Page 5 of Never Say Never

Normally, someone like Paul wasn't even my type. His blond hair, blue eyes, and big smirk were far from what I normally found attractive. I didn't know why he had worked his way into my thoughts the way that he had, but I did know one thing for sure.

Paul Gallo was off limits.

What we had could never extend beyond being friends. And even that was a stretch. Friends were supposed to know you, but Paul didn't know a thing about me. Even if I knew everything about him.

I finished up and headed down to the parking garage after I clocked out. The walk through the half-lit structure always set my nerves on edge. I'd talked to them a million times about repairing the broken or burned out lights, but nothing had been done yet. I reached my car and admired it for only a moment.

It was one of the only things that I had indulged in throughout my life. A nineteen-seventy Dodge Challenger Black Ghost. The thing was perfect in every way, and it had more than enough room for me. I slipped behind the wheel, turned on the radio, and blasted music, letting the DJ decide what I listened to since I didn't care. I just wanted to get home.

The drive cleared my head, wiping away the awful images that had plagued the TV and my computer screen for ages. All the blood, guts, and viscera disappeared as I drove through Manhattan. The sun had already started to set, splashes of orange and pink filling my windshield as I made my way home. For a moment, I felt serenity. As my stomach tightened, however, I got that feeling once more that this little peace was going to come to an end.

I pulled into the parking garage and left my momentary melancholy behind. It could wait until tomorrow when I walked into work and the world took on its bleak edges again.

The elevator up to the eleventh floor seemed to take forever. When I stepped off and stuck my key into the door, I felt a sense of dread settle onto my shoulders. Something banged, and I shoved my door open.

"Daddy!"

Navy flew at me, her hair a wild mess all over her head. I nearly fell back, but braced myself and grunted instead. Nyra was on her heels, paint splattered all over the side of her face and her clothes. She didn't bother hugging me, instead, she climbed up my body until she wrapped her legs around my waist and grinned at me.

"Hi, Daddy!"

"Hey, babies.” I smiled, the anxiety instantly dissipating once I saw they were okay. The job made me paranoid, but who could blame me? “Nyra, please get down before you put my back out."

"Will you two come back here! I am so over—Oh, Mr. Washington, you're home. I didn't hear you."

Shelly, the nanny that my wife and I had hired to care for the girls, looked disheveled and out of sorts. Her brown hair that held streaks of gray was just as wild as Navy's. She'd gotten paint on her button up denim shirt and khaki capris. As I watched, she wiped her face and smeared more of the red and yellow paint all over her skin.

"Hey, Shelly," I said as I sat Nyra on the floor. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes," she said, sounding exasperated. "The girls were just having a little fun. We were about to get cleaned up and ready for dinner. I made the baked chicken and rice dish again that they loved so much."

"Ugh," Navy groaned. "If I have baked chicken again, I'm going to barf."

"Sammmeee," Nyra said as she took her sister's hand. "We'll barf."

"Can we have burgers?" Navy asked.

Nyra nodded. "Burgers sound delicious."

I stared between the two of them as that familiar overwhelmed sensation came flooding back. For as long as I could remember, my future had never looked like this; two ten-year-old twin girls with no mother and only me to rely on. The truth was that I was drowning, my head barely above water.

"Don't bother your father, girls," Shelly said as she laid a hand on both their shoulders. "Bath time and then dinner. Mr. Washington, please get showered. By the time you're at the table, the girls will be clean, dressed, and ready to eat."

Both girls stared up at me with big, round brown eyes that begged me to overturn the verdict and let them have burgers and fries instead of the delicious meal that had been prepared for them. I knew they would love it, but I also knew what was right for them. We'd survived off nothing but fast food the first six months after their mother died. Once the casseroles disappeared and old friends went silent, too traumatized by death to stick around, that was all we had. My Challenger, the music, and a few greasy burgers to make us feel at least a fraction of the happiness that we had when Dawn was alive.

"Go on and get ready for dinner girls," I said. "We'll have burgers next week, okay? You did want to have a barbecue before it gets any colder. We only have a little time before we won't be able to have a party on the roof."

I watched both of their eager little faces drop only to brighten up again. They always wanted to barbecue on the roof, play in the pool, and have a good time. I reminded myself to slot us in for a few hours the following Saturday so they could have the fun that they wanted. That way I wouldn't feel bad about putting a stop to their good time now.

"Twenty minutes?" I asked Shelly.

"That seems more than adequate. Hurry up, girls!"

"Aww, not fair." Navy pouted.

Nyra huffed. "Super not fair."

As they walked away, my heart squeezed. Did I make the right decision? I was always sure of myself, until it came to my girls. They were the one part of my life that I had no playbook for. I slipped into my room and passed the collection of parenting books I'd studied like they were the SATs, and yet none of them were real enough or practical enough. It's all well and fine to give hypotheticals, but what do you do when your daughters ask why their mother was killed? There's no book that talks about murder and how to talk about that.