by Shandi Boyes
“Who is it, Ryan? Why are you hiding them from me?” I ask, fighting to get out of his grip.
He firms his hold before he continues dragging me out his side gate. His wish to remove me from his backyard hurts more than anything. This is our spot. It is our stomping ground. It doesn’t belong to anyone but us!
“Are they the reason you’re wearing a towel?”
I can’t say she. I won’t say she.
“Why were you so desperate to stop me, you couldn’t put on a pair of pants?”
My stomach heaves when my eyes lock in on a truth my brain refuses to acknowledge. “Is that lipstick?” I stop talking to settle the bile racing up my throat before continuing, “Oh my god. That’s lipstick, isn’t it?”
Moisture burns my eyes as an incalculable number of horrible thoughts blitzes me. This can’t be happening. This is Ryan—my Ryan. He doesn’t cheat. He doesn’t break promises. He issues them with as much heart as I do. He trusts. He loves. He honors. This isn’t him. This isn’t the man I love.
With my heart determined to prove my brain wrong, I thrust out of Ryan’s hold and charge toward the area the moan/ripple/laugh came from.
I’ve barely stepped foot on the back patio of Ryan’s family home when Ryan curls his arm around my waist and yanks me back. His sudden movements stir up the weird fragrance I smelled on him earlier. It isn’t fresh like someone who just showered. It is sticky and sweet, like a man who has done a lot of sweating.
Oh god.
“Let me go, Ryan. Let me go! I want to see who it is,” I scream, my words as raw as my heart feels.
I couldn’t handle this on my best day, let alone my worst.
“I don’t want you to see that, Savannah,” Ryan mutters into my ear, breaking my heart even more. “It’s not something I ever want you to see.”
The honesty in his tone devastates me. He knows the image I’m desperately trying to see will shatter my heart beyond repair. He also knows there's only one visual that could do that: him with another woman.
“You promised you’d never hurt me, Ryan. You promised.” My last two words are barely audible.
When he continues his silent stance, I yank out of his grasp for the second time. I have no intention of tracking down the person responsible for the pain tearing my heart in two, I just need some distance between us. I can’t have him close to me and work through my anguish. It is impossible to be angry when all you’re feeling is familiarity.
While swiping at the tears cascading down my face, I beg for my mouth not to fail me. Now is not the time for stupidity.
My pleas fall on deaf ears when I blubber, “Are you... Did you...”
The expression crossing Ryan’s face hurts me more than his betrayal. All I want to do is shelter him from the pain, even when he's the one causing it.
“The distance became too much, Savannah. I got sick of waiting for you to come home,” he mutters, his voice tormented.
I take a step back, shocked. “It’s just your new job playing with your emotions, Ryan. It will settle down soon. If it doesn’t, I’ll request a transfer. I’ll take a gap year. We’ll make it work.”
I sound desperate, and rightfully so. I am desperate—desperate to save him from the distress stealing the life from his eyes. I’ve only worked through half the damage his parents’ volatile relationship caused, and I’m not willing to pass the baton to someone else. I was born for this job. I was born to protect him as devotedly as he has protected me most of our life. I was born to love him.
It feels like a knife is stabbed into my chest when Ryan shakes his head. “It’s too late for that. I’ve found someone else.”
“What?” I ask, certain I heard him wrong. My pulse is thudding in my ears, so I’m confident my hearing is affected. “You’re not like him, Ryan. You wouldn’t do this to me. You wouldn’t do this to us.”
I know you. You didn’t do this. Please tell me you didn’t destroy us.
When he steps closer to me, I swipe my hands in front of my body, demanding for him to stop. I need to see his eyes when he answers my next question, as that is the only way I will know if he's lying.
“Tell the truth, Ryan. Tell me the real reason you want me to leave and I will go. I’ll walk away and never look back.” I’ll accept Tobias’s offer and save you the shame of admitting you are associated with me.
Ryan’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he mutters, “I don’t want this life any more. It’s time to move on.”
I bite my bottom lip, praying the pain of my vicious bite will stop my tears from falling. My efforts are pointless. The honesty in his eyes is more than I can bear. This hurts more than anything. This utterly destroys me.
“If you wanted to move on, you could have just said so. You didn’t have to cheat on me.”
I swear my blood is boiling so furiously I’m moments away from an artery bursting. I’ve never been so angry and devastated in my life.
“I trusted you, Ryan. I believed every promise you spoke because I truly believe you are nothing like your father.”
My cheeks redden when I lower them down Ryan’s form, praying my hazy mind is making me mistake Carter genes. The man I love is standing in front of me, breaking my heart with every denial he fails to give.
“Clearly, I was wrong. But you don’t use your fists to cause harm. You use your charm.”
The viciousness of my reply shocks me, but with my heart last seen somewhere in Ryan’s backyard, I’m hitting him in the spot I know will hurt him more than anything. I’m comparing him to his father. It is a mean and demoralizing thing to do, but the flicker of candlelight I’ve spotted in Ryan’s window has me overcome with stupidity—like I could possibly be any more stupid.
I want to run away. I want to never see him and his devastatingly beautiful blue irises again, but before I can do that, I must say goodbye. Even though he has torn my heart into shreds, I refuse to be my mother. I will not leave the man I love without saying goodbye to him in person.
“Goodbye, Ryan,” I force out via a sob. “I hope she makes you happier than I ever could.”
I turn my eyes to his window, hating the woman who stole him away from me but also admiring her determination. Ryan is a catch—that is why I panicked when I saw him with Amelia last year. I didn’t want him to be miserable, but I didn’t want to lose him either. I should have just left him alone, then neither of us would be suffering this horrible heartache. He would have never seen the ledger, and I wouldn’t owe him anything for saving my life. We would have existed—miserable, but still alive nonetheless.
Now I get to be miserable by myself.
I return my eyes to Ryan, my heartache so strong it is the fight of my life to issue my next sentence. “I’m not sorry I trusted you. I’m just sorry I fell for the same mistake twice.”
Stealing his chance to reply, I pivot on my heels and race to my car. He doesn’t follow after me.
That hurts more than anything.
“Does she have to come with us?” I ask, glaring at my mom.
She tried to speak to me when I returned from Ryan’s house over two hours ago, but I’ve been giving her the cold shoulder. She knows the stains on my cheeks aren’t red from being bombarded with unwanted attention. No matter how often I swore their coloring was from the lewd proposition two young movers made while securing the last of our boxes, she knew I was lying. But since the last person I want to speak to about philandering partners is a philanthropist of the club, I’ve kept my mouth shut.
“Once we have everything settled, we’ll work on the rest,” Tobias assures, stepping into the path of the death stare I’m issuing my mother. “Are you sure this is what you want?” His tone is as high as the one he used when I returned to my family estate within twenty minutes of fleeing it.
Tobias was so certain I was running, he set the wheels in motion to move my dad to a safe location without my assistance. I was stunned. With how many police sirens I heard during my short trek from Ryan’s
house to my car, I thought he placed a bounty on my head. Just like nearly every day of my life, I was wrong.
The fact Tobias was going to let me fly free made my decision even easier. There’s nothing here for me anymore, so no harm was done when I agreed to his offer. I just hope my face will quell my father’s anxiety while we travel across state lines. I am more familiar to him than his surroundings, so as long as we are kept in close contact, the transition should be smooth. I hope.
“I’m sure,” I mutter, understanding a man as communitive as Tobias won’t accept a half-hearted nod as an answer. “I’ll be there in a minute. I’m nearly done here.”
He crouches down in front of me, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes more apparent in the bare bones of my bedroom. “You don’t have to do this. It was just a suggestion to ease the congestion in your mind. Our brains don’t shut down when our mouths choose not to speak.”
He isn’t referring to the agreement we made. He's referring to the letter I am in the process of writing. It is my final goodbye to Ryan, the words I couldn’t speak hours ago. It is neither pretty nor spiteful. It is just straight-up honest.
“I want to do this as well,” I assure Tobias, my voice more confident than my facial expression. “The people in it may never see it, but I feel better knowing I’ve written it.”
Tobias smiles in a way that makes it seem like I’ve known him for years. The FBI chose well when they made him their main man. He builds trust faster than I can snap my fingers, but not in a “I’ll say anything to get the job done” way. He speaks the truth—sometimes brutally.
He told me why he brought Axel here this evening. He knew Axel was lying when he said everything I had done for his family was of my own free will. My reaction to seeing Axel again proved what Tobias suspected. You can’t trust any man with Petretti blood running through their veins.
It was only after guaranteeing neither Axel or anyone in his family would know our location did I agree to his offer of witness protection. I’m not just spilling secrets about Axel and his scheming ways; I’m sharing information that will have Col Petretti’s second-in-charge walking the planks. I maintained his financial records for over a year; I know way more than anyone realizes. Stuff that will not only financially ruin Col but will take down many of his competitors as well.
Tobias was smart when he agreed with my demands. It is just a pity he scratched out my suggestion of adding my mom’s name alongside Axel’s. He’s adamant I’ll change my mind about her resurrection once the dust settles. I doubt it.
She cheated.
Ryan cheated.
The whole fucking world cheated.
I only turned nineteen last month, and I’m already done with society. I’ll be one of those old, sad cat ladies. Except I won’t be old. I’ll just be sad.
I’m drawn away from my negative thoughts when Tobias squeezes my shoulder. After mustering a fake reassuring grin, he says, “Take as much time as you need, Savannah. We’ll wait for you outside.”
Spotting my half-hearted nod, he stands and exits my room, taking my displeased mother with him.
“She needs time,” I hear him say as he guides her down the blank hallway.
I wait for their footsteps to stop booming into my room before glancing down at the letter I’ve been writing the past hour. It is done, one page of handwritten print. It is only missing one final thing: my signature.
After a long and tedious deliberation, I settle on the obvious.
Anna Banana
Chapter 4
Ryan
* * *
Four Years Later. . .
Chris stumbles into his living room, his steps as wobbly as the snarl on my face. It is barely 11 AM, and he's already well on the way to being drunk. I'd like to say his inebriated state is because today is the fourth anniversary of his little brother's death, but I know that isn't the case. He isn't guzzling down beer because he wants to forget; he's guzzling it because he has become his father. He's an alcoholic.
The past four years have been tough on Chris. No. Correction. The past four years have been tough on us all; Chris’s recovery is just longer than the rest of us. Brax and I have stood by his side the entire time, but nothing we say or do has helped his grief. He isn’t just angry he lost his brother; he’s mad as hell.
I can understand his anger. Michael was only four years old. He had barely lived before his life was cruelly stripped away. But shouldn’t Michael’s death encourage Chris to be a better man? Shouldn’t it stop him from following the muddy footprints our fathers’ left behind? Shouldn’t he appreciate the life Michael never got to live?
I want to say yes to all my questions, but I’ve never been fond of lying. Chris isn’t living his best life; he's living his worst. He doesn’t respect himself, much less those around him. He doesn’t even bother hiding his drug paraphernalia from me anymore. He knows the field I work in, but he also knows I care about him too much to watch him waste the prime years of his life in jail alongside his father.
God—what a fucking soft cock I've become. Just like I did my entire childhood, I am once again keeping silent. This has to stop. I need it to end.
“Do you really need another, Chris?” I ask, noticing he isn’t just clasping two beers in his hand. He has three. “Today is supposed to be about remembering Michael.” Not drinking yourself into a coma.
Chris shoots me a disapproving glare before slumping into the springless sofa shoved against the far wall of his living room. Unlike me, Chris moved out of home within weeks of us finishing school. He works as a mechanic at a local wrecking yard and has been dating a local girl the past few months. The moving out part is like honey and milk, a perfect combination. My other two statements are more like oil and water.
The wrecking yard Chris works at is owned by a notorious man in our community. His name isn't on the title, and he hasn't stepped foot on the premises since the day it opened two years ago, but everyone knows it is one of Col's many last-ditch attempts to return his wealth to its former glory.
A little under three years ago, Col faced federal charges. The list of accusations was immense: racketeering, kidnapping, money laundering, attempted murder—you name it, it was addressed during his arraignment. The prosecution was certain they had a slam dunk case.
They didn’t.
All but one remained after a yearlong trial: Col Petretti.
I followed the case with interest, not just because I am a member of the law enforcement community, but because names mentioned during the trial piqued my interest. I had associated, hated, and fought against the men cited in the charges. I even knew some of them on a more personal level.
I was also hoping to see a familiar face.
I never did. Well, not the one I was hoping for.
Although Isaac was never summoned to testify in Col’s trial, his name was mentioned numerous times by the prosecutors leading the case. I don’t know if they were using him to aid in their case or discredit it. But at the end of the day, Col walked free.
His associates weren’t as lucky. It wasn’t just their assets stripped from their possession. They also lost their freedom.
After keeping his location on the down-low for nearly a year, Col inevitably resurfaced. Unfortunately, his roots were too embedded in the Ravenshoe area to officially cut ties. At first, his dealings appeared above board, but as the months rolled on, rumors circulated.
Even though I don’t have proof, I’m certain Col is back to his old tricks. You can strip a man of every possession he owns, and he will still see himself as a king. You can even remove his heart, and he will continue functioning without it. I’m living proof of that.
“Jesus Christ, Chris,” I babble under my breath when he spills a year’s worth of cigarette butts into my lap as he grabs for the remote control. “Watch what you’re fucking doing.”
While I stand from the stained couch, Chris snarks, “Do you really need another? How can you pay the electric bill if you spend
all your money at the track? Why don’t you tell me I look pretty anymore? My god—you nag more than Molly does. Blah, blah, fucking blah. No wonder Damon hit her. An old geezer who popped three blue pills only an hour ago would have difficulties keeping it hard with her voice yipping in his ear. I’m tempted to smack her just for a minute of peace.”
I glare at him, too shocked to form words. The snarky smirk on his face shows he’s trying to be playful, but it doesn’t lessen my anger in the slightest.
“I swear to God, Chris, I will turn a blind eye to your obvious obsession with a bong, and god knows what else you’re hiding with a couple of well-placed magazines, but if you ever—I mean even once—lay your hands on a woman, I will arrest you, I will haul your sorry ass to jail, and I’ll tell Bruno to ride it until you’re screaming your momma’s name for help. Do you understand me? This shit isn’t funny. Beating women isn’t funny.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Chris stabs his half-smoked cigarette directly onto the coffee table. “One, I was joking. Two, I was fucking joking. And three, don’t go acting like the stick shoved up your ass has anything to do with me. You’re not here to ‘help see me through my grief’ or even mourn the death of your father. You’re here because you don’t want to think about her.”
The tick in my jaw turns manic. I'm not fuming at the mention of my father; I'm peeved at the way he said his last word. Just like my dad, Chris hasn't said Savannah's name since the day she left. Not once. I thought he was doing that to save me the anguish. Only now am I realizing my assumptions are wrong. My dad's death was a godsend; Savannah's disappearance wasn't. She didn't just hurt me when she left; she hurt Chris and Brax as well.
“My brother died, Ryan. He's fucking dead.” The pain in Chris’s voice cuts me like a knife. “She left of her own choice. That isn’t even close to the same thing.”