by Shandi Boyes
I race for the back entrance of my house before my brain has formulated my plan of action. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I reach Savannah, but I sure as hell don’t want her to witness this dismal situation firsthand. I also don’t want her last thoughts of me to be tainted by horror.
“Savannah,” I shout breathlessly, stopping her climb up the trestle.
My turmoil grows when Savannah swings her eyes in my direction. They are brimming with tears and look as haunted as mine.
“What are you doing outside...?” Her eyes drift around our isolated surroundings before she murmurs, “Why are you only wearing a towel? Aren’t you cold?”
Before I can answer her, the whimpered voice of my mom fills the silence teeming between us.
Ivy leaves fall at Savannah’s feet when she drops down from the trestle. “Is that your mom? Is she okay?” she asks, the worry on her face picking up.
I stop her attempt to skirt by me by gripping her elbow. “It’s not my mom. It’s nothing.”
Confusion crosses Savannah’s face, but that’s not the only new expression she's wearing. She is also suspicious.
“If it’s not your mom, who is it?” she questions, the distrust in her voice as high as my heart rate. “Is it the person responsible for occupying so much of your time today you couldn’t answer any of my calls or texts?”
Her distrust shocks me. This is not like Savannah. Obviously, I’m not the only one having a bad day.
“It’s nothing,” I repeat, a better denial above me.
Noticing I am guiding her away from the person she desperately wants to uncover, Savannah fights against my hold. With the police sirens I hear wailing in the distance growing louder with every second that passes, my grip on her arm is almost deadly. I’m not meaning to hurt her, but I need her to leave—and I need her to leave now.
“Who is it, Ryan? Why are you hiding them from me?” Savannah inhales a sharp breath as the suspicion on her face switches to anger. “Are they the reason you’re wearing a towel? Why were you so desperate to stop me, you couldn’t put on a pair of pants...?”
Her words trail off when her eyes drop to the scrap of material barely covering my modesty. “Is that lipstick...? Oh my god. That’s lipstick, isn’t it?”
Her accusations blindside me, but since I can’t reveal the red smear she's staring at is the blood of my deceased father, I keep my mouth shut.
My failure to answer Savannah’s question in a timely manner adds to her agitation. She yanks out of my grasp with the determination of a ninja before racing for the side gate I only just dragged her through. Gratitude for months of tactical response training slams into me when I curl my arm around her waist and yank her away from my back porch with only a second to spare.
“Let me go, Ryan!” Savannah screams, thrusting against my hold. “Let me go. I want to see who it is.”
“I don’t want you to see that, Savannah,” I mutter in her ear, my voice as devastated as hers. “It’s not something I ever want you to see.”
“You promised you’d never hurt me, Ryan,” she sobs, mistaking my confession as one of guilt. “You promised.”
When she pulls away from my hold for the second time, I let her go. My decision is more based on our location than her desire to get away from me. We are now standing in the middle of my front yard, a good dozen or more feet from the atrocity in my backyard.
Savannah angrily swipes at the tears streaming down her cheeks before locking her eyes with mine. I want to pull her into my chest and tell her nothing is as it seems. I want to wipe away every tear falling from her eyes while promising she will never cry again. But since I know she deserves a better life than the one I’m moments away from living, I don’t do either of those things.
I let her believe the crazy notions filling her head.
I let her think I’m hiding a dirty secret I promised I’d never have.
I let her eyes judge me like I am a cheater just like my father.
Because I’d rather her think I am a cheating, low-life scum than have her waste the prime years of her life waiting for me. If Savannah was to discover the truth, she would wait for me. That isn’t a possibility. It is a certainty. She's a nurturer and a protector, just like me. It's the way we are. We don’t know any different.
“Are you... Did you...”
I don’t know if heartbreak is stealing Savannah’s words or confusion. If I had the time, I’d sit down and work it out, but since the wailing of sirens is warning of my imminent arrest, I use a tactic I swore I’d never use on her. I lie.
“The distance became too much, Savannah. I got sick of waiting for you to come home.”
My confession knocks the wind from Savannah’s lungs. “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 shake my head, pretending I’m not thrilled by her suggestions. “It’s too late for that. I’ve found someone else.”
“What?” Savannah only says one word, but her eyes ask so many more. “You’re not like him, Ryan. You wouldn’t do this to me. You wouldn’t do this to us.”
When I step closer to her, incapable of ignoring the pain in her eyes for a second longer, she holds her hands out in front of her body, stopping my advancement.
“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 swallow to soothe the burn in my throat before muttering, “I don’t want this life anymore. It’s time to move on.” Because my reply is honest, it comes out sounding that way.
Savannah tries her hardest to hold in her tears. Her attempts are borderline. “If you wanted to move on, you could have just said so. You didn’t have to cheat on me,” she snarls through gritted teeth. “I trusted you, Ryan. I believed every promise you spoke because I truly believe you're nothing like your father.”
Anger lines her face when I once again fail to respond to her assumptions.
The pain in her eyes shifts to fury, announcing her next words will cut me raw. “Clearly, I was wrong. But you don’t use your fists to cause harm. You use your charm.”
As I was anticipating, her words cut through me like a knife. They have me wanting to renege on every promise I’ve made thus far tonight. Before I get the chance, Savannah steals the opportunity.
“Goodbye, Ryan. I hope she makes you happier than I ever could.” She nudges her head to my bedroom window. Because only the bathroom light is on, its weak flicker makes it seem as if my room is lit by candlelight. “I’m not sorry I trusted you. I’m just sorry I fell for the same mistake twice.”
Cracks fracture my heart when she spins on her heels and charges to her car parked three spots up from my truck. She throws open her driver’s side door with so much force, I wouldn’t be shocked to discover she warped the hinges. The frantic speed she uses to evade me matches the speed of the police cruisers entering from the other end of the street to incarcerate me.
42
Ryan
“Don’t say another word.”
Regina pokes her finger at the chest of the officer who has been interrogating me the past two hours before hooking her thumb to the door. “Get out.”
When Corporal James attempts to refute Regina’s request, she cuts off any reply he is planning to give with a glare. “I’m sorry, did that sound like a suggestion to you? If it did, I’ll be sure to ask Lieutenant Dan for some pointers on the proper etiquette required to herd cattle.”
Failing to hear the menace in Regina’s tone, the officer laughs. It's a foolish move on his behalf. Jokes fire off Regina’s tongue like the crack of a whip, but she doesn’t handle them anywhere near as well.
“Get out!” she screams at the top of her lungs, alerting not just Corporal James to her annoyance, but the entire Ravenshoe Police Department.
The blond-haired officer scampers off his seat before mak
ing a beeline for the door. His pace is so frantic, his government-issued shoes fail to gain traction on the slippery tiled floor.
Regina waits for him to shut the door behind him before shifting her nearly black eyes to me. “Glad to see you found some pants,” she mutters with a wiggle of her dark brows.
See, a regular jokester when she’s the one dishing it out.
She places a freshly laundered shirt onto the table in front of me before filling the seat opposite me. “Put that on. You need to look presentable.”
A whizz of air parts her lips when I gesture my head to the cuffs circling my wrists. “You were arrested on scene for the murder of a fellow officer. How far do they think you're going to get if you decide to run?”
My brows stitch, confused by her statement. I’m not puzzled by her first comment; the officers who arrested me ensured there was no question what I was being accused of. It's her comment on me running that has me baffled. I pled guilty to my crime. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.
“They didn’t need to cuff you,” Regina explains to my baffled expression. “Because there are over a dozen cops standing in the hallway, praying to get five minutes alone with you. You wouldn’t have made it three steps out of this room without smelling lead.”
My face screws up, peeved by her comment. Up until two hours ago, I was one of them.
“Don’t worry, Ryan. I’m taking names. Anyone who truly knew your father isn’t standing in that corridor. They are striving to work out what really happened tonight, because they know as well as I do that you didn’t do what you’re pleading guilty to.”
When she leans over to undo my cuffs with a skeleton key, she whispers, “Why didn’t you answer my calls? I tried to warn you he was close to detonating. Your father failed his psych exam. He was put on unpaid leave earlier today.”
Her confession adds an unnatural beat to my heart. “That was you calling? I thought it was Savannah.”
Regina shakes her head, answering my question without words. “I instructed IA to call me the instant there was a change in his case, but I didn’t get the call until three hours after he was placed on leave.”
I’d like to act shocked by her mention of the Internal Affairs department, but that would be fraudulent. IA was called in to investigate my dad after his new partner raised suspicion over an incident he witnessed with businesses on the other side of the tracks. It appears as if my dad’s drinking habit was funded by bribes from shady business owners happy for him to run the more reputable businesses out of town. Although Regina instructed me to stay away from the case, I know of at least two corporations his scheming took down. The most notable, a venture capitalist company that was a subsidiary of Savannah’s father’s primary corporation.
“Speaking of Savannah, where is she?” Regina questions as she frees me from being cuffed to the table I’m sitting at.
I rotate my wrists, acting like my heart isn’t racing a million miles an hour. “We’re...uh... taking a break.”
Regina’s brows furrow, certain she heard me wrong. “A break?” she double-checks, her voice loaded with suspicion. “Or are you forcing her off the team against her will?”
She sighs heavily when she reads the truth in my eyes. “That’s not fair, Ryan. She has the right to choose whose side she’s on.”
She grumbles something about insolent men thinking they have the right to choose who someone can love as she slumps into the steel chair Corporal James just fled from.
“I’m saving her from a life of misery,” I reason, my tone confident.
Constantly reminding myself that my decision is best for all involved is the only thing that has stopped me from demanding my one phone call so I can tell Savannah the truth. She has already handled her fair share of torment; she doesn’t deserve any more.
“You’re not saving Savannah from anything, Ryan. You’re making her miserable.” Regina’s glistening eyes dance between mine as she reveals, “For twenty-three years I let the man I love convince me I deserved better than him. Do you know what that got me?”
Even though she's asking a question, she continues speaking as if she didn’t, “Twenty-three years of misery. Twenty-three years of wondering how I could convince him I’m worthy of his time. And twenty-three years of waiting for him to realize he was the one who deserved better—not me. I watched the man I love walk away from me because I was too scared to tell him he was wrong. Don’t ruin this, Ryan. Don’t let your parents ruin the best thing that could ever happen to you because you’re too afraid of letting Savannah love you as much as you love her.”
Moisture burns my eyes. “It’s too late—”
“No, it’s not,” Regina denies, her voice rising with an equal amount of grief and understanding. “Give her the choice. Let her choose, Ryan.”
I shake my head. “I’m not dragging her into this, Regina. I’m not going to have her wait for me for years like you did for Tobias. That’s not living.”
Although Regina balks at my mentioning of Tobias’s name, she knows I hit the nail on the head, so she doesn’t bother refuting my claims.
“I’m going to jail; I will not allow Savannah to serve my sentence with me.”
Regina shakes her head. I don’t know what she's denying, but a fire I’ve never seen in her eyes before detonates when a tap sounds at the door.
“Put your shirt on,” Regina requests, nudging her head to the white tee sitting on the edge of the table. “Show her you’re worth fighting for too.”
Her last sentence fills me with worry. I really fucking hope she hasn’t brought Savannah here again. My assumptions are proven wrong when she swings open the door. It’s not Savannah standing on the other side; it's someone I never expected: my mom.
She chokes out my name in a sob when she spots the marks the handcuffs caused to my wrists. With tears dribbling down her cheeks, she rushes to my side before slinging her arms around my neck. I stand frozen, unsure how to react. My mom was a good woman, but she lost her mothering ways a long time ago. I honestly can’t remember the last time she hugged me.
After handing my mom two tissues, Regina gestures for her to sit in the vacant chair next to me. When she does as requested, I also take my seat. Even with my confusion at an all-time high, I gather my mom’s hand in mine, hoping my touch will ease the big shakes hampering her tiny frame. It does—somewhat.
“With no marks found on Ryan’s body during preliminary evidence, and the weapon used owned by the accused, prosecutors may seek the death penalty.”
“It was self-defense. I was defending myself,” I uphold, stunned beyond belief.
I’d never factored the death penalty into the equation. My father was a horrible man who abused his wife for years. If anyone should be facing charges, it should be him.
Regina slides a slip of paper across the table. It shows the 96 inmates who have been sentenced to death in the state of Florida the past decade.
“They’re saying your father’s death was premeditated. That you lured him onto the back patio with the intention of killing him. That's why you were arrested in a towel. You washed the evidence off your body. That shows a thought process—that you sat down and deliberated on your assault. That gives them motive.”
My mouth gapes open and closed but not a peep spills from my lips. I’m shocked—so very fucking shocked.
Regina’s stormy eyes shift from me to my mother. “Is that what you want, Mrs. Carter? Do you want to bury your son beside your husband?”
My anger skyrockets. I know what she's doing. I’ve seen her use this form of interrogation many times before. I’ve just never witnessed it on someone I know and love.
“You don’t have to answer that,” I instruct my mom, forever protecting her as she did my dad.
“Why can’t she answer it, Ryan?” Regina asks, her voice quickly switching from friendly to in charge. “It's a simple question. Do you want to bury your son next to your husband? Yes or no?”
“No,” my mom
answers, her voice weak. “No mother wants to bury her child.”
“Then save Ryan from this. Tell me what happened today.” Regina leans over the table, bridging the gap between her and my mom. “Tell me the truth.”
When my mom attempts to answer Regina, I beat her to the punch. “I’ve already told you the truth. You’re just not listening to the facts.”
Regina doesn’t realize this isn’t just about my mom. This is about my brother as well. I gave him my word, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep it. I’ve already lost everyone I care about; I’m not going to let him suffer the same consequence.
“I killed my father. I shot him. It was me.” I bang my fist on my chest to amplify my lies.
“Why, Ryan? You’ve told us it was you. You wrote a formal statement saying it was you. But not once have you said why you killed him.”
Her question stumps me for a moment. When you plead guilty to a crime, you don’t prepare a defense. You just say you’re guilty—case over.
“Because he was...”
My words trap in my throat when my mom curls her hand over mine. She stares at me via lowered lashes, silently warning me to remain quiet like she always has.
I realize now what Damon said months ago was true. She's going to ruin me.
God—I protected her for years, and the one time I need her to stand up for me, she continues protecting him. I don’t know this woman seated next to me. She raised me, but I don’t know who she is anymore.
“I’m sorry I was never good enough, Ma. I’m sorry I never had the chance to show you what a real man is like. But I’ll never be sorry for protecting you. You are my mother, and without you, I wouldn’t be here. I never meant to hurt you; I just wanted him to stop.”
I shift my eyes to the other side of the room for a few moments to gather my composure, the pain in my mom’s eyes too raw to continue looking at her. I want to blame her for everything that happened, but what I said to Damon earlier was true. She's sick, so this isn’t her fault.