Happy slightly-belated Father's Day to all the dads out there!
####
He had walked along a hundred bays, lakes, and rivers. He had seen his fair share of shimmering cities encased in liquid fossils. But considering the sight before him now, he was pretty sure that those fossils wouldn't be the precious artifacts he'd be digging out of his memory in fifty years.
The moonlight glinted off the water, immersing her in a pale aura. But not immersing.
Enhancing.
Pete touched her shoulder not because he was weighing the benefits or risks or evaluating his odds of being tossed into the water.
He did it because he could not not.
And when she turned toward him - minus a flinch, minus a shout, minus anything he might've reasonably expected in his more lucid moments - he forgot the proprieties again and smiled.
The soft light had settled in her eyes, and it almost reached –
Lily faced the water again, hands to her sides.
Her lips moved soundlessly, and he knew the words, the facts, the numbers she had sought temporary refuge from were now bearing down. The spell was broken, because of him. If he left now, left her alone, maybe she could cast it again. That would be the logical thing to do, and he was nothing if not a logical guy.
Except now. Except with her.
Pete turned to the rippling mini-waves, the slight creak of the boathouse's floorboards providing a subtle punctuation to the silence. He placed his hands in his pockets and rocked slightly on his heels, creating a faint rhythm: a chorus.
"You can barely see the currents, but they are always there. Always moving. They could be attributed to water density, but I tend to think they are the result of some pretty impressive underwater topography."
"Bathymetry."
He pushed his glasses up, charmed even more – if it were indeed possible – by her correction. "Yes. It's just amazing how these things we cannot see have such an impact on what we do see."
The description was more adept than she could know.
"You lied….about everything."
Simple. Straightforward.
Her.
She deserved the same from him, or as much as he could give. "Lies are complicated things. We think of them as the opposite of truth. But sometimes….sometimes the two are mixed together. And sometimes, what you think is the truth is the real lie, and in the lies you find truth." He watched the tiny pulsebeats that sustained the water. It would probably be a miracle if anyone understood what he'd just said, but, somehow, he believed if anyone could, it was her.
He could offer her one untangled, one so very uncomplicated truth. "When you said I lied about everything, you were wrong." Pete took his glasses off, took a chance. In some ways, he had never seen more clearly. "I like you, Lily. I…"
Words, they were ultimately meaningless, which was maybe why he found so much trouble with them. On instinct, he slipped the glasses into her hand. After a long moment, her fingers closed around them.
"I'm going to do something now. And you can respond however feels right. Just…" His hand brushed hers, clasped it. "Don't be afraid."
By the time he'd reached the last word, it was a whisper, lost to the tantalizing brush of soft, so soft skin.
The gentle contact, punctuated by a warm breeze against his lips, cast him out on those swaying waves.
Until it all disappeared. He stood, dazed, still a little intoxicated, and the first tiny give underneath his feet anchored him back to reality. He wondered briefly if he'd been dreaming, until the glasses began weighting his hand.
He had been prepared for her to shove him in the water.
When he put the glasses back on and his sight adjusted onto a dark, empty night – and a lone yellow scarf laying on the floorboard, he realized that he had indeed fallen.
And he wasn't at all certain if he had the will, or the inclination, to get back up.
####
The sign said 'Closed.'
Do not enter.
Hit the road, pal.
But he had never allowed small detail such as these to stop him before. Adam straightened his tie – because no corporate mogul worth his salt would walk around with a crooked tie – and opened the door.
It was likely not advisable to return to the scene of his alleged crime. This was the closest thing to a watering hole within a ten-mile radius, though, and he needed the hard stuff right now. He had hoped some runt would be on closing duty. Then he could slip a cool hundred into that open cash rregister and he'd have free run of the stock room. He knew, from recent experience, how that place was where the real action happened.
He had bill, and plan, in hand when his hostess for the evening emerged from that very room, brandishing a dish towel.
"Do you want another trip to the pokey?"
Adam flipped the bill onto the counter and shook his head. Of course, why should the wonderful serendipity of this day produce anyone other than his beloved ex-wife?
Krystal eyed him harder than the spilt coffee not receiving the attention of her towel. "And just what are you smirking about?"
Had he really been doing that? Well, perhaps it was fitting. "Please, resist the urge to sic your lapdogs on me this time, as it seems I no longer have a bail overseer."
It had taken him a whole day to realize his fiancée no longer bore that title. And it shouldn't have mattered. He was in the midst of his grand coup d'etat, after all. Brooke – well he'd danced this tango with her many times before, and they had always found their way back. This time would prove no different, so he should be indulging in his fine wine and toasting the rebirth of the storied Chandler legacy.
Then again, he should have been many things.
"I am a paying customer, and quite a generous tipper." Adam pushed the bill toward Krystal. " So perhaps you could indulge me this one imprompriety."
That stare, God, he'd forgotten how long she could hold it. And what a withering effect it could induce. Finally, she tossed the towel onto her shoulder and busied herself with the tap. In less than a minute, one foaming mug of some unidentified spirit was slammed down in front of him.
"Five minutes, and then I want you gone." She turned to leave.
"Aren't you going to join me?"
He didn't get the stare this time. Instead, he was gifted with another talent of hers: the patented one-eyebrow raise.
Adam lifted the mug. "We will toast to the imminent conclusion of the latest chapter in our little epic story."
In a matter of days, the judge would make his custody ruling, and Krystal would find herself on the losing end once again. The least he could do was buy her a drink.
"I would, Adam, but I'm afraid that the drink might end up somewhere it's not intended to be. And I wouldn't want you – or me – to make even better friends of the boys in blue."
"Come on," he coaxed. "Maybe you'll get lucky and my heart will finally give out on me."
"Don't –"
They both chose to ignore the incompletion of her statement, and other things settling in the room. Things they could not outrun forever, but perhaps could seek temporary refuge from.
"We'll make a drinking game of it," he added.
The brow raise did double-time. "You? You, who could never hold an ounce of liquor at my pow-wows?" The smirk, for a moment, became something else. Something more genuine. "I remember when –" And, just as quickly, it was gone. "What would be the rules of this game?"
This time, he owned the smirk. "I recall a rather uncivilized display I had the misfortune of witnessing at one of said 'pow-wows.' I believe it involved making a statement beginning with -"
"'Never Have I Ever.'" He hadn't noticed the second mug that had materialized in front of his own, or the set of steeled eyes hovering above it. Challenging.
"I believe…" He cleared his throat. "I believe, one must drink if he or she has indeed partaken in the statement at hand. Ane one wins when one's drink is completely gone."
The brow quirked again. "With our histories, do you see this game lasting long? I say the one who's left holding the empty mug at the end is the loser. Think of it as a small indictment."
Adam held the gaze this time. "Sounds…fitting."
"What are the stakes?"
His lips curved again. "Our everlasting souls, of course." Hardened. "I'll start."
He twirled the mug and evaluated the woman in front of him. "Never have I ever dyed my hair."
And with that reasonably honest assertion, he tallied the first victory as his companion took a hearty gulp.
Within minutes, a litany of ruths and half-truths had filtered through the rapidly blanketing haze in his skull.
"Never have I ever visited another country."
"Never have I ever worn a pair of jeans."
"Never have I ever stayed in a five-star. "
At some point, through the pounding in his head, he heard himself blurting "Have I never….ever appreciated a sunset."
But that didn't sound right. And he could have sworn that somehow, he'd ended up at a window, watching neon colors bleed together. Watching the masterpiece freeze for one glorious snapshot before fading from its endless canvas.
He drank.
Soft words startled him. Spun all around. Settled within. "My biggest regret is that I never did enough for my kids, not when it mattered."
She stood beside him, watching him now as intensely as he had watched the sky.
He stumbled back to his stool and, with a trembling hand, set the mug down.
They were both nearly….drained.
She had resumed her place across from him, his adversary, his...
Adam could attribute his final challenge to the swirl of cotton candy and dizzying bright lights and steady drums…to the carnival in his head that had him aiming for the prize.
"Never have I ever given you, or us, a second thought."
He waited for his glorious victory, his crowning -
"You first."
"What?"
She leaned on her elbows then, closer….close enough to - "You drink first."
Adam rose, placed his weight on the counter. "You think I don't know what's still there, hmm, underneath all the hate?"
She matched his stance, drew closer. "You think 'I' don't know what..." Just a whisper now, that crackled against his ear nonetheless. "...or who, you keep in those dark and musty little corners of your depraved mind for…stimulation on those long, long nights?"
"That's…" An ever-commanding, ever-stuttering slur.
"Prove it." Clear.
Crystal.
And Adam Chandler had never met a challenge he couldn't conquer.
Both mugs crashed to the floor, spilling their contents.
Creating a stalemate.
Or a mutual loss.
####
"My last year of junior high. I'd finally….finally made it to first starter. Had a helluva fastball. And despite the fact they'll usually bury the pitchers at the bottom of the lineup, I was a pretty damn good hitter too. It was my first all-star game. Real special occasion, so everybody was there. Everybody made the effort. And even though…even though I'd struck out more than I'd struck out the other team that night, even though we still went down by one when it was all said and done, when I got that last triple in the bottom of the ninth...I'd never felt anything like it. And it wasn't because I'd driven in our last run. It wasn't because that hardass coach was finally fist-pumping from the dugout. Didn't even matter that Stacy Tucker was clapping just over from the third base line. It was looking up and seeing them, both of them, smling at the same time. At me. For me." JR let out a short laugh. "Pathetic, I know…my grand childhood memory."
She wore a faint smile. Humoring him, for what reason he couldn't fathom. "No, it's not." Cara studied her hands, but the smile remained. "My mom, she….she was protective. She kept me away from most things, most of the crazy little inconsequential things that kids do. One day, I saw some girls outside playing softball. I begged…I pleaded with my mom, and, eventually, she let me go. Just for an hour, she let me go. And it's that hour I would think about every day when I had to stay out of school. Every day when I watched from the window. Every day when I went to the hospital and -"
He didn't want her to stop. And he didn't know why it should bother him so much that she did.
She slipped back into doctor mode. "Imagery visualization has proven positive benefits, which is why I think it is important for you. Take that image and keep it close."
JR tried to rattle the mess from his head, tried to slip back into his own default mode. "Sounds like magical thinking for a magical cure. Since when did your duties include physical therapy, anyway?"
"Since the day I came here to try and remember the reasons why I'm a doctor." The tiny clench in her jaw signaled repressed anger. And why had he been such a faithful student of her habits, of insignificant, significant things that made her her. Why did it matter so damn much?
Guilt. Just...guilt for debts he could never repay.
"Your spinal injury is incomplete. If you put in the work, you still have the chance to make a recovery."
"Maybe I don't want –" He cut the thought off, just like he did when his lawyer informed him of the 'wonderful' news that he had been cleared in the murder of Ryan Lavery.
"Maybe you don't want to walk again? Maybe that will clear the slate? Maybe it will make you feel better to spend the rest of your life chained to that chair, drowning in your misery and self-pity….until the transformation is finally complete and you become the worthless bastard everyone thinks you are?"
He clenched the rails until his fingers numbed. "Yes, damnit!" And no matter how hard he squeezed, the numbness would not spread. He felt every spike in his blood pressure. Every beat in his heart. Every bit of chaos still coursing through his brain.
And JR felt every step.
When he stood face-to-face with Cara – her wide-eyed wonder an accompaniment to his first genuine burst of laughter in over a year, he felt….everything.
And like every other moment in his life, each step forward was paid in full with one hundred back.
Five minutes later, as he sat in his cell and listened to hurried steps fade down the long corridor, he realized that Cara was right about the imagery thing.
One image, one sensation, one colossally stupid, unfathomable testament to his lack of impulse control was seared on his still-burning cheek. On his lips.
One kiss, and one subsequent slap, replayed on an endless loop in his mind's eye.
And in places, too many places to count, no longer dormant.
####
"What the hell?"
It was, indeed, an apt description.
Bathed in twisted ribbons of crimson and black, the room did resemble an underworld portal. At its center, one little devil was hard at work.
Bianca would not acknowledge the uneasiness creeping into her legs (just phantom pain, nothing more) as she pushed into the room and as the darkness swallowed her.
"It would be a dark room," came the bemused response.
"You know, there is this little concept called digital photography now. You might want to look it up."
"I prefer, how do you say it, 'old-class.'"
"Old-school."
"Yes, I prefer the methods of the pioneers. They understood things we don't...or cannot. Though I must say, this room is much more manageable than my last 'darkroom': a converted ambulance in –"
The woman ddin't finish the thought. Bianca shouldn't have found herself frustrated at that. Yet...
"There is no feeling quite like watching an image materialize before your eyes. It makes you feel engaged, alive. Come here and I'll show you."
The reddish glow emanating from the workstation was one of the only sources of light in the room, so Bianca moved toward it….the moth prepared to gets its wings singed - if not burned off - by the flame. Somehow, she was betting on the latter.
"Do you think this will work with the headline?" Yasmin stepped back, ever the proud mama ready to unveil her baby to the world.
Two figures and a miniature story – a tell-all, in fact – slowly emerged onto the blank paper. It could be titled 'The Diamond Guru and the Arms Dealer,' done up in retro-style black-and-white glossy. Their artist had done their injustice justice.
Bianca looked up at Yasmin, whose eyes were glowing with a feverish intensity. Four more trays were lined along the table, each a spark ready to be ignited.
For her part, Bianca only had one response. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Yasmin tilted her head. "You certainly fancy that phrase, don't you?"
The combo scowl and smirk only served to light a match to Bianca's anger. "How did you get these? Were you tailing these guys? You know, it's bad enough that Brooke thinks I need a babysitter, but now I'm the one stuck with babysitting duties. I promised Reggie that I'd keep you out of trouble., especially while he was gone. Then you go and do the equivalent of playing in traffic. Unbelievable, but typical, I guess."
"Are you ready to take a breath now?" Those arms were infuriatingly folded. "Typical, huh? Please do enlighten me." The intensity in those eyes now burned with something else.
Added fuel.
Bianca pushed away from the picture, repositioned herself, and stared directly into those burning eyes. "It's just another example of your complete inability to do what you're supposed to do."
"You mean to do what I'm told? I'm not a child, I'm sure as hell not a prisoner, and I don't need a handler." With each subsequent tick-off, Yasmin's voice lowered, and her words grew more emphatic.
Bianca did the arm-crossing this time because if her hands were free, she might just use them to wring someone's neck. "No, because that would get in the way of your favorite pastime: playing games. But I've got news for you, sweetheart – real early edition: your game's over."
"What game?" She had the gall to look genuinely confused. Genuinely…pissed.
Bianca's hands braced themselves on the cold bars of her chair and squeezed. A reasonable substitute. "The game you're running on my brother, lady. It ends now."
"I would never hurt Reggie."
"Why should I believe that?"
"Because he's been there for me. He's trusting, loyal -"
"He's not a pet dog. He's your –"
"He's my best friend. He knows everything about me, and I know everything about him. We are 100 percent honest with each other, always."
"In the midst of this little testimonial, I haven't once heard the the word love."
"I do love Reggie."
"Are you in love with him?"
"I—"
"It's a simple question, only requires a 'yes'…." A beat. "…or a 'no.'"
She wouldn't answer, which was answer enough.
"That's what I thought." Bianca spun the chair toward the door, ready to get the hell out of this hell-in-training. She had a phone call to make, to her brother.
"He's helping me."
The confession should have strengthened her resolve. It shouldn't have stopped her in her tracks. "So you are using him."
"No."
Exasperation. Frustration. Unbeliavable nerve.
"Reggie knows that I can't –"
"Can't what? Be the wife you should be."
"It's not like that."
She should leave. Right now. Should really... "Then what is it like? Why can't you -"
Maybe it was the rush of air as her chair abruptly wheeled around that robbed Bianca of the words. Or it could've been the soft lips now roughly pressed against her own, muffling a string of incomprehensible syllables.
She should have stopped the kamikaze kiss. Right now.
Anytime in the near future.
Should...should...should...
Instead, Bianca bunched maddeningly thick hair in her hands and did what she always did best.
She engaged in full-force, mutual combat.