by CE Ricci
No. Rain wouldn’t lie to me when he said he hadn’t seen Roman in years. He wouldn’t lie to me anymore.
Shaking the thoughts running rampant through my overactive mind, I start looking through albums that are a bit older. High school aged ones. Ones I might find more insight into his relationship with Rain from.
Still, for a while, I find nothing except tons of photos of Roman and Siena.
Just as I’m starting to get discouraged, I find one.
I almost flip past it because it’s a photo of a photo, and he’s only tagged in it. It’s some sort of magazine photo. In it, I see Roman. Dressed in a suit, because of fucking course, with his arms wrapped around a man who looks very much the older version of Roman. Same brown hair, just cropped closer to his head, and same dark greenish hazel color eyes. He must clearly be Roman’s father. But here’s the thing.
He’s not Ted Anders.
Okay…so Roman isn’t the son of that fucking rapist. Good to know. Guess I have that piece of the puzzle figured out.
But then, when I arrow over for the next photo, all the puzzle pieces start snapping into place like magic.
Because in the image, another photo of a photo, has four men in it. From left to right is Roman’s father and then Roman himself. And beside Roman, it’s him.
Rain.
Younger Rain, that is. But it’s still Rain in, you guessed it, a suit.
I’ve seen Rain in a suit countless times, but I can tell this one is easily worth thousands of dollars more in comparison. And fuck, he looks sexy, even as teenager, probably about sixteen.
But the fourth man…the sight of him shoots ice through my veins.
Ted fucking Anders.
I feel my blood pressure rise as I take in the four of them, Roman and Rain between the two older men. If I didn’t know Roman was next his father, I’d think the two of them just happened upon the two Pennsylvania Senators at the same charity gala or whatthefuckever event function they were at.
But that is Roman’s father.
So that begs the question…why are they taking a photo with Ted and not only the three of them? Why would Roman’s father be introducing them to the other Senator, as if they would care who he is at sixteen years old?
And why the fuck is Ted fucking Anders slinging his arm over Rain’s shoulder like it’s his God given right?
My eyes scan the photo over and over again, searching for some kind of fucking clue as to what the hell is going on inside of it, but I come up short. The photo itself is more grainy than the first of just Roman and his dad, and when I zoom in to check the caption, it’s a blurred, pixelated mess. Looking at Facebook caption, I see it’s a photo from an annual charity gala in Philadelphia.
Doing fast math in my head, I pull up Google and type in the name of the gala along with the estimated year and then Ted Anders, hoping like hell to find a digital version of the magazine the image from Facebook was on.
And luck is on my side, because halfway down the page, I find the image again.
But my luck runs out when the caption stares me straight in the face.
Nausea rolls over me as I reread it ten, twenty, eighty fucking times, hoping to find a different result.
But it’s still there in black and white.
Pulling up a new tab, I simply Google search Ted Anders and instantly news articles and video clips of broadcasts pop up in reference to his recent legal troubles. Thumbing over a video, I click play and listen to a broadcast from only a few hours ago.
I listen intently to the anchorwoman goes over every aspect of the case the FBI has released to the public, doing my very best not to lose my breakfast at the graphic picture she’s depicting. Covering my mouth with my hand, I fight the overwhelming nausea.
Praying this is some kind of mistake.
But in my gut, I know.
This is really happening.
Oh, my fucking God.
Being back in Boulder means things are going back to normal. Well, at least as normal as they can be now that River and I are…hell. I don't know.
I don’t know where things between us stand. I don’t know where I want them to go. I don’t know if what I’m feeling for him is actually love, the real fucking thing, or something my mind has latched onto in some weird Stockholm Syndrome type deal from being thrown together for over a month with no one else around.
I just don’t know.
That’s why my ass is walking into the waiting room to Dr. Fulton’s office not more than an hour after Coach dropped me off at my apartment. This appointment was already set before I left for the cabin, but for the first time, I’m extremely glad to come in and have her help me unpack the shit that plagues my mind.
I walk up to the receptionist, Joan, to check in like normal, and when her eyes snap up to me and widen before she scrambles out of her seat.
“Ciaráin, you’re here. Perfect,” she says quickly, “Doctor Fulton had a cancellation before you, so you’re free to go back right away. I’ll let her know you’re on your way.” Her tone is filled with anxiety and unease as she glances around the waiting room to the other patients waiting to see their own psychiatrist or therapist. No one seems to be paying us any attention, but her agitated state sets me on edge.
What the hell?
“Thanks, Joan,” I remark, slipping through the door to the hallway holding each individual office. Nothing seems out of place save for Joan’s apprehension of…what, I’m not sure.
Stopping outside Doctor Fulton’s door, I knock twice before twisting the handle and letting myself in. She’s sitting in the same chair she always is when I come for my appointments, and when her head snaps up, she gives me the same warm and welcoming smile as always. The one that lets me know I can trust her.
And for some reason, as foolish as it might be, I do.
“Ciaráin, hi. Why don’t you get seated so we can start right away?” she says in greeting. I fold myself onto the couch across from her, resting my arms on my knees and looking at her. She seems to be acting normal, unlike Joan, but it’s the words that come next that set me on edge. “I’m so glad you decided to come in today with everything going on.”
Immediately, I tense, my mind flying to everything that happened up in the cabin with River. How does she know?
“What do you mean?”
“Everything with your stepfather.”
I roll my eyes, partially at the fact that she’s bringing up my stepfather, but mostly at myself and my paranoia. Of course she was talking about him, not me and River. “What has he done now? Last I heard, they can’t find a way to put him away for anything yet.”
She gives me a puzzled look. “Have you not been keeping up with the news while you were on your trip?”
Nope, no news here. Just lots of very dirty sex with my very male quarterback.
I let out a dry laugh. “I was trapped in a cabin in the mountains for five weeks with the only form of television coming from Netflix and Hulu. Safe to say the nightly news wasn’t on my list of activities.”
Doctor Fulton visibly pales and she goes rigid in her seat and instantly I know something is really fucking wrong. The way she’s looking at me right now, the way Joan acted in the waiting area.
What have you done now, you bastard?
“Tell me,” I demand, my fists clenching tight enough I feel my nails digging into my palms. She winces slightly at my tone, then meets my eyes, hers filled with understanding and maybe even fear. “Doctor Fulton—” I start again.
“Please, Ciaráin, call me Erica,” she cuts me off, rising and grabbing the laptop from her desk. “Our relationship is about to become a lot less professional once I show you this.” Returning to her seat, she opens it and starts typing.
What in the ever loving…?
Jesus, did he go and get himself killed? She should know from my file that his death would be the least of my concern and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever be caught mourning his depraved ass in my life.
&
nbsp; So what could it be?
Not until she hands the laptop over to me, showing me a video news clip from a few hours ago of a woman anchor, the same I’ve seen covering my stepfather a thousand times, sitting at a news desk. Swallowing hard, I glimpse at the headline before hitting play and see…my name.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
“New information has been brought to light in regards to the ongoing investigation into Senator Theodore Anders’ child molestation allegations. It’s been revealed by a credible source in contact with the FBI that the child in question, Ciaráin Patrick Grady, now age twenty-one, is none other than the stepson of the senator himself.
“Ciaráin’s testimony against the horrid and appalling acts Senator Anders forced upon him for five years, starting at the age of nine, while not suitable to share on air, have strengthened the FBI’s case against Anders. The recordings provided enough evidence for an arrest warrant, allowing Anders to be brought into custody for questioning. According to a spokesperson for the Bureau, the senator was formally accused with a third degree statutory rape charge, which can carry a prison sentence of up to seven years and up fifteen thousand dollars in fines, along with other minor charges. Anders' bail was set at one million dollars, which was posted, and he was released less than forty-eight hours later.
“In regards to the stepson, Ciaráin Grady has not been seen or heard from in over a month. He was last seen at his college campus in Boulder, Colorado on the eighth of December. There is cause for speculation amongst the Bureau that the circumstances behind his disappearance could potentially be related to the charges brought against Senator Anders, stating kidnapping, foul play, or aggravated assault are not out of the question.”
There’s still easily another minute of the news clip, but my mind is spinning faster than a fucking tilt-a-whirl, so I snap the laptop shut. Not meeting her eyes, I hand back the device to Dr. Fulton.
“Ciaráin—” she starts after a drawn out silence, but I fucking snap.
“Who do you work for?”
She pauses, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“You fucking heard me,” I seethe, pushing off my knees into a standing position. My feet drag my body back and forth across the length of her office. “Who the fuck do you work for? I know it’s my mother who pays you, so what? Do you feed all the information I’ve given you back to her and Senator Ted fucking Anders? Help them build a case against me, calling me mentally unstable or whatever else bullshit they’ll try to use to sway a jury in his favor.”
She winces at my words. “No, I can promise you I am not under your stepfather’s employ. He has no idea you’re even seeing another therapist. Your mother made sure of that.” Erica’s blue eyes rise to meet my manic ones, sorrow circling in them. “I work for your mother and only your mother.”
My brows furrow. “What does that even mean?”
Sighing, she brushes back her hair, tucking it neatly behind her ear. As if it were even out of place in the first place. “It means you aren’t completely off-base when you asked if I was relaying our sessions back to your mother. I absolutely am.”
At those words, I see red. I’m in her face, my nose an inch from hers, when I spit the words out at her. “And you expect me to believe she didn’t tell Ted every. Goddamn. Word? Are you fucking stupid?”
“No, she wouldn’t—”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Of course she would. Or don’t you know? I told her what he did to me. When I was thirteen years old, I told her how he would bend me over and shove his cock so far up my ass I thought it might rupture my spleen. I told her he would force me to my knees and stick his dick down my throat, making me choke on it until he came.”
Stepping back, I scoff at the broken look on her face. She doesn’t get to be broken, not when I’m the one who went through hell. Continuing through clenched teeth, I hiss the words out. “So I went to someone else, someone I thought I could trust. And told my story. All of it. How he would hurt me. Abuse me. Fucking rape me when she was sleeping right down the hall. How she refused to listen, to do anything about it.”
Tears start streaming down her face and bile rises in my throat. Fuck her.
“But then? When I thought I could trust that person, the one I spilled my damn guts to for years? I found out the piece of shit turned around and betrayed me. Every single word, every emotion, every inner thought I shared was recorded and taken back to my mother and Ted. They knew everything I had to say.”
And it’s true. Every fucking word I told my therapist was never kept private like it should have been. They never should have been recorded in the first place, but Ted has friends in high places.
Apparently high enough to bribe a fucking doctor who took a Hippocratic oath to break it for sweet payout.
“And now? Those goddamn tapes have been leaked to the FBI. Hell, probably to the media too. Every word I said in private, every private thought and every intimate detail of what he did to me are all out there for the fucking world to hear. So, now when I walk onto the football field or into class or the grocery store, they’ll see me. Recognize me as the kid who was raped and abused by his high powered stepfather. And their reaction? Fuck, it’ll be disgust or fucking pity. And I don’t have it in me to unpack which of those would be worse.”
Honestly, I could handle the disgust. It’s pity I can’t stand. The look in their eyes that says I’m so sorry or that poor guy when all I fucking want is to move on, to find myself, to become something, anything, other than what Ted is.
But I am a product of my environment. I’ve proven as much.
“And the worst part of it all?” I shake my head, the irony knocking me on my ass. “The worst part is I’m just fucking like him. I took from someone what wasn’t mine to take. I forced myself on someone who didn’t deserve my anger and resentment simply because he was secure in who he is as a person. The only difference is instead of using and abusing him like he was a worthless piece of trash before shutting him up with a nice pay out for the liability, I fucking fell in love with him.”
I fell in love with River in that cabin. It was never supposed to happen. Or maybe it was, I was too blind or stupid or arrogant to see the immediate chemistry I felt with him was life slapping me in the face saying get your head out of your ass, Rain. We made this one just for you.
And he is. Made for me, that is.
I’m not certain of anything else in my life at the moment except for that. River Lennox was put on this Earth to be mine and mine alone. Once this shit with Ted is all sorted out, I’m going to make sure he damn well knows it.
“Listen to me, Ciaráin,” Doctor Fulton breaks through my tangent. “You mother has no intention of letting your stepfather know about the things we have discussed. She was only hoping to get more insight seeing as…” she trails off, her throat visibly straining to swallow. “He is still doing it.”
Ice licks at my flesh. “What?”
“Your mother. She…she walked in on the act. He had brought home another boy. A mere child. From her words, he couldn’t have been more than thirteen. The same age as you when…”
She doesn’t finish her thought. She doesn’t need to, though. I know where it was going.
The same age I was when I tried to tell her what he was doing to me.
“So all those months ago, when everything started surfacing…”
“That was your mother’s doing, Ciaráin. Well, partially.” Doctor Fulton lets out a long sigh, rubbing her temple while I stand frozen in place, gaping at her.
I bite my tongue because Jesus Christ, I want to bite her head off some more, fully knowing it won’t get me anywhere. “Start from the beginning. Leave nothing out,” I demand, once I manage to reign in my temper…slightly.
Licking her lips twice, she inhales sharply before meeting my penetrating gaze. “A few months ago, when the news first got wind of a scandal with Ted, it wasn’t because of the tapes.” My brows shoot up in surprise, fingers gripping the back of the chai
r before me painfully hard. “There was an investigation into your old therapist. For bribery, breaking her Hippocratic oath, they were even looking into racketeering. When the FBI raided her office in search of information on someone they thought to be part of a drug and sex-trafficking ring, they confiscated all of her files. Including yours.
“Of course, you and I both know what the folder contains. More than enough to build a plausible case against Ted. The only thing they were missing were…”
“The tapes,” I finish for her, remembering the day Ted had shown them to me in his office, locked in the safe while my mother stood idly by. Not doing a damn thing.
She nods. “Your file references them often enough that the FBI knew they were missing a key piece of the puzzle. But the issue was, they combed the office for days in search, thinking Ted was somehow involved in the ring they originally were trying to take down.”
My head shakes of its own accord, disbelief flowing through me. “Okay, but that was months ago. Why is shit hitting the fan right now?”
“Because of those tapes. The FBI never actually had them until recently, only alluding to their importance to the case. It’s why they hadn’t given your name to the public, they weren’t sure what evidence they contained against Ted, only that they could be the nail in his coffin. I don’t know why they went that route, letting the public think they were in evidence, but I can guess it was to get whoever had them a reason to turn them over.
“All I know is your mother, she listened to them, once your file was taken in as evidence. All of them. When she found Ted in that…precarious…position with that boy, she couldn’t turn a blind eye any longer. And so she turned them into the FBI. She realized she was wrong not to listen to you all those years ago when you came to her, speaking your truth, only to ignore it entirely.”
My stomach flips when the realization hits me like a freight train.
All of this mess, me having to leave Clemson, the FBI, the arrest and trial, the newscasts…it’s all because my mother, my fucking mother decided to finally be something other than a society slut hopped up on pills.