by Mia Sheridan
“Just for a few minutes?” Arryn asked, stepping out of the room across the hall from what Liza knew to be Reed’s bedroom. She was now dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, and was twisting her dark, curly hair up into a bun on top of her head. Arryn smiled, turning toward the kitchen and nodded her head in that direction. “Something to drink?”
“Sure,” Liza said. “Just a few minutes though.” If Reed was out, he was probably still at work, and he’d be tired when he got home. She’d told herself not to overthink dropping by his apartment, but really, thinking it through for a minute would have been the polite thing to do.
Liza entered the kitchen that was a decent size for a downtown loft apartment. There was even a small round table in the center with a couple of chairs. Arryn had the fridge door open and was bent inside but stood straight as Liza pulled out a chair and sat down. “Pitiful,” Arryn said, rolling her eyes. “Boys.” She turned to Liza. “Water?” she asked on a laugh.
Liza grinned back. “Water’s great.”
Arryn grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and filled them from the filtered water on the front of Reed’s refrigerator, bringing them to the table, where she handed one to Liza and sat down. “So how do you know my brother?”
Liza took a sip of the water, stalling. “I, um, met him on a case, actually.”
Arryn’s eyes opened wide. “One of the murders from the Hollow-Eyed Killer case?”
Liza grimaced slightly like she’d done the first time she’d heard the name. “Yeah. One occurred at the hospital where I work.”
“Whoa. Sorry to hear that.” Arryn eyed her over the glass as she took a sip of her water. “So that’s how you started dating Reed?”
Liza let out a nervous laugh. Wow, this girl was forward. “No, no, we’re not dating. We’re only friends. Not even really . . . I mean, sort of. But . . .” She took a long sip of water hoping Arryn would move on. But when she glanced at her, there was deep interest in her eyes.
Arryn tilted her head and squinted her eyes slightly. “But you’ve been to his apartment before. In a . . . friendly capacity?”
Liza felt the heat move up her cheeks. “Yes. Well . . . mm-hmm.” But Liza saw Arryn’s eyes narrow slightly and knew she knew Liza was lying.
Arryn sat back in her chair, her smile growing. “Hmm,” she hummed, raising one perfectly arched brow. Liza wanted to laugh. There was something mischievous about Reed’s sister, but in a sweet, charming way.
Arryn leaned forward suddenly. “I don’t believe you.” She grinned. “I think you like my brother. And I get a good feeling about you. So, now’s your chance.”
“My chance?”
Arryn nodded, lacing her hands on the table in front of her. “Ask me all about him. I’ll tell you anything.”
Liza laughed and shook her head. “No, I couldn’t.” She didn’t even know what to ask. But she couldn’t deny that it felt good to feel immediately accepted by this girl who clearly knew Reed better than anyone.
This is what it had felt like to have a sister, Liza thought with a small pang in her chest. She’d been closer to Mady, obviously, and the trauma of their home life was a constant weight that colored every aspect of their lives, but this brought to mind the sweet parts of sisterhood. The laughter that could only be shared between girls, the female camaraderie . . . God, I miss you, Mady. I miss all that we would have shared, all our lives. And the thought brought sadness, but not the overwhelming pain that such a thought would have had in the past.
“Okay, well if you won’t ask about him, I’ll tell you the important stuff.” Arryn paused, tapping her finger on her lip. “He’s loyal. Like, not just sorta loyal, like if he considers you one of his own, he’ll lay down on train tracks and die for you loyal.”
Liza’s chest felt tight. Yes, she could see that about him. And she realized that while Arryn was confiding in her, and hopefully because she’d been honest about her good feelings about Liza, what she was really doing was warning her. My brother’s a great person who deserves the best, she was saying. If you’re not here to treat him that way, you should leave.
Liza liked her even more.
“He’s sensitive. He’d probably hate it if he heard me say that, but it’s true. And I don’t mean sensitive in a weak way, I mean sensitive in a way where you’ll never get away with not telling him something because he’ll read it on your face.”
Yes, Liza had already learned that one.
“Tears slay him,” Arryn went on. “He gets all wide-eyed and fidgety and will do anything if it means you’ll stop crying.” A glint came into her dark, almond-shaped eyes. “Use that one if you need to. But for good, not for evil.” She winked at her and Liza laughed.
“Arryn?” Both women whipped their heads around and saw Reed standing in the doorway, looking between them with a confused look on his face. They hadn’t heard him enter over the sound of their own laughter.
Liza stood quickly, smoothing her skirt.
“Liza,” he said, and she heard the confusion in his tone, but she also heard the warmth. The happy surprise. And she felt an answering rush of affection.
“Hi. Hey,” she said.
“Hi.” He let his eyes linger on her a moment. “Are you okay?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes. I’m fine. Good. I dropped by to see you and Arryn was here.”
He turned his head to his sister. “Yeah? What’s that about?”
Arryn stood and picked up a key sitting on the counter. “I borrowed the extra one you leave at the farmhouse.”
“That’s for emergencies.”
Arryn rolled her eyes. “This is an emergency. Mom and Dad are driving me crazy.” She dragged out the last word.
“So you ran away?”
“I didn’t run away. I’m nineteen. I left them a note. I just decided to take a short vacation.”
“At my apartment?”
“Well, I’m a little low on funds,” she said, pressing her thumb and index finger together. “But I used the gym downstairs, hung out in the sauna for a while. I mean, I could go somewhere else if you want to loan me—”
“Why don’t you wait in the guest room while I talk to Liza?” he said, his tone terse, gaze direct.
“Fine. I need to dry my hair anyway.” She turned to Liza. “It was very nice meeting you. I hope I see you again soon.” She turned to leave and then turned back. “Oh, one last thing. Don’t play Monopoly with him. Ever. He doesn’t even cheat. He’s just naturally evil and unethical.”
“Out,” Reed said, obviously holding back a smile.
Arryn ducked past her brother, but not before getting up on her tiptoes, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him on the cheek. “Hi, Reed.”
At that, he chuckled, kissed her on the forehead, and shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Go,” he said with a smile that made Liza’s heart melt just a little more. He really is a good man.
Reed stepped forward. “This is a surprise,” he said. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
Liza heard the sound of the hair dryer turning on down the hall. “Yeah. I’m sorry to just drop by unannounced.”
“You’re welcome to drop by anytime, Liza,” he said, his expression filled with sincerity.
She let out a breath. “Thanks. Um. I actually had a couple of things to tell you.” She cleared her throat, suddenly nervous.
“Okay,” he said, stepping closer.
“First, it was my brother who broke into my apartment.”
His expression registered shock. “What? How do you know?”
“I drove out to the land where I grew up. It’s . . . it belonged to my grandfather and his father before him. When my father died and my brother went to prison, it went to me.” She waved her hand in the air. “Anyway, I went out there to . . . I don’t know, just to see it, I guess.” To confront some ghosts.
“Your brother was there.”
“Yes.”
“When was this?”
�
��Yesterday.”
He blew out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Liza, why are you just telling me about this now? And how do you know it was him who broke in?”
She licked her lips, her eyes going behind him for a moment, picturing her brother as he’d looked standing there in the midst of what she’d once considered hell and now just looked like a barren plot of earth. “He told me it was him. And I didn’t tell you yesterday because I don’t want him arrested.”
“You don’t want him arrested? Liza—”
“No, please, Reed. What he did scared me and it was wrong, but I’m not afraid of him. For the first time since that night, I don’t fear Julian. He’s . . . broken.” She didn’t quite know how to put her feelings for her brother into words. All these years she’d thought of him as a monster, maybe even on par with her father. “I don’t want to make excuses for what he did, but I’d also never considered how our upbringing had affected who he was. How it had warped him into a person he wouldn’t have otherwise been.” He was a victim of their father’s abuse too.
“He might be broken, Liza, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be punished for what he did.”
“Maybe.” Maybe not. She didn’t have all the answers, but all she knew was what felt right to her, and what felt wrong. “I don’t know, but I’m not pressing charges, so there’s nothing to be done.”
“I can press charges without you.”
“But you won’t.” Their gazes clashed for a moment and then Reed let out a sigh, breaking eye contact.
Down the hall the sound of the hair dryer stopped. “Do you want to take a walk?” Reed asked. “I don’t have anything in the house and there’s this coffee shop down the street.”
Liza nodded. “Sure. That’d be great.”
Reed smiled as though he’d been expecting her to say no. “Yeah? Okay. Let me just go tell Arryn we’re leaving. And I’m going to text Zach and tell him I’m sending his runaway daughter home.”
Ten minutes later they were stepping outside Reed’s building and walking toward the coffee shop Liza could already see on the corner.
“You said first earlier,” Reed said, glancing at her.
“Huh?”
“When you told me about your brother, you said first. What’s second?”
“Oh.” Liza smiled and then took a deep breath. “Something pretty great happened today, and partly, it was because of you. I came to say thank you.”
“Yeah?” Reed smiled. “I can’t wait to hear about it.” He looked over, caught her eye, his expression going serious. “You deserve great, Liza.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The latte Liza ordered was extra frothy, just the way she liked it. When she brought her cup away from her mouth with a satisfied sigh, Reed smiled and reached over, wiping what must have been a bit of foam off her upper lip.
Liza let out a small embarrassed laugh, following his finger with her own to make sure it was all gone. His finger dropped from her mouth and their eyes locked, the air between them vibrating. Reed looked away first, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip. “So, tell me about today,” he said.
So Liza did. She told him about Simon, about how he’d stolen a gun from the security guard and threatened his own life and the lives of those who might stop him, though Liza had gambled on her belief that he was bluffing. He wouldn’t have hurt anyone.
“Even so,” Reed said, worry etching his brow, “accidents happen when someone emotional is waving a gun around.”
“I know. It was a risk. I do know that. But . . .” She looked away, collecting her thoughts. “I don’t think anyone had ever gone to bat for him, Reed. No one. So I did, and I think it mattered to him. I know it did, because it would have mattered to me.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she inhaled a big breath. “I connected with him in a way I haven’t connected with a patient before. I felt it.” She gave her head a small shake. “I don’t know that I’ll always share my own past with my patients or if that will be appropriate, but I felt like it was in that circumstance, and I wouldn’t have had the bravery without your words in my head.” She felt shy suddenly, her eyes lowering as she fiddled with an empty sugar packet on the table.
Reed reached over and put his hand on top of hers. The warmth of it—the intimacy—caused a flush of happiness to glitter through Liza. She felt like a schoolgirl whose crush had just noticed her, and she had the insane urge to giggle. And Liza was many things, but she was not a giggler. A small laugh emerged nonetheless and she smiled up at Reed. “Anyway, I got written up and earned a week off without pay.”
“What?”
“Yeah. The woman who’s standing in as director wasn’t pleased that I broke protocol. Chad was happy to recommend disciplinary action too.” Liza hoped doing so had helped smooth his fragile ego after she’d rejected him, and they could move on. “Anyway, I’ve been disciplined to the full extent of Lakeside law.”
He grimaced, squinting at her. “Are you remorseful?”
“Not in the least.”
Reed laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Well then . . .”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Well then.”
Their eyes met again for a beat, two, and they both laughed, looking away. “Do you wanna walk for a little bit?” Liza asked. “It’s such a nice night.” And she thought it’d be easier to talk to him about the other things on her mind if she was moving, working off her nervous energy.
“Sure.”
They stood, tossed their drinks in the trash near the front, and emerged into the mild evening air. Liza put her hands in the pockets of her light coat, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her face.
For a few minutes, they simply walked, a comfortable silence settling between them, the lights of the city glimmering all around. “I’d like to tell you about it,” Liza said quietly, haltingly. She hadn’t planned to do so, but maybe that’s why it felt right. “What happened after the fire.”
“I’d love to hear it,” Reed said, some emotion in his voice she wasn’t sure she could identify. Happiness mixed with something else. And somehow, that was enough to spur her on.
She took a deep breath. “After . . . the fire, I went into foster care. I was in several homes, but all of them were good. Nice houses. Clean. Decent people. I can’t say I became overly close with any of them. We still keep in touch at Christmas and things like that. But the foster care homes provided the first stable home environment I’d known, which I suppose is sad, considering foster care is never exactly stable.” She paused, thinking. “Foster care gets a bad rap a lot of the time, and granted, there are horror stories.” She glanced at Reed. He had a strange expression on his face that was there one second and gone the next, a flash that made her question whether she’d seen it at all.
“But you didn’t have one of those,” he said. “You were lucky.”
She realized that Reed, working in law enforcement, must see sad stories involving foster kids all the time. It was probably something that affected him regularly. “Yes,” she said. “I was lucky in that respect. I wasn’t hungry anymore. There was soap and toilet paper, things that weren’t available at our house.” She glanced at Reed to gauge his reaction to that bit of awfulness, but to his credit, he kept his expression neutral. “I was grieving, but I felt mostly safe. I wasn’t constantly afraid . . .” After a brief pause, she said, “A little while after I’d been released from the hospital, I was sent to this camp as part of a state funded program while my foster care placement was being finalized. It was meant as a reprieve. Camp Joy,” she said shooting him a smile.
“Oh yeah,” he said, “I know Camp Joy. The CPD uses it for team building during the academy.” His face screwed up. “The name though . . . it was probably the last thing you were feeling.”
“True,” she breathed. “But, in a roundabout way, it ended up inspiring just that. The other kids and I zip-lined and played games. We got to be kids. And one of the things they did at Camp Joy was an interactive play
about the Underground Railroad. The staff members were the conductors and the campers were the runaway slaves. They took us about a mile through the woods where we met an abolitionist, and a plantation owner . . . a bounty hunter.”
“And this was helpful for kids who’d just experienced trauma?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Liza let out a short laugh. “I know it sounds questionable, but they made us feel very safe. They made us feel like a team. And it was . . . inspiring. In a way it was scary, to learn what these people had experienced on their journey to freedom. To know the lengths they had gone through, the suffering, but also learn of those who willingly assisted them along the way . . . this covert network of good people who wanted to help and put their very lives—their own freedom—on the line. We learned that Cincinnati played a significant role in the Underground Railroad as thousands of slaves crossed the Ohio River from southern states. There are still rooms and passageways that were once safehouses and hiding places. There’s a now-abandoned house near the river where freedom seekers hid in this below-ground storage area that had a water runoff tunnel leading from it that let out on the shore.” She paused for just a moment. “I imagined those scared people gathered there, crawling into that darkness, and then running through the woods in the pitch-black of night, the only light cast by a sliver of moon. The bravery that would have taken, the terror that must have been in their hearts, but they did it anyway, running toward a world that would not embrace them because they decided that freedom was bigger and far more powerful than their fear. Their stories—though vastly different—made me want to be brave too.” Liza took a deep breath, realizing that she’d gotten lost in her own story, the deep interest she’d once had on the topic of those who escaped brutality to find freedom. But when she glanced at Reed, he looked so interested in what she was saying, that the embarrassment that had begun to rise within her, receded.
“Anyway,” she went on, “it had affected me so much, that when I was placed in my first home, I went to the library and checked out every book I could. I’d learned about slavery in school, of course, but not in a way that made it real to me. Camp Joy did that. And what it showed me was that people had made it through things even worse than what I’d experienced. They’d survived, some had even thrived, and maybe, therefore, I could too.” She glanced at him. “I became deeply interested in history, in wars, even genocides. I checked out books. I immersed myself in it.” She let out a small laugh that turned into a grimace. “I know it sounds morbid.”