Then, without warning, my phone started to ring. I knew I shouldn’t answer a number I didn’t know, but the vet in me couldn’t help but do so. What if it were someone with an emergency, and I wasn’t there to guide them to someone closer who could help? So, I answered.
“Hello, this is Sara,” I said.
“Hi, this is Nancy Elwood, I’m a journalist for the Rag Online,” she said. “I was calling to find out if you would give a comment on the most recently released story on Ryan Reines and his sordid past.”
I sat there for a minute, thinking about what that woman had just said. She was a journalist, calling me for a comment about a past I had nothing to do with. On top of that, she’d called it sordid like he had done something that anyone in his situation wouldn’t have done. I shook my head and pulled the phone away from my ear, hanging it up. I was freaking out and irritated at the same exact time. If that had been the only phone call that day, I could have dealt with it, but it was only the beginning of the circus. I didn’t tell Ryan. I felt like he had enough on his plate to deal with without worrying about whether I was upset or not. I kept ignoring the incoming calls and sending them to voice mail. After about three hours, my voice mail was filled, so I left it that way, figuring if I recognized the number, I would answer. Otherwise, they were out of luck. I knew that wasn’t a permanent decision. I knew I had to come up with something to do or say to these people so they would slowly stop calling me. This was not a story I should have an opinion on, much less give it to the press to misconstrue and cause problems between Ryan and me.
The truth of the matter was, I had no idea what to do in this situation. I had never spoken to the media, much less been the center of attention for them. I didn’t know what the protocol was. I didn’t have a PR team feeding me the right answers to these questions, and I was not used to people trying to get things out of me like that. I hated every second of it. I went through several different responses I could give, including telling the press Ryan was a great man who faced terrible circumstances as a child and grew up to be successful to just giving the journalist hell for even approaching me. None of them seemed like the right answer, though, and I knew if I gave one a quote, the rest of them would come piling down on me, and I’d never be able to use my phone again.
It wasn’t that I was ashamed of Ryan. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I was proud of him for moving through a hard time in life, for being responsible for his family, for protecting the ones he loved, and ultimately, for pulling himself out of the trenches and making a really amazing life for himself. The problem with it was, I hated the spotlight. I hated the press getting anything from me about my feelings or my course in life. I hated having my name displayed on the front pages of newspapers, and I hated that they would twist and turn my words into something they weren’t. It was a messy situation, and I wanted to stay out of it the best I could and keep Ryan out of that part of it too.
So, when the next call came through, I answered and declined to comment. Then, without thought, I turned off my cell phone and went back to my room, shutting myself in there for the day. I was torn, emotionally, physically, and mentally torn. I sent Alison an email to let her know that she could contact me through there at that point, that my cell phone was off. I shoved it in the drawer and just lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, unsure of what to do next. I wanted Ryan, to be comforted by him, but he was so busy and so stressed, I didn’t want to put anything else on him, not even for a second. He was constantly worrying about me, and I needed to make sure that was not something plaguing his mind at that moment.
Later, I came out of my room to get something to eat. I was going to make us both something, but when I walked down the hall, I saw he was shut away in his office, and I could hear him talking with irritation in his voice. I fixed myself some food and sat at the table by myself eating it. I didn’t even want to watch television, too afraid to turn on the news and see something about the story on there. The last thing I needed was to see my face or Ryan’s on cable television. That would just send me right over the edge. So, instead, I sat alone in the silence of the house, eating my soup, wishing things would just go back to normal. But what was normal those days? It felt like I had been on a roller coaster for the last month.
When I was done eating, I washed off my dishes and headed back to my room, pausing for a moment outside of the office door but figuring he was too busy to be bothered. I closed myself back in my room and lay down on the bed, drifting off to sleep for a nap. The whole time I was dreaming about Ryan being in the streets, being a young boy. I woke up in a cold sweat and went into the bathroom and rinsed off my face. I stood staring at myself in the mirror, shaking my head and breathing deeply. This was the thing that was going to push me over the edge of my sanity. I wanted to be there with Ryan, but part of me really wished I was home with my house and the horses. I walked out of the room and back down the hall to see if I could catch Ryan again, but he was still hidden away in his office with the door shut.
I spent the day alone, going through the books on the shelves, trying to find anything I could do to occupy my mind. Reading helped a lot, but in the end, I had to put the books down. My mind was wandering too far off the path to keep track of what the book was saying. I was usually a very focused person, someone who could push everything out of their mind and focus on the task at hand. I had learned that when it came to caring for animals. Some situations were dire, and you couldn’t let your personal life get in the way. Today wasn’t one of the days I could do that, though, and I went to bed that night alone, wishing things would calm down by morning.
When I woke up the next morning, I reached for my phone but remembered again why I had put it in the drawer. I pulled my hair back in a ponytail and pulled on some shorts and a tank top. When I opened the door, I could hear someone in the kitchen, and I got a little excited, figuring I would get the chance to see Ryan finally. I opened the door and smiled, seeing him sitting in his chair, reading the paper and eating an English muffin. I grabbed a cup of coffee and meandered over, sitting down across from him. I waited for him to notice, sitting there staring at the back side of the paper. Finally, he put it down and smiled over at me.
“So,” I said. “What are our plans for the day?”
“Well, I have to do damage control,” he sighed. “And then I have to make the rounds on the morning show circuit. I’m sorry, Sara. I know this isn’t what you had in mind when you came to New York.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said. “It’s not your fault, and I’m here waiting for you when you’re done.”
“Thanks,” he said, folding the paper and standing up. “I’ve got to hit the road. The traffic will be thick, and I got to get to the studio and get set up for the interview.”
“All right,” I said, faking a smile. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” he said, bending over and kissing the top of my head.
Then he was out the door without another word about anything. I sat sipping my coffee, listening as the front door shut behind him. The house fell quiet again, and I was left to my own devices. I felt deflated almost, hoping for a better outcome than the day before. Not only would he not be able to talk to me, he wasn’t even going to be in the house for the day. I picked up my coffee and went out into the living room, settling in on the couch. I guess I would have to watch my handsome billionaire on the television like everyone else.
Chapter 44
Ryan
There were no two ways about it. I was just plain pissed. I couldn’t believe my past was out for every to see, to judge, and make a media circus over. My life had gone from good to bad to good and then down in the pits and all because of people in my life who I couldn’t trust worth a damn. What was this guy getting out of telling my story? Two seconds of fame? No one gave a shit about him, nor would they ever remember his name after the whole thing blew over, but they would always remember my past. I’d worked so hard for so long to move beyond the past. I had done e
verything I could to build a life that was focused on the positives, helping people, helping communities, and doing the right thing. I had spent too long doing the wrong thing, and that was what I had dug deep to bury, but here it was again, on display for the entire world to see. It was fucking ludicrous, and it was even crazier that I had to go up in front of the world and defend myself for what I had done when I was a child, a kid barely understanding or grasping how big the world really was. I had to apologize because my past made people uncomfortable.
This was not the way I’d planned to spend my week. All I had wanted was to be with Sara, to relax, to grow our relationship and move forward into the future, putting all the crap we had gone through behind us. I wanted to take time for myself and for her, rebuilding the trust that I had lost and letting her know how much I cared about her. I didn’t want to be traveling the news circuit talking about shit that wasn’t even relevant to my life right now. Sure, it was where I had come from, but that didn’t define me as a person. When was the media going to write that story? The story of the rags to riches guy, the one who gave to charity, started a nonprofit, built a solar grid to help everyone? The hard truth was that they never would, and I would be stuck there spending my week talking to journalists.
I had spent a lot of time and thought planning a small getaway for Sara and me. I was going to take her to the Hamptons for a beach getaway, something that would trump the vineyard and really allow us some private time to ourselves. The Hamptons were notorious for keeping the journalists at bay, and I had even hired private security to be there to chase them off if they did find us. But no, that was not going to be my week. I was going to spend my time toadying up to morning show hosts, answering questions about a life I had desperately tried to forget. On top of my childhood, I had to address again all the accusations that Natasha had made against me.
I was out there admitting I had been a criminal when I was younger, that I had done things and seen things that were highly illegal. Then, as an adult, I was branded with allegations saying I was working with the Russians. If I was admitting to being a criminal in the past, why would people not think I was still working with criminals in the present? Of course, it was beyond their petty little minds to recognize that people actually do change and learn from their mistakes. It was basically the worst nightmare I could imagine. It was my whole life, or at least the juicy parts, being strewn out to the public, and me having to face them head-on. While other people with a past like mine only had to own up to the people they loved, I had to own up to the entire world, and all because I owned a business and had a lot of money. It was complete bullshit, and it was also a complete ratings scheme. No one was going to drop this story because everyone wanted to hear more and more about it. It was the new hot ticket in every media’s outlet, and I was the center of that circus.
When I was done with the last show for that day, I went out and pushed past a bunch of reporters to get to the SUV parked and waiting for me. I asked the driver to take a drive around the city so I could think. The truth was, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to face Sara and see that look of pity on her face, to know that she knew the darkest things about me and know there was a good chance those things would never really leave her mind. I would always be the good guy who used to be a criminal. Everyone would always question what kind of a man I really was and all because of my past. Sara knew everything about my past now. There were no more secrets to be had.
She knew how poor I was, how we didn’t have money for food, or how we would huddle together at night to stay warm in the winter. She knew about all of the petty crimes I committed, trying to steal some bread to give to my sisters or peddled some days on the street corner for a few bucks to keep the lights on in the house. She knew how I’d kicked people’s asses for money that was owed to gangs, that I carried a gun around in case the situation arose, and that I was a mule, running drugs and weapons all over the city. She knew everything, and the latest admission, which had happened earlier that day, was that when I got my driver’s license and was old enough to drive, the gang had me shuttling prostitutes to and from gigs for extra cash. I was their protector, the guy who waited while they sucked dick for cash and then threw them back in the car and took them to their pimp. I watched women shoot up in the back seat, knowing they were pregnant, just trying to get through another day. I watched men beat the hell out of their Janes because they didn’t make enough cash whoring themselves out, and I did it all for the dollar, for the money I could take home to my mother.
It was my secret shame, the things in my life I couldn’t get out of my head, and I could no longer hide. I had been a disgusting human being for half my life, and Sara was way too good for me. She was too wholesome, too moral to be with any guy who would have done things like the things I had done when I was younger. It didn’t matter how much I had changed my life around or how much money was in my bank account, Sara deserved much better than me. Sara deserved a good man who had been good his whole life, who had always been kind-hearted like she was.
I had the driver drive around the city for hours, just trying to stay away from the drama and hell for a little bit longer. I didn’t know what to say to Sara or how to react to her. I didn’t know how to tell her she deserved someone much better than me to walk through life with her. I didn’t even know how to look her in the eyes anymore. By the time the sun had gone down, though, I knew I needed to get home. I couldn’t just drive around the city for the rest of my life. I would need to face the music eventually. When I walked in the house, Sara was sitting up in the living room, waiting for me to get home. I put my bag down and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a beer and taking in a deep breath. When I walked back out, she was headed toward me.
“How was your day?” she said. “I thought you would be home earlier since you were doing the morning circuit.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes telling everyone you’re a piece of shit takes all day,” I mumbled angrily, pushing past her into the living room and sitting down on the couch.
I stared straight ahead, feeling her looking at me from above. I knew I was being short, I knew it, but I couldn’t help it, not on that day. Sara had done nothing wrong, but there was no way she could begin to understand she was with the wrong guy. Finally, I looked up at her and watched as her face crumpled right in front of me. Instantly, I felt bad for being an asshole, which, in turn, kicked up that guilt that made me remember Sara deserved someone much better than me. I resented that fact, that I couldn’t be the man I needed to be, one Sara deserved to have. All of my choices from the past were coming back and biting me in the ass and hard. I felt resentful toward everything in my life, no matter what it was, and that was a terrible combination when you were around the people you cared about. It was a situation that could easily backfire, and it sure the hell was about to.
I was supposed to be comfortable coming into my own home and saying whatever I wanted to. It was my safe space, something I had been away from all day, saying exactly what my PR rep wanted me to say to the news. I had to apologize for who I was when I was younger, and to a bunch of fucking people who had nothing to do with it. Now, I couldn’t even come home and speak my mind. Instead, I was being made to feel guilty for doing it, and I didn’t know how to respond to that. I was in a foul mood, I could feel it, and it was just escalating from there. I got even more snarky, feeling I had the right to push people away.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” she asked crossing her arms over her chest.
“For inviting you to stay with a fucking criminal who beats up junkies and launders money for Russian oligarchs,” I responded. “For being a piece of shit human being. You apparently might have fared better back in Bonanza with Janson, or so the media is making me look worse than him.”
I sat there shaking my head and staring at my face on the evening news. The anger boiled over me, and I picked up the remote and threw it against the window, watching it smash onto the ground. I g
rowled, rubbing my hands through my hair. I looked up at Sara, but she didn’t say a word, just stood there looking at me, a single tear rolling down her cheek. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand seeing her upset and knowing I was the one who made it happen. I was an asshole to her, and I did it without a second thought. I got up from the couch and stomped off down the hall to my room, slamming the door behind me. I shut myself away from Sara and the world, feeling ashamed for everything.
I was ashamed of my past, of the things I did to protect my family. I was ashamed of the man I was turning into. And most of all, I was ashamed of the way I had treated the woman who I cared about more than anyone. I didn’t deserve her or the life I had built for myself.
Chapter 45
Sara
The atmosphere in the house was oppressive. I felt locked away from the world, uncomfortable to even come out for food. Things had definitely taken a serious turn since yesterday morning, and I was left feeling almost outside of my body about it. I just wanted normalcy, but it looked like I wasn’t going to find anything even remotely close to that for a long time. I sat around fiddling with my phone and figured out how to fix the journalist issue. I set my phone to only take calls from the numbers I personally approved. The only people I felt like talking to was Alison, my clients, and Ryan. I put Ryan on there because I felt like I had to, but I didn’t actually think he would call me. Once it was done, though, I felt more comfortable, sitting in silence not having a hundred reporters blowing me up every five seconds. With the silence came thinking, and with the thinking came emotions, which made me think I was better off fielding calls after all.
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