Until There Was You(91)
“Sure, sure. Okay.”
They stood there another minute, the silence growing awkward. Then Liam reached out and pinched her chin. “Good luck with the family stuff,” he said. “And you know, you can call me. If you want.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it.”
“Thanks even more, then, biker boy.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Now, shoo. Go home to your kid.”
Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for a long minute, and it was so unexpected that Posey felt her eyes prickle with tears. She kissed his cheek again. “You’re a good guy, Liam Murphy,” she whispered. Then, a little embarrassed at the proclamation, she pulled back. “Go on, git,” she said. “And thanks.”
Inside, with Shilo licking her face and wagging so hard he knocked over an end table, Posey found that she was still smiling. Even with the Tates ending their night on an off note, Liam had really come through.
NOPE. THAT HAD NOT been cool. The joy of riding his Triumph was gone as Liam made his way from Cordelia’s back into town. The Tates hadn’t wanted him with Emma, but they sure didn’t want him with someone else. Not now, anyway. And of course, they’d busted him at the very moment he’d been picturing Cordelia na**d and underneath him. Bad enough that he’d deflowered, then stolen, their precious daughter. Now he was—in their minds, anyway—cheating on her.
Liam pulled into the garage, figuring the walk home might cool him off a little, give him time to figure out how to make this okay. The thing was, being out with Cordelia had been pretty fantastic. She’d been upset, he’d made her feel better, they’d had fun. It had been a long time since he’d felt so…well, so good. You’re a good guy, Liam Murphy, Cordelia had said.
It wasn’t something he’d heard a lot in his life.
Enter the Tates, almost on cue to remind him just how not-good he really was. Not only was Nicole left alone— Liam, the negligent father, was out with another woman. The warmth from being with Cordelia evaporated as he walked through the quiet streets of Bellsford. He hadn’t heard the end of this, he was quite sure.
He opened the door of the apartment building and ran up the five flights of stairs. Heard the sound of the Ramones and smelled popcorn. Nicole must’ve finished that paper. Good girl.
Then Liam opened the door, walked into his apartment, and found Tanner Talcott and Nicole sitting on the couch, entwined around each other, kissing like a meteor was about to hit the planet and end life as they knew it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“YOU CAN’T GROUND me for kissing someone!” Nicole yelled.
“I already have grounded you!” he yelled back. It had been three days since Nicole had aged him fifty years—three days of whining, sobbing and yelling—and if he could magically turn her mute, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
“You’re so unfair! I’m sixteen years old, almost! I should be able to kiss my boyfriend!”
“You weren’t grounded for kissing that boy! It was for breaking every rule I have! You were home alone, Nicole! No guests! You know that! Let alone a horny boy who just wants to get into your pants!”
“Our clothes were totally on! Maybe he doesn’t just want to get into my pants, Dad. Maybe he loves me!” She burst into tears and threw herself into a chair.
Emma, you really screwed me by dying, Liam thought irrationally. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. He took a deep breath. “Stop crying, Nic,” he said in a calmer voice. “I’ll drive you to school.”
She cut him a glare. “I’m taking the bus.”
“Get your stuff and get in the car, Nicole!”
There should be some drug for fathers of teenage girls. Something that calmed your heart so it didn’t practically rip through your chest. Something that could soothe the fury your daughter could inspire, the absolute terror that something unspeakable would happen to her, the almost murderous sense of protection. Something that would give you the words to tell her that no one would ever love her as much as dear old dad, and if she just listened to him, she’d have a much easier time of things and be safe from boys who ruined her life.
Liam would bet his left nut that George Tate had wished for the same thing.
They rode to school in silence. When he pulled into the parking lot, she didn’t get out right away, just sat there, staring straight ahead. “I still get to go to the prom, right?” she asked, her voice defiant. “Tanner already bought the tickets, and they were, like, really expensive.”
No. You don’t ever get to go out with that boy again. Do you know how hard it was for me not to kill him the other night? Prom? Are you serious? Are you out of your mind? Absolutely not. Never.
But nearly sixteen years of fatherhood had taught Liam one thing—sometimes, it’s best not to answer right away. “Have a good day at school, and I’ll pick you up at 2:30. I love you, even if I’m really, really mad, Nicole. And I know you’re mad, too, but you’re grounded for your own good.”
Nicole answered with the Slitty Eyes of Death and got out of the car.
It was not with a light heart that Liam went to work. The smell of oil and machines, the faint bite of soldered metal, the cool echo of the garage that usually welcomed him failed to work its magic today. Usually, he loved coming to the garage. It was the one place he really knew what he was doing. When Liam was six years old, his father had asked him to help him take apart an engine. The car had been stolen, but Liam didn’t know that and probably wouldn’t have cared if he had. Father-son bonding times were few and far between. Dad may have been a mean drunk, but when he was sober, he’d been great with an engine. Liam had been hooked.