by Snow, Nicole
I’m saved from having to answer that question – or Liv's shining eyes – when the classroom door bursts open and Em spills out like an overexcited puppy. The other students are behind her, that Ryan boy slipping out and hovering shyly a few feet away.
For once, though, Em’s not focused on the boy I’m pretty sure she has a crush on. She’s latched onto Liv. That makes me take even more notice.
My daughter isn't someone who touches others easily. During family counseling after Crystal’s funeral, I was warned that one way Em would try to guard herself against fear, pain, and loss would be to physically retreat from others. To trust very few with contact.
It’s one more reason why I was happy she wanted to take martial arts, cost be damned, because it means she's working past her tendency to flinch away from the slightest contact with anyone but me.
But it’s amazing to see her so casually wrap her hands around Liv’s upper arm, leaning into her for a moment before putting her entire tiny weight into it, dragging Liv toward the door.
I fight back a smile that hurts in the strangest way.
Then Liv laughs her lyrical laugh, as that brightness she has in spades unfurls for Em. “Hey, now! Where're you taking me?”
“You promised!” Em says. “That you’d come spar with me. Remember? Class is over. It’s open gym!”
Liv looks down at herself, at the shimmery, flowing dress that skims her thighs. “You're right. It's just...I’m not really dressed for sparring matches.”
“Sure you are!” Em grins. “Master Mike always says you have to be ready to defend yourself on the playground or in a fight, because no one’s going to give you a chance to change your clothes or warm up. So it’s better if you learn in the clothes you normally wear.”
Liv lets out a mock sigh. “Smart advice. Well, if I end up flashing half the class, it’s your fault.”
My brows lower.
I shouldn’t want to growl at the idea of that breezy skirt flashing aside and giving anyone else a glimpse of that sweet place where her panties dip between her thighs from the back, molding up into the inner curves of her ass.
I’ve seen that tempting little glance of flesh and lace too many times, with her fondness for short robes, short shorts, and short skirts.
I've seen it and sworn it's already mine even though that'd be a mammoth fuckup.
Shit. I’m not going to be able to watch this.
Not without wanting to fight any asshole who looks at her a little too long.
Not without fighting my own body if I see her bent over, writhing, showing too much skin.
Fuck!
But I let myself get dragged back inside the gym by both of them, Liv catching one of my arms, Em catching the other, both of them already planning – without even asking me – to stop for ice cream after.
Maybe it's for the best. We'll all need something cool and refreshing after this for very different reasons.
Somehow, my life has gone from being ruled by one irrepressible woman to two.
As they split off, though, I make my way to the back of the class and take up a position near the other parents and students milling around. Everyone watches the free sparring while the instructor calls out pointers.
Mike circles the room, and eventually makes his way around to me, clapping his hand to my shoulder. I try not to jerk away from the uninvited contact.
Em’s not the only one with issues being touched.
Odd how I don’t even think about pulling away when it’s Liv.
But it's not just that. This guy has a certain vibe around him. Like one of those try-hard New Age fitness freaks who also thinks he's God's gift for – what does he call it? – 'nurturing bright young minds.'
It's hard not to cringe when Mike flashes his too-wide grin at me. “Em’s an incredible student, Mr. Woods,” he says. “One of my best. And I’m glad she and Ryan are getting along so well. I was worried about him making friends here after the move.”
I nod, only halfway listening “Yeah. Good.”
Whatever. No matter how idle and neutral I try to keep my gaze, I end up drawn back to Liv again and again, watching how the dress swirls, clings to her, makes rippled patterns over the curve of her hips and rides up her thighs to tease and taunt and never quite satisfy until my mouth goes dry, waiting for that one special glimpse that keeps promising and never quite delivering.
Fucking hell.
And hell is right because Mike’s still talking. Still saying something about Tacoma and moving for Ryan’s education.
I force my attention from Liv, barely, and glance at him. “Yeah,” I say, though I can’t muster much interest. “Picking the right school's always important.”
“You said it, almost-neighbor. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really should make the rounds. That boy over there, Joey, he likes to imitate the wrestlers on TV who are far too big into power slamming for my liking...”
He doesn’t stick around for more small talk, and I’m glad.
I’ve never really been the PTA super-dad type. I’m less interested in being friendly with the other kids’ parents and more interested in protecting my own little cub.
Said cub turns into a bouncing bundle of triumph, though. With a sudden, sharp maneuver, Em flips Liv down in a tumble of limbs and golden hair and pale fabric to spill her onto the floor.
“I win!” Em proclaims.
Liv groans, though it’s more a resigned laugh, and pushes herself up on her elbows. She’s a gloriously disheveled mess, as if she’s just been tumbled into bed, and she tosses me a wry, rather charming grin. “I’m totally going to say I let her win.”
“Naturally,” I say, marveling at how easy it is to smile back at our little joke. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. C'mon.” I cross the mat and offer her my hand. “You've earned an ice cream for your beating.”
She slips her hand into mine then. Her fingers clasp mine so tight it doesn't even feel like show, this act we keep up in public.
Her skin feels so delicate. Soft and light as a new spring leaf, and her warmth soaks into me.
Then she just looks up at me with those wide, hopeful eyes, full of so much emotion and a sort of lovely, unguarded laughter. I forget I’m supposed to be helping her up, as I linger on the way her hair teases her face in honey-colored wisps against her lips and tumbles around her bare shoulders.
I'm stuck there like a fool, savoring how small her hand is in my palm as I fold my fingers around hers. My heartbeat is a strange and distant echo.
Good thing Em’s voice is plenty loud, snapping me from my reverie, as she tugs on my arm. “Come on, Dad. Ice cream shop's gonna close soon.”
Right. I shake myself, and for a moment Liv and I exchange an almost wondering look before I pull her up and she laughs, rolling gracefully to her feet. She’s flushed, and I think my blood is too, so I smile slightly and look away, tossing my head to the girls. “Let's go.”
Still holding Liv's hand, I start to lean down to kiss her cheek.
We’re in public. We seem so easy and natural, and I need to keep the façade up.
Were we actually engaged, it'd be completely normal for me to kiss her so casually for everyone to see after a playful little moment that brings us closer together as a family.
But I don’t realize she’s had the same idea, stretching up on her toes to kiss my cheek, until we both miss the mark and somehow – sweet fuck.
It’s lips to lips and my breath stiffens.
It’s chaste. Soft. Brief.
Just a little accident, but goddamn does it hold as we both freeze, our eyes locked, our lips pressed close.
I’ve never known any woman's mouth as pliable and yielding as hers, like she’s a sigh made flesh and you just want to melt away with her. My heart thunders.
My cock surges, hot and throbbing, as the softness of her mouth makes me aware of how soft she is everywhere else. Her hand still curled in mine. The teasing swell of her tight body on mine, tits resting li
ghtly against my arm.
Her scent, creeping into me. I’m caught here, entranced, held in the thrall of this fake kiss that feels all too fucking real.
We might have stayed like that forever if not for Em.
She’s my lifesaver, my...I don’t know, because I don’t know if I want this to stop, but people are starting to stare, and Em gives us a reason to break apart when she grins and starts chanting, “Daddy and Liv, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g...”
I suck in a breath. Liv and I rebound from each other sharply, both of us almost panting, and God if she’s that red then I can’t be any better. Not with how hot my face is.
Our fingers are still linked until we both seem to realize in the same moment and jerk back. The air between us is too hot. It’s Liv who breaks eye contact first, turning away and ducking her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. She glances at me shyly once more from the corner of her eye, then turns her attention to Em and gives her a light, playful shove.
“Oh, come on,” she teases. “Nursery rhymes?”
Em shoves her back, the two of them playfully tussling. “You’re so PDA.”
“I don’t think PDA is something a person can be,” Liv laughs. “It’s something you do.”
They keep teasing like that.
Somehow, things feel natural still, despite the memory of Liv’s lips on mine, breathless and hot and forever stamped on me. Despite the dark, animal urges they've sent into my blood. Despite the need that's still building in me every time I lay eyes on my pretend wife-to-be.
I manage to smile despite the ache in my chest and turn to head outside.
They fall into their usual chatter as they trail me out toward the parking lot. I’m pretty sure they’re speaking another language, and it’s not human, something from one of their sci-fi shows.
As we step out into the darkness, I can’t help letting my senses range out far, tuning them out to focus instead on our surroundings. I know this parking lot by day and by night, every crevice and cranny and vulnerable point of attack where someone could catch me off guard and possibly hurt Em – and now, Liv, too.
It’s natural for me to position my body so I make a shield for them as we cross the lot toward the Wrangler. I’m on alert for anyone creeping around in the shadows.
So I’m really not expecting someone to be brazenly hunched over my driver’s side door, fiddling at the lock with a wire hook.
My blood goes cold and dark. I snarl, striding forward.
“Stay back!” I throw at Liv, barely catching a glimpse of her positioning herself protectively in front of Em before my vision narrows on my target.
I make it three steps before the man – dressed all in scruffy black, a mask over his face, lank hair trickling from under the cap – realizes I’m almost on him.
He jerks, looking up with his eyes wide through the mask. They're brown.
I mark those eyes, in case I ever see them again, in case he hurts either of my girls and I have to pull them from his sockets. But in another split second, they’re turning away from me as the man bolts for the side alley leading into the lot.
It’s only his head start that lets him get away. I take off after him, pouring all my strength into the chase, but he’s already vanished into narrow side streets and rushing traffic where it’ll be impossible to find him, especially at this busy time of night.
I stop at the mouth of the alley, staring out into the main street, searching, my adrenaline a thing with teeth demanding that I find and end anyone and anything threatening what’s mine.
But I don’t like having them out of my sight right now, and after a few more searching moments, I turn, making my way quickly back to the lot.
Liv and Em have retreated to the outside wall of the building, huddled next to the door. It says everything to me how Liv has Em wrapped up in her arms, how she's moved to shelter her even though I’m pretty sure Liv was the one they'd be after.
“He got away,” I say grimly. “Let me check the car, and then we’ll file a police report. I'll let Landon know, and then we'll go home.”
They’re both wide-eyed, silent, but almost eerily calm. I wonder if they’re in shock or just holding it together until this is over.
I do a thorough inspection of my Wrangler, but I can’t find any signs of tampering other than the attempt to jimmy the lock, leaving a few scrapes on the paint and the window. The intruder had been wearing gloves, so no likelihood of prints.
Maybe not the Pilgrims. Looks more like a random break-in, the kind that's inevitable if you've lived enough years around the Bay.
Sighing, I text it to Landon anyway, then call 9-11.
It’s a short wait for the cops to show, and I stay close to my girls until the patrol car pulls up. Both of them lean into me while I talk to the officer, and it feels entirely natural to wrap one arm around them both and keep them close against my side while I run through the details with the cop.
Just an act, I tell myself.
Just an act, soothing my so-called fiancée.
I’m cagey on details with the cop. Landon’s warnings about the Pilgrims’ connections make everyone suspect.
For all we know, it could’ve been a random prowler and a crime of opportunity.
That’s a little too much coincidence for me, but it’s all the cop needs to know. Before long, we’re let go, and I usher them into the car.
My first instinct is to take them home and lock all the doors, but I don’t want to scare them more. Right now, the illusion of normalcy might be the best thing after all.
There's just enough time. So, ice cream it is.
And two very subdued girls who keep giving me and each other worried looks over mint chocolate chip and fudge ripple waffle cones, though they’re still clinging to each other and talking in hushed whispers while I focus on my phone.
That quick text I’d sent to Landon wasn’t enough, and I’m locked up in my own head, texting my boss more details and plotting out patrols for James and questioning where the hell Milah Holly disappeared to when she never called Landon back.
Then a sandaled foot nudges me under the table.
I look up. Liv is watching, her eyes dark and worried. Em’s more focused on her own phone, and I bet that boy’s on the other end of her texts. But it’s Liv who captures me, watching me intently, then reaching across the table to touch my arm, just the barest brush of her fingertips.
“Hey,” she asks softly. “Are you okay?”
How the fuck do I answer that? It's an even tougher question than usual.
People don’t ask me if I’m okay. They trust that I can handle myself, always, and rely on me to be the one making sure they’re okay.
I’m not sure what to do with the genuine, deep concern brimming in her eyes, or the fact that she sees me enough to realize I could even be shaken by an intruder getting so close to the people I need to protect most.
I take a deep breath and manage a smile – for her and for Em. I don’t want to worry them.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just taking care of business while it’s still fresh in my mind, and keeping Landon updated. Company procedure. He’s got some questions about your father suddenly wanting you home.”
She frowns. “Is that weird?”
“It raises questions.” I glance at Em.
I don’t like talking work in front of her, bringing the dirtiness of my world into her innocent life, but she’s so completely absorbed in her phone I don’t think she even hears us. “It's odd, is all. Why make such complex arrangements to set you up with Enguard, then abruptly change his mind? Why'd your sister call Landon and never call back, then call you the way she did? How is it that two separate criminal groups showed up at Milah’s house at exactly the same time and pulled off something so well orchestrated in the middle of a busy street?”
Liv tilts her head, poking her spoon into her ice cream and turning it into mush. “I hadn’t thought about all that.” She shakes her head. “I’m so used to g
oing with the flow that I don’t really question the whys, just whether or not I want to do them.” She makes a face, scrunching up her nose. “Pretty sure the answer to the last part is ‘no’ for most of this past week and a half.”
“Not enjoying your stay at Chateau Woods, then? Will you be leaving a bad review on Yelp?”
She laughs, short and quick and startled. “You know what I mean.”
It's damn strange that I like making her laugh, like my chest is a locked and rusted vault that’s slowly starting to creak open. Em glances at us both in disgust, rolling her eyes.
“You tell the worst jokes, Dad.”
“I don’t mind them,” Liv says, eyes glimmering. “And I don’t mind the accommodations, either. Even if the concierge’s a bit grumpy. I meant whatever's going on with Daddy, of course.”
“Just for that,” I say, “you’re cooking dinner for the next week.”
Liv lights up. “Can I?”
I can’t help but groan. I can never anticipate Liv’s reactions to the most common things, and it’s bizarrely charming and endearing. “Maybe not. If you’re on dinner duty, I’m on dishes.”
“Could make Em do them,” she counters. “For being on her phone at the table.”
Em sticks her tongue out. “You’re not my stepmom yet.”
Yet.
Just like that, the air sucks out of the room, and we’re all quiet, realizing what she just said.
I purse my lips and look away. Liv stares down at her ice cream. Em winces, then adds haltingly, “I mean, it’s a match made in heaven, right? You even like the same ice cream.”
I hadn’t even noticed. Both of us with cones of mint chip. I know Em’s just trying to break the ice and clear out the awkwardness, but it can’t really ease the tightness in my chest, that vault trying to slam shut again but catching on something and nearly crushing it.
“Yeah,” I say, playing along listlessly, digging my spoon into my ice cream. “That’s how you can tell we’re soul mates.”
7
A Little Thorny (Olivia)
Would it be weird if, once this is over, I wanted to hire out as a housekeeper?