Riley remains standing in the middle of the quiet living room, holding the Skye in his arms, his gaze locked on his small face.
The boy stares back at him.
"Are you hungry?" Riley asks, his voice soft, almost tentative. He has no real idea what he can give him to eat, but he needs to ask, needs to offer something to break the tension pressing against them.
Skye nods lightly, barely moving, still holding Riley's hoodie tightly.
Riley exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. "Where is the kitchen?" he mutters, glancing around the pristine, impossibly white interior of the house.
He puts Skye down, holding his hand as they walk.
He hopes anything, anything at all that he can give Skye to eat. His heart aches a little, seeing the small boy's wide, uncertain eyes and imagining how long it has been since he has been properly cared for.
As he steps into the kitchen, the subtle hum of appliances and the faint scent of foods he doesn't really know what it is greet him, but before he can move further, a sudden noise breaks through the calm.
It sounds like someone screaming, their voice carrying with sharp, piercing clarity, echoing faintly off the white walls. Riley freezes, holding Skye closer to him instinctively.
He hurries toward the sound, stepping out of the kitchen and into the adjoining hall, where he sees a woman, she looks mid- twenties.
Her hair falls messily over her shoulders, and her clothes.. a short leather skirt paired with a slightly disheveled top.. suggest she's drunk, unsteady on her feet.
Despite the chaos in her appearance, Riley can't deny there's a strange, effortless appeal about her.
Even now, as he watches her blink at them with wide, almost predatory eyes, he's convinced this must be Skye's mother.
Skye immediately clings tighter to Riley's hands, small fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie, trembling slightly. "Who are you?!" the woman asks.
The woman's expression softens in a strange, mocking warmth when her eyes lands on Skye. "Oh?! My little little potato… you found your way home? This is why I love you so much," she says, stepping closer with a smirk, her words slurring just enough to make them sound both affectionate and careless.
Anger spikes in Riley, rising hot and fast through his chest. "Found his way home?!" The words escape before he can stop them, jagged and loud, full of disbelief. "You didn't even go back to look for him where you left him, did you?!" His voice rises slightly, incredulous at the sheer irresponsibility.
"Who are you?!" she snaps again, her voice sharp, pulling Skye from Riley even as the boy clings desperately to him, protesting with little whimpers that make Riley's chest tighten.
He swallows hard, forcing himself to breathe through the rising tension. "Not that it's my business, but… why are you doing this?" he mutters, unable to help but let out a hint of wonder mixed with frustration. "You look like you have everything anyone would be dying to have... wealth, comfort, a husband who…" His thoughts cut off mid-sentence.
The woman laughs, sarcastic and sharp, her words cutting through the air. "Everything?!" she says, her tone mocking, blurred slightly by drink. "Everything except a man who ever looks at you or cares about the kid he forced you to give him…"
Riley's stomach twists. He wishes he could cover Skye's ears, shield him from the cruelty in her words.
If the father is the problem, then is that why the Skye didn't run to him when he was standing there, safe at last? Riley wonders briefly, heart clenching at the sight of Skye's small, trembling hands.
"He doesn't care when I go out with other men, so don't worry. We're all good here," Victoria adds casually, as if the casual cruelty in her tone is normal, acceptable, something that doesn't matter.
Riley exhales running a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. "Okay! Will you stop talking like that in front of the baby?"
"Don't worry," she says, smirking slightly, leaning lazily against the wall. "He knows a lot more than he looks like he does."
Riley lets out a long, heavy sigh. As much as he pities the boy, caught in the chaos of parents who should be his protectors but clearly are not, he knows he cannot.. must not.. tangle himself in their mess. They are strangers. The responsibility is not his.
Turning toward the door, he walks away without looking back at Skye, whose quiet cries begin to rise behind him, twisting something deep inside Riley.
His chest aches, but there is nothing he can do. He cannot carry the boy away. He cannot fix the situation. All he can do is step outside, keep moving, and hope for some small reprieve.
Surprisingly, the taxi is still waiting outside. The man in the driver's seat is asleep, head tilted against the window.
Riley knocks lightly on the window, and the driver stirs, blinking groggily, finally opening the door for him.
Sliding into the seat, Riley allows himself a moment of exhaustion, closing his eyes briefly as the seat conforms around him.