Fearless

by Allana Kephart

  To be honest, I really don’t care that he doesn’t want me around. My heart is pounding so fast in my ears, I almost can’t hear his tantrum anymore.

  Two cops in suits came barreling in the doorway, and the minute they asked him what happened, he turned the spotlight on me.

  “This is all his fault,” McLeon says tearfully, pointing a shaky hand at me. His voice is hoarse, scratchy from screaming and thick from his smothered cries. He’s been flipping his proverbial shit on the front attendant for nearly an hour, trying to get information on Riley’s status. Guess when she turned eighteen, she removed his ability to speak on her behalf.

  God damn it, Riley, this is not how I wanted you to prove yourself.

  I drop my head back in my hands and try to breathe, tell myself it’s going to be okay. This isn’t the slums, or a prison nurse working on her. She wasn’t shot in the head, or the chest, or anywhere he was aiming for on me. I’d be dead. She’ll be fine.

  I’d trade places with her in a second if given the chance.

  Rhett rubs his hand over my shoulder, tearing his eyes away from Carly for a moment to check in on me. He’s in shock, cold to the touch with eyes wide like saucers, but he keeps up a calm, brotherly façade for both of us. “Take it easy, Sanders. I’m sure she’s already out of surgery and asking for you.”

  Not possible, it’s only been an hour. Or has it been two? It feels like days have passed since the EMTs were pushing me away and sweeping her into the ambulance.

  “You are not listening to me,” McLeon rasps. Can’t he just go away? “He did this—”

  “And we’ll talk to him, too, sir, but right now, we’re trying to get your side of the story,” Suit One says.

  I focus on them. It’s more fun to see cops that don’t give a shit who they’re talking to and just want the story, than it is to think about the love of my life being dissected for a bullet her father put in her.

  I should’ve just drove away when he all but admitted he was stalking me. There are so many ways I could’ve handled this better, and all of them would’ve ended without Riley in a hospital bed.

  “That fucking nigger is the reason we’re all here,” he shouts. I wonder if he realizes one of the guys in front of him isn’t white, either. “He stalked my daughter on social media, he forced himself on her—he planned on killing her, goddamn it! He told me so!”

  “This guy can’t be serious,” Rhett grumbles.

  “He said the same thing to Ri,” I breathe.

  “I’m gonna cut in.”

  “Don’t,” I hiss. “You’ll make everything worse, just—”

  “Would you take your negativity and get the hell out?”

  Rhett and I both look up in surprise—it’s Carly, still openly sobbing, but she’s not pacing anymore. Her hands are clutched in front of her chest, her eyes pinned on McLeon.

  “Miss,” says Suit Two, the not-white-boy who looks absolutely desperate for a reason to walk away from this guy. “Please, you need to sit.”

  She lets him take her arm, but won’t be moved. “You just shot your daughter,” Carly continues. “Her blood is on your hands and all you can do is point fingers at a man who loves her. If all you’re gonna do is place the blame and act like this isn’t all your fault, then get the hell out of here.”

  Suit One ushers McLeon toward the front door, asking to continue their talk outside. Suit Two sits Carly down in a chair and tries to console her while she promises to tell him what she saw. She cries that McLeon’s lying and I didn’t do anything wrong in her eyes.

  “Using her privilege for good,” Rhett muses. “Guess her friends don’t completely suck ass.”

  I wince. “But Riley is here because of me.”

  “Don’t say that, man,” he says.

  I shut my mouth because he doesn’t want to hear it. But I know if I hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t made her feel like nothing she does will ever be enough, we may never have been here.

  This is on me. And there’s no changing my mind about it.

  It feels like I spend an eternity in the too bright, too loud waiting room before a nurse finally comes to fetch me. “Ms. McLeon is asking for you,” she says calmly.

  Martin leaps up, and the nurse hesitates. “Mr. Sanders,” she corrects herself. She looks at McLeon like he’s a wild animal. The officers are still present, standing behind the nurse with stony expressions on their face. One steps in front of McLeon and speaks quietly to him, too soft for me to hear. Judging by the reddening of his face and the loud, “Excuse me?” that he snaps, I doubt they said anything he likes.

  “You can go on back, son,” Officer Two, whom I’ve come to know as Detective Hamilton, says to me.

  Rhett pushes my back until I stand and allow myself to be escorted past Ri’s father, who is now throwing a hissy fit to end all. The charming slurs are back in full swing, but the detectives aren’t putting up with his shit any further.

  They’re not all bad. That’s nice to try and remember.

  Riley is sat up in the hospital bed, wires and pumps, and fuck knows what else, coming out of every area. The steady beeping of the machine at her side makes my head spin, and I quickly pull the rickety guest chair to her side and sit before I collapse. “Hey.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she rasps. Her make-up has all been cried off, haphazardly wiped away by hands and dry towels, her thick brown hair limp around her ruddy face. She’s crimson with embarrassment and misery, and she squirms in the bed trying to pull me closer to her. “I’m so sorry, Lincoln, I—”

  “Hey, stop,” I shush her. I stand up and lean over her, my shaking hand at her side to keep me upright, and press my forehead against hers. Her hands cup either side of my neck and she whimpers, shaking nails scratching my skin, but I don’t mind. She can only cut me if she’s alive, and that’s all that matters right now. “This is not your fault.”

  “I should’ve moved out,” she cries. “I should’ve been planning my escape so long before I met you—I should’ve woken up and seen him for who he really is.”

  “You should’ve moved out of the way,” I say firmly. “That is literally all you did that was bad. It should be me in this bed.”

  “Neither of us should be here,” she says. “And especially not because of—”

  “Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t put this on yourself.”

  “It’s my fault,” she says.

  “It’s not,” I say. “If anything, it’s mine.”

  She frowns at me. “What?”

  “I never should’ve pushed you,” I say. “You’re my girl. I should’ve believed your reasons for hiding us from him.”

  She cups my cheek in her hand, wide eyes sad and filled with regret. “If you never pushed me, I never would’ve learned a god damn thing.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “You’re not a bad person.”

  “No, but I’m still ignorant,” she says. “And it’s comfortable to stay that way. But I don’t want to be comfortable. I want to be free, with you, I want... I want to change.”

  “You have,” I say. “You’ve gotten so much bigger and bolder since I first met you. You check your friends, you check yourself. You jumped in front of a bullet for me, Riley, if that doesn’t say something about you...”

  She closes her eyes and lets out a low breath. “I love you,” she says. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m sorry for everything.”

  “Just don’t do it again,” I say. “About gave me a heart attack.”

  She smirks a little, trying not to laugh. She thinks I’m exaggerating, and because she’s already choking on guilt, I let her get away with it. I’ll pummel into her head how serious I am later, when she’s whole, and home, and safe with me. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I love you, too,” I say.

  She meets my eyes, scratching my collarbone affectionately. “I’m still your girl?”

  I take her face in my hands and kiss her, trying to tell her without words how true those words are. She s
hivers and melts, her lips parting softly as she hugs around my neck. “Always my girl,” I say. “You make me feel real again.”

  She grins, brushing her nose against mine. “And you make me fearless.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  In theory, Lincoln is right. I don’t have to do this. And there is a major part of me, a part I’ve been comfortable playing for the last eighteen years of my life, that doesn’t want to. I could do what Ryker did, pick up and flee the state, go make beautiful babies with the man of my dreams and make believe I was never a McLeon in the first place.

  It would be a hell of a lot easier to start over in another state, too. I will always be The Racist’s Daughter here. Working through my internalized issues is hard enough as it is without having everyone look at me like they already know who I am and always will be.

  But I know if I don’t do this, I’ll never sleep soundly again. I need to be able to look myself in the face before I can worry about what anyone else thinks.

  If anyone would understand, it’s Lincoln. He’s only been saying that to me since we first met, right?

  “Yes, I do,” I say.

  “Troublemaker.” Lincoln’s warm hands cup my face, bringing my eyes to his. “If this is about what I said, about being irrelevant—I take it back. Okay? This is...this is too much.”

  After everything my father put us through—put him through—it fills and shatters my heart to know he’s so forgiving. He’s willing to let it all go if it’d be easier on me.

  Leaning into his touch, I stare past him, up at the courthouse looming over us. The stone building has never had an effect on me until today. There’s a haunted air about it, the souls of those who were treated unjustly roaming aimlessly through the cold halls. There’s a swarm of people outside, pacing the sidewalk with colorful protest signs.

  “Stop Killing Us!”

  “Am I next?”

  “Who do you call when the BAD GUY is wearing the badge?”

  “His Own Daughter”

  And one that stands out among the rest—white, with bold black letters: “In a war of love and hate: CHOOSE LOVE.”

  “How many more people have to die before someone stands up and says something?” I ask. “Rhett was right. If I’m the only one they’ll hear, I have to speak up.”

  “Rhett,” Linc huffs, “is overly emotional about this kind of thing. He’ll die for his cause. I mean—look at him, Ri, he doesn’t think of the consequences of his actions. Ever.”

  Rhett is leading the protest this round, with his aunt. He’s wearing a black tee shirt with a thin blue line across his chest, scratching out the word Silence. In smaller white letters, it says, “Dear Good Cops, your lack of action speaks volumes.” He stands in front of a reporter, blatantly flirting with her as he preaches his mission.

  “Rhett is brave,” I say. I hate the guy, but I’m realizing it’s rooted in envy.

  I want to be that fierce when I grow up, and this is the only way I know how to do it right now.

  The DA came to visit me in the hospital, not two days before I was set for release. They don’t have a case. Dad got away with this once before, in a sense, and he’s a God in the eyes of the public. Known for his charity work, his struggles as a single father, and more paint him as the perfect victim.

  To make matters worse, the available witnesses are unreliable. Lincoln’s got a manslaughter charge and hasn’t been out of prison all that long. Apparently, Rhett is a bit of a menace—he’s been in and out of jail on multiple occasions, typically the result of protests or intoxication. And Carly, in spite of being a good kid with minimal negative actions, grew up around my dad. She’s emotionally invested and cries at the drop of a hat, and the defense will tear her apart.

  Then there’s me.

  He shot me by mistake, he claims. Lincoln moved to hurt me, and he fired his weapon. When I’d been wounded, he detained Linc, and rushed me to the hospital, and Linc got in my head after that.

  People actually buy that story. It doesn’t even sound like his job is in jeopardy. Rumor has it they discussed retirement if the local media got too aggressive, with pension intact.

  There’s no way. The DA doesn’t have a leg to stand on, as sick a reality that is.

  Unless I turn on my own father in the public eye.

  The only chance of him being convicted is if I pressed charges as well. If I testify.

  My first instinct was to say hell no. And that’s still my instinct now, if I’m honest with myself. I don’t want to do this. I don’t ever want to face my father again, but I don’t want him to rot behind bars either.

  I just want him to understand and be the supportive father he should be. I want him to see past his own nose for five minutes and trust me enough to give Lincoln a shot.

  Guess he tried to give him exactly that, though. Poor choice of words.

  I shake myself back to the present and lean into Linc, letting myself rely on his strong arms for just a moment. Tears clog my throat, and my heart hasn’t slowed since I agreed to this. I’m not technically supposed to be around Lincoln right now—he’s testifying before me and being caught together so soon before we’re set to go could cost us the whole case.

  He knows that, too. But he’s been begging me to retract since I changed my mind in the first place. If we were removed from the witness list and a mistrial was declared, I think he’d throw a party. On a yacht.

  Not like he’s my dad’s biggest fan—he just wants to keep me safe, keep my heart whole.

  “You have to go up soon,” I whisper into his shoulder before I gently push him away. “The DA will be looking for you.”

  “Fuck the DA,” Lincoln sighs. He looks at me for a long moment, another argument on the tip of his tongue. A million reasons why we shouldn’t do this dance through his mind, but, thankfully, he doesn’t voice them. Not this time. “There’s no talking you out of it?”

  I shake my head. “Not even if you say please, Gorgeous.”

  He’s disappointed, but he keeps that to himself too. He turns my face up with his knuckles under my chin, and brushes a small, tender kiss to my lips. “I love you,” he says like a promise. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  I nod so he knows I hear him, and push him back before he gets to me and I beg him to flee the country with me. “I’ll see you after.”

  We part. He heads straight to the front doors, and I duck into the shadows. I’ll sit on the dirty cement ground behind the courthouse until my scheduled time to arrive and try not to think. I have an hour to burn, but my phone is charged and I’m not ashamed to shoot up some stick figures and graphic zombies to get my mind off the violence in my real world.

  A handful of people wander back while I linger, taking phone calls and smoking cigarettes. I get to a point where I’m not looking up, until a pair of beaten down, but still nice enough for a courtroom, black leather cowboy boots stop directly in front of me.

  “You’re here early,” Uncle Mikey says, a tinge of humor in his voice.

  I blink up at him. “You came?” I ask.

  “‘Course,” he says. “I hear you’re testifying against your dad.”

  My face flushes with embarrassment and I look back down at my phone. The stick figure target is getting away. I zoom in on his little round head and tap the screen, watching him explode in an overly dramatic splat of red. I shot him in the hip.

  “I can’t talk about it,” I say.

  “I know,” he says calmly. He glances to both sides of the alley, his tone cordial when he says, “Don’t you think it’s odd there’s no security cameras out here?”

  I shrug. If he thinks he’s going to be the one to throw me off my game, he’s sorely mistaken.

  “I’m surprised with your moxie, Riley,” he says. His voice is so friendly, but when I look up at him again, his eyes are dark and threatening. “Put your listening ears on for a minute and quit being such a selfish brat.”

  My mouth falls open at the remark,
but he’s talking again before I can work out a response. “What you’re doing to your father is abhorrent.”

  “What I’m doing to Dad?” I echo back to him. “Dad abused his power, stalked my boyfriend, tried to kill him, shot me—”

  “Don’t you think he’s suffering enough for that?” he says.

  “This is witness tampering,” I snap. “If I tell the DA, I could—”

  “Ruin the entire case? Please do,” he says. “Extend the torture for a few months. Such a good daughter you are.”

  “Torture?” I scoff. Dad was put on administrative leave, with pay, while the investigation took place. His job is secure once all this dies down. “He surrendered his passport. That’s all they took from him. He was released on his own recognizance, he’s been sitting at home this whole time.”

  “Yeah, his big, empty home, that his only close family cleared the fuck out before he even had a chance to say goodbye.” Mike shakes his head, his eyes narrowed into slits. “This isn’t a damn vacation for him, kid. You ruined his life.”

  “He ruined his own life!” I shout, my voice breaking as the tears fight their way through. What I would give now to not be one of those people who cry whenever they’re stressed or angry.

  Mike steps forward, his hands flying towards my face like he intends to choke me into silence. “Keep your voice down,” he snarls, waving his beefy finger in my face. “You are a selfish little bitch. You don’t deserve such an understanding, hardworking man as your father. And after everything he’s sacrificed so you can have a better life, this is how you repay him?”

  “He’s a killer,” I hiss, but the catch in my voice ruins my believability. I can’t think through the hurt, my focus shot by the aching knots in my stomach. “He c-can’t be allowed to...t-to continue...”

  Mike huffs angrily at me, pacing away. “You love your father.”

  He doesn’t say it like a question, so I don’t answer. The fact of the matter is I do, and right now it’s breaking me apart. I still love and hero-worship my father, and I would die to make those feelings go away.