Gently, I touch his back to let him know I’m here. He jumps slightly, but relaxes into my touch. I grab my loofa and lather it up before running it down the length of his back. It’s not long before he turns around and faces me. If it was possible to age several years right before your eyes in a matter of seconds, Marcus just did. He’s pale and his face is sunken in, but his eye contact is firm and unwavering. As I clean off his chest, I keep focused on his eyes until I have to look away to make sure I’m getting all the blood off.
There’s nothing sexual about what we’re doing as I wash away his traumatic day. I wish it was as simple as a swipe of the loofa, but I know it’s not. He’ll have to sort it out himself and I’ll be by his side while he does it.
Once I’m satisfied that I’ve cleaned every inch of his body, I get both of our towels so we can get dressed and climb into bed.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask him when we’re lying down.
“I will be. Every now and then I run into a situation that hits me hard and it just takes me a minute to bounce back. This one affected me more than any other call I’ve ever gone on.”
I lie my head over his heart and he wraps his arm around me. Despite being damaged, his heart beats steady and strong. “I’m glad you came to me,” I say into the still of night.
“You’re my safe place, Lydia. There’s nowhere else I wanted to go.” There’s a slight pause, and I can tell he wants to say something else, but he finally speaks up and says, “I love you.”
My response requires no thought as I say, “I love you too.” He places a kiss on top of my head and I rub small circles over his bare chest with my finger until he falls asleep, hoping tomorrow will bring a better day for him.
Marcus
TWO WEEKS.
That’s how much time has gone by since I held that little boy in my arms. As soon as I took down the father, I ran over to him but knew he was dead as soon as I picked him up. His lifeless body lay in my lap and all I could do was stare down at him. The world around me was reduced to a dull buzzing. I couldn’t even hear the mother’s screams as she dropped to her knees beside me.
Should I have taken the shot and risked hitting the boy? Even if I hit the father, there’s a good chance his gun would have still gone off if it didn’t kill him instantly. Would the child have survived though?
Those questions plagued me for many days constantly. It’s all I could think about. Hell, I sometimes still second guess my decision to try to talk him down until more help arrived. That’s the hard part about what I do. We get mere seconds, sometimes much less, to make life altering decisions. There are no do-overs in my line of work. You either make the right decision or you don’t. No matter what they tell you in the academy and how much they train you before sending you out on patrol, no one ever teaches you how to deal with the aftermath of a wrong choice. Hopefully, with time, the screams won’t be so loud and the images in my head won’t be so vivid.
We got a call for harassment from the wife the other day. I didn’t hear all the details since I’m at a desk until the investigation is over, but apparently the husband had a mistress that the wife found out about. The mistress has been making several threats lately, so we sent someone to check it out. So far, no arrests have been made that I’m aware of.
Lydia has been amazing through all of this. She’s been staying the night with me a lot lately, bringing her work over here to finish designs or put in orders she didn’t complete at the office. I really like having her around. I never realized how empty and lifeless the place was until she became a constant presence. More than that though, I really needed her right after the incident happened. I don’t care if that makes me sound fucking weak or like I can’t handle my job, but it’s the truth. She was the balm to my brokenness.
Looking at the clock on my bedside table, I see it’s already eight o’clock. Today is my day off, but it also marks the end of the investigation for discharging my weapon, resulting in the death of someone. I roll out of bed and go after the bright spot in my dark days.
Once I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see her sitting at the kitchen island. I take this moment to study her. She has on one of my T-shirts, which has risen up to reveal her long, lean legs. Her hair is tossed up, giving me a perfect view of her stretched out neck that I want to attach my lips to. With her back to me, she doesn’t see me admiring her as she focuses on her computer.
Walking up to her quietly, I place my hands on her shoulders and give her a kiss on the neck. She jumps in response but soon relaxes when she realizes it’s just me.
“Good morning,” I greet before kissing her some more.
“Mmmm, good morning,” she says.
I pull my lips off of her soft skin and have a seat next to her. “How long have you been awake?”
“About an hour.” She closes her laptop and turns toward me.
“You should have gotten me up.”
She shrugs. “You looked like you needed the sleep.”
I’ve been waking up a lot lately through the night, but last night was the first time I’ve slept all the way through.
My house phone starts ringing, and I know exactly who it is since she’s the only one who uses this number.
“Good morning, Mom.”
“Hey, darling. How are you?” Her sweet, Southern accent comes through the line.
“I’m good. What about you?” I do my best to sound normal. I never tell my parents the shit that happens at work. They worry enough as it is without me telling them every detail.
“Oh, you know how it is around here; same thing just different day. The real reason I called was to find out if you had dinner plans for this evening. I haven’t seen you in months.” My mom likes to exaggerate. It’s her way of laying on the guilt trip.
I lean my head back and search for an excuse. “I was planning to, uh—”
“It’s settled then. Dinner will be ready at six.”
“I have company, so I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” I look over at Lydia as she studies me with an amused expression on her face.
“Who?”
“Lydia,” I state even though I know she has no clue who I’m talking about. It’s not that I’m hiding her, it’s just my mother likes to . . . meddle.
“And who is this Lydia girl?” I hear the mother hen starting to rear its ugly head. I sit down bracing myself for what comes next.
“My girlfriend.” Even though we’ve been together for four months now, I think this is the first time I’ve said that out loud. I kind of like it, and judging by the smile on Lydia’s face as she looks down, I’m guessing she does too.
“Christopher,” she says, using my first name. “You did not inform me you were seeing someone.” Her voice is elevated and I know she’s upset with me.
“That’s because I know how you get.”
She scoffs. “Oh goodness, don’t be silly. You are to bring her with you tonight, and that’s the end of it. I want to meet this girl that seems to be hiding my son from me. It certainly explains why I never see you anymore.” I roll my eyes at her theatrics, but know there’s no way I’m getting out of this.
“Okay, Mother, we’ll see you at six.”
“Perfect! Goodbye, darling.”
A large sigh rushes past my lips as I throw the phone onto the couch cushion. “So,” I start. “Looks like you’re coming to dinner with me at my parents’ house tonight.” I don’t think I could have sounded any less enthused if I tried.
“Really? Awesome!” Her reaction puzzles me, then again, she has no clue what she’s walking into.
“Hold your horses before you get all excited. I mean, you did hear you’re about to meet my family, right?” I’d think this would put most girls into a panic, especially last minute like this.
Her eyebrows draw in. “What? Do you not want me to meet them?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just my mother is very . . . overbearing.”
She stand
s up off the stool she’s perched on and walks to me in the living room. When she reaches me, she leans down and gives me a kiss. “Parents love me,” she says confidently before walking away and heading toward the bedroom.
“Well, don’t take offense if this one doesn’t,” I say dryly.
Lydia
HONESTLY, I WASN’T nervous to meet Marcus’s parents.
That is until we pull up to their house.
Correction: Mansion.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself. “You said we were having dinner at your parents’ house, not compound.”
His muffled chuckle hits my ears. “Would it have mattered?”
“Well . . . yes.”
He turns in his seat to better face me before saying, “How?” It’s not his question that annoys me, it’s his amused expression.
“I—I don’t know. I guess I’d be more prepared.”
Old insecurities inch up my spine. My mother’s words replay in my head from all those years ago.
“You’re wearing your hair like that? I mean, I guess it’s good enough if you don’t want people to think you care about your appearance.”
I swear it’s like she’s right here, whispering in my ear. My hands smooth down any flyaway strands of hair that may be sticking out as I try to shut down the self-doubt my mother instilled in me from an early age. Feelings of not being good enough make me sweat. It’s easier to relate to others who run in the same circles as you. They clearly don’t.
I fidget with my hands as we walk to the door. I might as well be walking the plank with as much dread that’s taken over my body. He must sense my internal freak-out because he stops us, grabs my shoulders and turns me toward him.
“My parents are normal people just like you and me. Don’t let this,” he says as he waves his hand at the house, “make you nervous. I promise they’re down to earth people.”
“When you said your dad was in the banking industry, I figured he was a branch manager or something.” My tone is more clipped than I intended, but I’m panicking. What if they expect him to be with some socialite and a lowly decorator doesn’t meet their expectations?
Marcus’s deep chuckle brings my focus back to him. “He’s the CEO of Bank of the States.”
I stare at him blankly. Bank of the States. As in one of the largest banks nationwide. Yeah, I’m definitely not ready for this.
He grabs my hand and leads us the rest of the way to the front door. “It’ll be fine, okay?” he whispers in my ear before giving me a kiss on the temple.
Marcus rings the doorbell and my heart hammers against my chest. It feels like years when in actuality it was probably only seconds, but his mother finally comes to the door. She’s not at all what I expected and doesn’t look old enough to have a son who’s twenty-seven years old. With platinum-blonde hair in a perfect bob just below her chin, her face is flawless with a few fine lines but nothing defined. Marcus has her eyes and smile as she flashes her pearly whites.
“Christopher, you made it.” She holds her arms out and gives him a big hug.
“Didn’t think I had a choice.” I can tell from his tone he’s giving her a hard time. Seeing the affection they have for each other makes me smile and eases my nerves a little.
“And you must be Lydia,” she says to me once she releases Marcus.
I hold my hand out to her. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Riley.”
“Same here, dear.” She puts her dainty hand in mine and shakes it.
“Come on in. Dinner is almost ready.”
Marcus gives me a reassuring smile before we cross over the enormous threshold. If I thought the outside was impressive, it pales in comparison to the inside. The interior decorator in me is salivating. This house belongs in a magazine with its rich fabrics, stunning light fixtures, gorgeous colors, and perfect staging.
“Your father is in the study. Go say hello and tell him dinner will be on the table in about ten minutes.”
Marcus leads me up this grand, spiraling staircase and down a hall to the right. Before he goes through a door, he takes a deep breath. “Just a heads up, he’s a little on the grumpy side,” he warns.
“I heard that,” a voice says from the other side. Marcus grins and opens the door. “You forget how well your old man can hear.” Sitting in an oversized chair, his dad does not give off the persona of a big CEO. I expected him to be in dress slacks and a button-down shirt, but he’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and polo shirt. His rosy cheeks and bright eyes are welcoming as he stands.
“Hi, Mr. Riley, I’m Lydia.” I hold my hand out to him.
He matches my gesture, exchanging a firm handshake with me. “Mr. Riley makes me feel like I’m at the office. Please, call me Phillip,” he says.
“Thanks for having me over for dinner, Phillip.” I won’t lie; calling him by his first name is a little awkward. Maybe that’s because my mother would never allow someone to address her so informally upon first meeting.
“That was all the missus, but I’m glad you could join us.” He turns his attention back to Marcus. “How’s work treating you?” He squeezes Marcus’s shoulder affectionately.
“It’s good. Keeps me busy and on my toes, but good.” He flashes his dad a tight smile and I know it’s because he’s been keeping certain parts of his job from them.
“Yeah, well, I worry about you.”
Marcus brushes off his dad’s concern. “I’m fine, Dad. No need to worry.”
“You could’ve gotten a nice desk job working for me . . .” There’s a lightness to his tone, telling me he’s giving Marcus a hard time.
“Where’s the excitement in that?”
Phillip rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you’re not getting too much excitement.” He slaps him on the back a few times before walking toward the door. I step aside to let him lead the way. “I’m sure your mom has dinner just about ready. Let’s head down. I’m starving.” He rubs his round belly before going down the hallway.
Holding my hand, Marcus gives it a gentle squeeze. I look up at him and smile, feeling way better now than I did ten minutes ago when we were walking up the driveway. Hopefully this trend continues throughout dinner as well.
“You have a lovely home,” I say once we’re all seated in the dining room. “I love the open floor plan, and the amount of natural light you get throughout is amazing.”
Mrs. Riley arches her eyebrow in curiosity. “Lydia is an interior decorator,” Marcus chimes in. “She’s actually the one that redid my living room. You should see some of her work. She’s amazing.” I hear the pride in his words, and it makes me beam on the inside while blushing on the outside.
“Is that right?” she questions. “What would you change if you were to redecorate my living room?” Why does this feel like a trick question? Mrs. Riley is a very hard woman to read. She doesn’t wear her emotions on her face and it makes me incredibly nervous.
I dab at the corners of my mouth with my napkin to buy some time. “Your home is stunning the way it is, so I don’t know that there’s much I’d change. But the one thing my eye gravitated towards were the window treatments. The color works perfectly, but I’d choose a different fabric that wasn’t so heavy. The room is bright and open, and the heavy curtains are conflicting with that. So maybe a thinner, lightly woven fabric would fit better.”
She’s quiet for a moment while she studies me and I want to kick myself. I should’ve told her I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Now I look like a judgy bitch.
“See, Phillip,” she says to her husband. “I told you we needed new window treatments because those didn’t work!”
“With what you paid for those, they’re fine,” he grumbles.
Mrs. Riley turns her focus back to me, ignoring his remark. “Good call, dear.”
“Thank you,” I say modestly with a smile. And just like that, I feel like I’ve been accepted into their tribe.
“Now tell me; how did the two of you meet? You’d th
ink I’d know these things, but for whatever reason, my son over here has kept you a secret.”
“I picked her up at a bar,” Marcus answers. His response garners a less than appreciative glance from me.
“We met at a bar while I was in Myrtle Beach for the weekend,” I clarify, “but didn’t see each other for a month after.”
“How did you guys run into each other again?” his dad asks.
I glare at Marcus. “He pulled me over for speeding and wrote me a ticket.”
His dad’s laughter draws my attention. “Did I not teach you anything, son?”
Marcus shrugs and holds his hands up. “What? It was the only way I could make sure I saw her again.”
His parents laugh lightly while I shake my head at Marcus with a small smile on my face. I take in this moment and have a sense of envy. This feels so normal and natural and everything a family should be. Everything I never had.
“So after he wrote you the ticket, what happened next?” Mrs. Riley asks.
Marcus and I fill her in on how we finally ended up together, and it’s interesting to hear Marcus’s take on things. For example, I had no idea he was across the parking lot the morning I found that first note on my windshield. It was kind of nice to take a trip down memory lane, but it’s also a reminder of how far I’ve come in letting the past go.
The rest of dinner is had over light conversation and I’m enjoying the many stories she tells of Marcus as a child. It’s so interesting to hear what’s shaped him into the wonderful man he is today. He sits quietly, a grin on his face the whole time as his mother and I chat. His dad chimes in from time to time, but he wasn’t kidding when he said he was starving.
“Have you met Lydia’s parents yet? Or are they in the dark like we were?” she lightly admonishes once dinner is done.
“Not yet,” Marcus answers. His eyes cut over to mine briefly, and I know he picks up on the shift in my body language as my spine stiffens slightly.
Calculated Risk Page 10
