Until There Was You(87)

“Just asking. If you wanted me to stay, I would.”

“I don’t.” She must’ve realized she sounded like a twit, because she gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry. It’s just this is a hard class.”

He smiled. “But you’re smart. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” she grumbled, then looked up at him hopefully. “So, Daddy, any thoughts on the prom?”

“Plenty. You’re too young.”

“I’m sixteen years old, Dad.”

“You’re fifteen years and eleven months old,” he corrected.

“Grandma and Grandpa don’t think I’m too young,” she countered. “They said they’d buy my dress, too.”

“Not helping your case,” he said.

Her face fell. “Fine. You’re the boss.” She turned back to her computer. “I’ll just slave away at this and, like, never have any fun, ever, because my father won’t let me be normal and have a boyfriend, not that Tanner even is my boyfriend, because he hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

The threats must be working. Liam’s opinion of Tanner went up a thousand points. Nicole sat back down at her desk and started tapping away on the razor-thin laptop the Tates had just bought her. She really was a good kid, and she did work hard.

“What’s the paper on?” he asked.

“The themes of patriarchal suppression in The Crucible. Ironic, isn’t it?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. His child was now officially smarter than he was, and he didn’t like it. “Not funny.”

“Oh, it was funny, Dad. Get out of here. I have to call Tanner and tell him you’re gone so he can, like, bring over the drugs and the gang members.”

“Even less funny. No visitors. I’m telling Mrs. Antonelli you’re alone.”

“Okay,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“Thought I might take my bike out.”

Nicole nodded, unaware of the monumental impact of this statement. “Wear your helmet,” she said, turning back to the screen.

“I’ll call you.”

“I’m so sure.” She made huffing noise, then turned back to her computer. “I love you, Dad,” she added.

There it was, that shocking wave of love. She was the best kid in the world. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, and she was doing her work, toughing it out. She’d been through hell, watching her mom die, and yet here she was, pulling in decent grades, playing lacrosse, on the debate team (her calling, he thought). And even though she was mad at him, she still told her father she loved him.

“You can go to the prom,” he said.

There was a beat of silence, then her shriek split the air. “What?” She leaped up. “Daddy! Are you kidding? Don’t answer that! Oh, Dad, thank you!” She threw her arms around him and kissed his face repeatedly.

“There will be a million rules and regulations,” he said, laughing. “Maybe a tracking device.”

“I don’t care! Oh, Daddy, you’re the greatest!”

“Tanner and I will be having a long, long talk,” he added.

“Of course you will,” she said, disentangling herself from him. “Daddy, thank you.”

“Okay. You’re welcome.” There was a lump in his throat. “I’ll call you in a little while, okay? And I’m buying your dress. Not Grandma and Grandpa.”

Liam’s mood was mixed as he walked toward the garage. On the one hand, it had felt great to give Nicole what she wanted. On the other, he was letting her go to a prom with a teenage boy, which felt more dangerous than if he’d fed her a lump of glowing uranium.

But if Emma had been alive, she probably wouldn’t have objected to Nicole going to the prom. Emma had been queen of high school, after all. They’d gone to their prom, of course—Emma had been in a silky ivory dress with a low back, her skin so smooth under his hand as they danced. The rest of his prom memories were foggy, but he knew he’d had fun. Especially after the prom…the exact type of fun he didn’t want his child to have.

Time for a subject change. A pretty big deal lay immediately ahead of him. The motorcycle.

He unlocked the garage and stepped inside, the smell of oil and metal as familiar as the smell of Nicole’s hair. There was the Triumph, the same make and model as the one he’d wrecked.

The last time he’d ridden a motorcycle, he’d almost ended up dead. A concussion and bruising so bad he’d hurt for a month. But if he didn’t get on a bike now, he probably never would. It was a beautiful spring day, he had a…friend waiting for him. He grabbed an extra helmet and strapped it on the back.

He wheeled the bike outside, locked the garage once more, and straddled the bike. So far, so good. Helmet on, check. He took a deep breath; the choking panic was still at bay—for now. But his heart was thumping, and his knees buzzed with adrenaline. He turned the key, and the engine purred to life.

And then, just like that, Liam flexed his wrist, and he was gliding down the street, free. No fear, no wave of dread, just him doing what he’d been doing for more than twenty years. It was like meeting an old friend after a long, long time apart. Strange, how easy it was, like he’d never stopped, never crashed.

Cordelia was lugging something to her truck when he pulled up. She shielded her eyes and walked over to him, frowning. Her face was a little pale. “Hey, Liam. I…I kind of forgot we had plans.” Then she tipped her head and smiled, and it was like someone turned a light on inside her. “Are you on a motorcycle, Liam Declan Murphy?”