Finding Home with You

by Claire Raye

  I’d be lying to myself if I said he wasn’t guilty of it. He’s guilty of all of it. The only saving grace is that I’d never full on witnessed any of it. Somehow I stayed hidden, but still directly in the path.

  There were quiet conversations at night, phone calls and late night arrivals and departures, but more than that was the second hand information that I never wanted to be privy to. It’s what made me leave.

  It’s what made me leave him.

  I scroll through the article links, never clicking on any of them, and when my cursor hovers over the images tab, I hate myself immediately after I click it.

  Because it’s his face staring back at me, and he’s the one person I never want to see again.

  Just as I’m about to scroll down through the pictures I hear the creak of the bedroom door and Finn’s heavy feet landing on the wooden floor. My heart jumps into my throat and my shaky hand tries to navigate the mouse pad. Clicking quickly, I exit the page and close my laptop just as Finn appears in the doorway to the kitchen.

  “Looking at porn?” he asks, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Your face is flushed.”

  I laugh knowing that only Finn can make a comment like that seem so casual and comical at the same time.

  “No, but we can if you want,” I quip back and he chuckles. “You lonely?”

  “How can I be lonely? I’ve been stuck dealing with your ass for the last decade. I’ve been in a relationship for ten years without any benefits.” He gives my shoulder a little shove as he walks by and winks at me.

  I know he’s joking but it still stings a little. I do feel like a burden on him, even more so now. Things are only going to get more complicated from here.

  The envelope from last night is lying on the kitchen table in front of me, and when Finn sits down across from me his eyes float over it quickly. It’s the elephant in the room; the one thing I’d rather pretend doesn’t exist.

  “What are you going to do?” he asks, his head nodding toward the envelope.

  I haven’t opened it, almost like if I do I’m admitting I was once a part of it all.

  “The only thing I can do,” I answer back. “I’m going to go. I can’t keep hiding.”

  Reaching for the envelope, I slide it across the table and leave it sitting in front of me. My name is written across the front, a name I no longer recognize, but I know will always be a part of me.

  I changed my name shortly after I left home, because I knew if I didn’t he’d find me immediately. But I also knew I couldn’t change my first name. By coming to Rockport I had a support system. I had Kelsey and Finn, but they’d known me as Erin since we were kids and I felt like it would complicate things even more. I stuck with Erin but dumped my middle and last name, and in doing that I created someone new.

  I went to college as Erin Connelly, got my first job as her and have lived my life as her ever since. It wasn’t nearly as complicated or difficult as I thought it would be.

  It’s funny how much no one cares about the things that came before you turned eighteen. We’re led to believe that those things matter. That you need to graduate from high school in order to get into college, and while Erin Fitzgerald graduated from high school, Erin Connelly got her GED and used that to register for college.

  No one noticed that Erin Connelly quietly slipped through the cracks and made a life for herself.

  That is until now.

  Finn and I sit in silence, the envelope begging to be opened and that’s just what I do. Slipping my finger under one end of the sealed tab, I begin to tear it open, and then I pull a single sheet of paper from it.

  The letter is simple, and basically states the location and the date. I feared the unknown, the basic contents of a manila envelope, which seems ridiculous now. Facing him should be my biggest concern, because I know he’ll be there.

  “What’s it say?” Finn asks when I don’t say anything. “Did they give you a date?”

  “About eight weeks from today I have to appear in court. I guess that’s the start of the trial.”

  “I guess it’s about time you tell Ryan,” Finn says, shrugging his shoulders as he gets up from the table. “I gotta go. Gotta get to the station.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

  “Thanks, Finn,” I say as I watch him gather his things and head for the front door.

  “Tell Ryan,” he stresses as he pulls the front door closed behind him.

  I sit for a second processing Finn’s words. Tell Ryan. How? How do I explain that I know what five hundred thousand dollars looks like in cash? That it will fit in a carry on suitcase and it takes at least twenty-four hours to withdraw that kind of money from a trust fund. Do I casually mention that I know what it sounds like when a gun is fired with a silencer on? That I heard it as child, but didn’t fully grasp what it was until it happened over and over.

  I worry that telling him means my secret-filled head will constantly be at odds with his detective brain. What was once a normal relationship will turn into an interrogation. And in the end I’ll lose him anyway.

  It’s then that I realize I haven’t heard from Ryan. I’m assuming he made it back to Boston safely, but it’s not like him not to text me. In the chaos of this mess with my dad and the process server and Finn sleeping over, I completely forgot.

  I pick up my phone and hit Ryan’s name. The phone rings once and then goes directly to voicemail. I’m sure he’s just busy with work, so I leave a short message.

  “Hey Ry, it’s me. Just checking to make sure you made it back okay. Give me a call or whatever when you get a chance.”

  My day goes by quickly, which it normally does when you spend it with twenty, five year olds. It’s a great job to have when you need a distraction. There’s no stopping to think about anything but what is happening right in front of you.

  As I’m pulling into my driveway my phone chimes with a text message and I realize I still haven’t heard from Ryan. I take my phone from my purse and find the message is from him, finally.

  Ryan: Hey…sorry. Work is a fucking shit show right now. I haven’t slept in 36 hours.

  Me: That’s ok. I figured you were busy, but you need to get some sleep!

  Ryan: I know, I know. Call you tonight?

  Me: Only if you have time. I’d rather you get some rest.

  Nothing more comes after my last text message, and by ten p.m. I still haven’t heard from Ryan. I’m trying not to read too much into it, but it’s hard not to let my mind wander. Honestly my mind has been a fucking mess since that process server showed up, and now I’ve got Ryan’s lack of contact to add to my anxiety.

  I pop a couple of sleeping pills and make sure my alarm is set before I climb into bed. I know without the drugs I won’t sleep, and I can’t bring myself to call Finn again and ask him to stay.

  My phone goes off, chiming just as I begin to close my eyes and I see it’s Ryan, but his text is vaguely similar to the one he sent before.

  Ryan: Still busy. Still tired. Talk later.

  Me: Ok…I miss you. xx

  No response beyond that and I fall asleep quickly, dead to the world until six a.m. the next morning.

  I check my phone as soon as I roll over, the sun just starting to rise as the light filters through the closed blinds.

  There’s a text from Ryan that came through around three in the morning telling me that he’s home now and hoping to get a few hours of sleep before he has to head back to the station.

  His job is very demanding, but even this seems more than normal. I remember when Beck and Kelsey were trying to figure out whether they’d be able to stay together with Beck living and working in Boston and the biggest issue was the unpredictability of his work schedule. That’s probably all this is, and I’m worrying about nothing.

  Yet, as I’m about to get in the shower, I can’t stop thinking about the coldness in his text messages, about not hearing from him when he said he’d call.
<
br />   I knew going into this that it would be difficult to maintain a relationship with him, and I’m probably just being stupid.

  I shake it off and get in the shower. Ryan isn’t like other guys. He won’t fuck me over, and I tell myself that, as I get ready for my day. Maybe if I say it enough I’ll believe it.

  I’m packing my lunch when my front door opens, assuming it’s Finn, I yell a quick, “hey” as I grab my things and make my way toward my car.

  But it’s not Finn, it’s Ryan’s voice that echoes back, “hey” to me and I feel my face light up.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice high and overly excited as I throw my arms around him.

  “Oww,” he says, as his body stiffens against me and that’s when I notice his shirt sleeve rolled up and the white gauze bandage.

  “Ryan, what the hell happened?”

  “I got shot. I thought I told you not to keep a key under your doormat?”

  I stand there dumbfounded, taking a step back; I put some distance between us. He just told me he got shot and yet he’s worried about the spare key I keep under my mat.

  “What do you mean you got shot?” The tone of my voice changes suddenly along with my posture and Ryan seems to grow defensive. My arms are crossed against my chest and I can feel my face grow hot.

  “I’m a cop, Erin,” he says matter-of-factly, like this somehow explains the situation. He’s shown up at my house out of nowhere acting like getting shot is no big deal.

  It’s a big fucking deal.

  I don’t even know how to respond, but I feel like his callousness shouldn’t be it. I’m silent too long and Ryan lets out a long exhale and says, “I figured you’d understand.”

  “Understand what? What’s that supposed to mean?” I practically shout back at him, running a hand through my hair as I feel myself begin to grow anxious.

  “Understand that people get shot, Erin!” And this time he is shouting.

  “Why the fuck would I understand that?” I scream, knowing I’m lying through my teeth. I do know that people get shot, and I know my father has even killed people, but Ryan doesn’t know that. There’s no way he could.

  “I don’t know, because I’m a fucking cop and that shit happens,” he yells back, throwing his hands in the air.

  I need to be at work in twenty minutes and it’s clear this conversation isn’t going to end that quickly.

  “Listen, Ryan, I have no idea why you’re here or what the hell happened, but I gotta get to work. This conversation isn’t over and you damn well better be here when I get home.”

  I storm out the door; grabbing the spare key, I look right at Ryan and toss it back under the mat as I slam the door closed behind me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryan

  The sound of Erin’s tires screeching as she reverses out of the driveway and takes off down the street only pisses me off even more. I’m in two minds about whether I should go after her and finish this argument, but I know I can’t confront her and make a scene at her school. Even I’m not that much of a dick.

  Still, I’m fucking livid and I know it’s got nothing to do with her rant about me getting shot, and everything to do with the key under her mat and the photo I have in my pocket.

  I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve gone straight to the station or Beck’s place. But it’s a small town and if Erin had gotten wind of me being up here without me coming to see her first, then all hell would have broken loose. Well, more so than it has already.

  Plus, a part of me wanted to see her, see if she recognized what I now know about her. What I hoped she’d be able to admit to me without me having to confront her about it all.

  “Shit,” I mumble as I turn and open the front door. I grab the key she put under the mat and slide it onto my key ring. It’s bad enough she does it in the first place, regardless of how small this town is, but knowing now that she might have some sort of connection to William fucking Fitzgerald and his crew, it makes all of this so much worse.

  I pull out my phone and send a quick text.

  Me: hey, you at home or the bar? Ok if we have a quick chat?

  Beck: you’re here? I’m home, come on over.

  I don’t bother responding, just slide my phone into my pocket as I lock the door and head out to my car.

  Ten minutes later I’m knocking on Beck and Kelsey’s front door.

  “Hey,” Beck says, opening it immediately.

  “Hey.”

  “What’s going on?” he asks, ushering me inside. “Couldn’t stay away from her, huh?”

  I shake my head, scrubbing a hand down my face as exhaustion starts to kick in. “How much do you know about Erin’s past?”

  Beck looks at me strangely before turning and walking in the direction of the kitchen. I follow him wordlessly, taking a seat at the table as he pours me a cup of coffee and then joins me.

  “What’s this about?” he finally asks.

  I let out a long breath. “I’m not sure,” I confess. “What do you know?”

  Beck shrugs. “Not much to be honest. I met her way back when she used to vacation here with her family. She and Kels kinda latched onto each other, even though me and Kels were a thing and barely coming up for air back then,” he says, a small smile on his face as though he’s remembering back. “Then one day she just showed up here alone and never left,” he adds. “That was probably about a month before I fucked up and took off for Boston, I think.”

  “And this family she used to come up here with?” I ask, taking a sip of coffee. “What do you know about them?”

  Beck stares at me. “What’s this about, Ryan?”

  “Did she come up here with her parents?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  Beck takes a long sip of his coffee, his eyes still on me as though he’s trying to work out what the hell is going on here. I know I should just spill it all, but a part of me wonders if he’s been keeping secrets from me too. If maybe he knows more about the woman I’m sleeping with than I do.

  “Her mom,” he eventually says, shrugging. “I never saw her old man, at least not that I can remember.”

  I push out from the table, standing as I start to pace the room and try to put the pieces together. My sleep deprived brain somehow too slow to connect the dots.

  “You know, this would be a lot easier if you just told me whatever the fuck it is that’s bothering you right now,” Beck says. “I might not be a cop anymore, Ryan, but I am still your friend.”

  I take a deep breath as I reach into my trouser pocket and pull out the photo. “Recognize this guy?” I ask, sliding the photo on the table, my index finger hovering over the older male.

  “Fuck,” Beck breathes out, long and low. “Isn’t that Fitzgerald?” he asks. “And didn’t I hear he’d been arrested a while back?”

  “Yep,” I exhale. “It is and he was.”

  “And?” Beck says, glancing up at me, a questioning look on his face.

  “And,” I continue, moving my finger to the person standing next to him in the photo. “Recognize this person?”

  Beck stares at me for a second or two before lowering his eyes to the photo. The second he sees her though I know I haven’t been imagining any of this. The recognition is instant and it’s written all over his face. She’s probably about the age she was when she first started coming up here.

  “Holy fuck,” he whispers. “That's…?”

  “Yep,” I say lifting my hand. “It is.”

  “How the fuck is Erin connected to William Fitzgerald?” he asks, eyes still on the picture as he picks it up now as if to inspect it more closely.

  “That’s what I was hoping you could help me with,” I say as I resume my pacing.

  “You ask her?”

  I shake my head. “No, got in a massive argument about this instead,” I add, gesturing to my arm.

  “What’s this?” Beck asks.

  I stop, turn
to face him as I shrug and roll up my sleeve to expose the bandaged arm. “Little accident,” I say. “Two nights ago when we had the warehouse takedown. Got a tip about some guns and when we went in, we were ambushed. Caught a stray bullet,” I add.

  “Jesus Christ, Ryan, you okay?” Beck asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, it’s superficial, nothing serious,” I reply, knowing the bullet Beck was on the receiving end of last year was far worse than this one.

  Beck shakes his head a little, as though he too is remembering previous events. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I gotta say, I can see why Erin would be worried,” he says. “And pissed off,” he adds.

  I nod. “I know, okay, I probably should’ve told her or something, but I was too fucking pissed about this,” I add, gesturing to the photo he’s still holding. “We found it that night,” I explain. “It was in the warehouse, like someone who was there had dropped it and escaped before the shit all hit the fan.”

  “Fitzgerald’s crew is connected to the gun thing?” Beck asks, his cop brain kicking back in as he starts to put all the pieces together.

  I nod. “Yeah, it would seem he’s got some little protégé running things now he’s behind bars,” I confirm. “But my bigger worry in all of this, is how Erin’s connected to it all.”

  “Shit,” Beck says on a long exhale. “I can see why.”

  I reach for the coffee, draining my cup in the hopes the caffeine will finally kick in and magically bring all of this into focus. I’ve barely had any sleep the last couple of nights, running on nothing but coffee and adrenaline. “So, as I said before,” I continue, placing the now empty cup on the table. “How much do you know about Erin’s past?”

  Beck runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Like I said, Ryan, I left shortly after she moved here,” he says. “I never met her parents and I don’t really know anything much at all.”

  “Fuck,” I breathe out.

  “But,” he says in a way that suddenly has me paying attention. “I might know someone who does.”

  When we walk into the pub, Beck’s dad and brother are already waiting for us. His dad greets me with a warm smile and a handshake, some comment about me practically living here now. Finn on the other hand is more reserved, only giving me a quick nod as he shakes my hand and avoids eye contact, as Beck gestures for us all to sit down.