Waking Kiss

by Annabel Joseph

  He made a face. “I didn’t take any care.”

  “Yes, you did. And I think…” I caught his chin and made him look me in the eyes. “I think someday, when you fall in love, all hell’s going to break loose for some poor girl. And for you too.”

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you worry about your own problems, lady? Hey, I see you later at the theater. After the performance, we practice. Back to business, yes?”

  “Back to business. Yes.” God knew I wanted to get back to business. He gave me one of his nice, grabby hugs and I went up the stairs to shower and get ready for work. When I got to my floor, Mem was standing outside my door.

  “Ashleigh. Good morning,” he said.

  He looked so serious that I felt a pang of distress. “Is everything okay? Is Liam—”

  “Mr. Wilder is fine. Sleeping off a long night. I am only here to ensure you got home safely, and that you sustained no lasting damage in last night’s fracas.”

  Fracas. What a word. “I’m fine,” I said, digging my keys out of my bag. “I wasn’t involved in it. Do they fight like that a lot?”

  “No,” Mem said. “Not very often. May I come in, just for a moment?”

  “Okay. But my place is a mess.”

  “It is no matter.”

  I let him in, flushing at the jumble of clothes on the floor, my unmade forest bed and the blanket structure I’d rebuilt last week. I scratched my forehead and threw my bag onto the table. “Sit anywhere you like.”

  He sat on the edge of the couch while I went to the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?”

  “No, thank you. I can’t stay long.”

  I walked over and sat on the couch with him, feeling flustered and a little defensive. “In case you’re wondering, I stayed at Rubio’s last night, but I didn’t sleep with him.”

  Mem made a quelling gesture. “Do not feel you must make an accounting of your private life to me. I observe but I do not judge. I have observed a growing bond between you and Mr. Wilder.”

  He said it as a statement but it was more of a question. “We grew close recently, yes. He was helping me with some of my problems. My many issues,” I added with a tight laugh.

  “What happened last night?”

  His calm, direct question wasn’t accusatory. I blinked and tried to think about what had happened, because I wasn’t totally sure. “I don’t know what made him go off, Mem. Jealousy of Ruby? But me and Liam were never in a relationship. That was his requirement, not mine. I would have liked something…something deeper, but last week, Liam said we were done.” I stood and paced over by my bed, tracing the notches in one of the sculpted tree trunks. “But then Rubio asked if I wanted to come with him to the party this weekend and I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. It was partly because I wanted to see Liam. To show him I didn’t need him, maybe. Even though…” I was babbling. Epic ramble. I turned to Mem with a frown. “I didn’t come with Rubio, though. He’s just a friend. I mean, we aren’t—” I thought about Ruby’s words earlier that morning. “We aren’t in love.”

  Mem studied me a moment before he spoke. “Are you in love with Mr. Wilder?”

  I didn’t answer at first, but then I met his gaze and nodded. “I have been for ages now, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want me. I played with him and Rubio last night to show that I could be like him. That I could keep things sexy and impersonal the way he does. I thought it would take a load off his mind.” My forced laugh sounded a little maniacal. “I wanted to show him that I was super-independent now, and capable, and okay. Even though I’m not.”

  I batted at the bed curtains, waiting for Mem, the all-knowing shaman, to figure out this mess. Unfortunately, he looked as unsettled as me.

  “You know, Mr. Wilder uses women as you use those curtains.” He nodded at the sheer panels of silk. “To keep the demons away. He is not, perhaps, the man he presents himself to be.”

  “What do you mean, not the man he presents himself to be?”

  “I mean that, like you, he has a past. It often influences his actions. I would tell you to ask him about it, but he would not tell you. I would tell you myself, but I promised not to.”

  “So you can’t tell me anything, except that he has demons.”

  “I can tell you that you should not take his actions personally. That you should not blame yourself for his shortcomings. I can also give you this.”

  He held out a card with gold-embossed edges. It was an Ironclad card, like Liam’s business card, but with another name on it. Ronan Wilder.

  “Liam’s father,” said Mem. “If you wish to help Liam fight his demons, perhaps you will utilize that card and pay a visit to Mr. Wilder first. The elder Mr. Wilder, that is.”

  I stared down at the bold print. “Why do you call him Mr. Wilder? Why don’t you call him Liam?”

  “Liam is not his real name.”

  I looked up in surprise, and then I remembered. “Oh, that’s right. Ishi.”

  “His real name is Eric.”

  Eric?

  Mem touched the back of my hand. “Ishi is a good man, and he always will be, but as I told you, he has no people. It haunts him, day and night. Go to his father. He can explain it all better than me.”

  “But I don’t know his father. He won’t know who I am.”

  “I imagine he will.”

  I chewed my lip. I was curious now, and a little freaked out. I wanted to help Liam—Eric?—if he had demons, especially after he’d helped me overcome mine. But it seemed I didn’t even know who he was.

  “I assure you, Ronan Wilder is a very kind man,” said Mem. “He is a good father. He will want to help his son.”

  “I don’t know much about good fathers.” I stared through the shifting sheen of my bed curtains. “I never had a father, really.”

  “I never had a child. But in some way I like to take care of everyone.” He held out a hand as he stood and I crossed to take it. It felt strong and cool. “It is your choice, Ashleigh, if you wish to save our Ishi. If you don’t, eventually someone will. But I hoped…” He paused and withdrew his hand. “Well, I should not meddle. It is a terrible vice of mine.”

  With those words, he gave another of his strange little nods and disappeared out the door.

  *** *** ***

  The next day I called Mr. Ronan Wilder’s office to talk to him. The brusque woman who answered identified herself as his secretary and asked what my call was in regards to. In regards to? I had no idea how to answer that. I panicked and hung up. I called later that day hoping to get a different person. I didn’t. I launched into a made-up story about needing to hire a bodyguard, but I chickened out when she asked for my information. I’d hung up twice now; there was no way I could call again.

  All of Monday I vacillated. I couldn’t reach Liam’s dad directly, and I couldn’t reach Mem for advice without possibly running into Liam. I wasn’t ready for that confrontation yet. I wanted to know about these demons, about this Eric thing Mem had dangled in front of me. My curiosity eventually got the best of me, and I headed to Knightsbridge on Tuesday, to talk to a man I didn’t even know.

  Damn Liam. These were my free days, and I was spending them tracking down answers that might, just might, fix the disconnect between us. Then again, they might not. All the way to Ironclad’s offices, I fought the urge to turn tail and run home. He helped you. Maybe you can help him. I remembered Liam as I’d seen him last, enraged, grappling with Rubio, yelling at me to get out. I looked up at the high-rise where the offices were located, steeled myself, and walked to the elevators in the lobby. No one questioned me, no one stopped me.

  Halfway to the twenty-fourth floor I realized that I wasn’t just heading to his father’s place of work, but Liam’s too. I knew he normally worked from home, but what if he happened to be here today? I’d have to play it off and pretend I’d come here to see him. It struck me then, how very much I wanted to see him, even with all the confusion between us, and the way we
’d parted ways.

  Bolstered by that thought, I entered the double doors to Ironclad’s impressive headquarters. The entire back wall was a sheet of security glass. Two male receptionists looked up from behind a long, sturdy-looking edifice that I supposed was a desk. Wait. Were they receptionists or security guards?

  “Can I help you?” asked the one closest to me.

  “I’m a— I’m a friend of Mr. Wilder’s. Uh, Ronan Wilder, not Liam,” I added quickly.

  The man was clean cut, blond and short-haired, in a suit. He gave me a tight smile. “Is he expecting you?”

  “Yes,” I lied. The other guy watched me. I could tell they both knew I was full of shit. I backtracked, stammering in embarrassment. “N-no. Well. I just need a moment of his time. He’ll want to see me.” They looked at each other. I had a sinking feeling I was about to be thrown out. “Please, just ask him. Ask if he has a moment to see me. My name is Ashleigh Keaton.”

  The first one stood and I waited to be shown the door, but instead he went to one of the office doors behind him. He gave me a look that let me know he was definitely doing me a favor. “One moment, please.”

  “Thank you,” I said in relief. I waited, wondering who was checking me out from behind the glass. I was dressed in my version of professional, non-troublemaker, office-type wear, which was black slacks and a pale blue sweater with a silk scarf. It had taken me twenty minutes to get the scarf to look right. Dancers didn’t wear these things.

  The door opened again, and Blond Security Guy emerged with another gentleman. Oh shit, I was in trouble. This couldn’t be Liam’s dad. The man was short, maybe 5’ 6”, with ruddy pale skin and a stocky frame. He moved toward me to apprehend me—but then he smiled and held out his hand. “Miss Keaton. What a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Ronan Wilder.”

  Or, maybe it could be his dad. “Mr. Wilder,” I said, taking his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t make an appointment. If you’re busy—”

  “I’m not busy. I have some time, if you don’t mind joining me for lunch?”

  “Um. Sure. I mean, thank you.” I followed him back through the door, into a maze of cubicles and desks. “Is Liam here?”

  Mr. Wilder looked over his shoulder at my anxious tone. “Am I to understand this is a hush-hush operation?” I didn’t see any of Liam in Mr. Wilder’s appearance, but I heard him in the man’s dry humor and the casual lilt of his voice.

  “Sort of hush-hush,” I said.

  “Well, don’t worry. He’s not here at the moment.” Mr. Wilder ushered me into a large corner office. I was momentarily distracted from my mission by the panoramic city view.

  “We, uh…” I stared in awe at the floor-to-ceiling windows. They were even bigger than the window-wall in Rubio’s loft. “We recently had a break up. Well…” I turned to him, determined to be honest. “Me and Liam were never really together. But we were close.”

  Mr. Wilder gestured me toward a spread of take-out containers on his desk—grilled salmon, rice, and oriental-style green beans. “Please, help yourself. They always order too much.” He handed me a plate and I took a little bit of everything, then seated myself in a nearby chair.

  “I knew you were close,” he said once he set about serving himself. “I mean, Liam mentioned you to me, more than once. He seemed concerned about you.”

  I looked up at him with a green bean hanging out of my mouth. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. Or rather, as little as possible, which is why I grew curious. He did tell me you’re a dancer.”

  “Yes. We met through a mutual friend. Fernando Rubio.”

  “I know Ruby,” he said. “And I know Mem, who told me you might be visiting. I’m actually very close to my son.”

  I pushed rice around with my fork, spearing it with some fish. “I was wondering if you could answer some questions about him for me.”

  “It depends,” he said. “Do you love Liam?”

  The question was blunt and direct. So was my answer. “I’m here, aren’t I?” We faced each other across the desk. “I love him, Mr. Wilder, but I’m not sure I know who he is. Mem told me his real name is Eric.”

  Mr. Wilder nodded. “His name was Eric once. Not anymore.” He picked up his plate and brought it around the desk to the chair beside me. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Water, if you have it.”

  He brought me a bottle of Evian and cracked open a Diet Coke for himself. “I suppose it would be best to start at the beginning. I’m not Liam’s real father, but I’m the only father he’s ever known. I adopted him, legally, when he was twelve. I was working as a cop in south L.A. at the time. Tough beat, tough streets. I responded one night to a six-person homicide. Five children dead, and one mother, and one living child hiding behind the sofa with a gun. Liam was that child.”

  I almost choked on a mouthful of salmon. “He— He shot them?”

  “Liam shot his mother,” Mr. Wilder said. “But it was in self-defense. Liam’s mother had six children by six different fathers. She struggled with illiteracy, drugs, mental illness, you know the story. And being poor, this whole family of children slipped through the cracks.” His expression darkened. “Back then Liam was Eric, and he was the oldest. He went to school when he could, when he wasn’t helping with his siblings. Somewhere along the line—not from his mother—he learned morality and compassion. From the age of seven or eight, he pretty much parented the five younger kids, and his mother too. Perhaps you’ve experienced his obsession with caring for others.”

  I nodded, my chest heavy with emotion. I’d experienced it firsthand.

  “His mother was never the most stable influence, and after the last baby, she developed serious post-partum depression. What we know of that night, we know through neighbors, forensic evidence, and what Liam told us. I took that report.” He stopped a moment, as if to collect himself. “To make a long story short, his mother decided she was going to leave this world and take all of them with her. She started with the baby, a gunshot to the head. She shot all of them, youngest to oldest, while Liam pleaded with her to stop. He blames himself, you know,” he said, looking at me. “To this day, he believes he could have saved them somehow. After all, he was their parent. They depended on him for everything.”

  I put down my plate. My throat was too tight to eat anyway, and tears pricked behind my eyes. “He never told me any of this.”

  “He never tells anyone. He’ll be angry that I told you. At any rate, to complete the grisly tale, he was the last one in his mother’s crosshairs and he fought for his life.” Mr. Wilder leaned back in his chair, his lips flattening to a grim line. “Obviously, he won.”

  “My God,” I whispered.

  “And then he hid behind the couch from the police. He thought he’d be blamed for her death, and for the deaths of his brothers and sisters.” Mr. Wilder closed his eyes a moment. “I can never describe to you what it was like to come upon that scene. It’s a horror no one should ever know. I left police work shortly afterward, started my own security business. And I adopted Liam. I couldn’t look into that child’s eyes and hand him over to the foster-care system, not after the life he’d lived. We left L.A. and moved to New York. Liam entered counseling, chose a new name, a good Irish name like mine, and started a new life. They were difficult years, don’t get me wrong. He struggled with his past, but I tried to keep him oriented toward the future. He was homeschooled because he couldn’t stand crowds, or other kids, or any relationships at all for many years, except for me, who he barely tolerated, and Mem, his teacher.”

  “Oh. That’s why they’re so close.”

  “Mem was a blessing, a godsend.” Mr. Wilder picked up his plate and started eating again. “He taught Liam academics, but he also tutored him in martial arts and self-defense. Liam needed a way to feel safe again. As for me, I tried to heal him emotionally. I tried to make the world seem like a sane place. As he grew older he became interested in my work, and with his instinct to protect, securi
ty was a natural career for him. We moved to London when Liam was twenty-one and went into business together. Within a couple years, Ironclad exploded, went worldwide. You know, Liam will protect a client like a rabid dog. He’ll protect anything weak or damaged, unless…” He sobered, studying me. “Unless it’s someone he loves. Or, let me put it this way. Liam does not allow himself to love anymore. Because, of course…” He spread a hand in a helpless gesture. “Look what happened last time.”

  I sat in silence. All this time I’d thought myself the damaged, love-deprived child. Liam had watched the violent deaths of his siblings and then shot his own mother to save himself. The bleakness of it defeated me. I put my head in my hands.

  “I know it’s a lot to process, Ashleigh. I know it’s horrible, nightmarish. I think he turned out pretty well, considering.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered.

  “I think what happened with you is that you got a little too close to his heart. Honestly, we’ve been waiting for this. Me, Mem, his stepmom, all of us who love him. We’ve been waiting for you. For someone capable of piercing that iron barrier of women and partying and stoicism and making him feel something.”

  “I’m not that person.” I shook my head miserably. “I didn’t pierce that barrier. He pushed me away.”

  “He’s survived so much. I’m sure he can survive love too, if someone forces him to do it. I’m sorry for all you’re going through, but there’s an opportunity here.”

  I took a sip of water. I felt so confused, so overwhelmed at everything Mr. Wilder had revealed.

  “I just…I can’t believe he hid all this from me,” I said.

  “Do you feel angry? Betrayed?”

  “No. I mean, I understand why he hid it. I feel awful that he went through all that. But he was the one…” I looked at Mr. Wilder. “He was the one who wouldn’t let me hide, the one who pressed me until I told him about the bad things that happened in my past. I exposed everything to him, really deep, dark secrets that I’d never told anyone else.”

  “So Liam was the first person you confided in?”