“You’re up first.”
Bryce clasps her hands together. “Are you a late-night snacker?”
“No.”
“I totally took you as a late-night snacker.” She shakes her head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; you’re definitely in shape—everywhere—and your endurance is unmatched, but I just thought you’d slip an Oreo in after nine o’ clock.”
I want to laugh, but I don’t. Maybe because I just want her to continue to make that face, one of surprise.
The road begins to narrow, going from two lanes to one. I adjust my hands on the wheel. “Have you ever cheated while playing a game?”
“Come on, everyone has.”
I shake my head. “Yes or no answer, Hayes, I don’t need an explanation.”
Bryce rolls her eyes in a joking fashion. “Yes.”
If I took a dollar for every time I cheated my way out of checkers with my brother, I’d have an IOU with interest to pay back to the Checker Cheaters of America. But I don’t tell Bryce this. I let her fester in her own moral dilemma.
She smiles. “Have you ever cheated on a test?”
“No.”
Bryce rolls her eyes again. “Are you kidding? Next, you’re going to tell me that you’re really Jesus Christ. Seriously, haven’t you ever done anything immoral?”
“I slept with a married woman.”
Her mouth falls open. “You did not.”
“You’re right; I didn’t. But it came pretty damn close.”
It’s as if her mind is catching up with the momentum of the conversation. “You kissed a married woman.”
“I didn’t know she was married. Not until, well, much later.”
Bryce turns her head and stares at the road. She opens her mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again. “Sure beats my cheating at Monopoly.”
“Have you ever dated someone more than once?” I ask.
“No.”
“Same question,” she says. “Wait, let me guess … the married woman?”
“No.”
“Do you have regrets?” she whispers out of turn. Her lips almost pressed against the window.
“Yes. Same question.”
“Yes.” The tires glide now across the road. “Have you ever slept naked with more than person?”
“No. Just you.”
Bryce uncomfortably adjusts herself in the seat, the corners of her mouth pulled down. “I’m sorry. Friends don’t ask friends those questions.”
I reach over and put my hand on her thigh before I realize what I’m doing. This is a bad idea, Ethan. She asked for friendship. But something in me knows she needs my touch. I want to say, Friends don’t touch each other like the way we’ve touched each other, but I don’t. There’s nothing said about it.
What I would give right now to be in a bed, it doesn’t matter where, in the sheets with her, my skin pressed against hers. Her breath against my mouth. Her thirsty cry for me. The way her eyes close just before she climaxes with me inside her.
I push the selfish thought away as she asks another question with my hand still on her leg.
“What’s better—”
But we’re interrupted because her phone begins to ring.
I watch her shoulders rise as she looks at the screen.
“It’s my mother.”
“Take it.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“I know you, and if you don’t take it, you’ll feel bad as soon as you hit the Ignore button.”
Bryce pulls back her lip in a snarl. “You think you’ve got me dialed in, don’t you, Mr. Casey?”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
She gives me the evil eye. “Hey, Mom,” she answers, sticking her tongue out at me. “No, I fell off the face of the planet, but thankfully, I was returned by the Millennium Falcon just yesterday. I was getting ready to call you and tell you about my amazing trip around the sun.” She’s quiet for a minute. “It was a joke, Mom. Mom, stop. Stop. It was a joke.” Again, silence. “Ryker’s always MIA. Nothing new to my ears.” She rolls her eyes and stares at the ceiling of the truck. “Wait. What? You had him at the house? What did Dad say?” Listens. “If you continue to save him—give him a clean bed to sleep in, food, a warm shower—why the hell would he want to get sober? He has the best of both worlds.”
There’s a tightness to Bryce’s voice. One I’ve heard directed at me. Rightfully deserved. When she came to Maine to visit Alex and all I gave her was a nod. Which is probably the path I should have continued on.
“Mom, look, I don’t want to hear about Ryker. Don’t call me if that’s all you want to talk about. When’s the last time you asked me how I was doing? I’m the one who made the right decisions. I’m the one who finished college, graduated top of my class. I’m the one who closes multimillion-dollar book contracts.”
This isn’t the Bryce I know. This is the Bryce whose emotion has taken the best of her. I want to tell her to hang up the phone because I’m protective of her heart. But I can’t. This isn’t my battle to fight.
“I have to go, Mom. Millennium Falcon is beckoning me back.”
I laugh out loud. Bryce shoots a look my way and smiles.
Bryce hangs up and shoves her phone in her bag, crosses her arms, stares me down. “Happy now?”
“You’re right; you probably shouldn’t have taken the call.” I smile again.
She does, too, but the smile she gives isn’t her best. Her most genuine. That smile, the genuine one, sat just before the phone call.
I think about the questions James has asked me in the past. Stupid, sometimes philosophical questions that have no bearing on my mental stability, but when he asks them, I always answer them.
“What makes you happy?”
Bryce is biting her lip. Stops. Turns her head to me. “I thought these were yes or no questions.”
“What makes me happy,” I start. “The woods at sunrise on an early morning hunt. A cold beer after a long, hot day. My job. A warm bed. And Cheetos.”
Bryce laughs. “Cheetos?”
“Yeah.” I adjust my hand on the wheel. “They don’t have Cheetos overseas. Can you believe it? They have every kind of chip, except Cheetos. I guess I take that back. They do have some sort of cheese-puff chips, but they’re awful. Your turn.”
“Oh, let’s see. The adrenaline rush I get when I sign an author. A hot bath. Watching puppies play on my Facebook feed. A hard workout—but only afterward. The rain.”
Her last answer catches me off guard. “The rain?”
“I love it. That’s probably why I paid Alex so many visits in Belle’s Hollow. Do you know it rains there eighty percent of the time?”
“But you’re in Los Angeles, California. They shut down that big freeway you all have after heavy dew, don’t they?” I’m being sarcastic, and she knows it. “Do you like it in LA?”
“I guess I’ve stayed because it’s the only place I know. It’s my comfort zone. It’s convenient. My family’s there—albeit dysfunctional, but nonetheless my family.” She pauses. “What was it like, growing up in Granite Harbor with a great family?”
I sigh. “No family is perfect.” And I don’t really answer her question because it’s hard to remember those days. James says it’s because of the PTSD. I’d like to blame it on something, but sometimes, I think it’s an easy out. To blame PTSD for everything. I give her some of my truth. “I don’t remember a lot. I have feelings that are associated with my childhood, which are good. It’s just tough to remember what feelings are associated with what events.”
Low hum of the tires.
“Why do you think that is?”
I give her another honest answer. “Sometimes, it feels like there’s a freight train running through my head. Sometimes, it’s loud, and I can’t focus or hear anything but the train. Same with my memories. Sometimes, the train is just too loud.” I pause. “I haven’t shared that with a
nyone.” Besides James. And I’m not ready to bring James up yet.
“Does the train ever stop?” She’s staring at me.
“Yeah.” When I’m with you.
“When?”
“During the important times.”
“Do you have any memories at all of your childhood?”
“Sure. Just some are a lot hazier than others.”
“Can you share one with me?”
I think about it. Not whether to share it or not, but if I have a good grasp on one.
“Aaron and I were about eight or nine at the time. We’d been downtown at Rick’s Pharmacy, buying our weekly candy supply. We just paid Rick for it, and we were leaving when Irene Mathers walks in, pulling her husband, David Mathers, behind her. He ranted on and on, ‘I’m sorry, Irene. I’m sorry.’ Anyhow, she marched up to the counter, passing Aaron and me, and says to Rick, ‘You need to give my husband something for his pornography addiction. It’s the seventh time I’ve caught him this week, Rick. You’ve got to give him something.”
Bryce starts to laugh.
“Aaron and I had no idea what the word pornography meant, so we ended up pulling out the dictionary and finding the definition. We laughed and ate candy and never looked at the Mathers family the same.”
“Oh my goodness! Are they still married?” Her mouth is open, and her genuine smile is coming back.
“To this day.” I nod. “I highly doubt Irene remembers seeing us that day because she was so mad.” I laugh. I can do this with Bryce so effortlessly now, I realize.
Bryce stares out the window. “My brother called me six months ago. He’d been in his addiction for several years, and I almost wrote him off, ignored the call. But something told me I had to pick it up, so I did. He said he needed some food. But, for some reason, his voice was different with that call. He gave me the address of where he was. Didn’t ask for anything specific—just food.
“I went to the grocery store and purchased four bags of groceries. I took them to the address he had given me. The sun was getting ready to set, about dinnertime. Ryker emerged from this bush, alone. I know that my brother loves me, and he’d never put me in an unsafe situation, no matter how bad it got. I handed him the bags of groceries, and he said, ‘Thank you.’ But it was the look in his eye that said so much more. It was like … it was like I had seen the old Ryker just for a split second. The grateful one. The unaddicted one.
“Anyhow, I got back into my car and shut the door, my keys in my hand, ready to start the car. Ryker though just stood there. Watched me. Contemplated maybe. I’m not sure. Then again, maybe he was waiting for me to leave. I started the car, and he started to walk back to the bushes, the way he had come. But before he made it, a little boy, no older than twelve, emerged. This time, Ryker didn’t look back at me. Instead, he handed the boy some fruit and bread from the bags of groceries. Then, a woman emerged. Both didn’t look homeless. They looked tired. The woman looked as though she’d been beaten down both physically and mentally. The boy just looked terrified.” She pauses, maybe to keep her composure. Coughs to shake off the tears that might begin to fall.
“I drove away that night. Allowed my brother to be himself. Addicted or not, I knew he was helping the woman and her son. That my brother didn’t cause the terror on the boy’s face or the weakness in the woman—that had been someone else’s doing. So, when I got home that night, I turned on the news and plastered across the screen was the woman’s beautiful smile and the boy’s sheepish grin with a man I’d seen before.
“Luke O’Connor is an up-and-comer, groomed for the political world. Luke’s father and our father are friends. Luke is cocky and thrives off his father’s wealth. On the outside, Luke has a smile that can negotiate a deal without a word spoken, and he has everything going for him. But, on the inside, he’s far more sinister, far darker, and extremely smart.
“Ryker and I don’t know Luke really well. On occasion, we’d be stuck at the same political function and have to endure him. He was tolerable. His ego would fill the room. So, we stood clear of Luke. As we got older, Luke began to bring women to events. But, when he brought Sandra, his fiancée, the look in her eyes told me, something wasn’t right about Luke.
“It was reported that the wife, Sandra O’ Connor, and son, Landon O’Connor, had gone missing in the early morning hours. That the husband, Luke O’Connor, was worried sick and prayed for their safe return. The problem was, he probably wasn’t praying. And that Sandra and Landon were safe—away from him.
“I drove back to the address my brother had given me the day before. I brought clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste, bottles of water, a prepaid phone just for emergencies, deodorant, sunglasses. I knew my brother needed my help. We had to keep them in hiding. Because that’s what they were doing. They weren’t kidnapped; they were trying to stay hidden.” She stares out the window, never looking once at me. “Just outside of Los Angeles, there’s a bus station that I’d found online the night before. It took an hour and four minutes to get there. I gave them cash and took Sandra’s credit cards because she said she didn’t want to feel compelled to use them during desperate times. It was when she quickly thanked Ryker and kissed the top of her son’s head that I knew we’d done the right thing. I’m not sure why she was running, but I had a gut feeling the terror she and her son had lived every single day was what kept her going as far away from Los Angeles as she could.”
“Have you heard from her?” I ask.
“No,” she sighs. “Which brings me to why I told you this story.” Bryce pauses. “Someone knows about what Ryker and I did, and he’s not happy.”
Twenty-One
Bryce
“We’ve received threats to our family. Nobody knows why, except Ryker and me. That’s the way we’ll keep it. We can’t tell a soul where we put Sandra and Landon. Luke has too many links to law enforcement. Surely, they’ll believe his charismatic smile, his charm—just as Sandra bought it on the day they met. And the reason no one knows where they are is because, if we talk, Sandra and Landon are as good as dead—or going back to the hell they lived in for years.” I pause again. “The reason the black car ran us, your family, off the road is probably because of me. The car out front this morning? Probably because of me. I know I’m being watched. But there’s no way Luke will make a move to where it’s traceable. God forbid, he ruin his perfect reputation. I’m really sorry I didn’t say something sooner, Ethan, especially after putting your family at risk like that.”
Finally, I look at Ethan. His shoulders are tense, his jaw tight. He doesn’t say a word.
I see a mileage sign—Brookline … 72 miles.
“Are you mad?” I ask.
Ethan pulls his lip back and looks at me. “Why would I be mad, Bryce?” His tone is short.
“I put your family at risk. I didn’t tell you.”
“Did you drive the black sedan that ran us off the road?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
I sigh. “There’s more. I received a text message a few days ago. Somehow, he’s gotten my phone number, which doesn’t surprise me. I’ve tried to brush it off. Tried to reach out to Ryker, but he’s pretty good at staying hidden. Sometimes, I think he stays loaded more than usual, so the fear doesn’t come.” I wonder, too, if he can gain enough clarity to realize the severity of the situation. I don’t say this out loud.
Ethan nods.
My insides cringe. Turn to knots. “Please say something. Your body language is killing me.”
Ethan’s eyes dart to me.
“It’s that obvious,” I say.
He pulls his shoulder back again—a sign of nervousness—adjusts back into his seat, one large hand on the wheel, the other in his lap. “I-I’m angry.”
“Look, I’m sorry.”
Ethan reaches over and puts his free hand on my thigh.
Just friends, I remind myself.
“Not at you. At this situation. And this douche bag who thin
ks he can intimidate people. Hurt women. His child.” Ethan shakes his head and stares out his window and then back to the road. “You and Ryker did everything right.”
No, no, we didn’t. Right to whose standards? My moral compass? Yes. The Ten Commandments? No. But what I do to rationalize my own behavior is tell myself that we aren’t Catholic and the Ten Commandments only apply to Catholics.
What I don’t tell Ethan is that Ryker and I lied to police. LAPD asked Luke’s colleagues and their families if we knew anything about the missing persons, if we’d seen them. We told them no. And I don’t tell Ethan this because I don’t want him caught up in the shitstorm. I don’t want police to get him. I don’t want him to lose his job for some sort of conspiring charge. I’ll tell the truth when I need to. But, for now, it will be a well-kept secret until I know Sandra and Landon are safe forever.
“Sandra and Landon are still safe?”
“As far as I know. I think there would have been a media storm if they’d been discovered.” I don’t say what knocks around in the back of my brain. What if they were found and their bodies were hidden? Because I wouldn’t put it past Luke to kill and hide. Or have someone else do it. Pay them tons of money to do so. Luke comes from wealth; it’s not something he’s worked for. My brain starts to run. I should call Sandra. Just make sure they’re all right. “I should call Sandra.”
“Wouldn’t be an awful idea.” Ethan shrugs.
I’m not sure why I didn’t think of this. Maybe the happy-ending woman wanted it to be just that. Sandra and Landon living in a quiet cottage off the coast of Florida or South Carolina, finally living a normal life after years of suffering.
Ethan sighs. “I guess this totally blows my Mathers porn story out of the park.”
I give a half-laugh as Ethan pulls into a motel parking lot.
“Figured we could stay here for a few nights. I’ll text Maria and let her know we’ll be to her house in an hour.”
A long line of motel rooms line up in a U-shape, and the parking is bare.
We both get out of the truck with our bags and walk into the lobby.
Ethan opens the door for me, his overnight bag over his shoulder. “After you.”
Magnolia Road: A Contemporary Romance Novel (The Granite Harbor Series Book Book 3) Page 14
