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Things are different now, Rio discerns as he drives past his apartment, no predetermined destination guiding him as dusk slips into nightfall around him. He crossed a boundary by putting his hands on Elizabeth, but that isn’t the problem. Something primal and instinctive in him is drawn out when he feels distance between them, something urging him to sink his claws in and keep her close. The problem is that he’s having difficulty finding issue with it.
She’s making him deficient, peeling back his skin and exposing a hollow space of vulnerability without even trying, and he knows that if he doesn’t keep it in check, she’ll be the end of him. He can’t afford it in his line of work, and yet, he can’t fathom living without it.
He plays absentmindedly with his ring in the one hand not resting on the steering wheel, the lingering tingle of Elizabeth’s skin on his making him restless. He has work to do, almost always does, but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. He wouldn’t be nearly as productive as he normally is anyway, he thinks, working to convince himself as he flips his turn signal upwards.
The bar is nearly desolate, only a few young women presumably out on a girl’s night and a middle-aged couple milling about in separate corners of the building. He can feel a pair of eyes on him the moment he pushes through the door, but his sights are only set on the bartender as he approaches the counter. Sliding into a stool, he holds up his pointer and middle finger to the man when he turns to face him, a glass clutched in one hand as he runs a white towel around the rim.
“Can I get a bourbon?” Rio asks, dissatisfied with the way his voice croaks slightly when he says it. The barkeep nods at him with a convivial smile, setting the glass he had been drying down in front of him and moving to the bottles resting on a display behind him.
The barkeep speaks up as he pours a stream of the amber liquid into the glass, a gentle rumble that’s telling of a extensive smoking habit, “Long day?”
Rio huffs out a cynical laugh, grinning down at his glass in a self-deprecating manner before responding, “Can’t name one that’s been short, man.”
The barkeep chuckles fondly, nodding his head when Rio supplies a soft “thank you” before taking a generous sip of his drink. He hadn’t come in looking for a counseling consultation, but when he can’t seem to deter his mind from wandering back to Elizabeth and her soft features that so often cloud his vision, he thinks that maybe spilling his sorrows this one time wouldn’t be his worst idea as of late.
“You married?” Rio inquires, lifting his eyes from his glass to the bartender who has turned around in minor surprise at his voice. He figures he had taken him as not being one for conversation. Rio takes a good look at the man’s face, scanning the lines left as evidence of aging, and considers how many times he must’ve been asked about his own personal life before gaining insight about the sob stories of his patrons.
“Twenty-seven years. Twenty-five of ‘em good,” he answers easily, throwing Rio a goofy smirk as he settles in front of him with a stack of freshly-washed glasses. The corner of Rio’s mouth quirks up as another huff of a laugh leaves him, this one more genuine than the last.
“The other two of ‘em?” He prods out of curiosity as he raises his glass to his lips.
The man gives Rio a wry smile before focusing back on drying the glasses, responding, “Years seventh and eighth. Found out she was sharin’ the love with another man.”
Rio is helpless to stop it when his mind darts to Elizabeth and her jackass of a husband, how the destruction his infidelity inflicted on her is still evident in every sliver of self-doubt she litters in band-aids. He’s had the pleasure of peeling them off and kissing them gently on more than one occasion, reassuring her with his actions more than his words that every inch of her is worth his admiration, but he knows that they’re too deep to be healed by his touch alone. It’s dejecting and infuriating all at once, the concept of a person who would pursue their own selfish desires and attempt to keep another’s heart in their hand at the same time.
“But you went back,” Rio supplies as more of a statement than a question, and the barkeep nods.
His gaze, trained on the glass he’s currently drying, is wistful when he continues, “I told her that even though I forgave her, I couldn’t promise I would ever trust her again. Two weeks later, I get a job offer four states over, and the salary was impossible to pass up. I told her I had to take it, and without any hesitation she packed her bags and was ready to leave with me.”
He shrugs, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he continues, “She had her whole life in that town, had never lived outside of it; she told me I was worth the sacrifices she was going to make.”
A soft smile spreads across Rio’s face as he glances back down at his glass, pondering the takeaway of the man’s story. After a minute, he poses the question prying at the back of his mind.
“She ever tell you why she did it?” Rio asks quietly.
He shakes his head, his lips twisting at the corner when he replies, “I never asked.”
Rio does his best to mask his surprise at the barkeeper’s response, his mouth opening and closing with unspoken words and his brows furrowing in confusion, but before he can pry further, the man elaborates on his answer.
“It didn’t matter why. All I cared about was how she planned to fix it. She left everything behind for me without even being asked to, and that was a greater apology than any she could’ve given me with her words.”
Rio nods, allowing his gaze to wander as several thoughts conduct a symphony in his head. The barkeep doesn’t offer any further commentary, allowing Rio to take his words as whatever clarification he needs in that moment.
And okay, he thinks, nodding his head absently to himself before downing the remainder of his bourbon. Okay.
||
In Rio’s line of work, it’s second nature to track the movement of every shadow and the echo of every footstep behind him; his self-preservation instincts are the major reason he hasn’t been murdered or victimized by a freak accident by now.
There is a very, very minuscule list of people that manage to catch him by surprise.
Elizabeth Boland just happens to hold an involatile position at the top of said list.
He’s sitting in his car, one arm resting against the glass of the window and the other resting on the center console as he waits on a black Honda Civic to pull into the lot. His patience is thinning rapidly as the minutes tick past the arranged meeting time, and he has half a mind to throw the car into drive and hand-deliver his dissatisfaction to the dipshit who advocated this new client.
That is, until the car door is being yanked open and Elizabeth is sliding into the passenger seat.
She shuts it behind her but doesn’t offer any sort of greeting or explanation as she stares straight through the windshield. Rio’s features pinch in confusion and mild irritation; this day full of inconveniences is about to become undoubtably more strenuous.
But then he clocks her expression.
Her eyes are distant, waves of blue muddled by barely-contained emotion and stricken with sorrow. They’re shadowed by nearly indistinct circles of purple and red, and the delicate curvature of her nose is a bright shade of red. Her eyes are hooded, and he can’t discern if it’s from a lack of sleep or the overwhelming amount of grief painted in her features.
Before he can address why she’s here, how she found him, or what’s pushed her into this state of distress, a black Honda pulls into the empty parking lot. He mutters a curse under his breath, because this asshat’s timing is impeccable, before shoving his own door open and placing one foot on the pavement.
Angling his head at Elizabeth once more, Rio’s eyes glaze over her form as he briskly instructs, “Stay here.” With that, he climbs out of the car, shuts the door softly, and locks it behind him. Since she’s unwittingly invited herself to a meeting with a potentially loose-canon client, he now has to watch her back as well as his own.
The Honda parks no more than fifteen feet from him, and he reaches it in swift strides, hands shoved in his jacket pockets defensively.
He rounds the car to the driver’s side and raps his knuckles on the window insistently, motioning to the guy to roll it down. He’s dressed like he hasn’t had access to a washing machine in months, stains adorning his ratty tank top and grungy blue jeans. His beard is untrimmed, a stark contrast to the bald head he appears to be sporting under a ragged baseball cap.
Rio senses that something is off about the guy the second he cracks the window, only permitting a two-inch opening between them as if the glass could deflect a bullet. His eyes dart between Rio and his car, where Elizabeth is still staring at the windshield with a carefully controlled expression.
“Symon didn’t mention nothin’ 'bout no chick bein’ ‘ere,” is the first thing out of his cracked lips, the pungent stench of cigarettes obstinate given his proximity, and Rio feels his fingers twitch with the urge to knock remaining number of his teeth out. First the guy pisses all over his valuable time by showing his face twenty minutes late, then he attempts to take some heat off his back by pinning Elizabeth as the issue.
Rio suppresses his irritation by painting on a callous smirk. “Yeah, she ain’t none of your concern,” he drawls with an air of finality that screams leave her outta this. “You know what is, though, is you thinkin’ that wastin’ my time is gon’ give you any chance of workin’ with me.”
The guy bristles visibly, his jaw clenching as he takes another paranoid sweep of the desolate parking lot.
“I got pharmaceutical connections,” he says in a hushed tone, and Rio is certain that the term pharmaceutical is the only term in this man’s vocabulary bearing such an advanced string of syllables. “My uncle owns a chain of ‘em. He’s told me he plans on passin’ it down to me, and he’s more than willin’ to supply your capital if you’re willin’ to part with a chunk of the change.”
Rio sets his jaw forward, his fingernails digging into his hand as he chances a glance back at Elizabeth because the nerve of this guy.
He can only hope that his unwitting vulnerability in regards to her wellbeing isn’t as perceptible as he believes it to be. This bottom feeder doesn’t need any leverage to use against him when this meeting inevitably goes sideways.
Painting on an expression of amusement, Rio chuckles; something predatory and sinister and devoid of any humor.
“Yeah, see, here’s the thing, Juan—“
“Javier.”
Rio simply blinks, barely maintaining the unbridled rage threatening to break through the exterior of his mask if he doesn’t wrap this up.
Finding no better alternative than to deliver it to the man straight, he settles on, “I ain’t lookin’ to do business with no third party pharmacist. Either give your uncle my contact, or hit me up when he’s dead.”
Flashing the man a shit-eating smirk and placing a firm pat on the hood of the Honda, Rio spins on his heel and strides off towards his own car, locking eyes with Elizabeth.
She holds his gaze with that stubborn resolve of hers that he didn’t know he had missed until now as he nears her, and he wordlessly slides into the driver’s seat when he reaches it. Only after locking his door does he angle his body towards her expectantly, allowing himself to hastily drink in her form amidst their pocket of silence. Her black turtleneck showcases the curves he yearns to roam his hands over again, wrapping around her torso in a way that seems suffocating; he wants to tug it over her head and watch her unravel. When his eyes return to hers, however, all adulterated thoughts rush out of his head like a river current.
He feels a sharp tug deep in his chest at the hollowness he finds in them, a void that seems to have been carved in her from the inside out.
“Elizabeth?” He prompts gently, his voice low; it reminds her of an unpaved gravel road.
She swallows, her throat thick with restrained emotion.
“He took them.”
Rio’s brows furrow in confusion, tilting his head the slightest degree.
Her voice cracks on every vowel as she whispers, “My kids. They’re gone.”