Trouble-Maker

Ronnie started coming for lunch almost everyday after that. Somedays, he'd bring the guys along, but mostly it was just the two of us. Outside of these lunch dates, we really didn't have a lot of time to spend together. I worked too much and spent the other time looking out for my siblings and Ronnie had a CD to get out and spent most of his waking hours in the studio checking every aspect of it to make sure it was perfect.

Every few nights we could get together, staying cooped up on the couch or in bed watching a movie together. Friday nights were a definite and this time it was my place rather than his. We'd fallen asleep on the couch the night before, me squished between his body and the back cushions. The doorbell woke up.

I groaned and rolled over in Ronnie's arms, my face just inches from his. "Baby," I murmured, "Go get the door."

Ronnie grunted and shook his head against my shoulder. "No."

I sighed as I opened my eyes and threw his arms off of me, climbing over him obnoxiously as a form of payback. I stepped over the empty pizza box and grabbed my jacket from the carpet. I was halfway to the door when I froze, my father's voice stopping me in my tracks.

"Atticus!" my father shouted from the other side of the door, "Honey, open up!"

I darted back to the couch and shoved Ronnie harshly. "Ronnie," I demanded, quiet enough that my father couldn't hear from outside, but loud enough to rouse the singer, "Ronnie, get up, now."

Ronnie rubbed his eyes as my urgency met his ears, smearing his eyeliner even more. "What?" he as groggily, blinking up at me.

"Go upstairs," I demanded again, gathering the small blanket up that had been covering, "My dad is here."

Ronnie sighed softly and grabbed onto my chin. For a moment I thought he was going to tell me 'no', due to his adamant disapproval of hiding the relationship from my father. He'd always been the one to want to tell Brett, but I was too nervous over the consequences to want to risk is. But instead of arguing with me, Ronnie pushed the rest of the knitted blanket off him and grabbed his shoes, keys, and shirt from the floor, and took them upstairs with him.

I waited until he was in the bedroom with the door shut to even make a move towards the front door. "Dad!" I greeted, as I swung it open, "Sorry, I had just gotten undressed, about to take a shower."

"Sorry," Dad laughed as he shuffled past me. He was oblivious to the mess I'd kicked under the coffee table and made a B-line to the kitchen. He set a little white envelope down on the counter and then pushed it towards me. "I wanted to repay you for watching Nico so much last week," he said, tapping the envelope, "I know you've been driving her all over, so he's some gas money."

I nodded thankfully, not in a real position to want to argue, and grabbed the envelope. "Thanks, Dad."

Dad shrugged, eyes lingering on me gently. "I know you need it and you've been doing a lot for us lately."

I nodded again. "Let me take this upstairs before I lose it. You can wait here."

When he nodded, I turned and crossed to the living room to the stairs. I pushed my bedroom door open and couldn't help but smile at the sight of Ronnie asleep in my bed. I set the envelope on the nightstand before I locked the door and closed it behind me, just being extra careful that my father wouldn't wander upstairs and see his client half-naked in my bed.

"So," I said as I wandered back into the kitchen, "What brings you by?"

He shrugged and leaned against the counter. "I just wanted to see my favorite girl, is that all right?"

I chuckled and nodded lightly as I leaned in to hug him. "Of course, as long as you don't tell Frida I'm your favorite."

He wrapped his arms around me and buried his nose in my hair. "I really am grateful for you, Atticus," he said, "You've always been such an intelligent, independent woman and I'm really proud of you. I love you and your siblings so much."

"Thanks," I said softly, used to these tender moments from my father. He may have been a shitty husband to my real mother, but he'd always been a good father, even from the road. "I love you too."

Dad smiled like he was slightly embarrassed by the emotional show and pulled away. "Well, I should probably go. I promised your Gina that we would do lunch today. It's rare that the two of us have coinciding schedules."

"Yeah, I know-" I stopped speaking when my father pulled away from me, heading into the living room with his eyes glued on my bedroom door at the top of the stairs. He moved automatically, reacting to the smallest sound.

"Dad, wait!" I yelled after him, "Where are you going?"

"I heard something," he said at the bottom of the stairs, "Is someone here? You need to stay here. Call nine-one-one."

"Dad! No one can get onto the second floor!" I rebutted, even though I knew that wasn't true, even in these circumstances. It would've been easy enough for something to climb their way onto the small balcony, but I knew the truth, and I figured a lie would be a better answer. "There's no one there," I said again, following him, "It's just a cat."

Dad slowed down, halfway up the stairs, and he turned back to look at me, displeased by my words. "You don't have a god-damn cat, Atticus," he said.

I rolled my eyes like that fact was obvious. "It's not mine," I answered, "Obviously. It's Heather's. She went to visit Aiden's family and it's staying here for a few days."

Dad looked unconvinced and I coached him down from the stairs. "It's fine, really," I said, trying to be as nonchalant about everything as I could be, "Heather is stopping by to get him tomorrow."

He readjusted his jacket as he stepped off the stairs. "I think I should still check it out," he said, pointing out that he wasn't so sure about my explanation, "and next time tell her to board that cat. Sounds like he's trouble."

I shrugged, thankful that he was letting it go. "He's just not good with new people."

He sighed, exasperated by the defense, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'll see you later, Atticus," he said, crossing the wide living room to the door.

I followed him and walked him out. "Bye Dad! Thanks for the money." I watched until he got back in his car and backed out of the driveway before I shut the door. Then I relaxed, letting out the breath that I'd been holding in. Then I turned and booked it back up the stairs, shouting at the singer already. "What the hell happened!?"

I banged on the door until the singer opened it and my anger dissipated.

"I fell," he said as he stood in front of me, blood slowly dripping around his eye, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make so much noise."

I stepped into the room and left the door opened behind me. He backed up so that he could sit down on the edge of my bed and I followed automatically. "What happened?" I rushed over to inspect the gash that was right above his eyebrow.

"It's fine, Att. Just hit my head on the table," he told me as he reached up and wiped the blood from his eyebrow. It regrouped and he used his bundled up shirt to sop it up.

"Stop touching it," I demanded, grabbing his wrist to stop him. I yanked the barely-clothed man towards the bathroom and had him sit on the toilet seat as I wetted a wash-cloth and began to wipe the blood from his head. "How'd this happen?" I questioned, looking to his eyes.

"I got tangled up in your sheets and tripped." He didn't sound at all pleased about having to tell me that.

I pressed my lips together, trying not to grin at his misfortune, but the look on his face made it hard to keep composed. "God, I love you," I laughed, "You really should be more careful, Ronnie."

He smiled up at me softly, his eyes lingering on me. "I know," he said, although we both knew the words that had slipped out that he was now dancing around, "Sorry about making noise."

"It's all right. I'm just glad you're okay," I said honestly, my heart beating out of my chest as I contemplated where those words had come from.

He stood up when he saw the look on my face and stepped up to me, fingers at my hips, eyes bearing down into mine. "I love you too, Atticus," he said, "No worries."