Forbidden Games

17 days

Seventeen days. We haven't heard Harry's little voice for more than two weeks now and there's been no progress in the investigation. Without him, that little face and that silly haircut, the house has lost its soul. Apart from the detectives that come to see us – less often now – and the casseroles and dishes of lasagna left on our doorstep, nothing seems to be moving at all.

Sienna just pops pills. Craig smokes cigarettes. Tristan clenches his teeth. And I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can, trying to make reality disappear. But when I open them, the nightmare is still very real.

The entire island seems to be operating in slow motion. The posters are still plastered on every window, but no one really dares to look at them. Harry's name comes up in every conversation, but the voices are getting quieter and quieter. At night, the streets empty earlier than usual and everyone goes home to watch closely over their little angels.

I don't know if anyone still holds out hope, but we do. Sienna, Craig, Tristan and I still hope. Despite all the resentment, we still have hope to bring us together; the love we all feel for little Harry. The hope that he's still out there is stronger than our doubt and fear. Is it crazy to think that we could find him alive after 17 days – perfectly healthy, that shy, sweet smile on his lips? Probably. But we don't give up. Because it's unbearable to imagine anything else. To think that his life could have ended after only three years. It would be too unfair.

Too unbearable.

***

"Liv, are you going to start the car?"

Bonnie's voice cuts through my daydream and I finally start the engine.

"Fergus called me this morning," she says in a falsely detached tone.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"He was crying."

"He can drop dead, I don't care."

"You don't actually think that," she says sadly.

"Bonnie, do you really think I'm going to go console that traitor while Harry is . . ."

I can't finish my sentence. Harry is what? Missing? Terrified? In the hands of some twisted psycho? A shiver runs down my back. Some jerk decides to cut in front of me right at that moment and I slam down the horn. I accidentally run a red light and Bonnie jumps, her wig slipping out of place.

"Liv, pull over. You're going to make me go gray!"

"It's not even your hair!"

"Calm down or you're going to get us killed!"

She fixes her hair with an indignant look and I swallow back my anger, trying to relax as I turn on the radio. Ed Sheeran's voice fills the car and I change the station, hoping to find something happier. Nope. A depressing slow song by Alanis Morissette. Back to Black by Amy Winehouse. The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice.

The saddest song in the world . . .

"Is the universe trying to send me a message, or what?" I grumble, changing the station again.

"Turn on the news, that'll be a distraction!"

Bonnie thought it was a good idea to turn to the local radio station. But there's an interview on about Harry. I immediately recognize Boyle's asthmatic voice. And the terms he uses – "hopes are dwindling" – make me want to break down. My best friend and co-pilot sings over the voice to cover it up. A cover from Glee: Don't Stop Believin' . . .

The situation is both ridiculous and cruel, but it gets a weak laugh out of me. I finally park in front of the grocery store and take the key out of the ignition, leaning back against the headrest. It's as if I've been drained of all my strength.

"Can't we just eat some more lasagna?"

"Come on, we're going shopping, lazy ass. I managed to get you out of the house – don't think we're about to turn around now!"

The tyrant with the multicolored nail polish walks around the car, kisses my cheek, takes me by the hand, and pulls me out of the car. It's no mean feat. I realize it's only the third time I've left the house in 17 days. And the first time I've left without a member of the Lombardi-Quinn-Sawyer clan. Bonnie may be a key element in my life, but she's still not part of the family.

And I feel incredibly vulnerable without them . . .

In the produce section, everyone seems to look at me before quickly turning away. It's weird and kind of oppressive to be the center of attention when all you want to do is hide. I've felt like this before, but that was for a different reason. And like before, I sense a mixture of compassion and judgment from the onlookers. Judging from the look that woman in the ridiculous hat with a nose too big for her skinny just gave me, she seems to think it's all my fault. The man with her is carrying her basket and he seems to sincerely pity me – and to regret having married such a shrew.

Bonnie takes me to the deli section next. The people there don't just stare, they whisper, almost accusingly. I ignore them as best I can and try to concentrate on the busy bee next to me. She throws grilled cheese sandwiches into my cart, readymade pizzas, salads that are mostly mayonnaise and other junk. "Comfort food," as she calls it. As if a single bite of one of these things could offer any comfort.

Where are you, Harry?

People really let loose in the frozen food aisle. As if buying some cookie dough ice cream while my stepbrother is missing were a crime. An awkward woman in a black dress, her lips pinched and her gait stiff, leaves her shopping cart and comes towards me. Her face seems vaguely familiar. I don't have a chance to change aisles before she says coolly:

"As a friend of Sienna's, I think I have the right to tell you what I really think . . ."

"By all means, go ahead," I say.

Either I go in swinging or I break down. Thrown off by my aggressive tone, she looks me over from head to toe and then seethes:

"Aren't you ashamed?"

"What, that I exist? No."

"You destroyed her life! Sienna will never be the same!"

"Whoa there, honey, cool it!" Bonnie chimes in.

"Honey?" the brunette says, outraged.

"Believe me, I was going to call you something a lot worse," I bark. "Can I finish my grocery shopping now?"

"I hope you go to hell . . ."

"By myself, or with my friend here? Just so I know who I'll be traveling with . . ."

"Come on, Liv, let's get out of here."

I barely notice the small crowd that has gathered around us. Bonnie is walking away with our cart, but I stand still, frozen in place. The violence of the situation finally hits me and catches in my throat. Glaring at the people around me, making eye contact with each and every one of them, I say in a strong, but trembling voice:

"I lost Harry too, you know . . ."

Most of them are looking down at the floor now. Some of them give me sorry smiles, other furrow their brows, convinced I'm a manipulative bitch who is trying to muster compassion from the most naive among them. But I don't care what they think about me. I just don't want them to forget Harry. They can't move on yet and give up hope.

"Think whatever you want about me; say whatever you want. I'm angrier with myself than any of you could ever be. Harry is what really matters – that he comes back, that we find him. If we want that to happen, we have to focus on him instead of looking for people to blame. Or find the person who's really responsible. Seventeen days . . . there's still hope!"

Dead silence. No one seems to believe me. Even the woman in black doesn't know what to say. So I turn my back on all these people and leave the store without Bonnie, without my groceries. Only once I reach the car do I burst into tears.

***

My dad's office has been operating without him for three weeks now. Craig is finally ready to go back to the office this morning. A few minutes before he leaves, he pours me a coffee. There's a hint of sadness in his eyes as he says:

"You're coming back to work this afternoon, Green Olive. We need you over there."

"What about here? I'm needed here too! You never know what might–"

"No, Liv. If there's a break in the case and you can help Harry in any way, you'll have all the freedom you need. But in the meantime, you need to come back. Today. It's not negotiable."

"One more week?" I plead.

"Nope. 2 o'clock. On the dot."

"Dad . . ."

"I know, I feel guilty about going back to the daily grind too, Liv!" he says, suddenly irritated.

It makes me jump to hear his temper rise. He hears his own tone and lowers his voice:

"I want to feel useful too. But we're all just going to slowly fade away if all we do is wait. So you're going to do what I say. Put on some decent clothes, come back to the agency and force yourself to live your life."

His eyes are wet and I realize that even he can't hold back his tears. He's been so preoccupied with consoling everyone else that he hasn't had a second to think about himself, or deal with everything that's been happening: Harry, his failed marriage, the terrible mistakes his daughter has made.

"2 o'clock," I murmur. "I'll be there."

The person that leaves the kitchen is only a shadow of the father I know. His suit is much too gray and boring for him. And I make a promise to myself not to let him down anymore.

***

I can't find Tristan anywhere this morning. Nothing new. We sleep next to each other most nights, either in my bed or his, and I curl up innocently against his body. But he disappears each morning. He is out looking for his brother, frenetically, furiously. Nothing else exists.

My dad was right. Work gives me back a tiny part of my old self. When I answer the phone, my voice is more confident and warm. When I write a new ad for a property, proof a rental contract or reply to a client email, my demons are quiet for a few minutes. I'm no longer here out of obligation. I'm here so I can breathe again.

At the end of the day, I slip back into sadness when I'm called to the main downstairs meeting room where our colleagues have asked my dad and I to meet them. They are all very solemn. I know that they mean well – but the result is catastrophic. Janice begins to speak and I break down. Her little speech and the huge bouquet of flowers are for Harry. I can't take it. I run out of the room, my body racked with sobs. A hand stops me as I'm about to leave the agency – it's Romeo.

"Liv, I'm sorry. It was my idea. I wanted you both to know that we're here for you."

His soft, concerned voice only makes me more upset. I sniffle, making strange noises, my face contorted, trying to hold back my tears. I land in his arms, my tears soaking his nice white shirt. He smells of aftershave. It's way too strong; it almost makes me feel nauseas, but I stay where I am.

"I don't know what's going to happen, but everything will be ok . . ." whispers my new guardian angel. "You're strong, Liv, stronger than you know."

We stand like that for a few long seconds until my breathing returns to normal. A little embarrassed, I back up and try to smile at my coworker. He hands me my purse that he must have picked up off my desk.

"You can go. I'll tell your dad you went home."

"Thanks, Romeo."

"That's what friends are for," he adds, shrugging his shoulders and walking away.

The sun is low in the sky when I leave the office and it immediately warms my bare legs. My tears have lefts marks on my face. Looking in the reflection of the front window, I quickly pull my hair back and try and make myself presentable. I notice someone watching me in the reflection, someone who is very familiar.

Tristan!

I turn around, my heart racing. I feel happy to see him when he's been so distant, so far away from me. But his eyes are cold and distrustful.

"What's wrong . . . ?"

"You really think I needed to see that, Liv?"

"What?"

"You in the arms of that bastard?" he seethes, his voice icy cold as he climbs back onto his bike. "Through a damn window! Not exactly trying to hide it."

I rush over and stand in front of his bike to keep him from going anywhere. He can't go without me.

"Tristan, don't do this!"

"Is it really any worse than what you just did?"

"It was totally innocent! He was comforting me!"

"Oh, because that's his job, now?" he laughs bitterly.

"Tristan, stop. Please . . . You're the one I love."

My voice breaks and his eyes soften. Suddenly his arms are around my waist and he pulls me close. He hugs me tight – so tight. He smells so good. I needed this embrace so badly, and so did he. Our breathing falls into rhythm and the heat of our bodies merges. We kiss – just for a moment.

"Come on, Sawyer. There are too many nosy people around here."

With his signature smirk on his face, he gestures towards the handlebars, indicating for me to climb on.

"You think I want to die? I'm a daddy's girl, remember?"

"Trust me. Get on."

Tristan steadies his bike so I can climb on. Ignoring the little voice that orders me not to do it, I awkwardly climb on.

"It's hard! And it's going up my . . ."

Too late. We're already moving toward some unknown destination. I hold on as best I can, screaming whenever I see any sort of obstacle on the road: cracks in the asphalt, a slight turn, the edge of the sidewalk. Tristan laughs, but he's still careful not to take any risks.

My suffering is over when we reach a small garage a few minutes later. I climb down off the torture device and massage my butt as Tristan asks me to stay put. He quickly returns, but this time he's on a moped. He smiles when he sees the shocked look on my face, then tosses me a red helmet.

"A friend owed me a favor," he explains as he puts on his black helmet. "You coming with me, Sawyer, or would you rather go home on the handlebars?"

I crack up laughing for the first time in a very long time, and I get on behind him, pressing myself lovingly against his back. We start out on the big road that leads us away from Key West. I haven't felt this feeling of freedom since . . . since Harry disappeared. And when the sadness creeps in again, I try to chase it away.

Feeling his body so close, I can almost manage it . . .

We go all the way to Islamorada, another island in the Keys. I never want this to end, but Tristan kills the engine in front of a Cuban restaurant.

"Hungry?" he asks as he pulls off his helmet.

His bare, muscular arms seem to be more tan than before. It's not that surprising given the time he's spent searching for his brother all over the island.

"No," I finally reply.

"Me neither."

"So?'

"So, we have to eat."

He gets off the moped and unbuckles my helmet, pulling it off. Then he looks me up and down, the worried expression on his face mingled with desire.

"You've lost weight, Liv. Come on, I'm going to fatten you up!"

I smile and take his outstretched hand. We go into the restaurant, where no one knows us, and we pick a table on the patio with a view of the ocean. Instead of sitting opposite him, I sit next to him, holding tightly onto his hand.

"He could be anywhere . . ." Tristan murmurs suddenly, staring out at the water.

He's not expecting me to answer. So I just lean my head on his shoulder and look out at the sea, squeezing his hand a little more tightly. My honey-marinated prawns arrive along with his shark steak. We eat even though we're not hungry, and the Latin music playing only just reaches us. My phone vibrates: it's a text from my dad asking why neither Tristan nor I have come home. I send him a quick text, telling him where we are to keep him from worrying, then Tristan grabs my phone, confiscating it.

It's a miracle: his mischievous smile is back.

Just a smile and the whole world seems brighter!

"Tonight it's just the two of us, Sawyer."

"Or forever, if that's what you want," I say sweetly.

He stares at me intensely. Even though my last sentence was lighthearted, it's as if it overwhelmed him, as if it hit him hard.

"I love you so much I could die, Liv, you know that . . ."

His husky, broken voice goes straight to my heart. And those eyes. He looks deeply into my eyes with such raw, sincere emotion. It's so hard for me to reply without crying, but I manage, murmuring:

"And I love you like crazy. I think we're doomed, the two of us. To love each other. Despite everything . . ."

He dives forward to kiss me, knocking our glasses over. The kiss is so passionate it makes me laugh and cry at the same time. I feel so surprised, happy and reassured by his love and his boldness. His warm breath is sweet and I moan as it mixes with mine. His tongue sweeps across my lips. I haven't felt so intensely close to him in so long.

Not since . . .

Stop!

Stop thinking and just enjoy this . . .