Made for Breaking

by Lauren Gilley

  It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows that were sliced with the moonbeams that played through the windows. The shadows took shape: the armoire, the door to the bathroom, the bed, the telltale lump beneath the covers. Drew was asleep already, snoring softly.

  Cautiously – because the last time she’d startled him awake, he’d nearly snapped her arm in two – she tiptoed to the edge of the bed. “Drew.” He was on his stomach, face turned toward her, and he shifted under the covers, the sheet slipping low over his bare back. “Drew.”

  He came awake with a start, levering up onto his arms. She was prepared, but even so, the suddenness of the motion startled her.

  “It’s me,” she said before he could react more violently.

  His eyes swung up to hers, bright with moonlight, and the tension went out of him. “Lisa.” She had an ordinary name, but she liked the way he said it. He frowned. “What are you doing in here?”

  There were a thousand things she could have said: I’m lonely; I’m confused; you don’t really want to pretend, do you? But she said, “Does it matter?”

  His answer was to move over and push the covers back.

  She let the flannel shirt slide back off her shoulders and felt – though he’d already seen her naked in the dark – self-conscious as she climbed in beside him in her camisole and shorts. The old bed frame creaked and the sheets rustled, and as her head hit the pillow beside his, she was flooded with worry; what if he –

  He rolled into her and his good arm went around her waist, heavy and muscled and pulling her in close against his chest. He smelled like soap and his skin was warm and smooth beneath her hands – beneath her face as she settled it against his chest, his chin tucked over the top of her head. She released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and let the long day’s tension go bleeding out of her; suddenly, she was exhausted. Her eyelids flagged. The even thump of his heart against her cheek was a lullaby.

  “So,” Drew said, and his hand settled between her shoulder blades, holding her to him. “How are we gonna explain this?”

  Her age was irrelevant, as was the fact that she’d been engaged before; her father would treat her exactly like an errant sixteen-year-old when he found out where she’d spent the night. She sighed. “I figure we can either try to hide it – which won’t work; or we can admit it – which will involve some yelling.”

  She held her breath while she waited for his response. He said, “I can handle yelling.”

  She woke him up in the black hours of early morning, her little hands gliding down his stomach and launching him to full awareness. When he sought to roll her onto her back, she braced her hands on his shoulders and said, “Let me on top.” And he did, and was rewarded for the concession.

  She was intense, this girl; she didn’t speak and didn’t scream and her nails raked down his chest as she took him in with a welcoming, hot hunger that he could feel. He’d been with the kind of women that dripped sex – suggestion and promise and hooded looks creating an aura around them that was unmistakably inviting. But those women were no different in bed than out of it, detached and impersonal. Lisa was focused, she was all action and no talk, and it felt intensely personal. When he eventually drew her down and rolled them, trapped her beneath him in their cocoon of scratchy sheets, the sex was slow, languid, and if he dared think it, sheltering. They were damp skin and mingling tongues, shared air and matched rhythms.

  Afterward, he held her, because he wanted to, and because he thought she wanted it too. Their skin glued together – her forehead to his chin – and their breathing evened out in the first gray strokes of dawn.

  “Do you think,” Lisa started, and she took a deep breath that stirred against his throat. “Do you think that whoever attacked Dani is connected to the flowers? You think it’s the same guy?”

  He thought a moment, wanting to phrase it in a way that didn’t frighten her. She’d never admit it, but she was scared – it was what had led her to his bed, even if he wanted to think otherwise. “Ray thinks so. But there’s no real proof.”

  “But what are the odds that someone at a party I worked just happened to get attacked?”

  “Slim.”

  A thin finger of watery light sliced across the floor; they were running out of time.

  “This guy,” Drew said, “Shilling? You really think it’s him?”

  “Dad was his attorney and he turned evidence over to the prosecutor,” she reasoned. “He has every reason to hold a grudge against him.”

  “Yeah, but he did his time. He’s out, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Why the hell would a guy who got a second chance risk going away again just ‘cause of a grudge? Your dad wouldn’t even know he was out if it weren’t for…” He didn’t know what to call this bizarre Criminal Minds episode he’d been sucked into. “The flowers. A guy gets a second chance, he isn’t gonna blow it.”

  He felt her shrug. “He killed his own wife and daughter. Nothing he does could make sense.”

  “Still…”

  Lisa pulled back and tipped her head; he saw the liquid flash of her eyes as she scanned his face. “You don’t think it’s him, do you?”

  There was something soft about her face, a warm, trusting stillness that made him uneasy. She was looking to him, asking him, wanting to know what he thought – about something this important, no less. He didn’t trust himself to give her the right answer.

  “Drew,” she prodded. “You don’t?”

  He rolled onto his back and she propped up on an elbow, staring down at him. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and kept them there. “Not really. I mean, I don’t have any idea who it could be, but I don’t think it’s Shilling.”

  “Did you tell the guys that?”

  “No.”

  “You should.”

  He sighed, and glanced sideways at her; she had a stubborn set to her little jaw. “What good would that do? They aren’t gonna listen to me.”

  “They don’t listen to me,” she said, “but I still say what I need to say.”

  He had to grin. “I noticed.” He reached up with his good hand and touched his knuckles to the side of her head, against her glossy dark hair. “But your head’s harder than mine.”

  She made a face. “Yeah, but if you’re gonna be – ” She cut herself off, eyes widening, looking shocked.

  “If I’m gonna be what?”

  Her gaze skittered away and then she flopped down onto her back beside him, sheet tucked up over her breasts. Drew swore he could hear her reprimanding herself in her head. “If you’re gonna…stick around.” She sounded like she phrased things carefully. “Then you’ve gotta learn to speak up.”

  Okay, he thought. Starting now. “You want me to stick around, then?”

  It was silent a beat before she said, “Yeah,” and in just one word, her voice lost all its strength and sounded laid-bare and vulnerable.

  It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

  29

  The first thing that greeted Lisa on the driveway an hour later was her dog. Hektor was trotting excited circles behind her truck, nub of a tail wriggling, tongue lolling. She was walking toward him, smiling, a greeting on her tongue, pavement cold beneath her bare feet, when she lurched to a halt. Hektor wasn’t out by himself; someone had let him out. And that meant someone knew she was missing. And that meant –

  The door off the screened porch slammed back on its hinges and her heart gave a terrified leap to see her father on the steps sliding a flat look across her and up over her shoulder where Drew stood. “Inside. Both of you. Now.” He retreated and let the door crash into its frame; inside, Cheryl reprimanded him for it, her voice just a murmur from a distance.

  Lisa caught a deep, trembling breath and twisted around to glance at Drew. She almost didn’t recognize him: his jaw was set and a cold, crystal glaze had slipped over his eyes; he stared at the house and the cords at the base of his neck danced. If she dared think it, he loo
ked ready to fight, protective. He was, she realized with a strange thrill, going to stand up to her dad.

  No boy had ever dared do that for her.

  No man. If he was going to challenge Ray, then he was a man.

  Seeing him in this new light bolstered her courage. “He won’t actually do anything,” she said, hoping it was true. “Just yelling, remember?”

  His gaze dropped to her face, eyes softening, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “I’m not worried about that.” He was worried about her – about how Ray would treat her. She really couldn’t take any more of this or she’d start to turn into one of those jelly-kneed, doe-eyed girls in novels.

  They walked to the house without touching, Hektor between them. Drew held the door for her and followed her through the screened porch into the kitchen. Ray was waiting for them at the head of the table, hands braced on the ladder back of his chair. His head lifted at the sound of their approach, his eyes glacial. Cheryl was prepping breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the scene that was about to unfold.

  Lisa felt her throat closing up in an old, familiar reaction. At the mercy of her father’s stare, she was sixteen and stupid again, making the kinds of short-sighted mistakes that wrecked her reputation and shattered her parents’ trust.

  At the stove, Cheryl rapped her spoon neatly against the edge of her skillet and sent her the fastest of reassuring looks: You’re fine.

  Lisa took a deep breath. She was fine. She wasn’t a kid anymore; they’d never been a religious family and there was no sense pretending she’d committed some egregious sin. If anything, Ray was to blame. He’d forced them together all these weeks; what had he expected?

  She took another breath and squared up her shoulders, stood tall in her pajamas, on bare legs. Something stirred at her back – Drew’s fingers as he toyed with the ends of her hair. Come on, Dad, she thought, meeting his implacable gaze with one of her own. Call me a slut. I dare you.

  Ray opened his mouth –

  She braced herself for the tirade.

  - and he said the last thing she’d expected. “I went to the hospital to see what I could get out of Danielle Britton last night.”

  Lisa blinked. “You did?”

  “Yeah. She knows who attacked her – I got that impression – but she was too scared to squeal.”

  “So.” Suddenly light-headed, she fell into the nearest chair and braced her elbows on the table. “You’re thinking she would recognize him? Or that she knows him?”

  “Knows him, is my guess, well enough to be worried he could get to her if she ratted him out.”

  She let that sink in a moment, studying her chipped nail polish. “Well, I didn’t exactly think some random strangler wandered into the Smyths’ party.”

  Ray frowned. “Not random. Shilling could have – ”

  “How would Dani know Shilling?”

  Cheryl nodded in agreement and kept stirring home fries.

  “It was a high profile case,” Ray said with a dismissive wave. “She could have seen his picture somewhere and – ”

  “Actually, sir.” Drew’s voice was as shocking as a gunshot through the kitchen. “I don’t think it was Shilling either.”

  Lisa had never before seen the look of bafflement that slid across her father’s face. Cheryl whirled to give Drew a desperate, you-shouldn’t-have-done-that glance.

  “You don’t?” Ray said, emotionless. “You’ve got a better theory, then?”

  Drew must have known it was a trap; he seemed to choose his words carefully. “I don’t think a man who thought he was going away for murder – and got off on some kinda tax charges – would risk going back in again. So, no, I don’t think it’s him. That’s all the ‘theory’ I’ve got.”

  Ray’s fingers drummed on the back of the chair; a vein along his temple – just a thin trace of a shadow from across the table – pulsed. “Boxer’s intuition tell you this?”

  “Oh, Christ, Ray,” Cheryl said with a sigh. “Leave the boy alone. He has an opinion – we all have opinions – and he’s entitled to one.”

  Ray didn’t react to her. His eyes came to Lisa. “You better go get dressed. Mark says he’s gonna give Ellen your job if you don’t get there on time.”

  The remark was unnecessarily cruel; it was her reprimand, she knew, as she slid out of her chair. He’d decided, for some reason, not to ream her out about Drew, but she was going to suffer all the same.

  ***

  He watched Lisa leave – the unconscious sway of her hips, the light sound of her bare feet on the floor, hair swinging between her shoulder blades – and waited for the hammer to fall. Ray was hiding it well – as well as any father could, Drew supposed – but he was livid, and it was only a matter of time before –

  “So that’s how it’s going to be, then?” he asked, and Drew felt the back of his neck prickling as he gave the man his full attention. “All we’ve done for you, and you’re going to repay us by sleeping with our daughter?”

  A week ago, he would have denied the allegation; after all, Ray didn’t know anything had happened, and was only guessing. But after the night before, his indignation felt justified; Ray Russell was a conceited, overbearing asshole, his daughter more like a favored pet than an emotional, intelligent girl whose opinions he valued. He took a deep breath. “Sir, no offense, but if you were worried about Lisa’s sex life, you’d pay her enough so she didn’t have to work at that bar dressed up like a Hooter’s girl.”

  Cheryl spun to face them, no longer feigning disinterest.

  The vein in Ray’s temple looked ready to burst; a high, hot flush rose along his cheekbones and his jaw clenched tight. “Are you calling me a bad father?”

  “A scared one,” Drew said, “who’s so caught up in fixing his mistakes he doesn’t see what it’s doing to his kid.”

  “Oh, but you see?”

  “I see her. You told me to watch her, and I do. I dunno what else you’ve got going on, but I’ve just been watching Lisa.”

  It was, probably, the most dangerous conversation of his life. The stakes – Lisa’s sleek arms curled around his neck; the tickle of her hair against his nose; the angry flash of her eyes right before they melted and swallowed him up – suddenly seemed higher than those of any fight. A man without anything to lose made the most frightening of opponents, and he’d always been that man. But in this too-calm fight across the kitchen table, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing what he’d just gained, whatever it was.

  “She’s scared,” he continued, “and lonely, and she’s got this thing about not disappointing you.”

  Cheryl cleared her throat and said quietly, “He’s right, Ray.”

  Her husband ignored her, gaze never wavering. “And let me guess: you’re all too happy to play Prince Charming.”

  “She’s twenty-four; she makes her own decisions about that sort of thing.” Drew swallowed hard, already cringing at what he was about to say. “It’s stupid for you to think you can – or should – control her like that.”

  The summer air went artic. Cheryl wasn’t breathing.

  “Sir, I would never hurt Lisa on purpose, but not because you told me not to. If you want to fire me, fine,” Drew said. “But I honestly don’t care what you think at this point.”

  “Oh…” Cheryl said, hand going to her throat. She probably needed to sit down, Drew thought.

  In a voice that belonged to a Die Hard villain, just a threatening whisper of sound, Ray said, “The moment – the instant – Lisa wants you gone, you’re gone, and not a second later. Understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Footsteps came rapping down the staircase and Lisa appeared a moment later, in cutoffs and cowboy boots and a Mötley Crüe t-shirt with the sleeves cut out of it. She’d tied her hair up in a messy knot, washed her face and put on fresh makeup. Her cheeks were flushed. “Ready?” she called.

  Ray was still holding his gaze, murder in his eyes. “Yeah. Coming.”

  “Sweetie,” Cheryl said
in a choked voice. She gestured toward his boxers and wifebeater getup. “You might want to put some pants on first.”

  ***

  “I should have taken a shower,” Lisa said. There was a breeze coming through the open office window and she could smell a night at the bar and…other activities…on herself.

  Drew, reading a car magazine in one of her visitor chairs, said, “You smell like sex.”

  She made a face at him. “I know.”

  He lifted his head and grinned. “I wasn’t complaining about it.”

  Her stomach somersaulted and she glanced away, cheeks suddenly hot. Stupid boy. Stupid accepting, understanding, dumbass boy.

  A knock at the garage door pulled her attention. Mark was braced in the jamb, eating a Snickers with greasy hands. “Hey, doll.” He stepped in and closed the door behind him, garage noise dying away. “I’ve got a job for you.”

  Drew was alert in an instant; he didn’t move, but she could see tension lock him in place.

  “Job?” she asked, caution stealing through her.

  “Yeah. It’s for your dad, actually.” He held up a hand when she frowned. “Now just hold on a sec. Hear me out.” She sighed and sank back in her chair. “He went up to the hospital last night to talk to Danielle Briton, but she wouldn’t say much. He thinks you might be able to find out who attacked her, girl-to-girl.”

  “Um…Dani and I are not friends. Not even close. She won’t talk to me.”

  “Girls lean on other girls when shit gets scary,” he reasoned. “Friends or not, she’s more likely to confess to you than any of us.”

  She snorted. “How progressive of you, Uncle Mark: all girls gossip with all other girls.”

  He sighed. “You know that’s not what I’m getting at. Come on, Lis. We could use your help.”

  Her gaze went to Drew; he gave her a little eyebrow shrug. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Some trust and responsibility and a chance to help her family.