Finding Home with You

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Finding Home with You Page 9

by Claire Raye


  “So,” Beck says, hands in front of him on the table, just like he used to do in the interrogation room, as he looks from his dad to his brother to me. “Ryan’s got a couple of questions for you both,” he says. “About Erin.”

  “Fuck,” Finn murmurs, shifting in his seat.

  “It was always going to happen,” Pop says and when I glance at him, I notice he’s talking to Finn, not me.

  “What was?” I ask, my eyes flicking between them.

  “Was it?” Finn says to his dad. “I thought we assumed it was going to all just blow over.”

  Pop shakes his head. “That was never going to happen,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his stubble. “Not with her family. Look at what’s happening right now,” he adds, shrugging as though none of this is a big deal.

  I glance at Beck, see he’s just as confused as I am. Turning back to the other two, I pull out the photo and slam it on the table as I all but shout, “Can someone please explain what the fuck is going on here?”

  Finn’s hands are on the photo immediately, sliding it over so he and his dad can get a look. “Yeah, it’s him.”

  “Yep,” Pop says, nodding.

  “Yeah, I know, it’s Fitzgerald, we know that,” I say, trying to snatch the photo back. “What I want to know is, what the fuck Erin is doing in the picture with him?”

  Finn lets out a long, low curse, glancing quickly at Beck before he turns to me. “I really think you need to talk to Erin about all this, Ryan,” he says.

  “Yeah, Finn, I plan to,” I snap. “But considering how you two seem to know an awful fucking lot about this, why don’t you start talking first?”

  “Ryan,” Pop says as he places his hand in the middle of the table. “It’s not really our place to say, okay? As a cop, you know that,” he adds, eyes meeting mine as though he’s trying to convey more than what he’s just said out loud. “But Fitzgerald,” he continues, hand moving toward the photo again, “is not the only connection you need to be worried about.”

  I stare back at Pop as I try to work out what he isn’t telling me. He doesn’t blink, just flicks his eyes to the photo. When I finally look down, he taps his finger against it. Only this time, it’s not on Fitzgerald, but on the young guy standing on the other side of Erin. The one who looks like he might be more than just good friends with her.

  “What?” I ask confused.

  “Fitzgerald,” Finn says finally, as he indicates the older guy. “His 2IC,” he adds, moving his finger toward the younger guy.

  “What?” I ask again, knowing Finn hasn’t just given me something about Erin, he’s also blown the gun thing back in Boston wide fucking open.

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “And her ex.”

  By the time Erin’s car pulls into the driveway, I’m pretty sure I’ve worn a patch in her carpet from all my back and forth. I’m also on my fourth beer and if I don’t slow down soon, then between that and the severe lack of sleep, I definitely won’t be in any condition to have this out with her.

  The door opens and Erin storms in, throwing her bag against the wall. She glances into the living room as she walks down the hall. “Good, you’re still here,” she says as she continues onto the kitchen. Before I even have a chance to respond, she’s back, beer in hand as she kicks off her shoes and stands defiantly in front of me. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was this morning?” she asks. “Why you didn’t feel the need to tell me you’d been shot, instead getting pissed about something as ridiculous as a fucking key under the fucking mat?”

  I down the last of my beer, slamming the bottle on the coffee table. “You done?” I ask, hands on hips.

  “No,” she shoots back.

  “No?” I repeat.

  “No,” she says again. “You don’t get to do this, Ryan,” she continues. “You don’t get to be that guy that’s all fucking perfect and loving and cupcake-making and dynamite in bed and wants to be all in with me,” she says, air-quoting the all-in part. “And not tell me about you taking a bullet and possibly even dying.”

  A half laugh escapes me. “Taking a bullet?” I ask. “What the fuck is that? You’ve been watching too many crime shows, Red.”

  “Fuck you, Ryan,” she shouts, taking another swig of beer. “Did you think I wouldn’t even care?” she asks, her voice getting louder. “That it wouldn’t matter to me if you got hurt or fucking…whatever?” she asks, frustrated as she throws her hands up in the air.

  “Oh, you’re a fine one to talk,” I say, stepping toward her.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” she asks, straightening as I step closer.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, sarcastically. “The key? Under the doormat? You think that’s safe?”

  “For fuck’s sake,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s the back ass of nowhere here, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “The worst,” I say, closing the gap between us. “How about this?” I add as I shove the photo in her face.

  Erin’s eyes flick to the picture and I watch as all the color drains from her face. She swallows hard, immediately downing the rest of her beer before she turns and walks out of the room.

  “Don’t you walk away from me,” I shout, following her.

  “Fuck you, Ryan,” she says as she walks into her bedroom.

  I follow her in. “Tell me what this is, Erin?” I shout, waving the photo at her back. “How are you connected to all this?”

  Erin ignores me now, instead pulling off her clothes and throwing them in a pile on the floor. When she’s down to her underwear, she stops, as though suddenly remembering I’m in the room.

  “Oh don’t stop on my account,” I say, my words dripping with sarcasm.

  She storms out again only to return a few seconds later, now holding a gun. She’s careful with it, holding it so the barrel is pointed at the floor. I can see the safety is still on but it doesn’t stop me from losing what little amount of self-control I had left.

  “You have a fucking gun?” I shout, ready to explode. “What the fuck do you need a gun for?”

  “Get out,” she says, her words strangely calm.

  “Erin,” I say, stepping toward her, hands up as though I’m conceding. “Give me the gun.”

  She shakes her head, never taking her eyes off me.

  “I’m not going to say it again,” I say, taking another step closer as I lower my hands and slowly move toward hers. “If you don’t give me that gun right now, you are in serious trouble.”

  I reach for it, just as she shakes her head and mumbles. “Fuck you, Ryan as if you even give a shit.”

  It takes only a second for me to disarm her, years of police training no match for her likely country club membership. The second the gun is in my hands, I’ve released the mag and emptied the round in the chamber, putting all of the pieces in the top drawer of her dresser.

  “Erin…” I start, at the same time as she says, “He’s my father.”

  I freeze, unsure if I’ve heard clearly. “What the fuck did you say?”

  Erin slams her hands on my chest now as she pushes up on her toes and gets right up in my face. “He’s my fucking father, Ryan. He’s everything I’ve tried to escape from and the reason I hide out in this town. He’s a fucking nightmare and he scares the shit out of me, okay?”

  Her words are rushed, forced out of her as though now she’s allowed herself to voice them there’s no stopping any of it. As I stare down at her, her eyes wild and cheeks flushed, I suddenly get hit with a hard dose of reality.

  “Motherfucker,” is all I can say before I slam my mouth hard against hers.

  Erin grabs my shirt, pulling me closer as she kisses me back equally hard. My arms slide around her waist, hauling her body against mine as I walk us backward. When her legs hit the bed, I slide my hands roughly up her body, yanking off her bra. Erin gasps as I push her back onto the bed now, her face still flushed as I step between her legs and start to
unbutton my shirt.

  Her eyes flick to the bandage on my arm, her mouth opening with a question I don’t give her time to ask. “Not the time, Red,” I say, shoving my pants down. I stand naked between her legs now, my dick hard and throbbing with want. Erin’s chest is heaving, the flush slowly spreading to her breasts.

  I lean over and suck a nipple into my mouth, biting down hard as my fingers slide into the side of her panties and rip them right off her.

  “Fuck,” she gasps, her body bowing off the bed.

  I release her nipple, biting the side of her breast before I move to the other side, repeating the action with her other nipple.

  “Ryan,” she pants, widening her legs.

  I hook my arms under her thighs, lifting her hips off the bed as I pull her pussy to my mouth. Erin lets out a loud moan as I suck hard on her clit, her quick orgasm all but contorting her body in my arms.

  “Ryan, please,” she begs now.

  But I don’t relent, ignoring her pleas as I work my tongue over her hot, wet center. I’m not in the mood for soft and gentle. Right now I need to fuck her hard and fast.

  I suck her clit again, nibbling with my teeth until she starts to come again. As soon as she’s finished, I lower her hips so she’s lined up perfectly before I drive my cock right into her.

  The groan that falls from her nearly undoes me, her hands fisting the duvet as she locks her legs around my waist, digging her heels into my ass.

  “Easy, Red,” I warn.

  “Shut up and fuck me, Ryan,” she half screams back at me.

  I grunt my consent, my fingers grabbing her hips, digging into her skin as I start to work her body against mine, pounding into her, relentlessly. Erin’s body is covered in sweat, her skin glistening beneath me, as her tits move with my thrusts, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she begs me to keep going.

  I don’t know how long we fuck for, but eventually I can’t hold out any longer, my hands bruising her skin now as I hitch her higher, pull her harder against me and push into her one last time before exploding inside her.

  “Fuck,” I groan, holding her to me, my dick twitching inside her as all of my frustration and anger and helplessness is released.

  “Holy shit,” she murmurs, still digging her heels in as she now pulls me on top of her.

  I collapse against her, both of us moaning. I can feel the hard beat of her heart beneath me, pounding against her chest and mine. I bury my face against her neck, my teeth finding her skin, where they bite down hard in frustration.

  “Red,” I say, grazing my teeth against her skin and the mark I’ve now left there.

  “Yeah,” she whispers, her nails digging into my back as though she wants more.

  I pull back, pushing up on my arms so I can look down at her. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Erin

  Ryan’s words send a chill though me, and goose bumps rise up on my skin despite the heat that’s still radiating off of both of us.

  This is what we do, but it never fixes anything, it never gets to the true issue, yet still we fuck like crazy and then attempt to act like our problems don’t exist.

  When his lips crashed into mine, I felt everything he carried with him. He kissed me with all his concerns and worries and fears, but also with his anger and frustration. It’s still written all over his face, and right now it seems that neither one of us is willing to admit fault, admit that we’re a fucked up mess.

  I pull him closer, my nails running down the length of his back, marking him the way he marked me.

  I want to hate him and push him away. I don’t want to make him a part of this, but in all honesty, once he knows the full extent of this shit show, he’ll leave anyway. It’s the way it always goes down.

  We’re both quiet for a bit, our labored breathing finally returning to normal, even as the tension still hangs heavy in the air.

  Ryan’s the first to speak, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a knife, and his tone is still harsh. “You going to start talking?” he questions and I roll my eyes. His approach sucks and I get that he’s angry, but fuck, so am I.

  “Get off me, Ryan,” I demand, my tone equally as harsh as I shove my hands into his chest, but he stays put. His muscled frame looms over me as I struggle to get out from underneath him. “Seriously, Ryan,” I nearly shout. “You can go now. Just leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on!” Ryan yells back, startling me just a little.

  At this point he has now stood up and is pulling on his clothes. I do the same, but even with something as simple as getting dressed you can feel the anger in both of us. Ryan’s jaw is clenched and his lips pursed as I watch him pull a white t-shirt over his head.

  “You don’t want to know,” I finally respond, scrubbing my hands over my face as I stand in front of him in a t-shirt and underwear. I shake my head knowing that the picture he has tells him everything he needs to know.

  “Obviously I do or I wouldn’t still be standing here.” His hands are on his hips, and there’s tightness around his eyes. He’s obviously not leaving.

  “You know everything you need to know, Ryan. I told you, he’s my fucking father. What more do you want me to say?” I throw my hands in the air, and turn away from him. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, slamming against my ribs as it pulses loud in my ears.

  I can’t stand being in this bedroom with him any longer. The room feels like it’s closing in on me, like it’s far too small for both of us.

  I push my way past Ryan, leaving the room and heading into the kitchen for another beer, but as I open the refrigerator, he’s standing behind me. I feel Ryan’s hand close around my wrist as he practically spins me around to face him.

  “Cut the shit, Erin!” he shouts. “Tell me what the fuck is going on!” He’s frustrated with my lack of response, but what he doesn’t understand is that talking about it is going to break me. And right now, for some fucking reason, Ryan wants that.

  “I can’t!” I scream back, pushing up on my toes so my face is inches from his. “Don’t you get it? I can’t fucking talk about it!” I can feel the tears well up in my eyes and I swallow hard. I won’t cry in front of him.

  I can hear the sound of Ryan breathing, feel his warm breath against my overly heated skin and I want to push him away, yet I also want to wrap my body around him and remember when I felt safe in his arms. I want to forget how we ever got to this point.

  I’m a fucking mess.

  I take a deep breath and in that moment I can smell him, I can feel the warmth radiating from his body and it’s nearly my undoing.

  “Can we stop the hostility?” I ask, my hands over my face knowing that if I look at him I’ll start to cry. “I know you’re confused and want answers, but we need to stop yelling at each other. It’s getting us nowhere.”

  I’m trying to be rational, but my body is so wound up and all I keep thinking about is that picture and Ryan getting shot and wondering if any of this has anything to do with my father.

  Ryan hasn’t spoken to me yet, but I can see just my words have settled him down, even though I have yet to make eye contact with him. He takes a beer from the refrigerator and leans back against the counter.

  He looks defeated and exhausted. We both do.

  With a beer in my hand, I fall against his body, letting the weight of him catch me as his arm wraps around my waist.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, knowing that this whole thing is just as much my fault as it is his. We’ve kept things from each other, and it’s now led to this.

  “I am too,” he answers back, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. It’s a gesture that’s so simple, yet it means so fucking much to me right now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the shooting,” he adds pulling me closer to him, his hand gripping my hip tightly.

  “It scared the shit out of me to see you with that bandage o
n your arm, to know that you could’ve been seriously hurt or…” I trail off not finishing my sentence. I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.

  “Killed,” Ryan says filling in the word I couldn’t bear to say. “Imagine what it felt like for me to see you in a picture with William Fitzgerald.”

  His words hang in the air as I process them. I know exactly what it felt like. I’m sure it felt eerily similar to the way I felt every time I told someone my last name, told them who my mother was, who my father was, and watched them then slowly disappear from my life.

  There’s fear in it. There’s anger and hatred, and then there’s denial. I’ve felt them all, and then I just disappeared like it never even happened.

  I want to tell him that I’m sorry for not telling him about my father, but I’m not sorry. I never wanted to involve him in any of this.

  “I’m not his daughter anymore,” I say, hoping he remembers the person I am and not who my father is.

  “You’ll always be his daughter, Erin,” Ryan shoots back and I hear that original harshness in his voice.

  I choke back the lump that forms in my throat, knowing what comes next. He’s gone. He doesn’t want to be a part of this fucked up situation.

  “But that doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” he says, softening a little. “I just wish you wouldn’t have lied to me and let me find out on my own.”

  “I didn’t lie, Ryan,” I add immediately, cutting him off.

  “Whatever you want to call it, but it doesn’t matter. You left me in the dark and I was fucking blindsided by you and…” This time it’s Ryan who doesn’t finish his sentence, and I run through the different number of things he could’ve said.

  “I left that life, and to be honest, it never fully occurred to me to tell you. There are times I forget that it even used to be my life. I just want normal. I had normal with you.”

 

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