Chapter Five

Staying with her father was a pleasant retreat from real life. Natasha’s morning routine was the same. She still got up and went to work every day, but when she came home it was a different experience. For the first time in a long time, it felt like she could finally relax. Neil had a massive supply of frozen food in his kitchen, which she only needed to heat up to magically prepare dinner. It seemed like she was cheating life, but pre-prepared meals were much easier than trying to decide what to make. When they sat at the table and discussed their days, he only asked her about Nick occasionally.

One Wednesday morning, her father didn’t come down for breakfast. Natasha gave him time while she styled her hair and applied makeup. Sometimes he didn’t sleep well, and it wasn’t like he had to keep a strict schedule. When she was ready for work and had warmed up a cinnamon roll for each of them, she decided to go back up the stairs and knock softly on his door.

“Dad? I’m going to have to leave for work soon. Are you getting up today?” There was no reply. “Dad?”

With a feeling of dread in her heart, Natasha pushed open the door and peeked inside. Neil was in bed, sleeping peacefully. She crossed the room to leave a kiss on his cheek when she saw that his skin was an unusual color. His cheek felt cold against the back of her hand when she reached out to check his temperature.

“Dad!” Natasha fumbled with his wrist as she searched for a pulse, but his hand was limp and unresponsive. His chest in his old striped pajama top was still.

Her throat tightened around her trachea, nearly cutting off her breath. Natasha couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She trudged out of the room and down the stairs, stumbling her way through the hall to find a phone and call 911.

Everyone said the funeral was peaceful. Natasha didn’t know how to compare one funeral to another. She couldn’t stop thinking about the heavy wooden casket and the dark satin lining it. In her memory, she recalled large displays of flowers and wreaths sent by former coworkers. Repetitive music played in the background as the preacher spoke. An uncountable number of people had lined up to shake her hand or give her a hug.

None of it had meant anything to her because her father wasn’t coming back.

Many people had told Natasha how good her father looked in his coffin. She had nodded and given small smiles because it seemed like the thing to do, but their comments made her want to scream. How good could he look when he was dead? He had died in his sleep, and he would never again smile or put his arm around her. Her father had been the only person in the world on her side. Now she had no one.

Natasha had stayed at the cemetery until the very last bit of dirt was pushed over her father’s grave. The gravediggers laid a large blue blanket over the burial site to keep the soil in place until it settled. She was the last person to leave the site, choosing to drive herself home instead of renting a limousine as the funeral director had suggested.

When she arrived at her father’s house, the sound of the key in the lock made a loud, grating noise in her ears. The soft squeak of the door and the sound of her heels on the living room floor were like echoes in a canyon. The house was empty now without its owner.

Without removing the painful shoes or bothering to change out of the expensive black dress she had purchased just for the occasion, Natasha wandered through the house as though seeing it for the first time. She studied every framed picture on the wall. The grade school photos, snapshots of her parents when they were dating, and pictures from their wedding made her feel like she was walking through a time warp.

Natasha ran her hands over the afghan on the back of the couch that her mother crocheted and opened the china cabinet to reveal a set of elegant teacups. She noticed for the first time in her life that her father had dedicated the main living area of the house to her mother’s tastes. Neil had been content to let his wife have whatever she wanted for the house, as long as his books were on a shelf in the library. He had a laboratory in the basement and hadn’t changed a single thing since his wife had passed away.

A knock on the door startled Natasha out of her reverie. She had already seen everyone she knew today and had been sent home with several casseroles and cakes, so she wasn’t expecting any company. She stalked across the room, angry at being disturbed while she grieved.

The man on the stoop was tall and wiry, with blonde hair and a lazy grin. His blue eyes glittered with sympathy as he looked down at her and braced his body against the door frame with a tattooed arm.

“What are you doing here, Nick?” Natasha wondered how much more of her energy could be drained from her body before she simply keeled over and died.

“I heard about what happened to your Dad. I didn’t know about the funeral until it was too late to come, but I wanted to check on you. Why didn’t you tell me?” He started to take a step inside, but Natasha didn’t move back to make room for him.

Many reasons, Natasha thought. Because I didn’t want to deal with you, and I still don’t. Because I had more important things on my mind than some asshole who cheated on me with his employee. You would use my vulnerability as leverage against me.

“I’ve been busy.”

“But I’m your husband, Tasha. You should have let me help you. I could have planned everything and supported you. It’s a shame that you had to do everything alone.” Nick managed to take a full step and was now towering over her. He would knock her down with another movement.

Natasha didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. “That’s all right. I have everything taken care of.” She folded her arms across the bodice of her dress, unwilling to back down and hoping to convey her feelings with her body language. She met Nick’s stare with venom in her eyes, but he didn’t seem intimidated by her in the least.

“Well, I’m here to take care of you now.” He put his hands on Natasha’s upper arms, rubbing them up and down in a gesture he thought was comforting. “Let’s start by getting you out of those uncomfortable clothes.”

“Nick, I’m not in the mood for this.”

“That’s okay, baby. I can get you in the mood. You know how good we are together.” His body was pressed against her now, and he pinned her in place with his arms. “All you have to do is tell me where you want to do it. Your old bedroom? Right here in the living room?” He kicked the front door shut behind him.

“Let go of me!” Natasha shoved him away, but he moved back immediately and bent down to kiss her. She could smell the liquor on his breath. The thought of kissing someone who had been so awful to her made her want to retch. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Natasha pushed him harder than before, making him crash into the door.

“Damn. You’re still a bitch, you know that?” Nick rubbed the back of his head. “I was just trying to help you out.”

“Help yourself out, Nick. Help yourself right out the front door. I don’t want to see you again. You won’t hear from me again unless it’s through my attorney.” Natasha yanked the door open, put her hand on Nick’s chest, and pushed him outside. He tried to return, but she slammed the door in his face.

Shaking and angry, Natasha was even more lost than she had been before Nick appeared. She didn’t need to see him right then. Many things were more important than fighting off a soon-to-be ex-husband. She should be sitting down with a friend and a good beer.

Instead, after locking the front door, checking it twice, and watching through the window as Nick drove off with screeching tires, Natasha strode purposefully toward the back of the house. There was something else that she needed to settle, something that no one could help her with.

She hadn’t been to the basement since the first night her father showed her Fury. Although she had been uncomfortable with the idea of keeping a cyborg in her basement, she had decided to let him do what he wanted. Neil had felt strong enough about the project to take it on, and she trusted him to keep it under control.

Natasha walked across the room to study the cyborg. He stood quietly in his box, only the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest indicating that he was anything more than a wax statue. The wires and tubes were small and unobtrusive, coming in from the back of the container.

This cyborg — Fury — was truly a marvel. His cheekbones were high and defined, lips firmly set and jaw firm. The nurse could see that someone had already modified his hand. The soldiers she dealt with at the CRC needed to have this particular feature disabled before they were released from Cyborg Sector, but this soldier’s weapon was live. She wondered if he had any other replacement parts. She had met men with artificial limbs, eyes, and internal organs, but they were all of such high quality that most people couldn’t tell the difference at first glance.

Natasha knew he couldn’t hear her, but she spoke anyway. “I don’t know what to do with you now that Dad’s gone. I can’t keep you here for the rest of our lives.”

Fury’s eyelids flew open, revealing deep blue irises that stared at her with undisguised hatred. Natasha screamed and scrambled backward, falling over a chair and landing hard on the concrete. Quickly regaining her feet despite the pain in her elbows and ass, Natasha barreled up the stairs and slammed the door.