Authors Note:
This is about internal struggle and temptation. If youre more interested in "getting to the action", this probably isnt the story for you.
**CHAPTER 1 - Judah**
My eyes lock on the spreadsheet, soft office glow holding my focus as thoughts of her swirl in my mind. The gentle lamplight blurs the edges of the room, making the shadows feel protective against the inner chaos. Beside me, I catch Emily's soft sigh as her fingers run along the spine of her textbook. I steal a quick look--see a flash of uncertainty on her face. Her large, deep grey eyes meet mine, tentative and searching, as if she's afraid to disturb the quiet moment between us.
She's a burst of life in my ordered space, her textbook splayed across my desk, notes scattered. Her fingers brush her lips nervously, braces glinting as she chews her pencil, glances hinting at unspoken questions.
The office feels complicit in our seclusion. Shadows flicker under the lamp as the trees outside the wide windows sway in the late summer breeze. Cedar and paper mingle with her faint lilac scent, underscored by the ceiling fan's steady hum, matching my keystrokes and the pulse beneath my skin.
She shifts in her seat, eyes reaching for mine with a silent plea for reassurance. There's eagerness mixed with a need for approval, and I remind myself that it's natural for her father to feel protective, to be drawn to watching her grow. I watch her turn a page carefully, and then I say in an even tone, "You've missed one." I lean over to point it out, closing the small gap between us--a move that feels both necessary and reckless. In that brief moment, her warmth brushes against me, and everything feels charged. I tell myself I only want to guide her, to offer my steady support.
Then our hands touch, and for a split second, everything slows down. I catch her soft breath and gaze into her wide, unguarded eyes. I fight the urge to let our contact linger, to let it confess what I can't admit to myself.
"Am I doing it wrong?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly with self-doubt. There's something fragile and sincere in her tone--a mix of worry and curiosity that grabs hold of me.
"No, you're doing great--better than you give yourself credit for," I answer gently, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. I hold her gaze, hoping my sincerity fills the space between us.
After a beat, she blinks and offers a shy smile full of relief and a touch of determination. The tension of the moment fades, but its echo rattles the order I maintain. I turn back to my screen, pretending to concentrate, even though her touch, her earnest look, and the stir of my recently discovered disquiet replay in my mind.
Emily returns to her textbook, though a soft smile still lingers on her face. I catch her quick, sidelong glances--each a quiet peek into my thoughts.
I force my mind back to just being her father. Caring is natural, but past that lies ruin.
Time bends in this quiet office, a fragile haven from the world. The neat, precise lines of my spreadsheet map out my life, yet Emily's presence blurs those lines, hinting at challenges I'm not ready to confront.
Finally, she closes her textbook with a soft thud, and once again, her soulful eyes meet mine. "Thanks for helping me, Dad," she says, her voice bright yet carrying something more--a whisper I strain to catch. "I can't believe senior year started already. Ever since I turned 18 everything feels different, like something new."
"Anytime," I reply, each word sincere even though her words tug at something deep inside me--reminding me that her growing future draws me to her even as it pulls her further away.
A faint creak breaks the silence.
Kelly steps from the hall's shadows, her perfect, athletic form taut, eyes glinting as she smiles. "Progress at last," she notes, her voice a quiet blade.
Her arrival snaps our delicate moment into sharper focus. Emily glances up, her face shifting as she notices her mom's knowing gaze. I ease back, letting my hands rest calmly on the desk while my thoughts race.
"You two work well together," Kelly comments evenly, her eyes darting between Emily and me with a slight, unreadable smile. I try to brush it off as just a compliment, but her knack for noticing everything twists something inside me. I look toward Emily, who avoids my gaze, and I wonder if Kelly picked up on that too.
She lingers a moment longer, her look quiet yet piercing. "I said the desk was big enough if you didn't mind sitting close to each other. Looks like I was right," she adds, her voice steady and almost too calm. I force a smile as my pulse quickens. She's too observant--did she notice how I was looking at Emily? I push the thought aside, anxious that she might know more than she should. After all, I'm not exactly breaking any rules here.
Her sharp insights always sting. I'm reminded of the countless times her quiet judgments forced me off my chosen path. This is just another instance--but in this moment the stakes feel higher, and the risks more real.
"A quick learner," she says softly, her voice low and unassuming. I meet her eyes, steadying myself with practiced calm while trying to hide the mixture of desire and duty swirling inside me. Her control over the situation is palpable, a force I once mistook as my ally.
I can clearly see how Kelly's presence affects both of us--disrupting our brief closeness, yet also a firm reminder of my guiding role, which I almost forgot in the moment.
Her eyes soften as she turns to Emily. "You've been working really hard," she says more warmly now, though the earlier edge remains. She asserts herself confidently.
Emily shifts again, no longer as open as she was moments earlier, her vulnerability now masked by a measured compliance. "Thanks," she murmurs--a small bid for things to feel normal. Then she nods, her movements controlled now and very different from her earlier ease. It stings to see our closeness broken so easily. Part of me knows I should appreciate the boundary Kelly has renewed, but another part resists the loss of that connection.
I pull away from my chair, my voice carrying a hint of something unspoken. "Your mom's right, Emily. We should do this more often," I say, watching her gaze flit between us.
She shuffles her work into her back pack and zips it up with a quiet whir. "Yeah," she replies, her tone laced with uncertainty that tugs at me.
The room seems to hold its breath-- the lamp flickering softly. Emily gets up and turns to leave, breaking the impasse. Her final glance back as she goes speaks volumes.
Kelly follows her out into the hall, and the door shuts with a hollow echo. "Don't take too long," she says over her shoulder. Her parting words linger, tightening the hold on my thoughts.
How long can I hold this line? I face the empty doorway, dreading the war I'm losing.
**CHAPTER 2 - Emily**
Fluorescent lights buzz like hornets overhead, their sting matching the swarm in my chest. I can't catch my breath. In the cracked mirror, my flushed face mocks me, sheet music wilting in my damp hands. My costume--skin-tight, red, low-cut--hugs me like a second skin, its daring plunge too bold for braces, too loud for me. Backstage is a crush--girls laughing, costumes slung over chairs, hairspray sharp in the air, their chatter walling me out.
Bree nudges me, her steady grin reassuring. "You'll kill it, Emily," she says, dark curls bouncing as she smooths my hem. My best friend, my anchor, but even she can't hush the storm--What if I blank? What if Dad's not here? Her curves fill her costume effortlessly, a grace I'll never match. "He's in back" she whispers, a spark of conspiracy in her knowing blue eyes.
Jessica and Katie flaunt their easy beauty, skin glowing, bodies tight. "You're up," Jessica says, flat, turning away. I face the mirror--my eyes wide with terror, fragile as glass. I don't fit here, not with their ripe beauty. My breasts are too awkward, my braces glint like a child's, my skin is too soft under this clingy fabric. Why would he stay?
Sweat smudges the music as I clench my fists, hiding the fear drowning me. What if he's not there? Like when he was gone, or worse, when he returned distant--eyes empty, hands cold. My throat dries, words spinning like gold I can't grasp. I hum, desperate, hands shaking, a spark flaring--I refuse to stay small.
My father is out there. He has to be, it's the first performance of the year. His hazel eyes will be on me, making me feel safe, alive--too alive--like they did in his office. He'll be here if he loves me. But what if he isn't? The thought crashes, a dark tide. Then another rises, secret and wrong, warming my veins--What if he sees more than he should? It burns my cheeks, my chest, a heat I can't name, melting fear into want--though I know it's wrong.
"Line up, girls!" Miss L'Heureux's clap jolts me. I grab my bag, legs unsteady, my short frame stumbling to the stage door. The hall's chill bites--my skin prickles, nipples stiffening with a sharp tingling ache. My breath snags as they press, hard and inflamed, sparked by the cold but swelling with thoughts of him--my father catching their outline through the thin, tight fabric, his gaze tracing my body. Shame curls low, a flush staining my soft skin, hoping he will notice but terrified Mom will too.
My cue hits, and I rush onstage before my courage fails. Stage lights blind me, skin damp under the taut cloth. The auditorium waits with unsettled silence--seats full, anticipation thick in the quiet, eyes fixed on me. I scan the dark--Mom's in front, of course, her fierce brown gaze piercing, unraveling me. My first note shakes, desperate to reach him--or he'll go.
Right behind her, a boy, Andrew--Bree's latest attempt to set me up. His dark hair is tousled, chiseled jaw catching light, a smile radiant and easy. He stares at me intently, before his suggestive wink cuts the silence in a sour note I can't unsee. Mother's hand twists her program as I nearly falter. Then, finally, a shadow shifts in the back row and I see him--my father, shoulders broad, hazel eyes burning like that night in the office. Relief floods briefly through me, then dissolves in my acid sharp fear of disappointing him.
