LRPD - part eighteen

fully edited
*sexual content

“Riley wait!”

Your voice cracks as the dust kicks up at her back, and he settles his hand between your shoulder blades, thumb working circles just under the edge of your scapula.

“Let her go.” She’s shrieking with laughter, cowboy boots tipping toe to toe through the crowd, another little girl hot on her heels, both of them bee-lining to a… cow.

American rodeo is bloody weird.

You lean into him. Sigh. Turn your face into his chest as he folds you into his side. There’s no protest, hesitation, no second thoughts, you go easy.

It’s like a dream. One he knows he’s going to wake up from because it can’t possibly be this easy, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Riley would’ve grown up here.” You give someone a polite smile as they pass, silver lines of sympathy in their eyes. You’re known here, the two of you, and being in it with you has painted the picture for him. This would have been Tess. Tess and Riley. Walking the grounds together, visiting friends, loading and unloading horses in trailers, oiling saddles and braiding manes. “She should grow up here.” Regret twists your tongue and the last word is thick. “She would have, if I had been better.”

“Daisy…”

“I just… I’m not her. It didn’t feel right, trying to insert myself in a place where I don’t belong, and I can’t imagine her doing any of this, getting hurt, you know?” People move in every direction, fans, vendors, competitors, cowboys, cowgirls, kids, families. You maneuver around all of it with grace, pulling him in your wake. For someone who doesn’t belong here, you fit pretty well. He can see you here, you and Riley, a whole chapter of your life never to be written now. “Not like I had the time anyway. Or the money.” You come to a stop on the outside of a ring, big metal fencing looped around where a woman sits comfortably on an idle horse.

“You’ve done your best.” The horse moves, but the rider doesn’t. She’s still, somewhat slouched, but if he looks closer, he can see the muscles in her thighs flexing, dots and dashes pulsing like morse code, each one eliciting a movement beneath her.

He bites his tongue at the mention of money. Battle for another day. He’s not keen on invoking other arguments, not right now. It was a struggle to be here, a win he managed by cheating.

“Let me come with you,” he murmurs against the corner of your mouth as if he could force the words inside, change your mind. “Let me be there for you, so you can be there for Riley.”

“I don’t know…” the words die on a gasp as he pushes a finger inside you, your velvet walls snug. Too snug.

“Christ you’re tight baby. Gonna have to stretch you out f’me.”

“O-oh.” Your hips rock, looking for the heel of his hand, but he flexes his wrist, pulls it away, deprives you.

“Let me come with you.” He kisses you again, cups the back of your head with his hand to keep you close. “Let me come to the rodeo, and I’ll make you come.” You whine, shifting around to find a rhythm around where his finger is stationary, not giving you an inch.

“You’re not- it’s not fair.”

No one said he had to fight fair.

“She didn’t get to grow up here like Tess maybe would have wanted her too, but that doesn’t mean she’s not happy.” You shake your head in disagreement but he stops you, hands on your shoulders. “She is happy, Daisy. You’ve done great baby. Would it have been different for her? Yeah. But that doesn’t mean what you’ve done isn’t just as good.”

“She is happy,” you whisper to your feet, and he skims the skin at the collar of your skirt.

“And healthy, and safe. She’s doin’ just fine without this.” You nod.

“Maybe you’re right.” He doesn’t bother telling you he’s right about most things when it comes to you, even the ones you vehemently disagree on. Instead, he settles for a kiss to your forehead and a sigh.

“C’mon. Let’s go see what this cow’s all about.”

Your driveway is long, and dirt. Bumpy. It’s a wonder anyone can sleep through the mile and half long length, let alone two people, but here you are. You and Riley, eyes closed, your head tipped back, Riley half leaned over in her booster seat, dead to world. You don’t even wake when he pulls your door open, lashes only beginning to flutter as he rubs your thigh, pats you lightly on your hip. “We’re home sweetheart.”

“Already?” You blink groggily, undoing your seatbelt to step out, unsteady and tilted to one side. You don’t go far, because he's there, his hands never left you.

Will never.

“Easy.”

“Shit.” You glance at Riley and wince. “Shit.”

“I’ll get her.” You rub your temples, drained. It was a long day, and you’re exhausted, as always. It’s your default setting. It drives him insane.

“No, that’s okay, I can-”

“I’ll get her.” He's firmer and the ripple effect of a swallow works it way upward until your expression turns to acceptance, almost resignation. You huff.

“Fine.” She stirs when he unbuckles the belt and he tips her forward, sliding arms beneath her knees to ease her carefully from the backseat.

“We home?” You rub her back.

“We’re home ladybug.” Soft puffs of air tickle his neck as he brings her inside, following you to her room where he lays her on her bed.

“I’ll wait downstairs.” He tells you as you slide her boots off. You hum something under your breath that sounds like an okay, but it’s a low melody, your delicate, stressful, beautiful dance, the one you struggle with so much. You’ve only let him have small clips of this, only let him in so much, and he needs more. So much more.

“Simon,” the floorboards creak at his pause, his heart skipping at the tender, sweet glow in your eyes. “Thank you.”

“No, oh god, no. Please.”

Beth crumples, careening towards the floor with a wail, a tiny baby Joseph in the carrier next to her, blinking up at his mother. Simon drops to his knees beside them both, pulls Beth into his arms as she sobs, shakes like she's breaking apart. There are words exchanged, something he mutters over his shoulder at Tommy’s doctor, ordering them to leave.

“He was on his way home,” Beth moans, “he was just- he was on his way home.” He doesn’t have the stomach to think about it, his brother getting in the car after work to go home, nearly there before being slammed into by a truck, crushed by the force of it, body broken Killed. He doesn’t allow himself to linger on it, the pain, the fear Tommy must have felt. The devastation knowing he’d never see his wife again. He wouldn’t get to see his son grow up. He can’t get distracted. Not when what Tommy’s left behind needs him so badly now.

The door creaks. He twists to tell whoever it is to make themselves scarce, but it’s John, and his expression is grim. Haunted. “What it is?”

“Need you to come with me.” Dread swirls in his blood, and rises on autopilot, following his friend dutifully down the hallway before stopping in front of a room. He frowns, following as John steps inside without a word. Broad shoulders block his view for a moment, but when they move, his heart stops.

It's you. Prone in a hospital bed, unmoving. Eyes closed, hands flat at your sides, frozen in time.

Gone.

“What is this?” He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t even talk, spitting out the three words like they’re rocks, too heavy to be enunciated. “John.” This doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t add up, it’s improbable, impossible, and his head is spinning. His friend’s breath is heavy, laden with sadness.

“I’m sorry Simon.” Loud beeps ricochet between his ears as the floor tilts. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. His heart is frozen in his chest and it’s killing him, filling his lungs, turning them to ice. The beeping gets louder, the shrill ringing bouncing off the inside of his skull-

“Bleedin’ christ.” The watch on his bedside table nearly cracks under the pressure of his fist closing around it. “Fuck.”

It was a nightmare.

Real life horrors mixed with dreams, that’s all.

Just a nightmare.

You’re at the nurses station.

Ankles crossed in a chair, smiling-

with a baby in your arms.

It stops him dead in his tracks, leaves him shell shocked, idyllic dreams rising like smoke in his mind.

For a second, that's not a stranger's baby nestled against your chest.

It's his.

You holding his baby, kissing his baby, his baby giggling in your arms. You, pregnant with his baby, round belly under your scrubs, tits heavy with milk. Undeniable proof that you’re his.

“Hey Doctor Riley.” Key clears her throat with an amused look. She knows. He knows she knows, knows she's always seen right through him.

“Whose baby is that?” His voice is gruff, sharper than he intended, and your warm smile turns quizzical.

“Her mom is surgery and there’s no one else, like no partner or family to be with her. It’s a little busy in labor-land so they asked if she could come up here for a bit.” He strokes the chubby curve of her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, wedding ring flashing in the fluorescent light.

“Big girl.” He rarely sees babies like this. Strong, healthy with good muscle tone and strong lungs. Alive. So vibrantly alive.

“Yeah she’s a chunker. Nine pounds.” You hum, rocking her when she squirms until the little furrow of her brow smooths away. The unsettled dread from this morning’s nightmare is still heavy in his stomach, hardly quelled even though he’s standing in front of you.

“You alright?” You frown.

“Yes?” It’s not good enough, and his fingers travel from the baby’s cheek to your ring finger. He should be satisfied, walk away and go about his business, but he can’t move, even when he tries to force it. He wants to drag you up into his arms, hold you, feel you, reassure himself. “Is everything okay?”

“I…” I needed to see you. I needed to make sure you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re healthy, that you’re here. I couldn’t sleep. I dreamt you were dead. Isa rounds the corner, stopping short and lighting up at the sight of the baby.

“Oh my goodness look at that baby! Let me see her.” Any chance he had to pull more out of you vanishes, and he gives you a slow nod before shaking his shoulders, taking off for his office with another word.

“Simon?” It’s late. Almost seven, end of a busy day that passed in a blink of an eye and you’re a sight for sore ones, standing in the door way of his office, back pack hanging off your shoulder.

“Hey.” Your smile is shy, even as the door closes and you make your way across the room, baby steps turned to big ones as you lean against the side of his desk. Bolder. Braver, each day.

“Are you alright? Earlier you seemed… I don’t know. And the day got so busy I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.” You don't usually offer this to him, the softness, the sweet. You bury it, hide it. It kicks something loose in him, but he keeps his expression neutral. Firm. How you need it.

“I had a rough morning, but everything’s okay.” Your posture relaxes a fraction.

“Okay. Good.” The silence is heavy. Has been, ever since the desk. You've stopped snapping and spitting and clawing at this gap he's trying to close, less likely to throw him off, sending him crashing into the dirt. You still bare your teeth, he’s not stupid enough to call it all a win yet, but small victories like this still mean something. You like to surprise him though. “I was wondering if you’d take me home?” He holds himself in check, smothers his surprise. Barely.

“Yeah?” You rock on your heels, arms crossed, unsure but trying. Trying for him.

“Mhm. I just figured… you know, we haven’t yet this week. Probably should.” That's all he needs. The laptop shuts and he grabs his coat.

“Yeah. We should." Your bottom lip is rolled beneath your top teeth, and when he puts his thumb there to slide it free, you don’t move. Your breath hitches instead, and he clenches his free fist. You just let him, watch him, no hissing, no venom, no cold shoulder. He smiles. “Let’s go home then."