43. Cole
“—andthe trees at the park are the best for climbing!”
“Archie,” Riley says, fondness in her voice, “don’t talk with your mouth full, please.”
Archie quickly snaps his jaw shut, nodding.
His pre-K class is taking a trip to Central Park today for a picnic, and he’s been looking forward to it for the past few days. I lean against the kitchen counter with a mug of freshly pressed coffee, watching Riley coax Archie into eating a full breakfast.
As I watch her, my mind is going at a million miles an hour, trying to conjure up ways to make things work between us.
I’ve never felt closer to another person before, and lately, I’ve been getting the sense that I’m not the only one starting to feel something deeper.
Could this be real? Why the hell do we have to keep hiding it away?
Riley gets up from the table, smiling, and walks over to me. “You know,” she says, “it’s Saturday. If you’ve got a few hours off from your very busy schedule, you could come with us to the park.”
I sigh, biting my lip. When I speak, I make sure to keep my voice down so that Archie can’t hear me. “Ah, I don’t know. You know I don’t like going to these kinds of things.”
It’s true; since Riley came on as Archie’s nanny, I’ve been avoiding all of the school events like the plague. I really don’t mind spending the time with Archie, but at the pre-K activities, it’s never time with Archie.
It’s time with all of the other parents, while Archie plays with his friends.
It’s fantastic for Archie to get that time with other kids his age, but some of their parents are a little too prone to pearl-clutching for my tastes. I prefer to steer clear of them. And with Riley as Archie’s guardian for the field trips, I have the perfect excuse.
“Come on,” she says. “It’ll be fun. Plus, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house.” Her gaze softens, and she adds, “It’s been a difficult week. This will be something easy and relaxing.”
I look at her, my resolve crumbling. It does sound nice, when she puts it that way. And if she’s going to be there…
“Fine.” I knock back the rest of the coffee in one gulp, as if it’s one of Declan’s whiskeys, shuddering at the bitterness. “I’ll come.”
Grinning, Riley turns to Archie. “Guess who just agreed to come with us?”
Archie almost falls out of his chair in excitement, letting out an exuberant yell.
Rather than having my driver take all of us to the park, I offer to drive. The moment we arrive, just as I predicted, Archie races off to greet a group of his friends. We walk after him, and I glance down at Riley, who is beaming as she watches the kids organize an instant game of hide-and-seek tag.
“They’re cute,” she says, catching me staring at her. “Remember playing games like that? They make it look so simple.”
“Yeah, they sure do.”
As we approach a group of the other parents, my hand slides to the small of Riley’s back. She doesn’t flinch or protest, but I can feel a slight tension, like she’s unsure what I’m doing, acting like we’re a couple in public.
“Beautiful day for a picnic,” she says brightly by way of a greeting. Over the past few months, she’s gotten to know these mothers at all of Archie’s pre-K events and after-school meetings. They recognize her instantly, and their expressions give away their reactions to the sight of me standing so close.
They definitely notice what I’m doing, and most of them seem scandalized. One woman in particular is glaring daggers at Riley, who pretends not to care. I don’t have to pretend. I’m tired of hiding, and I really don’t give a shit what they think.
We settle down with our picnic blanket, a classic, red-and-white checkered piece of fabric that Riley picked up from the corner store a few days ago.
She wasn’t just reaching for small talk, either; it really is a beautiful day. There’s a slight breeze rippling through the tops of the trees, and the air is warm, the sun bright.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to spend time outside like this,” I say to her, looking up at the leaves appreciatively. “You were right. This is nice.”
She seems delighted, but also uncertain, like she wants to be closer to me and isn’t sure if she should risk it. I grin at her, my mind flashing back to what I’ve been thinking about all morning.
The children’s game is rapidly becoming more and more complex as they rush around, hiding and chasing one another. It’s impossible to follow the action, but Archie seems to be having a great time; his cheeks are flushed, and he’s grinning from ear to ear.
The only things about this moment that aren’t purely enjoyable are the glowering looks we’re getting from some of the other parents. As I meet one mother’s gaze, she looks away, leaning in to whisper to the woman next to her.
“They don’t seem happy,” Riley says in an undertone.
I shrug. “Well, they can deal.”
We join the rest of the parents in eating. The pre-K catered the event, and there are boxes of cheese and pepperoni pizza for the kids, and sandwich wraps for the adults. Archie sits down with his friends for a few minutes while they all eat and enjoy their lemonades.
“Make sure you take it easy after you eat,” Riley calls. “Don’t just rush off again, or your tummy will hurt!”
Archie nods in acknowledgement, but it isn’t long before he and the other kids are back at it, their endless game of tag resuming.
“Who do you think is winning?” Riley asks me, her gaze tracking Archie as he races after another child.
“Is it a team game?” I wonder in reply.
“I think it’s every man for himself.”
For a few minutes, we sit in silence, trying to make heads or tails of the strange game the kids are playing. At first glance, it looks like tag, but there’s a definite hide-and-seek element; the kid who’s “it” has to stand by a specific tree and count down before giving chase.
The longer I watch, the more confusing it gets, until eventually I give up on understanding and instead focus on Riley. I’ll never get tired of looking at her, especially in the sunlight.
It catches in her silken hair and warms her skin. It also illuminates her eyes. I’ve found her eyes—warm and brown and perfect—stunning since the first time I looked into them. But now, as the sun’s rays pass through them, they become all the more beautiful.
She’s radiant.
Right now, I want nothing more than to have her in my arms.
I look over to make sure that the other parents have a good handle on the group of kids. They’re watching attentively—there are plenty of careful, adult eyes around.
I nudge Riley with my shoulder. “We should move our blanket over a little bit,” I suggest. I nod toward a tree, around fifty yards away from the cluster of parents—not far enough to be out of eyesight, but far enough that we’ll have a little privacy. “Into the shade, maybe.”
“Sure,” she says. Together, we tug our checkered blanket toward the tree, settling in beneath its branches.
As soon as we’re on our own, I pull her into my arms and plant a kiss on her cheek. Of course, this is followed quickly by another one on her lips. I can’t resist her, no matter how hard I try—and I’m not trying particularly hard at the moment.
Riley laughs uncertainly, but after a third kiss, she melts against me, letting out a small sigh. When we break apart, she stares at me, then shakes her head.
“What are you doing? The other parents are definitely gonna notice this.”
“Let them notice, then,” I say. There’s a spark of defiance in me alongside my desire to have Riley as close as possible.
Why should any random stranger get to dictate what I should and shouldn’t do? What I can and can’t have?
“It’s going to be a whole thing. Imagine what Mrs. Matthews will have to say about this. And—” She glances furtively back to the group of parents, more than a few of whom are still openly staring. “Once a few of them know, it’s going to get back to all the rest of them.”
I take a deep breath.
“Maybe I don’t care,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “What about the rules?”
I hesitate for a few seconds, watching the crowd of children running and laughing. Then I look back to Riley with a smile.
“Maybe we say fuck the rules. Every single one of them. Maybe whatever this thing between us is, it’s too big for rules.”
She grins at that, and happiness swells in my chest. I feel lighter than air.
I lean in to kiss her, and suddenly, that floating sensation within me is punctured by the sound of a shrill, pained cry.
I feel a sudden stab of panic.
That’s Archie.
* * *
Riley
Coleand I break apart instantly at the sound of the loud wail, turning toward the sound on pure instinct. My heart lurches.
Archie is on the ground next to a tree, writhing and howling in pain. His face is red from crying, and there are tears on his cheeks, visible even from here.
Cole and I both start running without saying a word. Others rush toward Archie as well, a few parents operating on their impulses to help any hurt child.
When we reach Archie, Cole leans over him, kneeling beside him. There’s worry evident in his features, his frantic eyes and creased forehead. I remember how he was when Archie had the stomach bug, and realize that he must be panicking right now.
“Archie,” I say, kneeling on the other side of him. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”
Archie can’t seem to speak—the wind is knocked out of him. He’s crying, and his sobs are taking up all of his air.
After a few seconds, he manages to talk in hiccuping gasps. “I—just wanted t-to hide in the t-tree like Justin and Brandon were d-doing—”
Justin and Brandon are two of the older, bigger kids. They would have a much easier time climbing trees than Archie. My heart twists in sympathy for the little boy, remembering how much he wanted to climb the trees this morning.
“How far did you fall?” I ask him.
“I dunno,” he sniffs. “M-my arm hurts.” He tries to move his arm to show me, but the action sends a wave of fresh tears cascading down his face.
“Let me take a look, okay? Just lie still.” I peer at Archie’s arm. From what I can see—elbow and down—his arm looks a bit swollen. I grimace, glancing at Cole.
“What’s wrong with him?” Cole demands.
“I think his arm might be broken,” I admit. “We should probably take him to an emergency room.”
The other kids have stopped their game and are gathered alongside their parents, their faces drawn and pale. All of the children who were up in trees have come back to the ground, looking nervous.
“It’s okay, guys,” I say to them, not wanting them to crowd Archie and make him more uncomfortable. “We’re gonna take him to a doctor and get him all fixed up.”
Cole’s face tightens. He scoops Archie up in his arms; the boy doesn’t stop crying as we hurry back to the car to drive to the hospital. He settles Archie into the backseat and buckles his seatbelt, since the boy can’t reach it himself.
Cole drives like a man possessed, his grip tight on the steering wheel and his eyes frenzied. Tension fills the car. Archie has stopped wailing, but he’s still sniffling, tears leaking from his eyes as he cradles his injured arm.
“You’re gonna be just fine, bud,” Cole says gently to him. Despite his reassuring words, I can practically see the tension radiating from him. He’s terrified.
My stomach twists with worry, and I grip the edge of the car seat, hoping for the best.