“Just because you have daddy issues don’t push your shit on me.” His hushed tone, the faltering of his gaze for the briefest of moments, it’s an indication he doesn’t want to be talking about this with me.
His words, his demeanor, something’s off. I stare at his face, his eyes, trying to decipher if they’re coal-black and soulless, or maybe he’s just being an asshole today. There’s something indescribable drawing me to Tiller. It’s his strong unnerving presence in my life and the ruggedness only he makes look good.
My gaze drifts to River, distracted by a lizard behind me and thankful she didn’t hear him.
I swallow down my nerves and decide to press on. “Did you know about her?” I ask, blinking slowly, wishing I was asking different questions. Ones that would give me the answer I don’t know I’m looking for.
He shakes his head and shrugs, so cool, so detached. “No, I suppose not.” There’s rashness in his expression that wasn’t there before.
Suppose not? Ugh, why is he so vague all the time?
My body shivers being this close to him, hatred bleeding from his soul. Hatred I’ll never fully understand because he won’t let me. His eyes, colored flawlessly like the canyons surrounding us, are smudgy with hints of black, browns, and flecks of blue. Same as River’s. But unlike her, his are expressive and misleading, and draw you in only to hurt you. They capture your soul like a chokehold, and the more you try to come back to life, he sucks you in with the square jaw made of stone and full lips that soften his hardened edges. Running his hand through his hair, his artfully sculpted rich brown locks stand on end. There’s green in his hair now, something he’s added since I saw him two weeks ago.
What else can I say about him other than he’s cagey and bitter at the world. Volatile and angry for reasons no one will ever understand. He won’t let you.
But then again, none of that matters because I only have two words to say to you.
Tiller. Sawyer.
His eyes hold mine like heavy weights. “What do you want me to say to you?” he asks, pressing for a reasoning. His voice is low, almost intimate. The way he looks at me is felonious, ruining me for anyone else because even in hatred, even like this, no one else will look at me like this.
“Why her?” I come back to it, again, always. My jealousy matches his eyes while he screams silently, why not me?
His eyes narrow, his lips curve sensually. My stomach flutters. Then he turns my question around on me to ask, “Why not me?”
I lift my brows. He lifts his too, as if he’s challenging me. Heat crawls up my neck.
See? I knew that would be his answer. Sometimes I think the only reason Tiller tolerates our friendship, if you can call it that at times, is because he’s hoping to have sex with me.
His hostility knows no bounds. He doesn’t know when to quit. With the words, “Why not me?” my heart beats, wild, uncontrolled, trying to anticipate his reaction. Only you can’t predict him. His tongue is his weapon. He can bring you to your knees with his words.
I swallow down a pain blooming in my chest and blurt out, “Ava and her husband died in a car accident.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, giving nothing away. Seconds pass before he whispers under his breath, “Sorry.”
Scenarios flood through my head, rising and falling until I’m sure nothing he says or does will make this any different. I shouldn’t have come here, not when I hadn’t fully understood the meaning behind him being her father and what it could mean for River. Inadvertently, without meaning to, I could have confused her even more.
I don’t say anything. . . can’t. He’s silent also, unbearably so and staring back at me, almost as if he’s waiting for me to say something else.
You’re so mean!
My head throbs, pulsing like the beats of a heavy hitting drum. I have so much anger I want to take out on him that I want to pound my fists into his chest so he feels my hurt just the same. But I don’t touch him. He doesn’t experience this pain. My gaze drops, losing its battle, wilting under the burn of his eyes. It’s the opposite of what I want. I want to reach over and touch his cheek. I want to curl into his chest and listen to the beat of his angry heart. A place I’ve found comfort more often than not.
My eyes focus on the spark of his lighter and his words come out with smoke. “Why do you have the kid?” I feel the devil’s eyes on me, but I can’t look.
“Ava and her husband left her to me. Asked me to raise her.”
There’s something off about the way his stare falters. But then he snorts and shakes his head. “You’re off to a great start.”
Heat flushes through my body. “What are you talking about?”
He nods to River but turns when the door opens, a messy brown hair, bright green-eyed boy emerging. The same one who answered the door when we arrived. The boy smiles at me, then stands next to Tiller with his arms crossed. “Hey, lady.” He squints up at me, shielding the sun out of his eyes. “Why is that kid petting a dead lizard?”
Twisting around, I spot River about ten feet away on the steps of the porch running her fingers lightly over the lizard. I didn’t know it was dead, but now that I think about it, it hadn’t moved, had it? Shit. Pulling out my hand sanitizer, I rush over to River and wipe down her hands.
“Yucky?” she asks, looking at the wipe and then me.
“Yes, yucky.” Thinking she’s going to get Ebola or something equally as life threatening—or maybe her hands might fall off—I squirt the hand sanitizer I carry in my pocket in the palm of her hand.
“Go away.” Tiller pushes the boy inside, then shakes his head at me, stepping toward us. When he’s standing in front of me, he smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. It’s forced and cold and never directed at River. “Jesus, cool it with the alcohol. You’re gonna get her drunk off that shit.”
I stand, scowling at him and whisper, “Why are you so mean? I can’t believe you’re acting like this.”
“You can’t believe it? Really?” He shakes his head, then takes a drag of his cigarette. “I don’t know what you expected. She’s better off not knowing who I am. Even Ava knew that.”
“She asked me to come see you.”
He breathes out, heavy and annoyed. “That was a stupid idea.”
Heat rushes through my body. He’s right, but then again, it doesn’t make it okay. Reaching for River’s hand, I walk away, because ultimately, that’s what he’d been waiting for since I knocked on his door. It’s when I have River in the car, away from the intensity of his hatred, I think about why I came here and what I thought would happen. I don’t know the answer. I don’t regret it. My life with him, or lack thereof, it intersects far more than either of us can comprehend. He’s impossible for me to regret.
I still love him. I’ll never tell him.