by Claire Raye
We were both quiet most of the way back to Rockport with the drive taking a little longer than normal given it’s a Friday and we were heading back in the thick of commuter traffic. But I know it’s more than just that; we’re quiet because talking about our situation just causes us to argue and right now both of us are stressed.
I understand Ryan’s concern with me visiting my father and getting involved in this more than necessary but he has no idea what I know.
We pull into my driveway and it’s a little after seven o’clock. With both of us starving I suggest we get something to eat and leave for Ryan’s parents’ house tomorrow morning instead.
“Erin, babe, stop being so worried. It’s all good,” Ryan says dismissing my suggestion and shooing me into the house to pack and change my clothes. “Hurry up, okay?” he shouts as I open the front door and leave him behind.
I’m dragging my feet, but eventually I throw some things into a small suitcase and quickly change my clothes, but leave off the makeup. Given we will be arriving late at night I’m not certain it even matters.
I grab some bottles of water from the fridge and walk into the living room expecting to find Ryan sprawled out on the couch watching TV, but he’s nowhere to be found.
I call his name, but I get no answer and in that moment my heart begins to race. I begin to walk through the house, looking in every room, but I still can’t find him. I’m already on edge since visiting my dad and with the idea of meeting his family, but this is making it much worse.
By now I’m practically sprinting to the front door and as I fling it open I yell out his name, “Ryan!”
I’m panting and out of breath, the tears are about to start when I hear him call out, “What, Erin?” and he seems as out of breath as I do.
“Where are you?” I call, my voice cracking slightly as I try to regain control, knowing that I’ve just panicked for absolutely no reason.
“I’m out back,” he calls back, as I grab my suitcase from the house and toss it in the trunk, then make my way to the back deck.
Ryan is pushed up on his toes in front of the door attaching something to the frame as I round the corner.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, shaking my head as I think I already know.
“I’m finishing up installing your security system.”
I look up and see a small motion activated camera tacked above the back door, and I roll my eyes. As much as I’m paranoid about this shit, I feel like this might be over the top. I’ve lived here for nearly ten years without incident, and without a security system.
“Maybe if you hadn’t taken my gun you wouldn’t have to do this,” I respond, leaving him to do whatever he feels he needs to do. But secretly I’m happy about it because maybe I won’t have to share a bed with Finn anymore.
“If you want your gun back you have to let me teach you how to use it correctly,” he calls back and laughs a little.
“Whatever, Ryan!” I yell back as I walk in the house and flop down on the couch.
I’m scrolling through my phone when Ryan walks back in five minutes later and announces that he’s done and ready to go.
“Ryan, seriously?” I ask, yawning, mentally and physically exhausted from this day, and now the thought of getting in the car and driving four hours just sucks.
“Yes, Erin. I told my parents I was coming and that you were coming with me. I’m not bailing now. Get your ass off the couch and in the car,” he says, giving me a look that says he’s prepared to toss my ass in the car if I don’t comply.
“Fine,” I say, giving in but not without pouting as we both get in the car, me slamming the door after I do.
My arms are crossed over my chest as Ryan starts the car and backs out of the driveway.
“Come on, babe,” he says. “My family is going to love you, so stop worrying about it being too early or whatever.” He reaches over and takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips, he presses a few kisses to my knuckles. “We’ve been together for six months, Erin.”
“No we haven’t,” I respond back, rolling my eyes.
“Yes we have,” Ryan argues back. “It’s been like six months since we fucked in the bathroom at the pub.”
“Oh my god, Ryan, you can’t count that as being together.”
“What? Yes we can. When would you say we got together then?”
Both of us are smiling as Ryan drives out of Rockport and toward the highway. He makes me happy, and this conversation is a nice reprieve from the usual bullshit.
“I don’t know, I guess. I never really thought about putting a timeline on it, but if we count the bathroom, it’s been at least six months,” I reply and Ryan nods his head, his smile growing larger.
“Best six months of my life.”
He’s so fucking cheesy at times, but I have to agree with him.
I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder, my arms wrapping around his arm as he guides the car onto the ramp for the highway. Despite the casualness of our conversation, I can’t help but notice the number of times Ryan checks the rearview mirror; his eyes flicking between the mirror and the windshield as he drives.
He’s checking to make sure we aren’t being followed, an act I’ve become familiar with, and something I noticed my father and Anthony do for as long as I can remember. I hate that I’ve now passed this on to Ryan, but I don’t want him to know that it worries me or that I feel responsible.
This visit to his family is important to him, even if it’s just to get us out of Rockport and away from what we are dealing with. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. I know something is up. Tires don’t just get slashed on a whim.
I want us both to enjoy this time with his family, despite my nervousness.
“Tell me about your family?” I say, wondering just what I’m getting myself into. I know it can’t be anything like what I grew up with, and I’m already nervous as hell to meet them.
“Ok, I’ll make you a deal,” Ryan says, looking over at me, smirk on his face, and he gives me a wink. “I’ll tell you about my family, but you have to tell me about yours.”
“No,” I say instantly without even giving it a second thought, but I know how selfish it sounds. It’s hard to share things with Ryan because I have no idea if I’m sharing it with my boyfriend or if I’m sharing it with a cop.
“Erin,” he says sternly. “I want to get to know you and getting to know you means knowing everything about you. I promise I won’t use anything you tell me in my investigation unless you tell me it’s okay.”
I give it a few seconds to sink in, letting it play out in my head. I have to trust Ryan, because without it our relationship is doomed.
“Okay, you’ve got a deal,” I say, pecking him on the cheek. “So I know you grew up in a small town in Maine and your family is fucking perfect and all that shit,” I joke with him. “But I don’t know much else.”
Ryan chuckles a little, giving me a look that says I’m being a shithead.
“Yeah, so I grew up in this small town in Maine, it’s in the middle of nowhere. When I was a kid I always wanted to move to Boston. I grew up watching the Red Sox with my whole family, and I constantly dreamed of one day moving to Boston and becoming a cop.” He shrugs his shoulders like it was just something that came naturally.
“When I turned eighteen, I left home and moved to Boston. In order to become a cop in Massachusetts, you have to live in the district you work in, so I got a job waiting tables at a high-end restaurant in Boston, enrolled in college studying criminal justice, and worked my ass off until I was old enough to apply to the police force.”
“What did your parents think of you leaving like that?” I ask, because I know mine could’ve cared less with the exception of the fact that I was taking the family secrets with me.
“I wasn’t the first so by then they were both like see ya later.” He laughs again and it’s makes my heart skip a beat. There is somethin
g so perfect, so calming about him.
“My two older sisters had left and gone to college by then. They were working and living on their own, semi-successful, so I guess my parents figured I’d end up the same way.”
“So you have sisters?” I ask, even though I know he has mentioned them before, but not in detail.
“Yep, three of them. Two are older than me and one is younger. Sarah is my youngest sister. You’ll totally get along with her. She’s a pain in the ass just like you.”
“Ryan,” I scoff, smacking him on the arm. “Stop it.”
“But seriously, you’ll like all of them. They’re cool. Kate’s my oldest sister; she’s married and lives in Portland, works as a nurse. Jenny’s in the middle; lives in Vermont and sells shit for some lab supply company. I like to give her shit that the products she sells are just used to make pancake syrup because who the fuck actually lives in Vermont besides people who make syrup?”
We both laugh and I can picture Ryan hassling his sister about her job and it makes me love him even more. I love that he has that kind of relationship with his family where they laugh and joke.
“Then there’s Sarah,” he says rolling his eyes. “She the youngest and probably the one I’m the closest to, but she’s a fucking piece of work.” He shakes his head, and pauses a second like he’s trying to figure out what to say about her. “She lived with me up until about five months ago, but she’s back in Eddington living with my parents and tending bar at this dive in town. She hates me.”
“What?” I question. “She hates you? You just said you guys are close.”
“I kicked her out because she couldn’t find a job and was doing fuck all in Boston. Basically I was supporting her because she couldn’t have possibly lived on her own with what she was making waitressing on the weekends.” He pauses for a second. “I felt like a real asshole for making her leave. I still do, but she needs to get her shit together. She has a fucking MBA and no job.”
“So she hates you because you made her move back home,” I say. “I get it. It would suck to be on your own and then back to living with your parents, especially in my case.” I give Ryan a little nudge and he smiles at me.
“See, a total pain in the ass just like you,” Ryan adds for a second time and it just solidifies how much he really does love me.
Chapter Seventeen
Ryan
Most of the ride ends up being spent with me telling Erin all about my family and my childhood, and it’s not until we’re an hour or so out that Erin changes the subject.
“So, do you want to tell me why we’re really going up to see your family?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
Erin shifts in her seat so she’s facing me. “Are we running away from something?”
I shoot her a quick look, trying to gauge what she’s really asking me. “Of course not,” I say. “Why would you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says. “The slashed tires, the constant checking of the rearview mirror for a tail,” she adds in a way that tells me she hasn’t missed a thing.
I let out an exhale. “You noticed huh?”
“Come on, Ryan,” she says. “I grew up in the mob, remember. This isn’t my first rodeo with this kind of shit.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I know,” I admit, wishing more than anything that all of this stuff was foreign to her. “And yes, my tires were slashed and it clearly wasn’t an accident,” I concede, grateful I haven’t told her about the note under my wiper or the other one in my mail box. “Checking the mirrors is just a reflex, babe, a habit of the job. Although all things considered, it’s not a bad habit to have at the moment.”
“So, we are hiding?” she asks.
“No,” I say carefully. “We’re using it as an opportunity to get away for a bit. I have a work thing up here anyway and I figured you could come along, meet my family and stuff.”
“What kind of work thing?” she asks, her tone serious.
I shake my head, wishing I could just magically make all of this shit disappear so that this really was nothing more than me taking the woman I love home to meet my parents. But it’s not, and I know that as long as this shitstorm is hanging over us, it’s never going to be normal.
“Well,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I need to speak to someone out at the State Prison.”
“What?” she half shouts. “Who? And when did this come up?”
I glance over, see she’s staring at me, a defiant look on her face as though she’s almost daring me to lie to her about this. “Earlier at work,” I explain. “When I was filling the boss in before you showed up.” I don’t want to tell her too much, for so many reasons, the least important of which is that I can’t.
“Who is it you’re speaking to?” she asks again.
I scrub a hand down my face in exhaustion. “Erin,” I say gently. “You know I can’t tell you that, babe.”
“Seriously?” she asks.
“Seriously, Red,” I say. “I promise one day, if I can, I’ll tell you, but for now I really can’t.”
“Why?” she asks quietly, sadness in her voice.
I reach for her hand, sliding my fingers into hers as I lift it to my mouth for a kiss. “Because for one thing, I don’t know if it’s going to turn into anything,” I tell her. “And for another, because I don’t want you unnecessarily exposed to this shit if it doesn’t.”
Erin lets out a loud huff, pulling her hand from my mine and crossing her arms over her chest as she turns away from me, eyes on the road in front of us now.
“Babe, please. I promised I’d tell you everything I could.”
“Whatever,” she mumbles, still not looking at me.
“Come on, Erin,” I say gently, reaching over and squeezing her thigh. “I need you to trust me on this one.”
I watch as she swallows hard, as though she’s trying not to let me see how much this pisses her off or upsets her. It breaks my heart that I can’t just be honest with her about it all, but keeping her safe is all I care about and when it comes to the mob, knowing too much, especially about the stuff you shouldn’t, is almost always a death sentence.
Erin continues to sit in silence, not looking at me. I keep my hand on her leg, giving her a few minutes to process what I’ve told her, hopeful she understands the reasons. Eventually though, I try and swing things back to her.
“So, babe,” I say gently as I run my hand up her thigh. “You think maybe you could start talking to me now?”
“I have been talking,” she says in a huff.
“Not about your family, you haven’t,” I say. “And a deal’s a deal, remember.”
“Yeah, but am I talking to Ryan, my boyfriend?” she asks, eyes still staring straight ahead. “Or am I talking to Ryan, the hot-shot Boston detective?”
I let out a short laugh. “Your boyfriend,” I confirm, smiling as she glances at me. “I promise.”
Erin says nothing for a few minutes as she repeatedly uncrosses and crosses her arms. I can tell she’s nervous and uncomfortable, but there’s no getting out of this anymore. Not with everything that’s happened.
“Babe,” I say, grabbing her hand in mine. “I promise this is not an interrogation, okay?” I add, kissing her knuckles. “And that this is just as weird and awkward for me too.”
“I doubt that,” she mumbles, even as she squeezes my hand in hers. “But fine,” she continues, exhaling loudly. “What do you want to know?”
“Well,” I say, glancing at her once more. “Tell me about where you’re from, originally I mean?”
Erin shoots me a look as though this isn’t what she expected me to ask and I offer her a quick smile of encouragement. “Atlanta,” she finally says. “It’s where I was born and raised.”
I nod, because I already knew this. “So what brought you to Rockport?” I ask. “Originally?” I add quickly, so she knows I’m referring to her summer va
cations as a kid.
Erin shifts in her seat, propping her feet up on the dash. “We used to holiday there regularly,” she says, not looking at me. “Mostly it was just me and my mother,” she adds. “Although my father came on the trips, he spent most of his time in Boston. At first I didn’t realize why, but as I got older, all of that became obvious,” she says and I can practically hear the eye roll as she recounts this.
“What do you mean?” I ask, letting go of her hand as I indicate and take the highway off-ramp.
Erin rests her arms on her knees. “It was just an excuse,” she says with bitterness. “An excuse to come up here so he could do business.”
“What kind of business?” I ask.
“Ugh,” she says. “An antique dealer. Can you believe it?”
I glance in her direction and this time I see the eye roll as though even she can’t believe how clichéd this all is. I offer a small smile and can’t stop the laugh as she rolls her eyes again before sticking her tongue out at me.
“I mean it’s like a Hollywood mob movie or something,” she says. “Like I grew up as a member of the Goodfella’s cast or some shit.”
“Well to be fair, babe,” I say. “That’s kinda cooler than The Godfather, don’t you think?”
“Whatever,” Erin says, punching me in the shoulder. I can tell she’s only teasing though and the laugh that comes from her mouth as she shakes her head and continues only confirms that. “It was all so ridiculous,” she says. “Like he somehow expected me to believe we came to Boston, or Rockport, six or seven times a year because he was looking for expensive pieces of furniture or art to sell to all his rich, corrupt friends down south. I mean, please.”
This time it’s me laughing. “So, what happened?” I ask, “You confront him about it or something?”
Erin blows out a long breath, dropping her feet from dash as she shifts in her seat. “No,” she says tentatively. “Not at first anyway.”