Finding Home with You

by Claire Raye

  I collapse against her, my chest pressed to her back, as we both fall to the bed, my dick still buried deep inside her. I know I’m probably smothering her, but I don’t move. Unable to as my chest heaves and my heart pounds against my ribcage.

  “So that’s what angry fucking feels like,” Erin eventually says, her words jumbled against the pillow.

  I kiss her shoulder. “We’ve had plenty of angry sex before, Red,” I say. “That’s kind of our thing.”

  Erin chuckles a little. “Not like that we haven’t,” she says.

  “Why?” I ask. “How was that different?”

  Erin lifts her head a little, looks at me over her shoulder. “You were so possessive,” she says. “Dominating and controlling. More so than any other time,” she adds.

  I don’t know if what she says is true, but I know that it’s exactly how I feel and right now, I don’t give a shit if she doesn’t like it. Pushing up on my hands, I flip Erin so she’s now lying on her back beneath me. “I don’t think you get it, Erin,” I say, hovering over her. “I am feeling possessive. And controlling and dominating and maybe just a little bit pissed off too. And you know what? I’m not gonna apologize for it, no matter how much you might want me to. And I’m also taking your gun. Not because I don’t trust you but because I fucking love you, Erin and there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to let anything happen to you.”

  And then I slam my mouth down hard onto hers so neither of us can say anything more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Erin

  I almost miss what Ryan says as I was already preparing to argue with him about my gun, and then his mouth collided with mine, silencing me.

  I pull away quickly despite his hands clutching my face and push against his chest trying to shift his weight off of me.

  “Ryan, don’t say that,” I tell him sternly, but still my voice cracks and my hands begin to shake. He can’t possibly love me, and just his simple admission nearly guts me.

  “Don’t say what?” Ryan questions. “That I’m taking your gun?” He smiles at me a little and slides over so he’s lying next to me. He presses his lips to my shoulder, leaving them there through a series of heartbeats because he knows I need it. I need his silence, his touch and the time to understand that what he’s just said may hold some truth to it.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I whisper as not to disturb the silence. My words fall from my mouth in a soft echo that I hear over and over. Raised in a world of lies and a family of secrets, I know very little truth and what I do know I hold dear. I need this to be one of those things.

  “It would be a lie if I said I didn’t love you,” he says back with his mouth next to my ear, and I wonder how many times a heart can break before it’s beyond repair.

  He can’t break my heart.

  I need him to be the one to fix it.

  The room falls silent again and the only sound that fills the room is the sound of our breathing as we breathe in time together.

  I must fall asleep because when I next open my eyes it’s to an empty bed and the sound of the shower humming in the distance, the heater putting out warm air and the smell of coffee brewing.

  It feels normal.

  Like Ryan and I will start our day and go off to work, only to return in the evening and have dinner and chat like we aren’t dealing with this ever-looming disaster.

  But I know that’s not how this will happen. He’s heading back to Boston and tonight I’ll end up sharing a bed with Finn because I’m too proud to admit I’m fucking terrified. I’ll forever live in fear of my father and his men and what will come. Not just for me, but also for Ryan. I’ve said it before; things don’t stay hidden for long.

  There’s more that I haven’t told him, like why I had to get a new phone number and my fear that someone is watching me. But keeping it all hidden will only make Ryan think I’m lying to him, make him think he can’t trust me. When in reality I keep it from him because I want to protect him as much as he wants to protect me.

  I’m stretched out on the bed, trying to force myself to get up when Ryan walks into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist as he runs his hand through his wet hair.

  “You have a chance to think about what I said earlier?” he asks casually as he begins to get dressed, pulling on a pair of boxer briefs.

  I nod nearly imperceptibly and I wonder if Ryan even noticed, so I quietly add, “I have.” I don’t know if he expects me to say it back. Most people would, but I’m not sure I can.

  It’s not that I don’t love Ryan because I do, but I also know what it feels like to be hurt and I’m not certain I can live through that feeling again.

  “Listen, Erin,” he starts, continuing to get dressed as he speaks, almost as if he knows making eye contact with me will cause me to run for the hills. “I’m going to be the guy who stays whether you believe me or not, whether you push me away or not. I’m going to be here through the cold, the snow, your shitty times and your great times, through the summer and the fall, all of them. And I’m going to be here when one day you’re pregnant, and we have babies and when we get married, and I’m going to be here when you decide to tell me you love me. No matter how long that takes.”

  My hands are over my face as I feel Ryan approach my side of the bed, and I rub at my eyes making sure the tears I felt form have all been wiped away.

  I’m looking up at him now, but neither of us says anything for a second or two, and then Ryan leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

  “I gotta get to work, but I’ll see you tonight possibly,” he says and I smile a little. “I love you,” he whispers, and again his lips touch my forehead.

  I watch him walk out of the room and when I hear the front door close and the key slip into the lock, I reach for my phone to let work know I won’t be in today.

  I take a quick shower and dress in a pair of jeans and sweatshirt. After drying my hair and putting on some makeup, I check the date again. I’ve done this at least ten times since I woke up this morning.

  It’s still Friday; a day of the week most people love, but I’ve hated it ever since I got that subpoena. I should love it even more because once this day is over I’m on winter break. Two weeks off, but I can’t bring myself to enjoy it until I’ve taken care of this.

  I made no mention to Ryan that I wouldn’t be going in to work today, because I wasn’t certain I would go through with it. But after everything that Ryan said last night and what he said this morning, it’s time.

  The drive is long, taking me almost two hours and well beyond Boston and as I pull up to the gate my nervousness kicks into high gear. I rub my hands against my thighs and I suck in a deep breath. Suddenly it feels hard to breathe, like there’s no air in the car so I crack the windows as I wait for the car in front of me to pull through the security gate.

  Checking the rearview mirror for a third time, wondering if I can back up and leave without someone wondering what the fuck I’m doing.

  Turns out you can’t just show up to a medium security prison and demand to see someone. It’s not like the movies, so it’s not going to be a surprise to him that I’m here. I had to apply to visit since I wasn’t on the approved list, and then they had to run a background check on me, and finally my father had to give the okay. He could’ve said no, he could’ve turned me away, but he didn’t.

  I also could’ve stayed away and acted like none of this existed, but I’ve been doing that for too long now.

  The arm rises on the gate and the car in front of me pulls through and as it does, I notice this isn’t even the last of it. There’s still an actual gate to get into the parking lot and I imagine there will be more.

  It takes me a moment to catch up and put my foot on the gas pedal. I slowly pull up to the window and the guard at the booth asks my name, but never looks at me.

  “Erin Connelly,” I say and he flips through a list on a clipboard before asking for my I.D. He then types
my name into a computer, and turns to look at me. He glances at my I.D. and back at me several times before handing it back.

  After a few seconds he hands me a printed visitor’s tag with my name and picture on it.

  “This tag must be worn at all times,” he begins, and his voice is monotone and robotic. “No weapons or drugs of any kind are allowed in the prison. Women will not be allowed to enter if they are wearing strapless or spaghetti strap tops or dresses. Shorts, dresses or skirts must be no shorter than knee length. Cellphones, cameras and video recording devices are not allowed in the visitation area…” he continues but the list is so lengthy and almost ridiculous that I stop listening because I know I’m none of the things he is saying.

  “Are you able to comply?” he asks, but the way he says it implies that this isn’t the first time he’s asked me this question.

  “Yes,” I respond and the security arm lifts up.

  There’s no going back now.

  I make my way through two more security checkpoints before finally entering a parking lot where I’m directed to the visitors’ entrance.

  There’s a woman sitting behind a panel of bulletproof glass as I enter a vestibule and she presses a button and her microphone clicks on.

  “Name, I.D. and visitor’s name,” she says the annoyance and boredom evident in her tone.

  “Erin Connelly,” I respond back but pause before I give my father’s name. What the fuck am I doing here? “And I’m here to see… William Fitzgerald.”

  I wait for her reaction but it doesn’t come. She doesn’t care who I’m here to visit or what they’ve done to end up here. This is her job and she’s seen far worse than my father.

  She slides a visitor’s form through a small slot in the window and tells me to fill it out, and I’ll be called when it’s my turn. She unlocks the door to the waiting room and I enter, scanning the room for a place to sit, but find it’s busier than I expected.

  I honestly had no idea what to expect out of this process, because my only frame of reference are movies and TV shows, and so far this has been nothing like that.

  I sit down and glance around the room at the other people and I silently begin to judge them. They look way more fucked up than me, like they belong here and I’m not surprised they know someone who spends their days here.

  They smell like cigarettes and their hair is unwashed, clothes are old and worn, but as I take them in, I shame myself too.

  I’m here.

  I’m no different from them. I can’t imagine the stress these people must be under because I don’t have to deal with it. This isn’t my life anymore.

  An hour later my name is called and I’m taken into a room where I’m patted down, all of my belonging are taken and stored and I’m read a list of dos and don’ts.

  It feels surreal, and I go through the motions of nodding when appropriate and doing exactly as I’m told.

  Then I’m led into the visitation room, and again it’s not what I expected. I hoped it would be one of those rooms where I talk to him using a telephone with a pane of glass between us.

  Of course it’s not. It’s a fucking private room and I have one hour in a room with my father; a man I haven’t seen in over ten years.

  “You are allowed one hug and one closed-mouth kiss neither lasting more than two seconds,” the guard states, reminding me of the rules and I want to tell him that won’t be an issue.

  The guard explains the procedures for ending the visitation should I want to before the hour is up and then he leaves the room.

  My stomach churns as I pull the chair out from under the table and sit down, but I stand up immediately. I pace the room, my hands shaking as I wait for my father to come through the door.

  It feels like forever and my fingers begin to tingle, so I shake my hands trying to rid myself of this feeling. The sound of locks being turned, and doors closing cuts through the echoing silence of the cinderblock walls, and within seconds my father appears in the room.

  He stops on just the other side of the door as the guard removes the cuffs and chains that are around his waist, wrists and ankles.

  We’re left staring at each other; the only sound filling the room is that of jingling keys and rustling chains.

  He’s wearing an orange shirt and pants, and pair of white slip-on shoes. He looks tired and old, and his face is weathered, his hair almost all gray. He looks nothing like I remember, now he wears the face of a man who has seen more in his sixty years than most. He looks far older than he is, and I guess living the life he did has that effect on you.

  After the guard leaves, my father motions toward the table that occupies the center of the room and we both sit.

  The silence nearly kills me, but the sound of the metal chairs scraping the ground is what is practically my undoing.

  “Erin,” my father says in the way of a greeting but it’s cold as I expected. “Didn’t expect to see you here, but obviously you need something from me or why else would you be here.”

  I guess we’re just going to dive right in to the deep end, and I might as well go along with it. I don’t want to be here and the sooner it’s over the better.

  “I need this to be over,” I say gesturing between him and me. “I left because I couldn’t be a part of your world and this nightmare is still following me.”

  He nods but doesn’t respond immediately as if he’s thinking of what to say and then he responds harshly with, “It is over. Why do think I’m here?”

  He’s being vague and he knows it. There’s more to all of this than he’s prepared to tell me and it pisses me off.

  “Don’t you get it?” I practically scream and I quell the urge to shout in his face. “You’ve made me afraid of my past, afraid of my future. I’m nervous every fucking day of my life. I have someone who loves me and I can’t fucking love them back because…”

  I swallow hard, choking back the tears because I will not cry in front of him.

  “And it’s not over, goddamn it!” I add, now my voice rising to a yell. “I’m being followed, someone knows where I am and it’s going to ruin my life. This is on you!”

  My father chuckles a little and runs a hand through his hair.

  “On me?” he questions. “I’m out, Erin and I have been for years, but you wouldn’t know that because you left just like your mother.” He shrugs his shoulders and laughs again. He seems to be enjoying watching me try to piece it all together. “I let you go. If I wanted to find you I could’ve done it in a heartbeat and you know that. It’s not me you have to worry about,” he says calmly, but the way he says it makes my heart race.

  “Anthony?” I ask, and a shudder rushes over me as I say his name, but my father shrugs his shoulders in response. I hate this game he’s playing. He’s fucking with me. “Why does your loyalty lie with him?” I ask, angry that my father won’t just tell me what the fuck is going on. But he owes me nothing and I know it.

  “Why does your loyalty lie with that detective?” he quips back.

  My mouth drops open and I nearly gasp for air. How the fuck does he know about Ryan?

  And there it is again; that condescending laugh, because he knows he’s winning and I’m falling apart.

  “Your boyfriend didn’t tell you he came to see me, huh?”

  That’s all I need to hear before I’m buzzing the guard so I can end this fucking nightmare, but my father keeps talking.

  “It’s not me you have to worry about, Erin and I told your boyfriend the same thing. You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” he says with a smirk on his face.

  “Fuck you,” I spit out as the guard opens the door and I disappear behind it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ryan

  By the time I walk into the station, it’s late in the afternoon, I’m starving and nursing a killer headache. I’d practically murder someone for a hotdog, but I don’t have time, not with everything I still need to do.


  First up on that list is to update the captain and Joe with everything I found out yesterday and this morning.

  “Fuck,” I murmur as I walk into my office. I shrug off my jacket and throw it in the direction of my chair before picking up the case file and walking back out. “Joe,” I call out as I head in the direction of the captain’s office. “You got a sec?”

  Joe looks up, nods once and is out of his chair and walking toward me. I rap once on the closed door before opening it, not bothering to wait for an invitation. The captain is on the phone and shoots us an annoyed look as he holds up a finger, signaling for us to wait.

  “You okay?” Joe asks quietly.

  I exhale, running a hand through my hair as I shake my head. Despite getting some answers from Erin last night, I’m far from okay. My detour to the prison this morning didn’t help things either. Interviewing Fitzgerald was about as productive as slamming my cock in a car door, which is exactly what I’d expected from him, smarmy little shit that he is. His visitor’s log didn’t offer up anything either. Just the usual routine of over-priced defense lawyers, the names of which I recognized as being connected to all the crime-ridden fuckwits that run riot in Boston.

  There was no sign of Anthony Macklin on the visitor list, which I’d also expected. No sign of Fitzgerald’s wife either, or any other family member. I’m pretty sure Erin is an only child, but I guess I can’t be certain of anything about her family history anymore.

  Erin Fitzgerald. God that’s not a name I’m never going to get used to.

  “Summers, what can I do for you?”

  I clear my throat, unsure how this new information is going to be received given the circumstances. On the one hand, we now had a shitload more information about the people involved in the gun deal we interrupted the other night. But on the other hand, my girlfriend and her mob-boss father are now connected to it all. This is not going to be pretty.