Chapter Text
Barba frowned at his phone.
“Everything okay?” Benson asked, alerted by the change in his expression, but he was already answering the call. She watched as his frown deepened and, after a moment, he turned partway away from her.
“I’m sorry?” he said. “Are you…I…” He paused, listening. She could sense his agitation, and she rose from her chair without thinking, moving to the edge of her desk. “I—Yes, I understand. I’ll be there. Yes, give me…” He glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes. Thanks.”
He hung up and stared at the phone.
“Rafael?” she asked, stepping toward him. “What is it?”
He glanced at her, but didn’t quite meet her eyes. That was so unlike him that she stopped, her concern growing. “I—Sorry, I’ve gotta go. We’ll finish later,” he said, and then he was striding toward the door.
“Barba,” she called.
“Sorry, Liv,” he answered, but he didn’t stop or look back, and she quelled her urge to go after him.
* * *
Benson answered her phone: “Barba? Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to—”
“Liv, I need your help.”
Already on her feet, she said, “What’s wrong? Are you—”
“It’s not—it’s not like that. It’s personal. Can you come by my place?”
Grabbing her coat as she left her office, she said, “You haven’t returned my calls for three days, Barba. I called your office, they said you transferred all your cases for the whole week? I went to your apartment yesterday, and you didn’t answer—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she could hear the strain in his voice. He also sounded muffled, as though he had the phone covered with his hand, and she tried not to let her imagination run away with her. He’d said it was personal, not an emergency. Somewhere, in the background, she could hear a young child crying, and she told herself he was just trying to block out the sounds of his neighbors.
She was worried, though, she’d been worried for days. He got a mysterious phone call that clearly upset him, and then he refused to look at her—eye contact was Barba’s thing, she’d never seen him avoid someone’s stare—before disappearing for three days. No calls, no texts, he wasn’t going to court, wasn’t seeing clients. She’d come close, numerous times, to calling his mother, but didn’t want to force her way into something that was none of her business. He knew that he could call her, any time, for anything.
The fact that he hadn’t, that he’d completely shut her out of whatever had been going on, hurt. She didn’t want it to hurt, but it did.
He’d called her now, though, and he was clearly upset. “Liv, please, don’t make me beg,” he said, sounding subdued.
“I’m on my way,” she answered.
* * *
As soon as she got to his door, she realized that the crying was not coming from a neighbor’s apartment, but Barba’s. He answered her knock quickly, before she’d had much time to consider the realization, and his appearance did nothing to allay her worries.
He hadn’t shaved, or brushed his hair. He was wearing jeans and a wrinkly t-shirt. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him looking so unkempt, and mixed in with her concern, she felt a sudden and unexpected pull of attraction that caught her off guard.
He hadn’t slept much, either—the exhaustion was carved into the lines of his face, and she could clearly read the desperation in his green eyes. She looked past him at the little girl sitting on the rug in front of the couch, crying. Her face was red, splotchy, her sobs were hiccuppy—she’d been crying for a long time. She was close to crying herself to sleep, but she was clinging to consciousness and misery with stubbornness.
“Liv—” Barba started.
“What is going—Whose kid is this?” she asked, but before he could answer, she pushed the door wider and walked into his apartment. He stepped back and then closed the door behind her. She walked over to the little girl and sank into a crouch, saying, “Hey, sweetie, it’s alright.” The child looked up at her with wide, watery eyes, hiccupping. She couldn’t be more than two years old. “Come here, honey,” Benson said, picking the girl up and hugging her to her shoulder. She could feel the sobs, quieter now, wracking the kid’s tiny body, but the girl didn’t try to pull away or object to being held.
Benson turned to look at Barba. It wasn’t just the messy hair and clothes that were surprising—he seemed closer to a breakdown than she’d ever seen him; closer than she might’ve believed possible, in fact. She’d seen him lose his cool, though not often. She’d never seen him so distraught, so desperate, though.
“Barba,” she said. The creases in his face deepened, and his eyes shone, and for a moment, she thought he was going to lose it completely. She wanted to comfort him, but she needed to understand what was going on, first. She rocked the child in her arms, rubbing her back.
“If you can just get her to…feel better, I’ll explain everything,” he said.
“Has she eaten?” Benson asked.
“My mom got her to eat, but that was a few hours ago. She still won’t take anything from me.”
Benson bit back the dozen questions that sprang to her tongue, took a breath, and said, “Her pull-up is wet, for starters. Do you have more?”
“All her stuff is in the bedroom,” Barba said, gesturing.
“Go in the bathroom, splash some water on your face,” Benson said. “Your stress isn’t helping. I think she’ll be asleep in a few minutes. Where do you want me to put her down?”
Barba met her eyes. “You’ll see,” he said. Before she could answer, he turned and strode away, escaping into the bathroom.
Benson had been to his apartment before, but she’d never been in his bedroom. It was pretty much as she’d expected—mostly black and white with a few red or gray accents. There were no personal photos, and very little ornamentation or memorabilia; everything was neat and clean, organized. The bed was made, although the quilt was just a bit wrinkled, as though he’d been lying on it. She was sure that if she opened the closet, she would find his clothes hanging neatly—probably organized by color, with splashes of pink and yellow and blue that would feel out of place in the room if she didn’t know him so well—with his shoes lined up evenly beneath.
Everything as expected, with one exception. In the corner, there was another bed, a toddler’s bed, with a pink comforter that might blend into his closet better than the bedroom; at the foot of this little, pink bed, there was a small wooden shelving unit with the cubbies full of pull-ups, little girls’ clothes, a few stuffed toys, and some chunky cardboard books.
“Let’s get you out of this wet stuff, honey,” Benson said.
The girl was still crying, but her purple eyelids were heavy and her grief was quieter. She looked at Benson with wide, tearful green eyes. “Mama,” she said, and her voice was full of such hurt and confusion that Benson pulled her into a hug, her heart breaking for the little girl.
“I know, honey,” she said. She didn’t know where the child’s mother was or if she would ever see her again, so she said the only thing she could: “It’s gonna be alright. Shh, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” She started humming, rocking, and the child’s head drooped against her shoulder as she sniffled. Soon, she was asleep, exhausted from her heartbreak. Benson changed her out of the wet pull-up; the girl didn’t stir.
Her shirt was wet with tears and saliva, so Benson tucked her into bed in nothing but the fresh pull-up. She kissed the girl’s sweaty forehead and smoothed back her dark curls.
Once she’d watched for a couple of minutes to make sure the girl didn’t grow restless, Benson closed the bedroom door partway and went to find Barba. He was sitting on the sofa, elbows on knees and head in hand, and she stopped in the middle of the room, looking at him.
“How long’s she been here?” she asked.
Without looking up, he answered, “Two nights. She was okay when my mom was here.”
“I need you to look at me, Barba,” she said.
He pulled a breath in through his nose and, after a moment’s hesitation, lifted his head.
“Is she yours?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he held her gaze. “Yes,” he answered, barely audible.
“Her mother?”
He shook his head, once. “Car accident. That was the call…in your office…”
Benson grimaced, her heart breaking for the little girl who’d cried herself to sleep wanting her mother’s arms. She tried to ignore the flare of jealousy—Barba was free to sleep with whomever he chose—but she couldn’t avoid the next question: “Were you and she—”
“No,” he cut in, before she could finish. “We went to school together—sort of. She was the younger sister of a friend. I ran into her during…everything that went on with…Alex and Eddie.” Benson nodded, because she knew that had been an emotional time for Barba. She did some mental calculations, and the numbers didn’t help her irrational sense of hurt and jealousy. The allegations against Alex Muñoz were four years earlier. Barba, watching her, seemed to guess the train of her thoughts. “We kept in touch a little, just checking in every once in a while, for over a year. Nothing happened, not until two years ago—almost three years ago. I was—”
“I don’t need to hear this,” she interrupted, despising the acid churning in her stomach. “Your relationships are none of my business.”
“It wasn’t a relationship,” he said. “At least, not the way—”
“There’s a little girl in there,” she reminded him, pointing back toward the bedroom. He winced and fell silent. “How did this—It’s not like you to be careless, Barba.”
“I’m human, Liv. I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
He winced again. “I didn’t mean it like—Not her, I just…”
“You didn’t know?”
“Of course not,” he said, and she could see the pain and guilt in his face. And, she could see that he was hurt by the idea that she had such little faith in him.
“Of course not,” she repeated, quietly. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I know that you would’ve been there if she’d told you.”
“Yes.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I have no idea,” he said. He shook his head, his eyes wide, and spread his hands. “What do I do?” he asked.
“You said your mother was here? She must be thrilled to have a granddaughter, I’m sure she’ll—”
“She told me it was time to sink or swim.”
“And you called me for help? Really, Barba, I’ve never known you to be a misogynist.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You know I didn’t think of you as a woman.”
She knew he didn’t mean for that to hurt, and she did her best not to let him see that it did. Even agitated to distraction, and sleep-deprived, he was too observant, though. He saw it, and she could tell by the way his expression tightened.
“You’re the best mother I know,” he clarified, slowly. “And—Liv, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How do I…help her?”
“Comfort her?” she asked, spreading her hands. “This is not rocket science, Barba. You’ve been around children before.”
He looked at her, and in spite of her own hurt feelings, her heart went out to him. She cared about him too much to kick him while he was down. She walked over and sat beside him on the sofa.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“Rosa,” Barba said. “Rosa Lucia Barba, she gave her my name, my mother’s name, and I didn’t even know.” He shook his head, swallowing. “But Carla called her Rosie. She’s almost two. They said she’s talking quite a lot, Spanish and English—”
“Sounds like your kid,” Benson said, a gentle attempt at a joke.
Barba managed the ghost of a smile in response, but he said, “She talked to my mom a little but she won’t say anything to me except to ask for her mother, and she won’t eat. She cries even louder if I go near her. I don’t know what to do, how to help her. I just…I can’t help thinking she might be better off if social services—”
“Barba, you and I both know that’s not true. Listen, I know it’s hard, she’s scared, confused, she doesn’t trust you yet. You just have to be patient.”
“Liv, I’m sorry to call you…like this…It’s just, I knew you’d be able to help her and she’s so miserable. I know I’ve…handled this badly.”
“You shut me out, Rafael,” she said, and he could hear the pain in her voice. Her pain—and knowing that he’d caused it—hurt him deep inside, and he hated himself for avoiding her.
“And you still came when I called. I know I don’t deserve it.” Looking at her, he had to be honest. “This is not exactly my proudest moment, Liv. I was in a bad place, and Carla knew it. But I can’t help thinking I must’ve been more of an asshole than I realized, if she didn’t want to tell me…that she was pregnant. I was as honest as I could be, but if she thought…If she didn’t think I would’ve been there…”
Benson put a hand on his arm. “Whatever happened with you and…Carla is your business, but Rosie’s been here for two nights and you have her bed in your room, your mom’s been here helping, I can see that you’re trying. Just give her time to adjust. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
“Liv, I don’t know anything about being a father. All I learned from mine was what not to do.”
“That’s a good place to start,” she said. She was still thinking about his words—I was in a bad place, and Carla knew it. Four years ago, Benson knew he’d had trouble dealing with Alex and Eddie facing legal troubles. After that, Barba had suffered the loss of his grandmother, and there’d been the Grand Jury indictment of the cops and the subsequent death threats against the ADA.
Barba had been upset about all of those things, and Benson had discussed them with him. But she could tell that this was something more, something he’d hidden from her, and she wasn’t sure she could let it go. She’d thought they had been through too much to keep secrets from one another.
“DCFS will come to check on us and I can’t even get her to stop crying.”
“Calm down,” Benson said. “When’s the last time you ate—or slept?”
He got up and ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “How could I let this happen?” he muttered. From the sofa, she watched as he started to pace the living the room.
“Barba.”
“She’s afraid of me, I’m her father and she doesn’t even know—”
“Rafael.”
He turned to look at her. “Liv, I had no right to involve you in this.”
She sighed. “Rafael,” she repeated. “We’re friends. Friends help each—”
“I’ve been a terrible friend. I was ashamed—I didn’t want you to know—Three years ago, I was—”
“Stop,” she said, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear about it. At least, not now,” she added, not wanting to hurt his feelings the way her own had been hurt. “We can talk later. For now, you need to sleep. When Rosie wakes up, you need to be calmer than—” She gestured toward him with her hand, “this. She’ll probably be out for a couple of hours, at least. Do you have any sleeping pills?”
“No.”
“Drink a glass of scotch and go to bed. I’ll stay here until both of you wake up—although if your mother shows up—”
“She won’t.”
“It’s going to be fine, Barba,” she said. “We’ll figure it out.”
He stood there, looking disheveled and exhausted, and she knew that he knew—he knew that she was upset, hurt. He knew that she was putting her emotions, her questions, aside only temporarily. He knew that he owed her an admission, and they both knew that it might change their friendship, one way or another, forever.
But for now, she was going to be his friend, and she was going to help him—and Rosie. The little girl needed to know that she was safe with Barba, and he needed to realize that, as well. Benson knew that he would be an excellent father once he’d let go of his shock, his fear, his guilt.
She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, how often she’d thought about it. Whenever he was with Noah—even if they were just in the same room, and Barba glanced toward the boy with a little smile on his lips—she thought about it, wondering what might happen if she threw caution to the wind and admitted that she’d always wanted more than friendship from him.
She gave her head a little shake. Who’s keeping secrets from who? she thought. He was still looking at her. She could tell that he wanted to say something, but he was too tired to find the words. That was probably for the best, because she was in no mood to hear it, whatever it was.
“Go,” she told him. After a few more moments of silence, he did.
* * *
When he woke three hours later, he turned his head and saw that Rosie’s bed was empty, the blankets mussed. He sat up, glancing around the room, but she was nowhere in sight. He felt a flutter of nervousness and did his best to quash it. Benson had said she’d stay until he woke up, and he knew that nothing bad would happen to Rosie while she was around.
Still, it unnerved him that he’d slept through the child’s waking, no matter how sleep-deprived he’d been. How could he hope to be a good parent and keep her safe if he didn’t even wake when she was up and about? He shuffled into the living room, still feeling a little groggy. He could hear Benson’s soft voice, and it calmed him even before he saw her. Her presence meant that everything would be okay—her presence always meant that.
He was yawning as he stepped into the living room, but he stopped—mid-yawn and mid-step. Benson was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, her back against the couch. Noah and Rosie were on the rug in front of her, playing with toys that hadn’t been in the apartment when Barba went to sleep.
He was struck completely dumb by the sight, and the feeling that swirled up, unbidden and unchecked, within him. Oh, Barba had known for a long time that he was hopelessly, helplessly in love with Olivia Benson; it came as no surprise to him. In fact, even though they’d never discussed it—had actually taken pains to avoid discussing it—he was pretty sure she knew. He did his best to hide it when he could, but she could read him like no one else in the world and there were times when he supposed that his stupid face must be plastered with an I love you so much I can barely breathe.
No, the rush of love was no surprise, and neither was the mixture of gratitude and relief. What stopped him in his tracks was the absolute rightness of the scene before him, and the tidal wave of longing that crashed over him, crushing him, drowning him. He’d never imagined having a family of his own, not until seeing her with Noah. He’d begun to entertain thoughts that he’d had no business having, then, thoughts of somehow being welcomed into the bond they shared.
And then she’d started dating Tucker. Barba had been hurt, but he’d known that was irrational. She had the right to date whomever she wished, and Barba wanted desperately for her to be happy. What had hurt more than the fact that she was dating someone—a reality for which he’d thought he’d prepared himself—was being blindsided by it. That it was Tucker, someone for whom he’d thought he and Benson shared a dislike, and that she’d never told him—not until confronted.
During her time with Tucker, she’d seemed happy, mostly, and Barba…well, he’d struggled. He wanted her to be happy. But seeing her happy with someone else had made him miserable, and he hated himself for it. He’d been terrified that she would see his misery, that it would somehow leak out of him and infect her. If she’d known how he was feeling, it would have upset her, because she cared about him. She loved him. Not the same way he loved her, but that didn’t make her feelings any less important. They were friends, and his unhappiness would have tainted her relationship with Tucker, and so Barba had withdrawn. She’d barely seemed to notice, and oh, that had hurt.
But it had been a pain that he’d been willing to bear in silence and secrecy in order to protect her happiness. And he’d done his best to find other things, and other people, to occupy his mind and time. He’d failed miserably, of course, and had only ended up hurting more people.
Now, he had a daughter. A child that he’d unknowingly helped create during some of the darkest moments of his life, a child who’d been conceived in Barba’s painful and desperate attempts to forget the woman he loved with all of his heart.
And who was sitting on his floor, playing with that child, comforting her? The only woman with whom he’d ever imagined having a family. And it wasn’t fair—it wasn’t fair to Benson, that he’d called her for help; it wasn’t fair to Rosie, who deserved a better father and to feel her mother’s arms around her again; it wasn’t fair to Carla, who’d deserved far better from him and from life.
He’d never meant for Rosie to exist, but now that he knew about her, he would do anything to protect her. Anything. In spite of his failings, she was the most precious, important thing in the world. She was his child, and the sight of her filled him with both terror and an overwhelming surge of fierce protectiveness. He loved her already, in a way he’d never imagined possible.
Benson looked up at him, and he knew that he must look as though he’d been hit in the face with a shovel. He was having trouble governing his features—and his breaths, and his fidgeting hands, and his thoughts.
“Feeling better?” she asked him. “I hope you don’t mind, I had Lucy bring Noah over to play with Rosie.”
“Of course,” he managed, realizing only belatedly that it wasn’t an appropriate answer. “I mean, fine,” he said. Frowning, he cleared his throat. She was watching him, and now both children were looking up at him, too—Noah, with curiosity, and Rosie with wariness. He supposed his poor daughter must think he’d kidnapped her, and he wished he knew how to reassure her. He sighed. “I mean, hello, Noah, how are you?”
He saw the small smile curve Benson’s lips as she turned her head to look at her son.
“I’m good,” Noah answered. “Guess what, Uncle Rafa?”
“What’s that?” Barba asked, finally convincing his legs to work again. He walked further into the room, and his daughter watched him.
“Rosie knows my name. Go on, Rosie,” he said, tipping his head to look at the girl’s face, his voice high and cajoling. “Tell him my name.”
Rosie ducked her head, and Noah looked disappointed.
Before Barba could think of anything to reassure him, the boy told the little girl, “That’s okay to be shy. You can tell him later. Here, do you want this car? The blue one?”
Barba met Liv’s eyes, and she smiled. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, and she nodded. He went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. The few hours of sleep hadn’t done much to improve the bags beneath his eyes, and he was even more in need of a shave, but that would have to wait. He peed quickly, washed his hands, and splashed water onto his face. He ran his wet fingers through his hair—no need to frighten his daughter any more than necessary—and did his best to straighten his wrinkled clothes.
He took a deep breath and let it out. He couldn’t let his daughter see his fear; Benson had been right, his agitation had been making the situation worse for everyone, especially the little girl. If he could stare down murderers, judges, and jurors with equanimity, he could certainly fake enough confidence to face down a toddler.
He walked out of the bathroom with as much swagger as he could manage and lowered himself onto the floor across from Benson. He met her gaze only briefly, knowing that she could see through his bravado but would appreciate the effort, before looking at Rosie. The girl quickly looked away.
“What are we playing, here?” he asked.
Noah pushed himself forward and scrambled over to Barba’s side, so that he was between Barba and Rosie, and said, “Look at this, Uncle Rafa, can you help put this here? This is the head, but it doesn’t fit straight, see?”
Barba examined the abstract Lego creation for a moment. “I think you need—see that little piece over by Rosie’s foot? Grab that for me, buddy, thanks. If we put this here, this is—”
“His neck?” Noah suggested.
Barba chuckled. “Sure,” he said. He could kind of see it, now. “Then this’ll fit, see?”
“You fixed it, thanks, Uncle Rafa! Look, Rosie,” Noah said, holding the makeshift, multi-colored, Picasso-esque Lego person up for her examination. “Here, you can have this one,” he said, pushing it gently into her tiny hands. “I’m gonna make another.”
As Noah started pulling blocks together into a pile before himself, Barba looked at his daughter and met her green eyes. Her dark hair was a mess of tangles around her pale face, and he knew he would have to do something about that—he would have to figure out how to do something about that. There were so many things that he needed to learn, but the first—the most important thing—he had to do was earn her trust. No matter how long it took, he would make sure that she knew he was going to be there for her, from this moment until the end of his life.
Rather than adding to his anxiety, this thought actually calmed him. He’d never expected to be a father, and he had no idea what he was doing, but he did know, looking at her, that he would do anything and everything in his power, for as long as he was breathing, to keep her safe and happy. He always functioned better when he had a goal, a purpose.
She looked away, lowering her head to watch Noah clicking blocks together, and Barba pulled in a breath through his nose. He looked up at Benson, unashamed of the tears gleaming in his eyes, and saw that she could read his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spelled them out for her.
He gave his head a little shake, and she smiled.
“I have a few errands to run,” she said, quietly. “Then I thought we could go to the P-A-R-K before supper.”
“I know what that spells,” Noah piped in without looking up from his blocks.
Barba ruffled his hair. “Of course you do, you little genius,” he said with a smile. Then he returned his gaze to Benson’s, and the question in his eyes was obvious: You’re leaving your son here? With me?
Benson said, with a reassuring smile, “You’ll be fine. I won’t be long. Be good and listen to Uncle Rafa, alright, Noah?” She pushed herself to her feet.
“Okay,” the boy said, glancing up, his nose wrinkled.
“He’s always good,” Barba said, winking at the boy and earning a giggle.
“I’m glad you think so,” Benson answered with a laugh. “I’ll call you for the next no-ice-cream-before-dinner meltdown.” She widened her eyes at her son, and Noah giggled again, shrugging.
Call me, Barba thought, but as he looked up at Benson, he was afraid that she might read that, too, in his eyes, and he dropped his gaze.
“I’ll be back soon,” she murmured, and then she’d grabbed her jacket from the chair, and gun from the top of his shelf, and was heading out the door.
Barba looked at Rosie as the little girl watched Benson leave with watery green eyes. “Don’t worry, Rosie, Aunt Livvie will be back soon. Hey, honey, can you hand me that car right there? It looks like the wheel’s crooked, let me see if I can fix that.” He waited as the girl looked at the car, waited to see if she would pick it up and hand it to him or—more likely—burst into tears.
“Yeah, that one doesn’t drive good, does it, Rosie?” Noah said. “Uncle Rafa—I mean, your dad, he can fix it I bet, he’s real smart, Mom says so.”
Barba didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He and Noah had always gotten along, in spite of his own initial discomfort around the boy; he knew that Noah liked him, and he was good at making the kid laugh. He couldn’t help wondering, however, if Noah’s mother had coached him or if he’d decided to play Uncle Rafa-Cheerleader on his own. Either way, Barba was deeply touched, and he ruffled the boy’s hair again.
“Thanks, mijo,” he muttered. He didn’t realize he’d said it until both kids looked up at him, and he knew that both of them knew what the word meant. Rosie’s eyes were alert and watchful. She’d picked up the broken car, and was holding it in one tiny fist. After a moment’s thought, she stretched out her stubby arm, offering it to him. Barba took it with a smile. “Thank you, mija,” he said.
* * *
Benson didn’t fancy herself a coward, but the excuse of errands had been just that—an excuse. She hadn’t expected to leave them alone, certainly not so quickly after Barba emerged from his nap, but seeing him with Noah, with Rosie…She’d needed to get out, to get some air, to clear her head. She’d been afraid that Barba, who was always far too observant, would see her traitorous thoughts shining in her eyes.
Seeing him with Noah always made her emotional, and made her imagine things she had no business imagining. But this—finding out that he had a child, that he was a father—well, she didn’t know how to feel about it, how to process it. She was jealous, and she hated that. How many times had she seen Tucker playing with Noah and wished Barba were there, instead? Those weren’t thoughts that she liked to acknowledge, even to herself, but they’d been there, far too frequently. How many times had she dreamed of Barba being a father to Noah?
But she’d known that Barba had always been resistant to the very idea of fatherhood, knew that he’d long ago convinced himself that his life was destined to follow a different path. It was one of the main reasons she’d worked so hard, all these years, to deny her feelings, to look for comfort and love elsewhere, why she’d denied herself what she really wanted—who she really wanted. She’d always believed that Barba would be a wonderful father, and seeing him learn and grow with Noah had only affirmed her faith. But she’d respected his choices, and she never would’ve tried to force her life onto him no matter how much she wanted to pull him into her family.
So she was jealous that he’d brought a child into the world with someone else, even though he hadn’t done it intentionally, even though he hadn’t even known. She was jealous that he’d spent time in another’s bed, even though she’d been sleeping with Tucker at the same time. She was jealous that Rosie would have Barba as a father and Noah would not, and that was the worst one of all, the most damning and painful to admit to herself.
She stood outside Barba’s apartment, leaning against the closed door, cursing herself for falling so deeply and hopelessly in love with a man she could never have. She’d heard him, as she’d slipped out of the apartment, telling his daughter that Aunt Livvie will be back soon, and she vowed that, no matter what, she would always be there for both of them. She would always be Aunt Livvie, just as Barba would always be Uncle Rafa, and Benson promised herself that it would be enough. It would have to be enough, because she loved him too much, she valued his friendship too much, to let him slip away. She could and would control her feelings.
She straightened and took a deep breath. She glanced up and down the hallway, glad that no one had witnessed her teetering on the edge of a breakdown. She shook her head, laughing at herself, but the sound held little humor, and she strode away from his door before she could lose her resolve.
* * *
Noah and Rosie were in the sandbox with a yellow dump truck and a red, plastic shovel that Rosie was using to fill the back of the truck with sand. Barba and Benson were sitting on a bench, watching them.
The adults had said very little to each other all afternoon, each speaking mostly to the kids. Now, as they sat beside each other, watching their children playing—laughing—together, the silence seemed to be building into something tangible, a wall that they both knew needed to be torn down before it could grow impenetrable.
“Thank you, Liv,” Barba said, quietly.
Gathering her courage, she reached out and covered his hand with hers on his thigh. She’d touched him before, of course, but now, while she’d barely gotten her emotions under control, she knew that the physical contact could be dangerous.
“She’s a smart kid, Rafa,” she said. “She’s going to be fine, and so are you. Is there…a funeral service for Carla?”
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t know if…Should I take her? Is she too young, or would I be depriving her—I don’t know. Carla didn’t have any family left, and—”
“Her brother? Your friend from school?”
He shook his head, frowning, looking down at their hands on his thigh. “He died while I was at Harvard. She’ll have friends there, but will seeing them make it easier or harder for Rosie? Seeing her mother’s picture? I really don’t know.”
“You can trust your instincts,” she said, and it was lost on neither of them that he’d once said those words to her when she’d been doubting her abilities as a mother. He dragged his gaze up to hers, and she added, “Do you want me to come with you?” She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to see pictures of the woman with whom Barba’d had a child. She’d never met the woman, but she was sure that Carla had deserved a far better life than the hand she’d been dealt.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” he murmured, searching her face, emotion shining in his eyes.
“You didn’t ask,” she said. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow. Liv—”
She shook her head and patted his hand. “We should head back and get something to eat. What did your mother say?” she asked, pulling her hand back with regret.
“She cursed me out for about five minutes, mostly in Spanish, for calling you, but secretly I’m sure she’s relieved. She’s always hoped I—” He stopped, though, his small smile fading. He turned his head toward the kids. “Will you have dinner with us?” he asked, quietly, without looking at her.
“Of course,” she answered. “I’ll stay until she’s asleep, if you want.”
Stay forever, he thought. He glanced sideways at her, then back at the sandbox. “Come, mi niños,” he said. “Time to eat—who’s hungry?” he asked as Noah stood and brushed sand from his pants.
“Rosie’s hungry,” the boy answered, looking down at her.
She reached up and tugged on his sleeve, saying quietly, “No-ah.” He bent down and she said something into his ear.
Noah straightened and said, “She wants way-voes, whatever that is,” he said with a shrug. He reached down and helped her up out of the sand.
“My mother made her scrambled eggs,” Barba told Benson, quietly. “It was one of the few things she was interested in eating.” Louder, he added, “Eggs for supper it is, then. How’s that sound, Noah?”
The boy, now cradling the dump truck in his arms, considered. “Can we have pizza?” he asked. He looked down at Rosie, uncertainly. “Can you eat pizza?” he asked, his forehead creased in puzzlement. “Well…I like eggs,” he said, and both adults laughed.
They glanced at each other as they stood, their arms brushing, and Barba offered a small smile. “Te gustan los huevos, Lieutenant Benson?” he asked, quietly.
“Do you know how to cook?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’m a conundrum, yeah? But a man can’t subsist on takeout alone.”
“So you weren’t expecting me to cook?”
Now he was grinning. “I’m a progressive, Olivia,” he said.
She laughed. “Oh, I know,” she answered.
“And I have no desire to be shot,” he added, and she laughed again. “However…I do believe I’m out of eggs.”
“I guarantee you are,” she agreed. “I checked your refrigerator—and your cupboards. Mother Hubbard would—well, she wouldn’t be proud, I suppose, but she’d understand.”
He made a face. “That’s a horrible reference, Liv,” he said. “You know the dog dies in the second stanza?”
“Seriously?” she asked, thinking about it, trying to remember if she knew the rest of the rhyme.
He grinned again. “Don’t worry, by the end of the eighth, he’s reading the news.”
She stared at him. “I don’t know if you’re joking.”
Now, he laughed. “I’m not,” he assured her. “Trust me, that dog had quite a day. He even rode a goat. Ready?” he asked the kids. Rosie was cradling the red shovel in her arms like a baby, and Barba made a mental note to bring her little doll the next time they left the house. “Time to hold hands,” he told his daughter. She immediately looked at Noah, whose arms were around the dump truck. “Here, I’ll carry that,” he told the boy, taking the truck in one hand.
“Can you give me a piggy-back, Uncle Rafa?” Noah asked.
“Noah, honey, I don’t think—” Benson started, but Barba interrupted.
“I can do that, I’m tougher than I look,” he said, and she laughed. He handed her the dump truck and bent down, helping Noah hop onto his back. Once the boy had hold of his neck, Barba straightened and let go of one leg, reaching for the truck.
“I’ve got it,” Benson said, clearly amused. She looked at Rosie, who was eyeing Noah on Barba’s back. “I’ll dig Noah’s old stroller out for you,” she told Barba.
The little girl lifted her arms, shovel in one fist, and said, uncertainly, “Up?”
Barba laughed. “Here,” he said, holding out a hand, and Benson handed him the truck. She picked the girl up, holding her in the crook of one arm, and then took the truck back.
“He’s heavier than she is,” she said, when Barba seemed about to object.
Barba took hold of Noah’s legs and hoisted him a little higher. “I won’t drop your kid if you don’t drop mine,” he joked.
She smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes that he hated. He couldn’t be sure of the reason, but he knew he was the cause. He’d give anything to fix it; he didn’t think he could. “It’s gonna be even more fun once we stop for eggs and milk,” she said, and then the sadness was gone, hidden away.
He wished he could believe it hadn’t been there. He matched her smile, and said, “I like a challenge.”
* * *
“She wanted you to tuck her in, but she didn’t have a complete meltdown,” Barba said. “So, that’s progress.”
“Is she sleeping?” Benson asked. She was on the sofa. Noah was lying with his head in her lap. He wasn’t asleep, but he was close.
“Yes,” Barba answered, watching her stroking the boy’s curls. “Stay,” he said, suddenly. Then—because he hadn’t meant to say it like that, somewhere between a command and a plea, and because it was too close to what he wanted to say—stay forever, please—he added quickly, “I mean, both of you can stay, you can take my bed, it’s late, there’s no sense—” He forced himself to stop and take a breath. “I don’t—I appreciate all your help.”
“Do you mind if Lucy watches Noah here, tomorrow? During the service?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he answered, his voice quiet. “In fact…do you think she could watch Rosie, too? I’ve decided…not to take her. Unless you think I should?”
“You’re right that it’d probably upset her, confuse her,” she said. “Her mother’s friends will probably want to see her, though.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m going to give them all my number so if they want to see her, we can arrange to meet up. It’ll be good for her to see some familiar faces.”
They regarded each other in silence before she asked, hesitantly, “Do you still want me to go with you?”
“Yes,” he said, before he could stop himself. He winced. “I mean—”
“If you don’t want to be alone,” she said.
“I don’t,” he muttered.
“Okay, then,” she answered.
* * *
“That was rough,” he admitted, shaking his head, as they walked.
“Just because you haven’t seen her in a few years doesn’t mean…you didn’t care about her, that she wasn’t important to you,” Benson answered quietly. “Even if she weren’t Rosie’s mother, you still…shared something…” She trailed off, swallowing; she really didn’t want to talk about this, and she knew that he didn’t, either. She’d felt his emotion during the service, though—and afterward, as he’d greeted her friends and answered questions about his daughter and handed out business cards with his personal cell number written on the backs.
“Thanks for coming with me,” he said, glancing at her. “I know it’s not…It just meant a lot having you there.”
“Of course,” she answered, taking his arm in hers.
She thought about that morning—waking up with her son in the bed with her, smelling the breakfast and coffee that Barba had ready and waiting—and how nice it had felt to shuffle out of the bedroom to greet him. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time in his bed the night before, unable to fall asleep, plagued by the scent of him that lingered on the pillow and sheets, sheets that she’d refused to let him change.
Seeing him first thing in the morning, though—freshly shaven, in jeans and a crisp, clean shirt—had made the sleepless night worth it. She’d allowed herself to pretend, for a little while, that it was more than just camping out to help a friend. Getting Noah and Rosie up and dressed for the day, side by side with Barba, had felt natural and right. Sitting at the small kitchen table with the kids, watching them eat scrambled eggs—again—had filled her with longing.
She didn’t want it to end, and she’d taken steps to ensure the fantasy could last just a little bit longer. She hadn’t told him, yet, and wasn’t sure how he would react. She’d known that the funeral service would upset him, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it.
She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous, now, to tell him what she’d planned. It wasn’t as though she had any ulterior motives, beyond wanting to spend more time with him and Rosie. The worst he could do was refuse her invitation.
“I know you have the rest of the week off, still,” she started, trying to work up her nerve.
“Yeah, I just need to spend as much time with her as I can, I’m afraid when I go back to work she’ll think…you know…Liv, she took my hand this morning, to show me what Noah was doing. It was just a few seconds, but…before you came over I couldn’t even look at her without her screaming. Before you and Noah. He’s great with her.”
“He is,” she agreed. “But so are you. You’re right to spend as much time as…Look, I was thinking, it might be a good idea for you to get out of the city for a few days. Someplace quiet, to sort of…decompress. Get away from worries about work, the noise of the city, and just…relax and get to know each other.”
He looked at her, smiling. “That sounds nice,” he said, but there was something—sadness, or wistfulness—in his eyes.
She had to rush ahead. “I called this morning and rented a cabin, it’s only a few hours out of the city. Noah and I have stayed up there before, it’s beautiful, especially this time of year.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. She looked at him, feeling wary, afraid of what he might see as he searched her expression. “You rented us a cabin?” he asked, his brow slightly wrinkled.
Us, she thought. He didn’t realize, yet, because she hadn’t made herself clear. She had to push on. “Yes, us,” she clarified. “All four of us. If you don’t want—If you’d rather just you and Rosie—”
“Don’t you have to work?” he asked. His tone was one of caution, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d blindsided him with this whole idea. She couldn’t allow herself to back down, though.
“I put in for the rest of the week off,” she said. She put a hand on his arm. “I’m not trying to force myself into—You’re welcome to use the cabin for just the two of you, but if you want some company, Noah and I—”
“Yes,” he said, and she felt a flush of relief that she didn’t want to examine too closely.
“It has three bedrooms,” she said, just to avoid any misconceptions. “We’ll need to get groceries and pack. We can be there—”
“Olivia,” he said, and she hesitated, looking at him. “I—” He stopped, though. She saw him swallow, saw several emotions flit across his features, saw the lines of his face deepen as he searched her gaze. She loved him; she wanted to ease the worry from his eyes. As he regarded her, his expression softened, and finally, a small smile touched his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“Let’s get ready to go,” she said. She held her arm out, again, and he took it without hesitation. “I think you’ll like the place, and Noah will be excited to show you and Rosie around.”
* * *
“Are they both sleeping?” she asked, looking up from the book she was reading. Rosie had slept for most of the drive up, but they’d had a busy evening of hiking and exploring until it had grown too dark to see where they were going. Rosie had been laughing and running after Noah, looking for all the world like a happy and carefree toddler, and it had done Barba’s heart—and Benson’s—good to see it.
Both kids had been a little cranky after a late supper, but after a few bedtime stories, Barba had managed to get them to sleep without any catastrophes.
“Yes,” he said. He looked tired but, she thought, relieved. He was starting to believe he might be able to handle fatherhood, and she was glad. She didn’t like the air of desperation that had been clinging to him any more than he liked the air of grief around his daughter.
She took her glasses off and set them on top of the book on the coffee table. “Good,” she said. “They had a long day, they’re probably exhausted. You look like you should go to bed, too.”
He stood there, in the middle of the room, staring at her, and she felt a sudden flutter in her stomach. It wasn’t nervousness, exactly—at least, not a bad nervousness. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” he said, quietly.
She smiled and waved a hand to cover her sudden flush of desire. “Friends help each other out, Rafael,” she said. “There’s no need—”
“It’s more than that,” he interrupted. “I don’t mean just…these two days. I mean everything. I wouldn’t—” He stopped, looking away. He seemed suddenly agitated, and he ran a hand over his face. “Sorry, you’re right, I should get some sleep,” he said. His gaze cut back to hers. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Liv.”
“I know,” she said.
“Do you?” he asked, and her breath caught at the look on his face. He wasn’t just talking about Rosie, she realized. He studied her face for a few moments, and she saw his shoulders slump a little. Whatever he wanted to say, he wasn’t going to—he was going to retreat.
“Tell me,” she said, before he could shut her out.
He gave his head a little shake and said, “I have no right—” He broke off, and she saw his jaw clench. She saw pain in the lines of his face, and she got to her feet, wanting to comfort him.
“Talk to me,” she said. She took a step toward him, but he turned and started to pace. She stopped, watching him. “Two, three years ago,” she said. “Whatever was bothering you, whatever dark place you were in—why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you talk to me? I didn’t think we kept secrets—”
“You were with Tucker,” he said, without looking at her as he paced the floor like a caged animal.
She knew she’d been a little preoccupied while she and Tucker were together; spending time with him and Noah had taken away from socializing off the clock with her colleagues.
She didn’t like the insinuation that she would’ve been unavailable to help him, or any of her friends, through a difficult time, though. “I was still your friend,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “If something was bothering you—”
He stopped, looked at her, and said, quietly, “You were with Tucker.”
She closed her mouth. He lifted his eyebrows, pressing his lips together.
Benson’s heart sped up, and it suddenly felt as though all of the air had been sucked from the room. She stared at him, stunned, as his meaning sank in. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked in a whisper.
He tipped his head, his expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile, and said, “Would it have made a difference?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure how to answer that. She considered the question—would it have changed things? She’d been happy, or at least content, with Tucker, for a while. He’d been there when she needed him. But Barba had been there, too, even before Tucker. The truth was, she’d pushed Barba away when she starting seeing Tucker. Why? She didn’t want to be unfair to Tucker, but she knew that she owed it to herself to be honest. There had always been something between her and Barba, some spark that was more than just friendship, and it had always scared her. She’d come to rely on him, professionally, and she had a long history of losing important professional relationships. She’d come to rely on him as a friend, and she had precious few of those. She’d been terrified to rely on him for anything more.
“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “I know. I have no right to ask. I’m the one who screwed up. I was selfish, and I went to Carla and then I hurt her—Oh, I didn’t mean to, I really, really didn’t, and I never lied to her, but I was so wrapped up in my own—” He stopped and pulled a breath through his nose. “I can’t even bring myself to regret it, either, because now there’s a little girl in there who wouldn’t—”
He stopped again, shaking his head. “I’m all she has but she deserves better. How am I supposed to tell her that I—that I used her mother because I was upset that my best friend was sleeping with someone else? That she was almost two before I knew she existed and that I’d barely even thought of her mother in that time because all I wanted was…you? Or that the first thing I thought when I found out was what would you think of me? Or that the only person I’d ever imagined having a family with was you? That I wasn’t even sure I really understood what a family was until I saw you with Noah and Rosie and I felt like…the world wasn’t such an awful place, after all.
“But it’s not real,” he said, spreading his arms. “That family’s an illusion and…it’s not mine to offer her. And you and me, we’ve seen the worst parts of the world. Yet somehow, you’ve become the mother that Noah deserves, the mother that you deserved and didn’t get. And God help me, Liv, I can’t stop. I’ve tried. I can’t stop wanting you. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t say it but I can’t not say it because I’ve never lied to you and keeping this a secret feels like lying. You deserve to know and I promise—I swear that I’ll never mention it again.”
“Yes,” she said, and the word hung in the air between them as they stared at each other. She saw him swallow. Her own heart was thudding in her chest. He was right: not admitting it out loud had begun to feel like lying, and she couldn’t blame him for shutting her out when she’d done the same thing to him. “Yes, it…would’ve made a difference,” she said. “But maybe…we just weren’t ready. It isn’t fair, Rafael, not to Carla, not to Ed, not to Rosie and Noah—and not to us, either.
“But I know you, I know the man you are, and you have to forgive yourself. That little girl will most likely forget her mother, and that’s a terrible thing. But you’ll be there to remind her, to tell her stories about when you were kids together, to tell her all the good things you know about Carla. You’ll be there—you’re here. You love her already, but she just needs time. To know you, to trust you, and soon you’ll be everything to her, her protection against the world. That’s who you are. It’s who you’ve always been. It’s why I fell in love with you in the first place, it’s why I wouldn’t risk our friendship for anything, it’s why I know that you’ll be the best father any kid could hope for. It’s why I…hated myself for thinking about you when I watched Ed playing with Noah,” she said, tears burning her eyes and nose. “It’s why I couldn’t—” Her voice cracked and she broke off, giving her head a little shake.
Barba crossed to her quickly, unable to bear the tears in her eyes, the pain in her expression. He took her in his arms, and she put her forehead against his shoulder, hugging him, breathing in his scent, letting his warmth surround her. She’d wanted him for so long that her body immediately reacted to his heat, his touch, and desire flared in her belly. She felt his hand at the back of her head, his fingers in her hair.
“Shh,” he breathed near her ear. “Please don’t cry, Liv. Please, honey. I’m sorry.”
In spite of herself, she laughed—a small sound—against his shoulder. “You’re sorry that I want you?” she muttered.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Because you deserve better.”
“You deserve better than me,” she said.
“There isn’t any—” He stopped when she pulled her head back to look at him.
“See how that feels?” she asked. “Stop it.”
He regarded her for a moment before offering a small smile. Her stomach and heart both fluttered in response. He searched her face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, softly, his lips barely moving.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.
“I love you so much that I can barely breathe, and I want you so badly that it might kill me.”
She smiled. “That’s a big thought,” she said, quietly, her eyes going to his mouth as he bit his lip.
“I don’t just mean physically—although, God, I do,” he breathed, as their gazes locked. “I need you in my life, Olivia, however I can have you, but I want everything. You said you were in love with me.”
“Oh, so you did hear that,” she said with a smile.
“You said you weren’t ready,” he continued, drawing back a little to better see her expression, his eyes searching her face. “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it, whether it’s to wait or—”
“Kiss me,” she said. Their gazes met and held, again, and neither of them could breathe. For several moments, the silence stretched between them, and they knew—they each knew that nothing would ever be the same. They’d wanted this moment for so long, they’d imagined it, dreamed of it, thought of it while in the arms of others; they’d denied themselves and denied each other, and now, standing with their arms loosely circled around one another, declarations of love still hanging in the air, they could feel the anticipation building, crackling like electricity between them, and they waited, letting the pressure build, each knowing how important the moment was.
They moved at the same time, and at first the kiss was soft and questioning as they—finally—got their first tastes of each other. And then the dams broke, and all of their denied desires flared into life, consuming them, taking over their senses. Barba turned her toward the wall, steering her backward as they kissed, needing something against which to brace.
Her back met the wall, and he leaned into her, one hand at her waist and the other in her hair. Their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, but he’d staggered their feet so that his thigh was between hers, and she knew why—she could feel his desire straining against her leg. While she appreciated his restraint, she wasn’t interested in moving slowly, not now—not this time. She took hold of his waist and shifted her feet, and the bulge of his erection settled into place between her legs.
He groaned into her mouth, pressing closer, but they couldn’t get close enough; their hands were all over each other, now, their bodies frantic for more contact, but there were too many layers of clothing. She slid her hands under his shirt and spread her fingers over his stomach, feeling his muscles quiver at her touch, and she wanted to feel all of him, every inch of him.
She pushed him back and turned him, shoving him against the wall, her hands exploring beneath his shirt as she tried, desperately, futilely, to get somehow closer to his body.
He broke away from her mouth, panting, tipping his head back against the wall. “Liv,” he said, his voice thick. “God, I want to do this right—”
“Right can wait,” she said, meeting his heavy gaze. “I’m tired of waiting—I want you now.”
He made a sound in his throat, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue claiming her mouth, his hands hot at her back, and they were moving toward the bedroom—one of them, she didn’t know or care which—and through the doorway into the darkness. He reached out a hand and fumbled the door closed, and then it was even darker, and there was nothing in the world but them. They could hear each other struggling to breathe, they could hear their hearts pounding in their chests, they could feel their swirl of combined heat, they could taste each other, smell each other.
She heard him lock the door in the darkness and felt a thrill of anticipation. Even though she could feel him, she could scarcely believe that this was finally happening. She’d wanted him for so long, she’d tried for so long to accept that it would never happen—
He flipped on the light, and she blinked, startled, pulling back to look at him. Her hands were still inside his shirt. She could feel his desire pressed against her, and she could see it in his eyes and the creases of his face, and she wanted him as she’d never wanted anyone in her life.
“I want to make something clear,” he said, and she could hear the arousal in his low voice, too. “I’ve loved you since I met you, and nothing will ever change that.”
Her brain was so consumed by desire that it took her a moment to process his words. “Are you telling me I don’t have to…put out to make you like me?” she asked, amused in spite of herself.
His lips curved into a crooked smile. “Something like that.”
She leaned closer, and whispered, “Just because you can’t feel my arousal against your leg doesn’t mean—”
He slanted his mouth over hers to shut her up, and a few seconds later, they were laughing, breathlessly, as they stumbled toward the bed.
“The light,” she gasped when she felt his hands tugging her shirt up.
“I want to see you,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat, and she gasped again, holding handfuls of his shirt to steady herself. His mouth was hot and wet against the sensitive skin beneath her jaw, and she tipped her head back, her eyes closing, her hands somehow finding their way to his hair as she felt the mattress at the backs of her knees. “May I?” he asked.
She had no idea what he was asking for, so she just breathed, “Yes.” He pulled her shirt up and over her head, and she lifted her arms to help, shivering as the cool air caressed her overheated skin. “Please,” she said, and she didn’t know what she was asking for, either, but he seemed to know—he drew his own shirt up and off in a quick, fluid motion, and that was exactly what she’d wanted, to feel his hot chest and stomach against hers. She snaked her hand into his hair, tugging his head up so she could kiss him, and she sank back onto the bedspread, pulling him down with her.
His body covered hers, hot and heavy, pushing her into the soft mattress. Then he shifted, and suddenly his mouth was no longer on hers—her hands were in his hair as his tongue found her nipple through the fabric of her bra, and she arched her back, holding onto his head. With a quick flick of his fingers, he freed her breast from the damp cup and pulled her bare nipple into his mouth, and she made a strangled sound that resembled his name. She felt him smiling against her skin, and she looked down, her eyes cloudy with desire, to find his green eyes watching her as he sucked.
She pulled his hair, unable to speak, and he shifted upward, covering her mouth as his erection once more nestled itself between her legs. She arched against him, again, needing to feel all of him. He was moving too slowly, and damn his chivalry—she didn’t want foreplay, she wanted him, but he’d robbed her of her ability to form a coherent sentence.
“Please,” she said, again, because that’s all she could manage.
“Tell me what you want,” he said against her lips, and she laughed—a choked, desperate sound that made him smile.
“I can’t,” she gasped, and he lifted his head up, grinning down at her. She laughed again, shaking her head on the bedspread. “You,” she said. “Stop—”
Looking down at her, he arched an eyebrow. Still smiling, he said, “Stop?”
She made a sound of frustration. “Stop stalling,” she told him.
“I’m not stalling, I’m savoring,” he answered with a smirk.
“Savor later,” she muttered, sliding her hand between them to flatten her palm against his erection. That wiped the smirk from his face, and she watched his eyelids droop as he shifted against her hand. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and she knew that they were equals—she had as much power over him as he had over her, and they were both near their breaking points.
He bent his head, but this time, his lips were gentle against hers while she fumbled blindly for the button of his jeans. His breath fanned her lips, and his hand was at her cheek. He searched her face as she managed to undo his fly. She unsnapped her own and tried to push her pants down, but his body was covering hers, and she could barely move.
“I swear to God, Barba, if you’re not inside of me in about thirty seconds, I’ll finish without you and you can go take a shower,” she said through her teeth, startling him into a laugh. In spite of her frustration, she smiled up at him—it was an empty threat, and they both knew it. “Help me,” she said, pushing at his hips.
He levered himself up, and then she was alone on the bed. She watched as he quickly stripped out of his jeans and boxers, and she couldn’t breathe. She forced her gaze up to his and saw the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. She realized that she was just lying there, staring at him, and she gave herself a mental shake, pushing her own trousers and underwear over her hips and down her legs while he watched. She could feel the weight of his gaze, sliding over every inch of her, and she shivered beneath the touchless caress.
She kicked her pants onto the floor and unhooked her bra, slipping it off and tossing that aside, as well. She pushed herself up the bed and looked at him, waiting.
His lips were parted, his gaze hooded, his hands fisted at his sides.
She looked at his erection, then back at his face. “Are you gonna do something about that?” she asked, and he let out a breath.
“I love you,” he said. Then, because that didn’t seem enough, “Te amo. Siempre te amaré, Liv. I love you forever.”
She held out a hand, imploring him to join her, and he moved forward, unable to resist her silent plea. He crawled over her, covering her naked body with his, and finally—finally—there was nothing between them, nothing in her way. She could feel him, all of him, his skin against hers. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, holding his stare.
“I love you, too,” she said. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Rafael.”
He kissed her, softly. The kiss was restrained, but she could feel the tension vibrating through every inch of his body. He slid his hand up her thigh, watching her face, and she shivered beneath him. She shifted, moving her leg to give him better access, and she swallowed her gasp when his fingers found her wetness. She was more than ready, and had been for what felt like forever, but he slid his fingers into her, anyway, and she arched against his hand, her eyes closing.
“Do you want me to use—”
“No,” she said, her voice husky and breathless. “I want to feel you.” There was no risk of pregnancy, and she trusted him implicitly—and, more than that, she didn’t want anything between them. “I want you to come inside me,” she murmured, and those were words that she’d never said in her life—words that she’d never imagined she would say in her life.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth and swallowed her groan as he buried his fingers inside of her. She bent her knee, arching her back and lifting her hips; she seemed to have no control over her body. Every part of her was straining toward him.
Then his hand was gone, and she could feel him positioning himself, could feel the tip of his erection pressing against her, and she wanted to call out but couldn’t because he had complete ownership of her mouth. He moved slowly, so slowly that she wanted to strangle him, and all she could do was clutch at his sweaty skin as he slid into her, stretching her, filling her.
She sighed into his mouth, feeling fuller and more complete than ever in her life. She wanted to be joined with him, a part of him, forever. He’d stopped, giving them both time to appreciate the moment, but they couldn’t stay still for long; their bodies were tired of waiting, desperate for release, and he turned his head, breaking the kiss, dropping his forehead against her shoulder as he tried to breathe.
She hooked a leg around his hips, trying to pull him impossibly closer, deeper, and he started to move. He was trying to go slowly, and she appreciated the effort, but she knew it was a futile attempt. By the time he sank into her the second time, both of their bodies were trembling, and he lifted his head to look at her face.
He withdrew almost all the way, and she nodded against the pillow, ready, holding his stare. He took a breath and plunged into her, biting back his groan, and then they were both moving as she met his thrusts with her own. Their bodies were slick with sweat, but they managed to cling to each other with slippery fingers.
His head dropped to her shoulder, again, and she could smell his damp hair.
She had never felt anything like the pressure that was building within her. His lips grazed her shoulder, and he breathed her name against her skin, and she knew that she wasn’t alone in her feelings. His hips were moving frantically, faster and without rhythm, and he was trying desperately to hold back—she could sense it, could feel him beginning to lose what control he had—and she could feel herself beginning to tighten around him.
“Come for me, Liv,” he murmured against her shoulder, and she was—she could feel herself climbing up, up, and she knew that she would shatter into a million pieces; she held onto him, knowing he would help her gather those million pieces back together. She bucked against him, and he moved his head, slanting his mouth over hers to swallow her cry.
As the world splintered around her, as her body was rocked by pleasure the likes of which she’d never imagined, he thrust into her and stilled, kissing her as she felt him spill his seed inside her. She could feel him quivering against the length of her body, and inside of her, and every part of her tightened around him—her leg, her arms, her mouth—as she pulled him deeper and closer.
He broke away from her kiss, panting as he collapsed onto her, trembling. She let her leg slide back to the bed; her muscles felt rubbery and weak, and for long moments, neither of them seemed able to move. Then he lifted his head to look at her, and she put a shaky hand against his cheek. She loved him more than she’d known was possible. Their bodies were fused together, their sweaty limbs tangled, and she didn’t want him to ever withdraw.
He was afraid he was crushing her, though, and he shifted. He pressed his lips against hers, gently, as he pulled himself out of her, and she sighed. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and she settled against his chest, putting one leg over his, needing to keep as much contact as possible. She was nestled into the curve of his arm, and she shivered in pleasure as his finger traced lazy patterns on her skin.
She pressed her palm against his chest, relishing the tickle of springy hair and the thud of his heart. He brushed her hair from her forehead and she lifted her face, wordlessly, to accept his kiss. She would never tire of kissing him.
“I promise to have more restraint next time,” he murmured, his lips curving into a sheepish smile as they looked at each other.
She gave a breathless laugh. “I think you managed just enough,” she assured him, and his smile widened.
“Te amo,” he said.
She laughed again. “I know, you don’t have to keep saying it,” she said, even though she would never tire of that, either. For so long, she’d wanted nothing more than to hear those words on his lips.
“I’ve wanted to say it for so long, I don’t think I can stop,” he admitted.
“I love you, too,” she said, settling her cheek against his chest. Their heartrates and breaths were finally returning to normal. The air was cool against their wet skin, but they were drawing enough heat from each other. “And I don’t want you to stop,” she added, touching her lips to his skin and relishing the small shiver that passed through him.
“There’s something I wanted to say to you last night,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ve wanted to say it for a long time, actually,” he said. “Stay with me, forever? Let me do my best to make you happy and I promise to never stop trying. I know you don’t need me, but I need you, I feel anchorless when we’re not together.”
“I feel the same way,” she admitted, and she felt his breath catch in his chest. “Since we met, you’re the one person I’ve always turned to, always trusted no matter what. I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember how I survived without you in my life.”
“Help me raise my daughter, and I’ll help you raise your son, and we can be…”
“Family?” she suggested, smiling against his chest.
“Everything,” he breathed. “Te amaré por siempre.”
“If you’re going to keep telling me you love me in Spanish, you’d better be ready to go again,” she said, sliding her hand over his stomach.
He chuckled. “Give me five minutes, mi amor,” he said. She slid her hand lower. He was already growing hard, again. He groaned. “Two minutes,” he amended.
She wrapped her fingers around him, her touch light. “Is that your final offer?” she asked.
“Oh, God,” he said. Then: “Alright,” he growled, “you asked for it.” He pushed her back against the mattress, rolling over her, and she laughed, squirming as he pinned her wrists above her head. He smiled down at her. “But you’re gonna be sorry,” he warned, his voice soft. “This time, it’s going to take hours. You’re just gonna be this big ol’ rubbery mess. By the time I’m finished—”
“Yeah, promises, promises,” she interrupted. “Put your money where your mouth is, Counsellor.”
He grinned at her. “You’d better hold on, Liv, it’ll be a long—”
“If you say ride, I swear,” she warned.
“I was going to say night, but now that you mention it…”
She laughed, but it was cut short when he covered her mouth with his.