by M. Never
“Love you, too,” Ryan responds restlessly, before giving her a quick hug.
“It was really nice to meet you.” I attempt to be respectful, even though I have anything but respect for her.
“You too, honey.” Her smile is almost sincere. Almost. It’s exhausting trying to convince Ryan’s family I’m not out to hurt him, and so unfamiliar to feel their prejudice toward me just because I grew up with money.
Ryan takes my hand, and we start walking for the door. “Bye, Alana,” Sean hums warmly from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and return kindly. “Bye, Sean.” Geez, he really does look like hell.
Ryan and I walk down the front steps of the diner, both inhaling the cold, cleansing air. I swear it’s dropped ten degrees.
Ryan opens the passenger side door for me and when I slip inside, I’m immediately struck with the same foul smell that was lingering on Sean.
“It stinks like shit in here.” I cover my nose and mouth as Ryan slides into the driver seat.
“Fucking Sean,” he seethes, “smoking trees in my car.”
“Trees?” I look at him funny. What the hell are tress?
“Yeah, you know. Weed, herb, marijuana.” He punches the ignition pissed off.
“I didn’t, but I do now.” I crack the window, letting the chilly December air flow into the car.
“What did you and Sean talk about?” I interrogate Ryan as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Same shit. He called me an uptight asshole, I called him an irresponsible prick. A few more choice words are exchanged and then he got all choked up and told me that he loves me.” Ryan shrugs the conversation off.
“He told you he loved you?”
“Yup. He looks mean, but he’s a fucking mush.”
“I don’t know if I’d use the term mush.” I squint.
Mush: A person who is sentimental or affectionate. Neither sentimental or affectionate seems much like Sean. Although, I do recall the numbers tattooed on his neck—1254—It’s the number of days Ryan spent in jail. Maybe that’s Sean’s way of being sentimental and affectionate.
“Did you say it back?”
“Say what back?”
“That you loved him.” I shift in my seat to face Ryan.
“Of course, Alana,” he huffs. “Sean may be a complete dick sometimes, but he’s still my brother and he’s a part of me whether I fucking like it or not.”
“Part of you? Like a twin thing?” I attempt to understand.
“Yes, like a twin thing,” he confirms stiffly and leaves it at that.
Two minutes in the car and the conversation is already heavier than a boulder.
As Ryan drives quietly toward the parkway, I contemplate talking to him about how his family feels about me, if for no other reason than to assure him that they’re wrong. I don’t know what they say behind closed doors, but if it’s anything as frank as what they say to my face, I’m afraid that tiny seed of doubt inside Ryan will grow into a full-blown tree of distrust. And that’s the last thing I want to happen.
“Ryan—”
“Shit,” he hisses, looking in the rearview mirror.
I turn to see police lights flashing behind us.
Ryan pulls over and cuts the engine. “Alana, can you grab my registration from the glove box?” He thrusts his chin as he pulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. By the time the police officer makes it over to the car, Ryan has his documentation ready. He rolls down the window at the last second to conserve heat and when he does, a blast of cold air rolls around the inside of the car, kicking up the potent odor of Sean’s trees.
The officer pauses with his head beside the window before he asks Ryan for his license and registration. He’s tall and slim with an athletic build and thick, brown mustache.
“Do you know your taillight is out?” The cop looks over Ryan’s registration.
“Um, no, Officer,” Ryan responds respectfully. “I barely drive. We live in the city.”
The policeman, whose nametag reads Officer Vincent, just nods, and for some reason my stress level suddenly shoots through the roof. The officer takes Ryan’s identification back to his cruiser while we sit and wait in the car. Ryan’s leg is shaking out of control and the look in his eye is anxious. I put my hand on his thigh. “Everything is going to be alright.” I attempt to ease him. “He’s just writing you a ticket.” But even as I speak the encouraging words, I know, deep down, they aren’t true. Something is off. The energy crackling around us is all wrong. Ominous almost.
Officer Vincent returns a few taxing minutes later. His face stoic, his body stiff. “Can the two of you please step out of the car,” he requests.
Shit.
As Ryan and I both step out, another cruiser appears. Ryan circles around the front of his Mercedes to stand next to me on the sidewalk. “Another freakin’ half-mile and we would have been on the Parkway,” Ryan mutters tensely under his breath.
“Mr. Pierce, I smelled a questionable odor coming from your car,” Officer Vincent explains.
“Yeah, so?” Ryan is curt. I don’t think that was the best way to respond.
“So, we’re going to search your car,” he replies snidely.
“Go ahead.” Ryan shrugs, and there’s something different about him now. He’s distant and uptight. Like his defenses have just shifted into sixth gear.
The two cops proceed to tear the inside of Ryan’s car apart, pulling out everything in the center console and glove compartment. Not that there’s much in there.
“I don’t know why they’re wasting their time, they’re not going to find anything,” Ryan gripes, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself than me. I slide my arm around his and watch horrified as the officers carelessly manhandle the interior.
They check under the dash and between the seats, then the other officer pauses. “Got something.”
What? I think the valves in my heart just clogged.
“What the fuck do you mean you got something?” Ryan steps forward aggressively, and I try to pull him back.
The short, stocky officer stands up and holds out a little bag of white powder. What the hell is that?
“Heroin. And it looks like enough to distribute.” He waves the baggie in the air.
“No fucking way!” Ryan rushes the cop, only to be thrown facedown onto the hood of his car by Officer Vincent. I watch, stunned, as Ryan is cuffed, and the cop with the baggie takes hold of my arm. He squeezes tightly. “You’ll have to come with us.” He pulls out a pair of handcuffs of his own.
Holy shit, what?
As I put my hands behind my back, Ryan goes berserk, flailing in Officer Vincent’s grip. “She had nothing to do with it!” he screams. “She didn’t know it was there! It’s mine! It’s mine! I take full responsibility!”
“Ryan, shut the fuck up!” I snap. That idiot just incriminated himself.
The officer pulls at my arm and I catch a glimpse of his nametag. “Is this true? Did you know anything about the drugs?” Officer O’Malley asks strictly.
“No, nothing,” I answer automatically, suddenly realizing I just threw Ryan under the bus. I’m not thinking clearly at all.
Officer O’Malley releases my arm and Ryan expels a ragged sigh as he’s dragged back to the parked cop cars.
My mind is in hyper-drive. I want to scream, I want to yell, I want them to know who the fuck my father is. Who they’re messing with. But I can’t utter his name, because I know as soon as I do, my whole life will get flushed away. I watch helplessly as Ryan is shoved into the back of a Crown Vic, and I can only hope that with all the commotion they’ll forget to Mirandize him.
“Ryan Pierce,” Officer Vincent rattles off in a detached tone, “you’re under arrest, you have the right to remain silent . . .”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Ma’am. Impound will be here shortly to tow the car away. You’ll have to call for a ride or come to the station with me,” Officer O’Ma
lley notifies me.
I look at him vacantly. How ironic, Ryan bought his car at a police auction. Which is where it’s going to end up again if we don’t fix this fast.
“Um, I’ll come with you,” I answer distracted as I watch Officer Vincent’s cruiser pull away with Ryan cuffed in the backseat. His head is pressed against the window, his eyes cast downwards.
I slip into the cop car a shaking mess. “Can I make a phone call?” I ask, shifting restlessly in the back seat. The police radio talking and hissing as we start to drive off.
“Yes,” Officer O’Malley answers evenly as he steers.
I quickly whip out my phone and dial the only person’s number I know can help.
“Uncle John,” I choke after he picks up on the second ring. “I need you.”
By the time I get to Shrewsbury police station, my uncle is there waiting, pacing the front steps. The station is a small, brick building with black double doors and police cars parked in front.
“Alana.” He rushes to me urgently the second he sees me, and I know there’s a reprimand coming by the tone of his voice.
“Uncle John, wait. Before you go all parental on me, please, hear me out.”
“Drugs?” he fumes.
“Yes. . . . No.” I sit down on the cold concrete step and drop my head into my hands. How did everything get so fucked up in a few, short, unraveling moments?
Where the hell do I even start?
“Seven years ago, I met Ryan—”
“Seven years?” my uncle cuts in.
“Yes,” I nod, “and we fell ridiculously in love,” I explain dejectedly. “Then one day he just disappeared, without a trace. I never knew what happened, until I discovered him dancing at Culture the night of Emily’s bachelorette party.”
“That must have been a shock,” my uncle John remarks dryly as he sits down next to me.
“To say the very least,” I scoff, “but what shocked me more was finding out what happened to him. The explanation as to why he disappeared all those years ago.”
“Which was?”
“Sean, his twin, is pretty heavily involved in drugs.” I paint a picture.
“I see.” He thinks he understands, but in reality, he has no idea.
“That’s the thing, you don’t.” I turn to him. “Sean used Ryan’s identity to get out of an arrest, and then never showed up for the court date. Ryan got pulled over and was detained on the spot for an outstanding warrant. He wouldn’t give Sean up. And ended up serving time in Sean’s place. He did three years.”
“What?” My uncle is outraged.
“Yes, and I never knew, but it gets better.” I run my hands through my hair. “Daddy convicted him.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” My Uncle John rakes his hands down his face. “So, Ryan’s occupation had nothing to do with why you didn’t want your father knowing about him?”
I nod somberly.
“And it was Sean’s drugs in Ryan’s car?”
“Yes.”
“You know Ryan is back in the same boat as before. Shrewsbury is in Merrick’s district.”
“I know,” I nearly cry despairingly. But tears are nowhere within reach. The only thing I can do is strangle my emotions, restraining everything I feel.
“Where is Sean now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Alana, you have to find him. He’s the only person who can get Ryan out of this.”
“I know, but I don’t think Ryan’s mom will tell me where he is. She’s part of the reason Ryan took the fall for Sean in the first place.”
“This situation just gets better and better.” My uncle looks at me in utter disbelief. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” the bad-ass lawyer emerges. “First, I’m going to go find out when Ryan’s arraignment is, and then get him a lawyer. Shelly, she practices in New York and New Jersey, and she’s one of the best criminal attorneys on my payroll. Then, Ryan has to find Sean.” He stipulates, “He can’t take the fall for him again.”
No disagreement there.
“I’m going to put in a call to Judge Reynolds, he’s a personal friend and owes me big for keeping his son out of jail. If, worst case scenario, you can’t find Sean, I’ll at least make sure Ryan doesn’t go in front of your father again. Hopefully we can work a deal with the prosecutor. It’s going to be tough, though, this is his second offense. From what you told me on the phone, with the amount of heroin they found, he’ll be charged with not only possession but also intent to distribute. That’s twenty years, Alana.” He adds forewarningly. The ominous statement a medley of caution, counsel and threat.
“I know, Uncle John.” My heart constricts at the thought.
“Honey . . .” My uncle takes my hand. “This might get messy. I know Ryan is a nice guy and you love him, but are you sure he’s worth jeopardizing your entire future for?”
Anger strikes me like whiplash. Ryan has already been through hell once. I’m not going to desert him if he ends up back there a second time.
“Yes,” I bite as viciously as a pit bull.
My uncle nods steadfastly. “Okay, then, it’s time to come out swinging.”
It’s signature saying when he has a tough case ahead of him. Except this time, it’s not a court case he’s referring to.
It’s my life.
SEAN HAS BEEN MIA ever since Ryan was arrested.
It’s 2 a.m., Ryan’s court date is tomorrow, and I can’t sleep. We’re staying in the guest room of my aunt and uncle’s house. It was easier than coming in early from the city, since Ryan’s court appearance is at eight in the morning.
The tension between us has been as thick as exhaust fumes in a tiny condominium garage. And tomorrow everything is going to change. Somehow, my Uncle John rigged Ryan’s case to end up on Judge Reynolds’ docket. Not like that’s illegal or anything. Shelly was able to work a deal with the prosecutor to get Ryan into drug court, which is like an intense probation. He’ll have to move back to New Jersey and in with his mother. God help me. He’ll be heavily monitored, frequently drug tested, and mandated to attend a substance abuse program. He may not be a drug addict, but they’re sure as hell going to treat him like one.
The silver lining? He won’t be in jail.
I don’t know what the next three months are going to be like for us. I start my last semester of law school in a few weeks, and I need to concentrate heavily on that, but I also know the distance from Ryan is going to kill me.
Ryan starts to whimper in his sleep again. He’s been having nightmares ever since he was arrested. He avoids the subject when I try to talk to him about it, but it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s dreaming about. Prison. It’s his emotional response to the fear of the future and stress of the past.
Ryan suddenly shoots up out of a dead sleep. He’s panting, sweating, and swearing all at the same time.
“Hey,” I rub his back soothingly, “it’s okay.”
Ryan drops his head back, his bare chest expanding and contracting, but he doesn’t speak. So, I ask the dumbest question imaginable. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” His response is terse as he falls back down onto the pillow.
“You know you can talk to me, Ryan. If you’re scared, tell me.”
I’m so sick of him pushing me away.
“I’m not scared, Alana. I’m pissed off.” He rolls over.
“Is that why you’ve been so distant?”
He blows out a hot breath, reluctant to talk. “Yes, but I don’t want to be.”
“Then, don’t be,” I plead.
“I don’t know how else to be right now. I don’t want to end up taking my anger out on you. It was enough you saw me go after Sean.”
“He got what he deserved. I sort of wish you hospitalized him,” I mumble.
We wouldn’t be in this mess if you had.
“Alana don’t say that,” Ryan snaps. “He’s my brother, and he’s sick.”
“Is that why you didn’t push harder
to find him?”
“Excuse me?” Ryan rolls over forcefully, his arm brushing across the satin of my camisole.
“Why didn’t you push harder to find him, Ryan?”
It didn’t seem to matter how many times Ryan badgered his mother about Sean’s whereabouts, she told him the same thing every time. That she didn’t know where Sean was. Which is a complete crock of shit, and we both know it.
“Don’t be ridiculous. What did you want me to do, send out a search party?”
“Yes. If you’re really so concerned about what’s going to happen to you, I think you would have tried harder to find him.”
“Oh, really?” Now he’s straight-up mad.
“You know what I think? I think this is exactly what happened seven years ago. You’ve been put between a rock and a hard place, and you don’t want to be the cause of something bad happening to Sean or your mother, so you suck it up and pay the price for all of them.” Maybe that’s why he didn’t involve me the first time. He knew I would have talked him out of going through with it.
“Everything will be fine. Shelly spoke with the prosecutor, I’m going to plead guilty, take the deal and be done with it, then move on with my life.”
“What life?” I erupt, “You’re not going to be able to leave the state of New Jersey and Vegas is shot.”
“Pipedream.”
“I don’t accept that.”
“You don’t have to, it’s not your life.”
“No, but one day it might have been our life, Ryan.”
“What do you mean, might have?”
“We can’t have a future like this. Always looking over our shoulders worrying about what Sean might do next.”
Ryan pauses, I can’t see his face in the darkness, but I can hear him breathe restlessly. “Am I going to lose you over this, Alana?”
“This? No, but there are no guarantees down the road.”
Ryan seethes, “Why does that statement not surprise me?”
“What?” I retort.
“You want to know what’s really a pipedream? The idea that someone like you could actually end up with someone like me.”