The Lines We Cross

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.

I sing, lost and scared, skin tingling. Fear turns fierce--I bind him with notes, voice steadying, wrapping the song tighter than the fabric grips my curves. It builds, raw need to prove I'm enough, to hold him. The last note terrifies--he's watching, too intense--I push, and it soars, flaws fueling it, crashing over me. I hope he's proud. I hope he wants me.

Applause erupts and the crowd blurs as I stumble offstage. I blink--he's gone. My heart shreds. Andrew claps, youthful glow unshaken, but it's not him I need. Then Dad is there, pushing through, solid. I rush past the crowd, falling into his warmth. "You did great," he says, low, vital, his fingers sliding down my arm, hand lingering too long on my hip. His breath heats my ear, too close, his chest pressing firm--too firm--against mine. I lean in, treasonous breasts strain against him through the thin cut, shame and thrill twisting tight, wanting him too much, beyond words, beyond right.

Mom watches, still. "Neatly done," she says, her voice a subtle sting. Her eyes pierce, searching too deep. I grip Dad's arm, terror spiking--what if she knows? She'd make him choose, and I'd lose them both. Her smile softens, letting us linger, but I feel her gaze strip me bare, exposing the wrongness I hide. Andrew stands behind her, a shield I might need, a spark she could use.

My heart twists, but my father's presence holds me. We drive home in tethered silence. I breathe, a song--tainted, trembling, mine, quivering under her sting.

**CHAPTER 3 - Judah**

The grill crackles, smoke curling into the early autumn sky. I flip burgers, their sizzle a steady rhythm beneath my hands. Emily stands with Kelly by the back door, her hair loose, laughter spilling free--a youthful melody that cuts through the meat's hiss. I glance her way, then back, drawn despite myself. A table waits, imprecise--mismatched plates, iced tea sweating--while fallen leaves swirl in a faint multicolored breeze.

Kelly's calm, razor-sharp gaze stabs out from the house, her smile cryptic, before she heads back in. I exhale--at least she's not hovering. Yet when Emily's fingers graze mine, Kelly's absence feels staged, a test. When she reappears, her voice carries quiet command: "Judah, Emily's car has been at the shop all day. Drive her to Bree's after?" The words settle, heavy with intent, piercing my focus.

Emily glows in the dusk, hair catching the wind--mirroring the fall leaves. Her new confidence, blooming with age, pulls at something deep, forbidden. Her laugh sings, tinged with a mournful note, joy shadowed. Kelly's call summons Emily to her, and I subtly watch as she goes.

I fix on the charcoal's neat rows, flames disrupting their order--a clarity against my mind's tangle. The lawn's perfection and the table's harmony offer faint comfort, yet they chafe. I have caged myself.

Kelly's silhouette flickers at the window, her awareness a constant. She reads me before I do, her insight always a chess move ahead. Here, under her piercing scrutiny, I don't dare allow my thoughts and desires to wander unguarded. Emily's voice rises, a question lost to me, and I wonder what Kelly sees.

Emily leans on the doorframe, her pose stirring longing and doubt. She looks back, catching me, and I turn to the grill, motions sharp, as if cooking could tame my thoughts. Her gaze persists, bridging a gap I can't voice. Kelly speaks, unclear; Emily's laugh aims at me--a lure, questioning her innocence or something knowing beneath.

"Dad!" Emily calls, pause laden. "Are you ready?" Her eyes lock mine across the yard, pinning me. I've stopped flipping, her question jarring my rhythm, thrilling and baring me.

Her words--an invitation, a trap--tighten the evening's calm. It's a simple question, yet I balk, mind racing beyond my safe haven. The grill's sizzle fills where confidence once sat. "Yes!" I reply, uncertain of the truth.

Emily nears the table, her glance teetering between dependence and womanhood. She sets it with the same precision I would, seeking approval, rooting herself in me. I watch, resistance fraying even as Kelly joins us.

We eat, the three of us, awkwardness a guest. I fuss with tea and condiments, but Emily's nearness blurs focus. Her spontaneity and a darker pull unravel me; Kelly's eyes judge each falter.

I look to her, probing her intent--a test of my limits or a hint at Emily's shift? Every pause brims with meaning and threat.

Emily's eagerness for alone time fans my doubts. Her unguarded looks and hopeful tone shred my grip. I want Kelly oblivious to my storm, but my practiced deceit is matched by her perception--I can't trust it.

The wind blows, loose leaves whispering secrets I shun--an echo of my turmoil.

Dinner wanes, resolve slips. Driving her is dangerous, irresistible. Kelly's glances and Emily's smiles erode me; longing overshadows right. I rationalize the wrong.

"Fine," I say, voice quaking with desire, fear. "I'll drive." Capitulation, confession--Emily lights up, guilt and anticipation surging.

Clearing plates, Kelly's final look hints I'm not opaque. Power tilts, leaving me questioning who masters this life I've shaped.

After dinner, Kelly disappears into the kitchen and the two of us are left alone as we leave. The car shrinks to us two, engine humming low. Dashboard lights bathe Emily's face, tousled hair and watchful eyes gauging our divide. Lilac scents her, blending with leather and autumn air. I trace the road's lines, dusk cool, resisting how she narrows the gap to what I evade. "How was work?" she asks, hope and caution threading her voice, questions lurking beneath.

I falter, seeking balance. "Busy," I say, a frail shield. "Productive." I glance, then away--her eyes linger, probing. The engine's thrum and turn signal's click can't mask the laden silence.

She shifts, clothes hugging her changed form, a reminder. "Get a lot done?" she presses, innocent yet insistent, inviting me in. Does she know the peril?

I nod vaguely. "Enough," I say, curbing the urge to bridge us with forbidden words. The car's cocoon suspends rules; Kelly's suggestion--gift or curse?--taunts me.

Her gaze presses, a new, knowing depth in her probing grey eyes. "Mom's been weird," she says, pivoting. "Like she knows something." It's a loaded shift, redrawing lines with startling precision.

It jars me--a plea I want to soothe, yet must dodge. "Your mother always knows more than she says," I say, light, tinged with resignation. She nods, piecing it together.

"Have you talked to her about going to Iowa State?" I ask, soft, words heavy. Her eyes flicker; "What do you mean, Dad? I haven't even decided yet." she replies, unsteady--a topic I've sidestepped.

"No secret, sweetheart," I say, defensive, grasping for normalcy. "Just wondering if she knows you might not stay local." I seek her face for comfort, glimpsing a yearning beyond old roles.

She quiets, then trembles: "I don't know if I want to go. I don't want to leave you. But Mom--she might make me. What if she does?" My throat dries. "She won't make you go if you don't want to," I lie, hollow--Kelly always finds a way to wear you down.

"You won't lose me, you know," I vow, voice wavering. I see her anew--not just my girl, but more--unsettling, yet I hold the past.

Determination sparks in her eyes. "You're home tomorrow, right? I could do homework in your office." Simple, a plea to close our gap.

I pause, remembering, considering, measuring my self-control. I turn back from the abyss. "Not a good idea," I say, careful. "Too many meetings. Next time?" Unspoken questions hum--what is growing up, being her father?

Silence cloaks us, windows fogging, dreamlike. I steal a look--her youthful face edges into maturity, bittersweet.

She tucks a leg under, vulnerable yet poised. "It's not fair," she whispers. "I'm always waiting." Her words pierce, crumbling my heart's walls.

"I'm trying," I murmur, nearly lost in the engine's hum, admitting I wrestle shifts I can't name. Silence softens the strain.

Bree is waiting on her porch when we arrive, waving invitingly as we pull into the driveway. Bree hurries over, eagerly greeting me as Emily opens the door. I idle, loath to break our quiet pact. She brushes my hand--reassurance, longing. "Don't forget me," she whispers, earnest, slipping out, leaving me with wind's rustle. She means tomorrow, but it cuts deeper.

The world refocuses, silence full--time's march, our bond's shift. A breeze stirs me forward, past and future colliding.

**CHAPTER 4 - Emily**

Our words spill over the edges of the old cardboard box, shared laughter dampened by dust and the way time closes around us. The past seeps out - cherished, yellowed by years, lingering in the sunlight that falls in narrow bands across the attic floor. It dances off forgotten relics and momentarily dissolves the space between my body and his, between now and then. A faded bear peeks out with blank, curious eyes. Did I ever love something that much? Its gaze travels past me, landing on him with ancient recognition. What would it be like to be so adored again?

Dust hangs in the sun, catching its gold. I breathe it in, feel it settle on my tongue, absorb it, and taste it sharp in the back of my throat. The air is warm, getting warmer, alive with it, dancing with motes that graze my skin, speckle my arms, fleck Dad's, twinkle in the few strands of hair that lie loose on my forehead. He is less covered in dust than I am, moving around the room and standing above it all like he does. I stay where I am, cross-legged on the floor, close enough to where the past touches the present that it's nearly overlapping.