Bending the Rules

by Margaret Watson

  “Me...me, too.” She inhaled sharply as one of his hands swept down her back and gripped her rear. Drawing her closer, pressing her tighter. Letting her feel exactly what he’d been thinking.

  She wanted to close her eyes and fall into him. His touch. His mouth. Instead, her hands moving far too slowly, she cupped his face in her palms. Created space between their bodies, even though it felt as if she tore something inside her as she separated from him. “This is why it would be a bad idea to stay at your house.”

  “I think it’s a very good idea.”

  “Too complicated, Nathan,” she said, leaning in to brush her mouth over his one last time. “Too many traps to step into. Too much emotion.”

  He let her draw away from him, let his hands drop to his sides. “It’s three days, Emma. Three days that I won’t worry so much. Three days you don’t have to worry, either.” He smiled and touched her cheek again. “Please don’t make me sleep on your couch. Because I’m not leaving you and Harley alone.”

  He was right. Alone in this apartment with Harley, Emma would freak out. And that wouldn’t be good for Harley.

  Harley’s door clicked open. By the time she stepped into the living room, Emma and Nathan were two feet apart. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

  She looked from Emma to Nathan. Emma felt her face flame. “Nathan thought we might like to spend the rest of the weekend at his place. What do you think?”

  Harley looked from her to Nathan again and a smile flickered at the edges of her mouth. “That’s cool.” Her gaze shifted between them again. Her smile widened. “Guess that means I can go back to the restaurant.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  AN HOUR LATER, Nathan unlocked the back door of his house, punched in the security code, then waited as Emma and Harley stepped inside. The kitchen light shone on the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink this morning. He’d been in a hurry to leave. To see Emma.

  And Harley, he realized.

  He dropped his cane into its usual spot by the door and limped inside. So he’d left dishes in the sink. Wasn’t the first time. Wouldn’t be the last, either.

  But he rinsed them and shoved them into the dishwasher. When he turned around, Emma smiled at him.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We leave dishes in the sink all the time.” She elbowed Harley. “Right?”

  “Yeah,” the girl said absently. She was busy scoping out his kitchen, studying the small table, the stainless-steel appliances, the cat clock that had hung above the table for as long as Nathan could remember.

  Harley wandered into the dining area, slid her hand over the old table. That table held a lot of memories for Nathan. Watching his daughter touch it, watching her in the house where he’d grown up, made his throat tighten a little.

  His parents should have been here to see this. If it hadn’t been for Peter Shaughnessy, they would have been. His dad would have scooped his granddaughter into a huge hug, twirled her around the room, tried to give her a glass of watered wine at dinner.

  His mom would have slapped his father’s hand away from the wine bottle and poured Harley a glass of milk. Pointed out the cookie jar after dinner and told Harley to help herself.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. So many memories in this house. But to Harley and Emma, it probably just looked old and shabby.

  The scratches in the leather couch seemed bigger, deeper in the bright lights. The cushions saggier. He and Patrick and Marco had spent hours on that couch, playing video games, blasting the Nazis and their dogs in Wolfenstein.

  The stain on the arm of one of the chairs by the window looked huge. His dad had been gesturing while he spoke, holding a glass of red wine, and the dregs had spilled onto the fabric. The coffee table was messy with magazines waiting to be read, and the sports section of today’s paper was open on the floor.

  Nathan looked around the living room, seeing the shabbiness for the first time. The memories. He’d been living in the tomb of his family. Chained to the past. Unable to move on.

  It was time to focus on the future. On his trip. On getting his life back.

  “I like your house, Nathan,” Emma said behind him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Wasn’t expecting guests.”

  “It looks lived-in. Comfortable. The way a home should be.”

  “That’s the polite way of saying it’s a mess.”

  She hooked her arm through his. “Did I apologize for the books all over the tables in my apartment? The shoes by the door? No. So shut your pie hole.”

  The knot in his chest loosened a little, and he hugged her arm close for a moment. “You do have a way with words, Emma.”

  “What are these?” Harley asked. She was on her knees in front of a bookcase, pulling an old photograph album off the shelf.

  “Pictures of the family. When we were growing up.”

  “Can I look at them?” she asked, tilting her head at him.

  “Sure. There’s a bunch of different albums, but my mom—” he swallowed another rush of sadness “—your grandmother, labeled them with the dates.”

  “Sweet,” Harley said, already paging through the album. She stopped leafing, stared at a page of pictures. “Ms. Devereux is so busted,” she crowed. “She was a complete dork!”

  Harley was looking for pictures of Frankie. Not him. Throat tight, he leaned over Harley’s shoulder. “Cut her some slack,” he managed to say, although his voice sounded rough. “She was ten years old.”

  Harley flipped a page. “My mom babied me, but even I didn’t have pigtails when I was ten.”

  She stopped again. Laughed. “Hello Kitty? Seriously? Wow.”

  Why would Harley have looked for pictures of him? She already had a relationship with his sister. Him? Not so much.

  He straightened and stepped back. “Want me to show you the spare rooms?” he said to Emma.

  “In a minute.” She sat beside Harley, crossing her legs. “Can I look, too?”

  “Sure.” Harley shoved the album closer to Emma. “These pictures are hilarious.”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder at him, and he shifted his feet. Sank onto the couch. Damn leg. She studied him for a moment longer, then turned back to Harley.

  “Here’s a picture of the whole family,” she said to Harley, tapping the page. “Looks like maybe your father’s high school graduation?” She glanced at him again. Took the album and held it up.

  “Yeah. Day I graduated from St. Pat’s.” His parents stood on either side of him, flanked by fourteen-year-old Patrick, ten-year-old Frankie and eight-year-old Marco.

  If they’d known they’d only had a few more years with their children, would his parents have done things any differently? Spent more time with them? Been more patient?

  No. They’d been great parents. Yeah, there had been a lot of yelling, because both his mom and his dad had been emotional. He and his siblings had had an unorthodox childhood, spending so much time at the restaurant. But that didn’t take anything away from what his parents had accomplished.

  They’d given each of their children individual attention—and they’d always known when it was needed. Made them feel secure and loved. Nathan had taken his parents for granted, never thought about what they’d done for their kids.

  Nathan had had no idea how hard it was to be a parent. How much sacrifice it took. What parents gave up for their kids.

  He studied Harley’s bright red hair as she bent over the photo
album. Hair just like his grandmother’s. Was he up to the job? He had no idea.

  “You have all weekend to look at the photo albums, Harley,” he said, struggling to his feet. “Why don’t you come upstairs and pick out a bedroom? You have your choice of Frankie’s old room, or Patrick’s and Marco’s.”

  Harley shoved the album back onto the shelf. Her fingers trailed over it after she tapped it into place, and she stared at the spines of the leather albums for a long moment. Then she stood up. “Didn’t you have a room?”

  Did she want to stay in his old bedroom? The flash of pleasure surprised him. “Yeah, but it was in the basement. I moved down there after Marco got too old to share with Frankie.”

  Harley frowned. “You didn’t all have your own rooms?”

  Harley always had. She was an only child. “Nah. Not enough bedrooms.” He smiled, although it was an effort. “Now I get the biggest bedroom upstairs, so it’s all good.”

  His bedroom was his parents’ old room. Ghosts of the past, even while he slept.

  Too much to think about. He reached for their two suitcases, even though he wasn’t sure how he’d manage to get both of them up the stairs. “Plenty of room for you and Emma, though.”

  Before he could take the suitcases, Emma grabbed them. Shook her head when he reached for them. “No way,” she said quietly.

  “One of them, then.” Harley had already bounded up the stairs. He held out his hand, and Emma hesitated. Finally she nodded and shifted one of the bags to his right hand.

  “Go ahead,” he murmured, waving toward the stairs.

  She took two steps and glanced over her shoulder, then continued. He’d wanted her to go ahead of him so she didn’t see him struggle. But his slow, awkward climb had one benefit—he got to watch her ass, all the way up the stairs.

  * * *

  EMMA STEPPED OUT of the bathroom, the sharp scent of soap-tinged steam following her into the hall. She’d put on her pajamas—boxer shorts and an old T-shirt, but she wasn’t ready to sleep. She was restless. Edgy. Wide-awake.

  She opened the door of the bedroom Harley had chosen and saw her sprawled on the bed, sound asleep. She pulled the door closed quietly.

  She glanced toward the end of the hall. Toward Nathan’s room. He’d carefully avoided her eyes when telling her and Harley that it was the only one off-limits.

  She’d been right—staying in his house was beyond awkward. But she’d get through it. This was to keep Harley safe. For that, Emma could deal with awkward.

  She opened the door to Patrick and Marco’s old room—Harley had chosen Frankie’s across the hall, snickering at all the old posters and books—but hesitated. There was a light on downstairs. Nathan was still up.

  Without taking time to think, she grabbed her thin robe and threw it on. She found Nathan seated at the kitchen table, beer bottle in front of him, paging through a photo album.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  He glanced over at her, and the sadness in his gaze surprised her. She slid into the seat across from him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Just remembering.” He turned the album around to show her a page of pictures of the entire Devereux family. At the restaurant. At Montrose Avenue Beach, with the boathouse in the background. At Lincoln Park Zoo.

  Every picture showed a happy family, parents smiling, the kids mugging for the camera. Pictures of Nathan’s dad, building sand castles with Frankie and Marco. Watching the gorillas at the zoo, his arms over Patrick’s and Nathan’s shoulders.

  Pictures of Nathan’s mom, baking at the restaurant with Frankie. Cooking with Marco.

  “Looks like you had a great childhood,” she said quietly. Emma had a single photo album, and it didn’t hold very many pictures of her and her mother. The ones she had were mostly stiff and posed. She remembered one of the few candid shots vividly—one of her mom’s friends had caught a young Emma sitting on a folding chair at a party, wistfully watching her mother laugh with her friends.

  “We did. Until our parents died.” He closed the album. “Seeing Harley looking at those pictures tonight reminded me of all we lost. All my parents lost.” He swallowed. “All Harley won’t have.”

  “You’re starting late, but you can still have a relationship with her. You have a daughter. She has a father. You can build on that.”

  “Yeah.” He nudged the photo album away. “The guy who hit my parents—the guy who was driving drunk and killed them—showed up here a few weeks ago. Said he was in A.A. and needed to apologize for what he’d done.”

  Emma sucked in a breath and reached for his hand. “That must have been hard.”

  “I’ve hated the guy for fourteen years.” He turned her hand over, linked their fingers. Did he find it comforting? Did it make him feel less alone? “I haven’t looked at these pictures for a long time. Tonight, with Harley, I realized again what he’d done to us. Taken from us. From Harley.”

  Did Nathan regret the choices he’d made? Regret dropping out of school to raise his siblings? If so, it would explain his insistence that he didn’t want to be a father.

  Did he still feel that way?

  “I need to put the past behind me so I can move on.”

  Emma knew what “moving on” meant to Nathan. It meant going to Italy. Reclaiming his life. Where did that leave Harley?

  Emma didn’t want to think about where it left her. If she did, she’d have to admit that she wanted more from him than just his acceptance of Harley.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” she said slowly. “Confront the past, deal with it.”

  “Is that your social worker mantra? Deal with your past?”

  “It’s a good one to have,” she said lightly. His hands were warm. A little callused as they gripped hers. She held on tightly as she studied his face. She couldn’t lecture Nathan about how to deal with his past. She still had issues with her past. With her mother.

  Emma hadn’t had the happy, secure childhood of Nathan’s pictures. Her mother had been focused on herself, not her daughter. And, according to her mother, her father had disappeared right after Emma was born.

  Nathan kissed one of her palms, then the other, dragging her away from the memories. “You’re ready for bed.” His gaze trailed down the short robe, lingered on her bare legs. “You must be exhausted,” he said roughly. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Yes, it has,” she said. Did she want to make it a little longer? Spend some time with Nathan? “You’re working tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah. I thought maybe I’d take Harley to Mama’s with me. She can hang out with Marco. I’ll know she’s safe.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” He was thinking about Harley. He’d meant what he said about protecting her.

  “You can come, too, if you like,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I’ll have a quiet night by myself.” Nathan and Harley needed some time alone together, without her buffering them. Time to bond. Father and daughter. The kitchen lights glittered in her suddenly blurry eyes. “I should go to bed. Like you said, it’s been a long day.”

  “Hey, Emma. What’s wrong?”

  He reached for her, but she moved out of reach. “Nothing.” Her voice was too bright. “‘Night, Nathan. See you in the morning.”

  * * *

  LATE SUNDAY EVENING, Nathan glanced at Harley as he drove down the deserted streets. Her head rested against the back of the seat and her eyes were closed—he’d kept her up wa
y past her bedtime.

  But she’d been bouncing-on-her-toes excited to come to Mama’s with him. She’d given Emma a hug and rushed out the door without looking back. Emma had smiled, but Nathan hadn’t missed the sadness in her eyes.

  “You sure you don’t want to come with us?” he’d asked Emma.

  “No. You need an evening with Harley by yourself.”

  He hadn’t pointed out that he’d be working, because he understood what Emma was telling him—get to know your daughter. Spend some time with her.

  Harley had spent almost the entire evening with Marco. Marco hadn’t seemed to mind at all.

  Harley stirred and opened her eyes. “We almost there?” she asked.

  “Couple more minutes. You have fun with Marco?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled and shifted to face him. “He let me help him make one of his specials. That was awesome.”

  “Kind of nice having uncles?” he asked casually. How about having a father?

  “Yeah. And Ms. Devereux...ah, Frankie, too.” She shifted more so she was sideways in the seat. “And you,” she said quietly. “I always wanted to know who my father was. But my mom would never tell me.”

  Sonya should have told him, too. He gripped the steering wheel. She should have let him watch his daughter grow up.

  “How come she didn’t tell you about me?” Harley asked, her voice tentative and too quiet. “Was she afraid you wouldn’t like me?”

  Oh, God. He reached blindly for Harley’s hand. Felt her fingers curl loosely around his, as if she was unsure of her welcome. “Of course not. Your mother was very proud of you. She loved you more than anything. You’re an amazing kid, and she knew it.” He tried to smile. “Maybe she was afraid you wouldn’t like me.”

  “Nah,” his daughter replied. “You’re pretty cool. And she knew that, right? She knew you were cool?”

  He had no idea what Sonya had thought about him. Not much, clearly, since she hadn’t told him he had a daughter. “I hope she thought so,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.