by K. Ryan
I wouldn't expect Jack Flynn to understand.
So, here we sit, side by side as we wait for our turn to enter the visitation room. What a convoluted, unhappy pair we make.
Soon enough, though, a guard motions for us and I stand up from that squeaky chair on shaky legs. For the first time since he sat down, I let myself take one good look and I have to do a double-take at what I find. His bottom lip is split open, purple bruising is dotted around his right eye, and there's a jagged, nasty slash right across his cheek. I guess I shouldn't be surprised—after all, it's Sunday and he probably fought Friday and Saturday, but seeing the aftermath firsthand is jarring.
Maybe he never loses, but he sure takes a few hits doing it.
Why am I spending any time thinking about this jerk? I've got bigger things to worry about, namely the fact that I'm crossing the threshold into the visitation room.
There's no going back now. No place I can run and hide. That's the thing about the truth—sooner or later, you have to look it in the eye.
My heart thuds in a staccato rhythm as I drop into yet another chair, but this time, Jack and I are sitting at a table surrounded by other tables filled with people doing the exact same thing we are. My ribs coil in my chest, squeezing so tightly I think it might combust altogether. There's no point in even trying to breathe because my lungs have closed for business. Every synapse fills with electricity, boiling over and making my legs twitch underneath the table.
And when our visitor arrives, I think I feel it before I see it. Even beaten down by years spent in prison, Sean Callahan shares the same easy, confident swagger as his brothers. His light brown hair is buzzed close to his head and his physique falls somewhere in between Jack's hulking mass and Brennan's definition. But it's his eyes that I can't look away from. It's his eyes, the same ones I remember seeing so clearly, that haunt me.
Blue eyes. Light and crisp, but there's no ice to be found in them. Instead, they soften when he spots our table and his lips curve into a faint smile I just can't reconcile.
I don't know what I expected, but it definitely wasn't this.
Jack pushes up to his feet as his brother approaches and I helplessly follow his lead, rubbing my hands against my jeans because I just don't know what else to do with them. They embrace and release each other just as quickly, each brother taking their respective sides on the table while I stand by like an idiot.
Now Sean turns his searing blue gaze on me and gestures to the chair next to Jack. "Why don't you have a seat?"
I've spent the last two weeks imagining this moment—what I would say, how he might respond, what could happen afterward...and now that it's here, I freeze. I'm standing here in front of this man, this handsome, good-natured, and generous man, and I've stolen his life. He was 22 when I sent him to prison and he'll be lucky if he can put together a normal life by the time he gets out. The orange jumpsuit, the weathered, old-beyond-his-years features, the heaviness surrounding him...I did all of that.
My legs give out on me and somehow, I fall into the chair beside Jack. He shifts next to me, trying to put as much space between us as possible and that's fine. Jack is the least of my problems right now and that's really saying something.
Sean folds his hands on the table and leans forward. "I wasn't sure if you'd actually make it here."
I suck in a deep breath and tears sting my eyes. My lips want to part, but I can't make it happen. Finally, my voice reappears right along with my courage.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
That's the best I can manage. It's terrible and it's not enough, but what do you say when you owe such a heavy debt, the kind that can never be repaid?
Sean nods and shoots me a brief, weak smile before his eyes shift to the table in front of us. An awkward silence rests over the table until I let myself sneak a glance at Jack. He's leaning away with one hand resting on the table, his forehead lined with confusion and disbelief, and his gaze is trained on his brother. I know exactly what he's thinking: why isn't Sean dripping with hatred like he is? Why isn't Sean yelling, screaming, or tossing over the table? Why isn't Sean shaking with fury that I'd even have the nerve to show up here?
I'm wondering that myself.
Jack spares me a hard glance and then tips his chin to his brother. "What are we doin', Sean? Why is she here? I've been trying to make sense of all this, but this is just mad crazy."
Somehow, I inhale long enough to take the first good breath I've managed since I walked in this room. Sean's eyes drift up to Jack, who's gone stiff next to me, before they finally rest firmly on me again.
"She's here because she wants to be," Sean tells us simply. "It's not that complicated."
I want to laugh, but I'm too scared it's just going to come out like a croak. All I need is one more deep breath and I charge forward. "I really appreciate you agreeing to this. You didn't have to, but I'm glad you did. Thank you."
Sean's eyes soften and his Adam's apple bobs a few times before he speaks again. "You're welcome."
Jack grunts from his chair and his eyes dart between me and his brother. We might as well have just stepped into a time warp. That's the only thing that really makes sense.
"I wanted to see you," I start a little too shakily, "because I needed to tell you how sorry I am for..."
Words fail me for a moment and Sean nods across from me, somehow encouraging me to continue.
"I know you didn't hurt me."
I hadn't expected the catharsis to feel this...freeing. The weight has lifted and tears flood my eyes, but they stay right where they are. I can cry when I get home, when I'm by myself and have the time to really digest the turn my life has taken over these last few weeks. Until then, I need to be strong. That's the only way I'll survive this.
"I told the cops it was you because..."
God, where's that backbone? That courage? I need it now, but it's nowhere to be found.
"I know why you did it," Sean murmurs softly and his hands clench together in front of him. "I get it."
That lights a fire under Jack and he leans forward, sliding a hand across the table as his head dips between his shoulders in disbelief. "You get it? What the hell—"
"Calm down, Jack," Sean chides in a clipped tone.
Jack rises up from his seat in a menacing half-sitting, half-crouching stance that has me leaning as far away from this situation as possible. "Calm down? You expect me to calm down when you're just sitting here talking to her like nothing happened? Like she didn't—"
"Do you wanna get yourself kicked outta here? You know what that means—they won't let you come back."
Sean might as well have thrown ice water on him because he rears back and drops into his chair with a heavy sigh.
"Now," Sean lifts a hand toward me. "Yah came here to talk, so let's talk."
I blow out another unsteady breath and grab this olive branch with both hands. "I wanted to tell you I should've done this years ago. I never should've listened to my dad and I don't want to waste the time we have today with the details, but my relationship with my dad is...complicated, to say the least. When I was in the hospital, he was being so nice, so much like a father and I'm sure you don't care, but that's pretty much the first and only time I've ever felt that with him."
Sean's jaw clenches and he looks down at his hands.
"I wanted to believe he wouldn't lie to me. I wanted to believe he actually cared enough to just want justice for me and nothing else. It was naive to think someone like him would have any other agenda but his own. I'll never forgive myself for trusting him...and at the end of the day, I was the one who held all the power though, didn't I? I could've stopped it and I didn't. I'm so sorry. I'll never be able to say that enough."
There are a few moments in between my last words and Sean's next movement. Finally, he scrubs his face with both hands and glances at his brother, who still hasn't moved in his chair. Sean swallows hard and when his lips curl up yet again in that weak, defeated grin, I don't understan
d why.
"Alright," Sean nods. "Fair enough. We still have time left, so let's talk. You were in school in Philly—did yah graduate? What are yah doing now?"
I blink back at him in shock. What? That was what he wanted to talk about? Both Jack and I glance at each other at the exact same time in stunned disbelief. When my eyes find Sean again, he just lifts a shoulder.
That isn't what I came here to do, so I lean forward, acutely aware that Jack mirrors my stance with all that animosity wafting off him in waves. He can take his hate and shove it.
"Sean," I tell him, my voice shaking with urgency now and I ignore the way Jack shoots daggers at me just for having his brother's name on my lips. "I don't want to talk about that right now. I want to talk about getting you out of here."
Everything about him hardens. His blue eyes turn into shards of ice. His jaw clenches. His knuckles turn white.
"We're not talking about that," Sean informs us firmly.
Once again, I just don't understand what I'm hearing. "Why not?"
Sean casts a quick glance over his shoulder at the guard standing at the visitation room's entrance and when he looks at us again, Jack leans forward now with those same frustrated lines creasing his forehead.
"Yeah, Sean. Why not?"
Sean shoots his brother an exasperated glance and shakes his head. "I've got three years until I'm up for parole. Let's just leave it at that."
"What?" Jack practically sputters.
He just lifts a shoulder. Like staying in prison is no big deal. Like he's completely fine with the hand he's been dealt.
"Why were you there that night?" I press forward. "Did you see anything?"
Again, Sean just lifts a shoulder.
I shake my head and tug a hand through my hair in blind frustration. "Why did you plead guilty?"
Sean stares back at me with a blank expression and it's then that I realize Jack is practically sliding off his chair to lean across the table as much as he can. Even Jack doesn't know the answers to those questions and that particular knowledge doesn't exactly give me high hopes for all the questions that will follow.
"It doesn't matter," Sean reaffirms finally and then he leans back in his chair to tell us that's the end of this discussion.
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Jack practically barks. "How could it not matter? What if you could get out, Sean? What if there's a way—"
"Leave it alone," Sean cuts in abruptly and his eyes shift back and forth from us to make sure his message is crystal clear. "Don't go digging around, okay? Just...don't."
With that, he glances up at the clock over our heads and pushes out of his seat.
"We still have some time," he tells us. "But I think we should probably call it a day, don't you? Look, Raena—"
"Rae," I correct him hoarsely.
His features soften and he flashes me a faint smile. "Look, Rae, you're welcome to come back. I won't take you off my visitors list, okay? But we're not talking about this and we won't talk about it if you decide to come back here again."
I nod numbly. I don't mean it, but the least I can do is tell him what he needs to hear, even if I can't find the words to actually say it out loud. He gives me one last nod, waves goodbye to both of us, and then turns around to head back the way he came. Back to prison. Back to the hell I sentenced him to.
It's not until I'm speed-walking through the parking lot that the tears finally come. The whole thing was better and worse than I expected and I don't know how I'll even begin to recover from it. I know what I have to do now; I just don't know where to start. Light footsteps echo behind me and I think I hear someone calling my name.
"Rae?"
I turn on my heel to find Jack jogging after me and my eyes roll up to the clear afternoon sky. I just don't have the time or the energy to deal with his shit right now.
"Leave me alone," I call over my shoulder, but a strong hand grips my elbow to pull me back. I jerk my arm away from his touch and Jack's hands immediately shoot up in defense. "Don't touch me."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, alright?"
He almost seems genuinely apologetic and for a moment, I almost fall for it. And then I remember...what did he say? Oh right. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. The feeling is officially mutual because there isn't anything he'll ever say or do to convince me otherwise.
"I just..." he trails off and shakes his head. "I just don't understand what happened back there."
"You and me both," I mutter.
Jack stares at me for a long moment, his forehead creased into a deep frown, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do. He chews on his bottom lip in thought as his eyes bore a hole into the pavement at our feet and I'm itching to run. Itching to punch him. Itching to...I don't know. Do something for once in my life.
"Are you still going to try to find out who it was?"
It's as good a question as any and I think I know my answer before he even finishes speaking. I can at least try, can't I? I have to try. I have to find out who really attacked me that night and why. I have to get an innocent man out of prison. Whatever I have to do, whatever road I have to go down, I have to try.
"Yes."
He nods like he'd already expected that. "Alright. So I guess we need to start looking at your dad—"
"We aren't doing anything," I snap. "I don't need your help."
He frowns back at me like I've just sprouted a second head. "Yes, you do. You said so yourself."
"Forget what I said."
"Maybe I can," he shrugs. "But you shouldn't. You're gonna have to talk to the right people and get into the right places to find what you're lookin' for. You need me to help you do that and you know it."
Maybe, but I can barely stand the sight of him, let alone even consider letting him ride my coattails.
"Oh, so now you suddenly want to help me?" I don't wait for him to respond. "I thought I was nothing but a liar and a coward."
He says nothing because he knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on.
"I can do it without you," I push out through clenched teeth. "It might take longer, but I don't need your help and I don't want it either."
"This is my brother we're talking about," he narrows his eyes at me and dares a step closer. "You're not gonna go around, asking questions and digging for answers without me standing next to you. It just isn't happening."
Because he thinks I need supervision. He thinks I'm just going to make an even bigger mess out of this than I already have.
"I don't want to see you ever again," I murmur as I backpedal toward my car.
I don't look over my shoulder again when I slide into the driver's seat. There's no time for that now. I have answers to find and a name to clear.
CHAPTER SIX
Rae
"Put it in the little hole," Bennett whispers and he follows that up with a snide snicker. "That's what she said—or he said."
"Shut up," I wave him off, focusing all my concentration on the door handle. "You're distracting me. You're supposed to be my lookout, remember?"
His hands fly up in the air and finally, he gets to work, darting his eyes around the hallway to make sure we're in the clear. Now that I've got some quiet, my bobby pin finds the lock again and my thumb bends the metal into a tight loop just like the Wikihow instructions taught me. After some maneuvering and gentle persuasion, my pick lifts the right pins into the right grooves and I hear that telltale click.
"I can't believe this," Bennett mutters under his breath. "Who are you?"
My fist pumps victoriously and I flash him a grin when I open the door to my dad's home office.
"You know, Clamato," Bennett whispers a little too loudly as he leaves the door open a crack behind him. "I'm all for digging up dirt on your dad, but this feels kinda dangerous. Just sayin'."
I cast him a quick glance over my shoulder and shrug. "So leave."
"Oooo," he purrs and bites down on his bottom lip to hide a little
of that cheshire grin. "Sassy. I like it. This is good, you know. I feel like you got your balls back."
"Did I ever really have them to begin with?" I lift an eyebrow at him.
Bennett taps his chin and his eyes lift to the ceiling in thought. "Sure you did, but this take-no-prisoners, gotta-find-answers version of you is new. And I love it. But, to be fair, when I said you needed to take risks and have an adventure, I didn't exactly have this," he gestures around the room, "in mind."
"Yeah, well," I shrug and shift my attention back to the matter at hand. "Beggars can't be choosers, Benn."
Bennett's right, of course. This is pretty freaking dangerous in a lot of ways. As soon as I brought him up to speed and he actually listened, unlike he-who-shall-not-be-named, he had no qualms about getting his hands dirty right along with me. I think he just didn't anticipate how far I'm willing to go to find what I'm looking for.
I've always known my dad locked his office. Even when I was a kid and blissfully unaware that I'd never get what I wanted from him, I'd knock naively on the door and turn the knob, hoping he'd let me in for once. It never happened. But now, I see this situation in an emotionless, but necessary lens: nobody locks a door if they nothing to hide behind it.
It's a little unsettling that it was this easy to get inside his office—a guy like my dad probably should have all the latest security technology available to man, starting with some kind of fingerprint ID on the door. But he doesn't. That says as much about my dad as anything else I know about him.
He's old-fashioned, sure, but arrogant as hell. Who would be stupid enough to break into the mayor's home office, let alone snoop around in there? In his mind, all his needs is his status, his power, his intimidation, and a locked door to hide his dirty secrets.
As I survey the space, it's pretty much exactly what I would've expected. Immaculate. Dark, polished furniture. Not a paper out of place. Two French doors serve as the only real windows in the room, which lead out to an elegant little terrace where my dad goes out to 'think' sometimes. I only know this because cigar smoke used to waft through my bedroom window in the summer—it's one of the only peaceful memories I have of my childhood that revolves around him.