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Krista and Owen's case was far more typical of a "success" story for co-parenting. Except, when Liv dug into it, the arrangement had a lot more to do with devoted paternal grandparents than a devoted young dad. Owen's parents were the ones who'd made sure he stepped up. Made sure he paid support. Made sure he had partial custody . . . while they were the ones seen pushing Maggie in her stroller.
Liv and Ricky's last stop was to Owen's parents, all the data compiled, time to test their suspicions. Sure enough, they only had to walk into the house for that, with pictures of baby Maggie on the mantle, a bassinet in the corner, an infant carrier by the door and two distraught grandparents, offering Liv whatever it took to get their grandbaby back.
Liv had been talking to the Parrs for about thirty minutes when a rap sounded at the door. It was Krista. Seeing Liv and Ricky, she gave an exaggerated start, as if shocked to find them there, though Ricky was sure she'd known exactly where they were.
"You're taking the case?" Krista reached into her pocket and pulled out the wad of bills.
"I'm just asking questions," Liv said. "I'm not licensed to practice--"
"I don't care."
"But Liv has to care, honey," Mr. Parr said. "She could get in a lot of trouble for working without a license. She's gathering information we can pass on if we decide to hire a private investigator. By we, I mean all of us. We'll all pay our share. Everyone wants Maggie back."
"I'm not sure about Owen," Liv said.
Mrs. Parr jumped, guilt flickering. "What?"
"I'm not sure Owen would be thrilled about hiring someone," Liv said. "He made it quite clear he thought it was a waste of time and money."
"No, you've misunderstood," Mr. Parr said firmly. "He's frustrated. That's all. He'll pay his share. We'll make sure of that."
Whether he wants to or not.
"I was bringing this over." Krista lifted a tote bag. "In case you stopped by. It's the stuff from Maggie's room. The crime scene. The police didn't want it. They dusted for prints, but I think they were just doing it for show. They wouldn't even take this stuff. So I bagged it all up."
She held open the tote. Inside were a bunch of plastic freezer bags, all carefully sealed and labeled. Liv seemed ready to just make some noncommittal comment. Then she stopped and took out a plastic bag. Inside was a yellow baby blanket covered in cartoon lions.
"Oh, this is adorable," Liv said. "I've never seen this pattern
before. Is it local?"
Krista shook her head. "My mom made it. She ordered the fabric online from Toronto. It was a joke."
Liv frowned.
"Lyons?" Krista said. "Our last name? Maggie Lyons. So"--she waved at the blanket--"Maggie's lions."
#
There was a message on Ricky's phone. Several, in fact. One of each variety: voice mail, text and e-mail, each worded as if it were the first, on the presumption that clearly Ricky was not getting the others.
No, not a presumption. Ricky suspected Gabriel knew full well he was being ignored. But to admit that would suggest he had grounds for being ignored. That Ricky was pissed with him. Best to pretend as if Ricky's methods of contact must be failing.
Ricky wished he had returned one of those messages earlier. Now his only option was to call back--after getting pissy about Gabriel suggesting he couldn't keep Liv safe--and tell Gabriel they were about to do the one thing most likely to send him into a frothing fury.
Okay, frothing fury was an exaggeration. Ricky was the one with the temper, the one who needed to control it, as he'd practiced with the kid earlier. Gabriel's anger was ice. He'd freeze you out, and if you dared call him on it; then, he didn't know what you were talking about. There was obviously a misunderstanding because you didn't matter enough to warrant his anger. That's what it came down to. The worst way to hurt someone: say they don't matter to you, and you were a fool if you thought otherwise.
That was how Gabriel had hurt Liv, and there was no way to make him understand. Ricky understood. He'd lived a life of overrated popularity. He was the kind of guy that everyone presumed had a contact list full of friends and girlfriends. He was good-looking, easygoing and naturally charming. Growing up with bikers lent him the kind of bad-boy allure other guys only dreamed of. He remembered his first year of college, some drunk guy at a party saying, "You're that guy, aren't you? All the guys want to be you; all the girls want to fuck you."
Except Ricky wasn't that guy. Never had been. He got straight As in school, but his biker home life meant the smart kids steered clear. He devoured pop culture, but the geeks and freaks figured if he was talking to them, he was mocking them. He was athletic, but his grades and pop culture hobbies made the jocks nervous. Classmates always liked him--that natural charm went a long way. Even they presumed he had more girls and friends than any guy deserved. But the truth? When the first girl he'd dated broke it off, she'd explained by saying, "I thought you'd be . . . I don't know . . . cooler."
You're boring. That's what he'd heard. The product didn't live up to the packaging and the advertising.
A few weeks ago, when an old friend of Liv's had finally made contact, Liv made a confession to Ricky. She pretended it was fine that very few of her friends had reached out after the revelation about her birth parents. It was not fine. It hurt, and what hurt more was the realization that her wide circle of friends was really more a wide circle of people she could grab a drink with or go for coffee with. Which was exactly what Ricky had. Lots of buddies. Strings of "Hey, what're you up to this weekend?" invitation texts. As for friends he could call and just talk to, the way he did with Liv? No.
Which was why the situation with Gabriel was so fucking awkward. For both of them. Gabriel and Liv were obviously friends. Then Gabriel pulled that shit and left her feeling like she'd made some hugely humiliating presumption. And where did that leave Ricky? He wouldn't say he was friends with Gabriel, but he'd felt them inching that way. Arawn and Gwynn had been best friends before it all went to hell, and no, Ricky wasn't really in the market for a bestie--being a little old for that shit--but yeah, he'd started feeling like they could become friends. They'd been having conversations--real conversations--after four years of Ricky being nothing more than Gabriel's best client's kid, worthy of stilted small talk, out of respect for Don.
Last night, Gabriel wanted to fly here to protect Liv. As if Ricky didn't exist. And that felt like more than the snub of a romantic rival. It felt personal. Like Ricky as a person didn't exist, deserved none of Gabriel's consideration.
