to apologize. So I need to set an example. And I’m sorry, Liv. I shouldn’t have shut you out. I’m sorry if I made you feel unsafe while you’re dealing with all of this. You didn't mean a personal insult when you offered to make us dinner. I get defensive for bullshit reasons that aren’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, or pulled this cat and mouse shit when you just wanted to help. How else can I say it? I fucked up.”
She eyes me warily, folding her arms over her chest, but then sniffs, her mouth twitching at the corners. “Bravo. I guess you win Dad points for this one, but I’ve got to tell you...you’re a terrible fiancé.”
I crack a small smile. “Yeah. Fair.”
“Guess I’ll let you off the hook. But only if you stop hiding during dinner, Riker. Em misses you. She's actually getting tired of takeout. And maybe...me, too.”
I don't ask whether she means the takeout or me. It's obvious and complicated.
“I’m not hiding,” I bite off, sinking my teeth into my own tongue. I can’t even get that lie out straight. “All right.”
“Thank you.” She glances back toward the classroom door. There’s an even silence around us, save for the enthusiastic shouts drifting through the walls, before she says tentatively, “That was my sister earlier. When I was on the phone.”
That sets off alarm bells, knowing Milah tried to call Landon and then wound up arguing with Liv. “What happened? Is everything all right?”
“She said I can come home.” Her mouth goes from a soft, lush bloom to a bitterly twisted bud, tight and closed. “Just like that. Like I can’t tell Daddy’s behind it, when it’s all talk about how he can keep me safe in Seattle now or at one of his vacation houses. I guess since I’m not around, she’s his new mouthpiece. Don't ask me why the change of heart, when he pushed this witness protection thing in the first place. I just don't understand...”
I don't either, and I don't fucking like it.
I'm also not liking Liv’s father much. Didn't seem possible my opinion could fall any lower after seeing how he shoved her off to me and stopped just short of asking me to shine his shoes at the airport.
Plus, I’m liking the idea of her suddenly disappearing even less, and that makes zero damned sense when I should be rejoicing to have this problem out of my life.
I try to keep my voice neutral. “If it fits Enguard protocol and common sense, it's your choice. Have you made up your mind?”
Technically, it's Landon's. I can't believe he'd sanction her to go back to Seattle with a bastard like Lion still itching to take her hostage, but who am I to say? Her old man could hire her a small country's army for protection.
“Yeah.” Liv smiles this fierce, strange smile that I’m starting to realize is her way of coping when she’s hurt. “Bad news, Riker...”
Bad news? My balls crawl up into my throat. Fuck, it shouldn't bother me so much, but it does and I'm barely listening when she continues on.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I feel safer with you than I do at home with Daddy. He'll throw money at the problem like that will make it go away. But you and Em...you actually care.”
Fuck yes.
I do.
I care about keeping this strange woman, with her bizarre mixture of naivete and weary worldliness, as safe as possible.
I care about being the man to see with my own eyes that she’s made it through every day safe and sound, protected and within arm’s reach. So I can stand between her and anything that tries to hurt her.
I care about the fact that she changes the energy of the house when she’s there – hell, my whole life – and it’ll seem duller and grayer and uglier when she’s gone.
I care about her because I don't understand what the hell's happening to me.