Shattered Daddy: A Billionaire Suspense Romance

by Charlize Starr

  I nod and he dashes into his room.

  “Hi Parker,” I say, walking up to the little boy.

  “Your dad’s busy right now, but if you want, I can get you something to eat or we can put your backpack in your room, if you like.”

  The little boy nods his dark brown head. Then, cracking a gap-toothed smile, he decides: “Eat, please.”

  “Ok,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “What would you like?”

  Parker wastes no time in declaring, “Chocolate!”

  “Ok,” I say, and get to rifling through cupboards. I open and close half-filled cupboard after cupboard. I go through crackers, cereals and even the fridge before I crouch down so that I’m face to face with the eagerly waiting little boy.

  “Where does your dad keep the chocolate?” I ask him and his face breaks into a sunny grin.

  “The washing machine!”

  I scan his face, but he only nods and repeats “The washing machine!”

  “Are you sure?”

  Taking my hand, he pulls me down the hallway towards a room I haven’t gone in yet. It is, sure enough, the laundry room. Jabbing his finger out at the broad white washing machine, he simply says, “There.”

  So, humoring the cute little boy, I open the machine lid to find a huge pile of Caramilk bars.

  I stare at the pile of twenty or so chocolate bars for a moment, starting to laugh. Parker joins me.

  “Dad puts them there because I’m too little to reach them.”

  I stare at the little boy’s devious face steadily.

  “So, your dad doesn’t want you having these?”

  Holding my gaze, Parker declares “I’m hungry.”

  So, next thing I know, I’m pulling out one of them, then holding a finger to my lips. A bright smile breaks over Parker’s face. Back in the kitchen, I unfurl the wrapping from the bar and hand Parker a whole row of chocolate squares, taking a row for myself as well. After what Luke’s subjected me to since I got here, taking his chocolate is the least I should do. As we devour the delicious squares, the creak of the bathroom door sounds further down the hallway. Hastily I slip the chocolate bar into my jean pocket.

  It only takes Luke a few seconds to get in the kitchen and glance at us before he sighs. “You got him a Caramilk, didn’t you?”

  “No!” Parker and I protest out of our chocolatey lips before the three of us burst out laughing. Flopping on the chair between us, Luke shakes his head and ruffles Parker’s hair.

  “This little boy is the cleverest, sneakiest devil in town, I’m telling you.”

  I hand Luke the chocolate bar without meeting his eye. As he takes it, our fingers brush against each other.

  “Thanks, Emma. I can take it from here.”

  Nodding, I waste no time in rising and hurrying the hell out of there. As I walk out, however, I pause at the door and look back. Luke’s back is to me. Now that he thinks I’m gone, he’s wrapped little Parker in his arms, boy’s small form pressed tight to his chest. It’s strange, I think as I continue walking away down the hallway to my room, the image returning to my mind, seeing Luke like that. The same Luke who had been sexually and maliciously teasing me. You would’ve sworn that they weren’t the same person at all.

  Back in my room, the first thing I see is my hastily half-packed bag. Suddenly, leaving doesn’t seem so urgent. After all, Luke had seemed so different back there in the kitchen. Maybe he just needs to get more used to me. Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot. At any rate, I’ll give him another chance and stay for a couple more days. It’s not like Gillian’s room is going to go anywhere.

  I spend the rest of the day in and out of my room. I go for a walk in the neighborhood. It’s actually a really nice place with a little path leading to a forest and everything. Walking around, it makes me wonder if Luke would like it here. Not the perverted, taunting Luke I encountered last night and early this morning, but the kind, gentle man I saw around Parker. Maybe I’ll suggest it to him later.

  When I get home, however, the place is empty, leaving me to have some heated-up ravioli myself. A quick check of my phone shows that Dad’s left me another message: Everything still good there? I stare at it for a minute before putting it away. Dad’s never been a worrisome person, so he must know something about Luke that I don’t . . . Or that we hooked up so long ago.

  It’s stupid, but, even years later, I would sometimes imagine what would’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped Luke. If I hadn’t stormed away just as things started heating up. Who knows? Maybe things would’ve ended up differently. Maybe I would still be here, living and laughing with him, but as something entirely different . . .

  At once, I stand up, shove my bowl in the sink, and rush upstairs. Back in my room, curled under my covers in my bed, I still don’t feel safe. No, there’s no escaping this feeling – this ridiculous self-destructive joke of a feeling. Because it is ridiculous and self-destructive. No good could possibly come from it. I saw Luke – I know he has two girls on the go already. Probably more. If, after all these years, he hasn’t found a girl he likes, what makes me think that it would be any different with me?

  I snuggle deeper under the covers, staring into the blue sheet above me – as if that would give me any answers. Why do I find Luke so infuriatingly attractive? Even more so now that I’ve seen his softer side. Why can’t I get it through my thick head that getting involved with him will only lead to heartache at best?

  Finally, I throw the covers off my head, put my hair into a ponytail and return downstairs.

  If binge-watching TV doesn’t make me feel better, then nothing will. However, when I stride into the living room, I find Luke already parked on the couch, watching a couple of rabbits hopping together.

  “That’s not BBC Planet Earth, is it?” I ask as he flicks the channel.

  “No, I―” He flicks back. “Maybe.”

  Laughing, I flop on the opposite end of the couch.

  “Parker’s in bed,” he says stiffly.

  I rise.

  “Oh, ok. Should I leave?”

  When he glances at me, his tense face softens. “No, I . . . not unless you want to.”

  “Ok,” I say, wavering.

  Should I leave? On the TV screen are a pair of giraffes, their long gangly necks wobbling as they gallop across arid plains. My favorite animals. If that isn’t a sign, then I don’t know what is.

  I sit down.

  Chapter Six - Luke

  As soon as she sits down, I can feel my pulse skyrocketing. But I keep my gaze on the screen where some goofy giraffes are running hilariously. As I laugh, I catch a sight of her delighted gaze.

  “Isn’t it just the best show?”

  I nod. “It’s my guilty pleasure.”

  Now she’s nodding too. She looks so interested in what I have to say that I find more words spilling out. “Don’t tell anyone, but this show – this silly show – has brought me through my darkest days. The naive simplicity of animals – the innate, I don’t know, goodness of them, it gives me hope for people in general. And, after what I’ve seen out there in Afghanistan, that’s not always easy to have.”

  Emma’s kind eyes are scanning my face. They’re so intent, so in tune with my sadness that I almost want to say more. Or at least have my body say it – give in to that kind, understanding look.

  I stand up. “Want some more Caramilk?”

  Emma giggles. “Only if it’s the washing machine variety.”

  “That’s the only kind I have,” I say before heading for the laundry room. I grab three bars out of the washing machine then come back, flopping on the couch a bit closer to Emma. After all, it is a big couch and it felt weird to be crowded all the way over to the edge.

  “So, Parker’s really something,” Emma’s saying as I hand her a chocolate bar.

  I unwrap and bite into mine, hoping she’ll drop it. But even as I bite into the gooey Caramilk goodness, I can feel her eyes on me, expecting an answer.

  “Yeah,
” I say. “He’s alright.”

  Emma shoves me.

  “Oh, please. I saw the way you hugged him. You adore the kid.”

  I still don’t look at her, taking another bite of my chocolate. “He’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

  Silence. Then, “He’s lucky to have a dad like you who really cares about him.”

  I take a huge bite, four squares at once, then cast her a derisive look. “Yeah. You’re probably surprised, right? That I’m not a complete tool in every area of my life?”

  Emma laughs, then admits as much. “Well, yeah. We didn’t exactly get off to a good start.”

  I nod, then shrug.

  “I’m kind of a dick in general, but I think a lot of it has to do with the war. I think it’s made me . . . more callous somehow.”

  Quietly, Emma says, “My dad mentioned that you served in Afghanistan last year.”

  I nod. “And I never want to go back there. I . . . You see shit there. Dirty-faced civilians yelling for you and at you, dying men begging for mercy. Your own friends blown to pieces beside you. It changes you. I never want to go back there.”

  Now, Emma’s closer to me on the couch. Maybe to hear what I’m saying since I’ve been talking in such a low voice. “But you won’t have to, right? They won’t send you back there?”

  I rip another bite of chocolate and smile an ironic, sad half-smile. “Not unless I piss off one of the higher-ups.”

  Emma nods, her own smile sad.

  I look at her. “You know, I never forgot about what happened between us behind the school, even if it was a bunch of years ago.” I don’t know what makes me say it. I immediately regret it.

  She stares at me with this strange look in her eyes. “I’m not sorry for stopping you, but I am sorry for how I acted afterwards. Ignoring you was juvenile and mean.”

  I nod because she just told me what I knew already, basically. “I don’t know. I really liked you and then you just . . . went cold on me until the end of school for no reason. It broke me up inside.”

  Now her eyes look sad too. “I really liked you, too. It was the hardest thing I ever did. It’s just . . . Luke, you scared me. I saw how you were with the other girls. And I know how I am. I’m sensitive. I couldn’t just do really intense things with you, have you go be with other girls, and be ok with it.”

  I turn to face her.

  “Yeah, I flirted with other girls, but that’s all it ever was – flirting. You were the girl I liked. You were the girl I wanted to be with. There’s a difference – or at least there was.”

  Now her eyes look sadder than I can ever remember them being. She still hasn’t touched her chocolate. I lift it to her lips. “Here.”

  She takes a tentative bite, her eyes not leaving mine.

  “Anyway,” I say, “You’ve probably had a wild old time in the meantime. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  To her blank, uncomprehending look, I continue, “Your college adventures? How you slept with Donny to get back at me? The men you probably have on the go now? Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  Frowning, Emma turns away. She’s wearing a gauzy teal top. I can see the black rhinestones on her bra through the fabric. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I slide so I’m right next to her, so I can say the words into her neck. “Oh yeah?”

  Now she’s whirling around, her eyes fiery as she spits out her words. “I never slept with Donny. We went on a few dates and then I decided what I’ve decided for every other guy since – that he wasn’t right for me. Ok? So, don’t you sit there with your superior, probing smile and act like you know me. You don’t know a damn thing.”

  As I gape at her, she turns away once more.

  “Wait - what you just said didn’t mean what I think it meant,” I say in a low voice.

  “What do you think it meant?” she says in a low voice of her own.

  “You’re not a . . . virgin,” I say.

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel ridiculous. But then she turns back to look at me, her face infuriated yet pink.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder. She tenses up but doesn’t turn away.

  “Jesus, you really are,” I say, and she doesn’t move.

  “Just leave me alone, please.”

  “Emma―”

  “I mean it, Luke! I don’t want any more jokes at my expense, ok? I know I made a mistake back then and I know you’re as good-looking as ever now, but please, please don’t pretend that you actually care about me. Please, just spare me that.”

  She’s inhaling and exhaling deeply, her huge breasts rising and falling with each heave. There’s the glisten of tears on her cheeks, her pink lower lip is drooped in a pout. She smells delicious, like apples and cinnamon. I could kiss her – right here, right now. She is so fucking beautiful. Except I can’t – it would ruin me and it would ruin her. It’s not right, really, no matter how much we want it.

  So, I take her face and turn it toward my own to tell her that I want her but I won’t kiss her – I won’t even tease her anymore. But as soon as she’s face to face with me, her gaze flicking to my lips, all thoughts disappear and my body takes over. My lips advance on their own accord, pressing against hers. And it feels so good, so good – her lips cushy and soft, just like the rest of her. My hands are delighting in the soft folds of her flesh, the huge swell of her breasts. I have to stop, but can’t – won’t.

  My phone rings, but I ignore it. My body’s locked in motion. Both of ours are. There’s no resisting this: my hands kneading her tits, her hands sweeping under my t-shirt and over my muscles, both our tongues dancing in time.

  But the phone rings and rings and rings and suddenly, something snaps in me. It won’t stop ringing because it’s the commander. He knows and he’s going to kill me if I don’t stop.

  I rip myself back, answer the phone. “Hello?”

  “I can come over now, right?”

  It’s Octavia. Shit. I should’ve expected this. She has an internal 2-week ‘get-fucked’ clock, for god’s sake. Anyway, why had I been kissing Emma when I was specifically ordered not to?

  “Hey babe. I―” My gaze flicks to Emma, who’s looking at me like she knows. Our eyes meet and she jumps up.

  “Don’t let me interfere with your plans,” she says sarcastically before storming off.

  “Luke?” Octavia says.

  The slam of the attic door upstairs confirms that Emma’s not going to be coming back down anytime soon. I sigh.

  “Yeah, come on over.”

  Chapter Seven - Emma

  In my bed, rolled up in my sheets again, I cry some more. How could I have let things go so far with Luke down there? Wasn’t being teased by him and seeing how he was with those other girls enough? Did I really have to see him choose a fling on the phone over kissing me to get the picture that he’s a jerk?

  And yet, hadn’t that look in his eyes – that pity and compassion and arousal in his eyes as we’d spoken – hadn’t that been real? Hadn’t his lips felt good, better than I can remember any man’s lips feeling in years?

  On the attic ceiling, the wooden cracks seem to be growing, but I’m pretty tired. I close my eyes and roll on my side. In the morning, everything will be better.

  ***

  As it turns out, in the morning everything is better. Luke and whoever probably came over are nowhere to be seen, nor is Parker. No, I have the whole place to myself to start getting some work done. I took yesterday off to get settled and make up my mind about whether I wanted to stay at all. If anything, I feel more uncertain than before. Besides, I have to make some money, so no more days off for me.

  After I inhale a delicious raisin muffin for breakfast, the only thing to do is make my bed, get out my laptop, log on to my teaching application platform, and get to work. It takes less than an hour for me to get into the flow of things and forget my current house troubles.


  I love teaching. Ever since I was a little girl showing clueless friends how to tie their shoes, passing on what I know and helping people has always been a passion of mine. And, more than that, I love the eureka moment where the students really truly get it themselves – when their own mind can make sense of whatever particular concept I’m teaching. Yes, people – including my father – always get the true value of teaching wrong. It’s not about shoving theories down students’ unwilling throats and having them regurgitate it word-for-word without any real understanding. No. It’s about revealing a deeper understanding of the world to them, challenging them and delighting them, showing them the hidden fabric that underlies everything. So far, I only tutor kids online in English and History. In time, I hope to expand my repertoire of subjects.

  Even the “online” part of my job has always baffled my dad. He’s never understood my uncomfortableness around strangers, nor just how much I loved staying at home. So, this job combines the two things I love the most: teaching and staying at home. It’s a win-win. Plus, the application itself is fast and easy. The student and I communicate through an advanced messaging system where we can exchange and view documents and images easily.

  Today, there’s a surge of students; it is exam time after all. And, while one or two are unwilling to learn, pestering me for answers and then logging off when they aren’t given them, most are rearing to get the lessons down. As we go through questions and answers, through concepts and ideas, they are as delighted with their blossoming understanding as I am. One girl, Tanika, even asks my schedule for the next week, determined to connect with me again.

  By the time it’s late afternoon, I’ve tutored for five hours and am exhausted and pleased with myself. So, as I sink back into my pillow on my bed, I let my eyes flutter closed and enjoy the sleep I’ve more than earned. Even as I hear the far-off sound of a door closing, I don’t stir. I am too relaxed.

  Chapter Eight - Luke

  I wake up back in the car. Carl and Raoul are out there up ahead, checking to make sure the way is clear – that there are no landmines. There are far-off gunshots. Not at us. My friends are running, looking every which way, seeing nothing. Carl steps on it first. It’s quiet, the explosion. One minute he’s there, the next he’s bits and pieces. Raoul is next. His face is already twisted with the knowledge of what’s coming – the fear. Then he, too, is nothing but ash.