Page 60 of Dangerously
“Da-Da.” She claps softly, and I realize that’s the first time she’s truly recognized me as her father since all the crazy started. I cover my mouth and try not to cry, coughing back the tears.
“Next Christmas Eve,”—I lift her into my arms—“it’s going to be nothing but happiness and joy,” I vow to her.
Nothing but happiness and joy.
11
Fallon
I pullup to an out-of-the-way hotel just on the outskirts of Albany.
I park and get out of the car, the smell of an orgasm still lingering on my skin.
It’s bitterly cold as I walk across the cracked cement parking lot with the wind whipping my copper hair in my face like a switch. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m afraid.
Stepping into the outdated lobby, I garner no attention.
As if in slow motion, I pass the front desk where two female clerks are working, the small hotel store where a young man is selling a bottle of water to a teenage boy, and flaring stairs where an elderly gentleman is sleeping in a high-backed chair. It’s surreal how a majority of the world’s people live such mundane lives, when mine has been anything but. Not for as long as I can remember. There have always been challenges way bigger than me. And right now, I’m facing yet another one.
I press the up button by the elevator and wait for the familiar ding. I step inside, and some terrible jazz music is trickling through the speaker.
I make it to the sixth floor with my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Walking down the hallway, my footsteps echo against the silence. Tip-tap, tip-tap. At the very end of the corridor stand two men guarding a hotel room door, waiting specifically for me.
I hold my breath as they pat me down. Taking my gun when they feel it.
“Did he miss me?” I ask one of them.
“Don’t know. Guess you’ll find out soon enough, though.” The goon opens the door to let me in.
Taking an inconspicuous deep breath, I step across the divide, ready to face my reckoning.
12
Declan
I’ve been pacingfor hours.Hours.
There has been no word from Fallon since she blew out of here like the Big Wind this morning, and I’m starting to really worry. I keep telling myself she wouldn’t abandon us. Not without good reason. And not after what transpired this morning, but am I being naïve? Should I pack up Aisling and go? Should I wait?
The sun sets, and my thoughts get nothing but more fanatical. The one day my child sleeps most of the day is the day I’m driven the maddest.
I have a bad feeling. Deep down in my gut. Something is wrong.
I hear noises outside the trailer, and I go for the gun stashed on top of the cabinet. I peek through the blinds to find a couple kids just horsing around.
I let out the breath I’m holding.
Stuffing the gun into the back of my waistband, I check on Aisling again for the fifteenth time since she fell asleep.
My paranoia and overprotectiveness are emerging with a vengeance.
Fallon chilled me out a bit. Took a lot of the pressure off. But now that Aisling and I are alone once again, I’m reverting to my old ways.
A bang comes from the living room, so I pull the gun and charge, nearly blowing Fallon’s head off before I realize it’s her.
“Jesus Christ, woman, I almost sent you to meet your maker.” I lower the gun.
“I see that.” She is standing perfectly still with a small, fake Christmas tree in her hand.
