by Aiden Bates
Murderer. Anthony had to repeat the word a few times in his head before he could make sense of it. Sure, Ryan could be intense, but a murderer? He couldn’t quite believe that. Then again, Peter was Ryan’s husband. Surely he knew better than Anthony, who hadn’t even known Ryan was married.
He lowered his gaze. What was he supposed to make of any of this? And why would Peter tell him any of this?
His gaze fell into the pregnancy test he’d left on the coffee table, abandoned in shock. The word PREGNANT still flashed up at him. Peter would have seen it too.
That meant Peter knew. Anthony was still processing, but Peter knew Anthony was pregnant. Knew Anthony was carrying Peter’s husband’s baby.
The baby of a murderer.
Anthony tried to push the word out of his head. He couldn’t make himself believe it. Those hands that had brought him such peace and joy couldn’t have committed willful murder, could they? Ryan had always been so solicitous of his comfort, his safety, his needs.
Jamie’s words came back to him from before. Look, Ryan’s got anger issues. He’s full of anger issues. He can’t control them.
All kinds of things could happen in the heat of the moment. Of course, the heat of the moment would be manslaughter, not murder. Right?
Anthony wasn’t a lawyer, he couldn’t be sure, but he was pretty sure the law made a distinction. And Peter, who certainly had a vested interest here, had called it murder.
He’s not like that. He’s — he’s got a good heart, really. That had been Tommy. Anthony didn’t know if he should take the word of a guy who hadn’t been able to stand up straight since the day Anthony moved to town, but he’d been adamant that Jamie had the wrong idea.
He’s a murderer. Anthony pressed a hand over his flat abdomen. Consider your options. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now.
12
Ryan slid out from underneath the beaten up old red pickup truck and hoisted himself to his feet. The old heap had crapped out on a back road in the desert, and Ryan’s garage had been the first one the tow truck got to. Fixing it hadn’t been cheap, but it had cost less than replacing the truck would have, and the owner had an emotional attachment to the thing, anyway. With any luck, it would last the old man and his sons a good long time.
Tyson, Ryan’s first (and so far, only) employee wandered up to him. “It’s six o’clock, boss. I was supposed to clock out at five.” He wiped a hand across his freckled forehead, leaving a streak of grease.
Ryan grimaced. “Well, we’re making enough right now to cover the overtime pay, but your wife is going to be pissed, man.”
They were definitely making enough to cover overtime at the moment, overtime and then some. Ryan didn’t want to get into the habit of that kind of thing, because his employees deserved to have a life, but he was proud that they could cover it. Most small businesses weren’t profitable within a month of starting out.
“She will, sir. But she’ll get over it.” Tyson gave him a tiny, shy smile. He was an ex-con like Ryan, but he’d gone in for drug charges. Ryan strongly preferred to hire guys from the system, who usually couldn’t get a second glance from other businesses. So far, Tyson hadn’t disappointed.
Ryan passed Tyson twenty bucks. “Pick up something for dinner on me. Maybe that’ll help smooth things over.”
Tyson stood up a little straighter. “Thanks, boss! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
“Absolutely. See you, Tyson. Say hi to the kiddos for me.”
Client work was done for the night, but Ryan had plenty to do around the garage. He could clean tools, or clean the floor. He could spruce up the waiting area, too; Lord knew it needed it, with magazines all over the place and the trash can overflowing with coffee cups.
The only problem with running a business that had taken off so well was that all of the non-client work piled up fast, and there wasn’t anyone else to do it. Maybe he could take on an intern from the high school or something?
It was a good problem to have, at least for Ryan. It kept his mind off of Anthony.
Jesus Christ, Ryan was a fool. He’d wasted so much time pushing Anthony away, and hadn’t appreciated him at all while he’d had him. In fact, Ryan hadn’t fully realized how much he wanted Anthony in his life until he was out of it. He’d barely started to accept his desire for Anthony at all before everything exploded.
He’d spent most of his life, even before prison, trying to minimize his ties. No relationships, no commitments, no drama. Prison had just exacerbated it.
He didn’t want to tie anyone to him and the mess that was his life, even now. For fuck’s sake, if his own mother wished he was dead, he had no business trying to drag anyone into the gutter with him. Antony certainly deserved better than anything Ryan could offer him.
For the most part, the rest of humanity had been content to take a giant step back. It was like Ryan put out danger pheromones, or something. Ryan didn’t want them to get too close, and they didn’t want to know any more than that.
Anthony, though — Anthony knew about Ryan’s trip to prison. Anthony found out about Ryan’s time there, and he didn’t run. He stayed.
They’d made love. Ryan had been pushing Anthony away because he didn’t think anyone deserved to get caught up in his shit. As things turned out, it hadn’t been Ryan’s decision to make. Ryan had laid it all out on the table for Anthony to examine, and to decide if Ryan was worth pushing for.
Ryan punched the wall as he mopped the floor. He hadn’t laid anything out, not really. Okay, fine, he’d admitted he’d been to prison. Huzzah.
He hadn’t told Anthony why he’d gone to prison. He hadn’t explained the circumstances leading up to his incarceration. And he hadn’t told Anthony about his idiotic marriage, either.
His fucking husband, who couldn’t take subtle hints like stay away from me. Ryan shook his head and punched the wall again. Peter kept showing up at the apartment, or at the shop.
What did he honestly think was going to happen? Did he think Ryan was going to say, Oh, fabulous, now that you’ve scared away the only man I’m ever going to want or love, I’d be thrilled for us to shack up together; just move your things right into my one bedroom. I’d be thrilled to make room for your fifty two bottles of hair product in my two square foot bathroom!
More likely, Peter didn’t give a crap about moving in together. Ryan wasn’t the kind of guy people moved heaven and earth to be with. Even Anthony had finally taken the hint. No, Peter was almost certainly here for Ryan’s money.
Ryan had to laugh at that. He couldn’t help it. If Peter thought Ryan had some kind of fortune to go after, then Peter deserved what he got. Even if Peter somehow convinced a judge to give him all of Ryan’s assets, he would wind up with nothing but a rented garage.
Peter had gone and saddled himself with a husband to get at the Roscoe money, but he’d settled on the one Roscoe who’d been cut off from it before they’d met, and who hadn’t wanted much to do with it even before that.
The sound of a car — a BMW engine, he’d recognize that anywhere — startled Ryan out of his musing. He picked his head up to see Jamie slamming his car door and storming into the garage.
His eyes were flinty and narrow, and his face had too many lines for someone so young. More lines than the last time Ryan had seen him, too. Something must have happened, and no matter what it had been, someone somewhere would have found a way to blame Ryan.
Jamie threw his gaze around the garage for a second. Then he jerked his thumb at the Beemer. “Get in.”
Ryan put the mop down and crossed his arms over his chest. “Excuse me?” He might feel bad about the effect his presence had on Jamie, but he wasn’t about to take that kind of treatment, either.
“You need to come with me. Now, not later.” He turned on his heel and stalked back to the car.
Ryan considered telling Jamie to fuck off. It would be better for Jamie, and Ryan hadn’t ever done well when people pretended to be authority figures. At the
same time, Jamie was clearly in a snit about something. If he needed help, Ryan wanted to help him. Ryan owed him.
He locked up the shop and slid into the passenger seat. He did his best not to sneer at the BMW’s complicated, space age dashboard. Who needed so many controls and monitors, anyway?
The car didn’t. A BMW engine did just fine without them, thank you very much. These bells and whistles were just for show.
Jamie didn’t say a word as they drove across town. Ryan hadn’t been to Jamie’s place yet. He lived in an old industrial building, a big old loft type of townhouse. It was probably expensive as hell.
It was probably owned by the Roscoe family, too, so Jamie wasn’t paying a penny. Ryan clenched his jaw and tried to release some of the tension there. He didn’t want to live like this, even if it had been available to him.
When they got inside, Ryan didn’t take long to figure out why he’d been dragged here. Tommy Roscoe was there too, a drunken and incoherent mess on Jamie’s couch. His shirt was stained with vomit. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his whole body trembled.
The stink of piss and shit made Ryan recoil. “Jesus, Jamie.” Ryan covered his mouth and nose. “What the hell? He needs a hospital.” Not that Tommy would voluntarily go to a hospital, and he had his reasons, but sometime you had to override a guy for his own good.
“No. No hospitals. For one thing, he won’t go. For another, you know how Mom would react if word got out that Tommy got dragged to the hospital in this kind of state.” Jamie’s eyes blazed, and he pointed at Ryan. “You deal with him.”
“The fuck?” Ryan took a step back. Seeing Tommy wallowing in his own waste already had a red cloud hovering just behind his vision. He didn’t feel the need to encourage it.
“I mean it. He is your mess. You clean it up.” Jamie held Ryan’s gaze. He was apparently serious.
Ryan stepped toward the door. “The guy’s a fucking wreck, Jamie. He’s always been a fucking wreck. I do not need this shit in my life.”
Jamie grabbed Ryan by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Ryan had to bite down on his tongue, hard, to keep from retaliating. In prison, he’d never have let someone put hands on him like that — but this was Jamie, his baby brother. He could no more hurt Jamie than he could lick his own elbow.
Jamie was oblivious to how close he’d come to getting knocked out. “He’s a wreck because you made him a wreck!” he screamed, face red. “He’s been spinning out ever since you fucked up his life and disappeared that night.
“That shit doesn’t leave you, Ryan. It’s in his head. You put him through that. You did it. Now you take care of it.” He let go of Ryan’s shirt and dusted himself off. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting Anthony for drinks.”
Ryan perked up. Anthony was a much better subject for conversation than the waste Tommy had made of Ryan’s sacrifice, the waste Tommy had become. His heart leaped. “Hey, why don’t I —”
Jamie poked a finger into Ryan’s chest. “Don’t even think it. No. You are staying here. You’re not going anywhere near Anthony.
“You’re toxic. You destroy everything you touch. Just let Anthony fucking go. Stay here and try to fix something, for once in your goddamn life.” He turned around and stomped away, leaving Ryan alone with Tommy.
Ryan curled his lip. Tommy was a filthy, disgusting mess. His glassy eyes didn’t see anything around him. Ryan doubted Tommy even knew he was there. All the man could do was cry, rock in place, and mutter the word sorry over and over. Ugh.
Yeah, you should be sorry. Ryan could think the words, but he couldn’t speak them. All he could do was sit on a chair as far from Tommy as he could get. Christ, this was what Tommy did with himself, after all Ryan had given up?
Tommy started heaving.
Fuck. Ryan jumped up and picked Tommy up in his arms. He had no idea where the bathroom might be in this place, but there had to be one. Right? He ran up the first set of stairs he found, which led to a bedroom — loft type space with a bathroom attached. He got Tommy positioned over the toilet just in time. Tommy vomited in huge, painful heaves.
Ryan rubbed little circles into his back. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do this for Tommy. The last time he’d done it had been ten years ago. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to do it again.
Tommy had promised him. Getting mad and yelling at him right now wouldn’t get him very far, though. All he could do was make encouraging little noises at his cousin, and hope he could get him into a shower soon.
His phone buzzed with an incoming email. Ryan almost never got emails, so he pulled his phone out and checked it. The email came from Peter, who was trying a new and exciting tactic now that texts and in person stalking weren’t successful.
My dear husband,
I know it’s pointless trying to make you dance to my tune, so I’ll cut to the chase. See attached. It’s a million dollars or I release it tomorrow.
Ryan frowned at the email. He understood why people kept thinking he was stupid. People made that kind of assumption about formerly incarcerated people all the time.
They made that assumption about mechanics, too. Ryan was generally willing to let people make those assumptions, because he got a lot farther when people underestimated him.
But had he really been drunk and high enough to marry someone who left a paper trail when they tried to blackmail him?
Ryan clicked on the attachment. The document was a news article, penned by Peter (of course) and dated for the next day. The whole thing was an exposé about Ryan.
It contained everything about him, everything Ryan hadn’t told Anthony. It detailed his whirlwind marriage to a Vegas rent boy, his imprisonment, his “affair” with Anthony, the illegitimate baby created in the course of said affair —
The world spun around Ryan, just like when he’d gotten a concussion in Ely. The floor buckled, and he staggered into the wall. The baby created in the affair. Ryan’s affair with Anthony had produced a baby. That meant Anthony was pregnant — pregnant with Ryan’s baby.
Could it be true? Why would it not be true? Why would Peter lie about it?
What could Peter’s motivation possibly be? He couldn’t possibly think Ryan had any dignity left to threaten. And he couldn’t gain anything by announcing Anthony’s pregnancy, assuming it was real.
But a baby — oh God. Ryan would be such a terrible father, but Anthony would be the perfect dad. Anthony would love the hell out of that kid.
He needed to think. He needed to talk things over with Anthony.
Drinks. Jamie had said he was going to get drinks with Anthony. It wouldn’t be hard to find them. Ryan knew the kind of places Jamie liked to hit up.
He sent a quick text to Liam. I need you to come to Jamie’s and babysit Tommy.
Liam texted back right away. Jamie said you were taking care of it.
Ryan rolled his eyes. Seriously, was there some kind of conspiracy? Something came up, something major. I can’t stay.
Ugh. Fine.
Ryan turned to Tommy. “Listen, buddy. I need to take off. Something’s come up, and I have to go take care of it. But Liam’s on his way, okay? Liam’s going to hang out with you. He’s going to get you all cleaned up, and make sure you’re safe and taken care of.”
Tommy grabbed onto Ryan’s arm. His thin fingers looked like a claw. “No no no no no. Please don’t leave me, Ryan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Ryan bit back a nasty comment. It probably wouldn’t even penetrate Tommy’s gin soaked skull. “Look, I know you don’t want to be alone right now, but there’s something I gotta do.”
“Don’t leave me alone. Can’t leave family. You gotta help me out.”
Ryan closed his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the image away. Tommy’s fingers hadn’t looked quite so claw-like back then, and his eyes hadn’t been so yellow. You gotta help me out, Ryan. You gotta help me out. We’re family, man. You gotta help me.
A wave of nausea hit him. Was it from the stenc
h, or from the memory? He staggered back.
Tommy sat down on the ground, next to the toilet, and stared up at Ryan. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sorry. Was it bad?”
Ryan blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, it was bad. It’s supposed to be. It’s prison.”
“I’m sorry.” Tommy covered his face and burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Ryan patted his shoulder, but he couldn’t manage to focus. If Tommy was sorry, he wouldn’t be here, too drunk to control his bodily functions, and crying on his cousin’s bathroom floor. He’d be out there living a good life.
He’d have a good job, maybe be married, have a kid or two. He’d be living the life Marianna wanted for Ryan, the life he was never going to be able to pull off anyway.
But here they were. Two messes, for different reasons. “I know you are, buddy. I know you are. But Tommy, Liam’s on his way. He’s going to take great care of you. I’ve just really got to go now, okay?”
“No, no! You can’t leave me alone like this, Ryan! If you leave me alone, I’ll die!” Snot poured down Tommy’s face as his wailing started anew. “Please stay with me. Don’t leave me!”
Ryan set his jaw. Tommy would be fine. He had to be fine. He’d only be alone for a few seconds. Jamie had left him alone to go and get Ryan, after all, and there hadn’t been any problems.
“It’s only for a few minutes, and I’ve got to go take care of this. It’s about family, Tommy. I know that’s important to you.”
“I’m your family!” Tommy slurred brokenly.
“You are. You always will be. So’s this.” He ruffled Tommy’s greasy hair on the way out.
He hesitated as he put his foot on the threshold, just as he was on his way out the door. He hated to feel like he was abandoning his cousin. They’d always been closer than brothers.
But Ryan had sacrificed enough for Tommy, when all was said and done. He’d done it willingly, if not with full information. He wasn’t going to sacrifice Anthony and their baby to Tommy’s demons, too.