Finding Valor (The Searchers Book 2)

by Ripley Proserpina

  She stood on her toes, her lips hovering above his for a moment before she pressed against them gently and pulled back a fraction of an inch. “There,” she breathed.

  God. She slayed him.

  “Hey, Ryan!” One of his classmates held the door, grinning but not in an asshole way. He seemed to be reflecting Ryan’s happiness on his own face.

  Nora stepped away from him, squeezing his hand. He took the scarf off his neck and wrapped it around hers then grabbed her arms and tucked her hands into her pockets. “Hurry home. I'll be there around dinner.” He kissed her on the cold nose. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Turning, he ran up the steps and through the door. As soon as he was inside, though, the smile fell off his face.

  TWELEVE

  Beau Calls

  NORA COULDN’T STAY angry. Not at Ryan. She wanted to hold him and form a bubble around him to keep away whatever made him sad. She refused to compound his hurts.

  Because one thing was for certain: the boy who’d brought her home from the hospital, the one who made demands of Dr. Murray and had stared down Detective Vance, wasn't the Ryan she’d left at the door to his class.

  This new Ryan turned inward, forming a shell between himself and the rest of the world. She'd cracked it for a bit, but with each step he'd taken away from her, it had reformed. Turning away from the building, she ducked her head down against the wind

  Kissing is the answer. She smiled to herself, not at all unhappy with the realization that if she kept Ryan's lips busy, the rest of him was happy.

  The wind was picking up, so she hurried across campus. A couple of weeks into November and it was already bitter. The wind whipped up the hill from the lake, chapping her lips and freezing her skin. She buried her face into the scarf and smelled him on the fabric. Pressing the scarf against her nose, she breathed in again and again. If she could ever get a job, she would buy Ryan another scarf, make him wear it for a day or two, and then take it back, rotating a collection of scarves in order to always have his scent near her. She liked the idea so much she mentally assembled a wardrobe of items she could buy, each one belonging to one of the guys and worn by her after absorbing their scents.

  The temperature seemed to drop at the same time the wind picked up. She went from a fast walk to a jog, her breath coming out in thick, white puffs. Each inhalation of cold air prickled her lungs. She ran up the steps to her house, pushing the door open. Like a vortex, the air sucked the door back, allowing her just enough time to slide inside before it slammed so hard the windows shook.

  Wincing, she unwound her scarf. “Hello?” When she looked at the table holding the keys, there was no note. Digging her phone out of her backpack, she checked the time. Apollo would be at class along with Ryan. She realized disappointedly that Cai must have already left for the youth center.

  “Hello?” she called again, walking into the kitchen.

  Still no one answered, but on the counter was a note: At hardware store. Matisse asleep.

  Eek. She'd yelled twice and slammed the door. Listening closely, there was no thump of footsteps overhead speaking to a grumpy, prematurely-awakened Matisse.

  The cold from outside seemed to have seeped into her bones, making her teeth chatter and her hands thick and clumsy. She dug through the cabinets searching for a tea kettle.

  She wished for someone to talk to. Matisse's words ran through her head, and she still carried with her the stress from Dr. Murray's testing and Jessica's not-so-subtle dig.

  Her head thumped to the table. She and the guys had made no attempt to hide their relationship, but it was new, and there was a lot they hadn't discussed—especially when it came to what was fast becoming in her mind “the big reveal.”

  The kettle began to rattle, the boiling water popping inside. Finding the box of tea in the back of one of the cabinets, she dropped a bag into a mug. As she stood staring at the stove, she heard another sound. It took a moment for her to identify the source since she still wasn’t used to having a cell phone. She bolted through the kitchen, sliding across the wood in the hallway so she could scoop it up before it woke Matisse. At first, she didn't recognize the name on the screen. She expected to see Dr. Murray or one of the boys, so Beau took her a minute to figure out. The guy from law school. She hadn’t given him another thought after the car ride last night.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. Nora?”

  “Hello, Beau,” she answered, walking back through the house and into the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle.

  “Are you at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?”

  She laughed, shutting off the burner and opening up the valve on the kettle to release the steam. “No. Nothing so exciting, just making tea. How are you?”

  “Good,” he answered. “Um. I wanted to say, it was nice to meet you.”

  Nora smiled at his awkward tone. “It was nice to meet you, too.” There was a heavy silence across the line. “So.” She searched her brain for something to say. “Are you from Vermont?”

  “Didn't you Google me?”

  “No,” she answered automatically. In the day she'd been home, she hadn't given another thought to him. “Did you Google me?”

  He paused before answering in an embarrassed tone, “Yes.”

  “Well, learn anything good?”

  “I thought you would have Googled me, and we'd be on equal ground.”

  “How so?” she asked and blew across the top of her tea.

  “I wouldn't have to explain my past to you. You wouldn't explain your past to me. We'd go forward, complaining about the shit we don’t deserve.”

  “Oh,” she answered again, a little surprised at the bitterness in his voice. It hadn't been there when they'd spoken on CCSL's campus. “I'm...”

  “What's the worst thing that's happened to you?”

  She’d taken a small sip of her tea in order to give herself more thinking time, when he spoke again, and she choked, spluttering and coughing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Are you serious?” Her voice came out strained and hoarse.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “It sounded like you were dying.”

  “No,” she went on, “Was your question serious?”

  “Yeah,” he replied like it was obvious.

  While their stories were similar, Nora didn't know him well enough to confide in him, and she hesitated. And besides… “I really can't complain too much right now. I think I'm lucky.”

  “Lucky how?”

  “Well...I have a place to live. And I'm okay-ish for money. I have people who care about me...” She trailed off.

  “That is lucky.” There was a pause she didn’t know how to fill. “Do you want to ask me the same question?”

  “This feels like a test, Beau,” she answered. “Not a conversation. What do you want me to say?”

  “Shit. I'm sorry. I don't know how to talk to people right now.”

  “You seemed to do all right on the tour.” What had changed since then, or was it an act for the public?

  “Something happened after. Something from my past I thought was resolved. It's fucked with my head a bit. I'm sorry.” The bitterness disappeared, leaving him worn out.

  “Oh,” she breathed. “I'm sorry.”

  “It's just never over, you know? I think it is. I think I've overcome every possible obstacle. I'm mean—shit—what the fuck else could happen? And then I get slammed. So I'm sorry. I'm taking it out on you.”

  Everything he said made sense. It was how she'd felt a million times in her life, and she rushed to reassure him. “No. No. I get it. I really do. It's okay. You can vent.”

  “I don't want to vent,” he answered quickly. “I want it to be over. I want to go to school, graduate, get a job, and forget about this shit.”

  “I understand,” she encouraged.

  “No.” She heard shuffling through the phone like he was walking around or turning pages in a book. “I really did just wan
t to say, 'Hi.' But… maybe I could another day, when I’ve calmed down a bit. Are you free for coffee?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, “Yes,” but closed it again. Was she free to get coffee? Was he looking for a friend or something more?

  “I know you have a boyfriend,” he said quickly. “As friends. Not a date.”

  Her face heated, grateful he couldn't see her. “Yeah, sorry. I'm-I wasn’t-It sounds nice, but you live an hour away, and I don't have a car.”

  “I have to come up to Brownington anyway,” he answered quickly. “The thing that came up and is messing with my head? I need to deal with it there.”

  “Okay, then. Are you sure you'll want to meet with me after dealing with whatever it is you have to deal with?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and laughed. “I might really need someone to listen to me right then.”

  “When are you coming?”

  “Friday.”

  She had no plans on Friday except to be turned down after another job interview. This would be her fifth, and she held out no hope she'd be offered anything.

  “I have a job interview in the morning, but I should be free after ten.”

  “Where is it? I can pick you up or meet you.”

  “It's downtown.” She’d decided since none of the grocery stores or box stores wanted her, she might as well apply to one of the fancy stores on the cobblestoned pedestrian shopping area on Congregation Street. Exhaust every option; that was her plan because she didn't want the guys thinking she’d given up and was counting on them to support her. Her stipend from Dr. Murray went directly to Seok, every last penny, and he put it into the mortgage and house bills. But it didn't leave her anything for things like matching mittens or winter boots or t-shirts she could make the guys wear so she could then sleep in them.

  “Okay. I'll text you. Friday.”

  “Friday.” She punctuated her answer with a nod he couldn't see.

  “Thanks, Nora.” His voice changed; the bitterness was gone, leaving him sounding exhausted. Like Ryan. Imagining Ryan feeling alone and overwhelmed made her glad she’d agreed to meet Beau. It was as if by helping Beau, she was somehow, by extension, helping Ryan. Even though the two situations were unrelated.

  “I'm happy to,” she answered genuinely.

  “All right, take care, Nora.”

  “See you.” She hung up the phone, placing it carefully next to the mug of her cooled tea, staring at the screen until it blacked out.

  Overwhelmed was the perfect word to describe both Beau and Ryan. By listening to Beau, it seemed she may have alleviated some of his stress. Now, she wanted to do the same for Ryan.

  If he’d let her.

  THIRTEEN

  Defense

  RYAN WAS RIGHT. Bismarck wanted a plan, and his wasn’t up to snuff. In fact, his plan was so far from what his professor wanted the man didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “So you wait.”

  When he nodded, the professor crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. Ryan had fallen into a trap.

  “No.” Bismarck stated the word like it was obvious. “You start reapplying. You're going to be a damn good lawyer, Ryan, if you’d stop sitting on your hands.” He leaned against the edge of his lectern, staring him down with more intensity than he’d ever shown teaching. “Where did you apply earlier; I’m sure you tried others schools?”

  “I'm not leaving Vermont.”

  “If I could smack you upside the head and not lose my tenure, I would. What do you mean, you aren't leaving Vermont? This is law school, and this state has only one.”

  His decision was made. Being a lawyer wasn’t worth leaving Nora and his friends.

  When he didn’t answer, Bismarck grew annoyed. “Ryan, participate in this conversation for crying out loud. This is your life. You can't sit back and observe this.”

  “I'm not leaving Vermont, Professor. It's personal, and it's nonnegotiable. If I can't get into CCSL, I'll figure something else out. Maybe I'll do something online, or build up my resume in the meantime.”

  Pushing away from the podium, he rounded on Ryan. “It's a formula, son. LSATs. Grades. Recommendations.”

  “I disagree,” Ryan interrupted. “CCSL has a morals clause. They consider more than the big three. I need to prove to them I’m the student they want.”

  “How can you prove that, Ryan?”

  Overheated, he pushed up his sleeves. “I made some mistakes. I took responsibility for them and I've worked hard to make something of myself, but I'm not done. I never thought I was done. It's why I want to be a lawyer.”

  “It's why I wanted you to be my student intern.” Bismarck slapped the desk. “Start arguing, Ryan. Jesus. For a guy who wants to be a lawyer, you never open your mouth.”

  Look what happened when he opened his mouth without thinking. Pacing, he shoved a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to the student council.”

  “Do that.”

  It was a plan, but God, the thought of a sea of judgmental faces made him sick. What would he do? Launch into a confession? Did he relive every moment, every conversation with Beau and how, time after time after time, he refused to believe in his innocence? It wouldn’t get him any votes.

  “One thing I don’t understand,” he wondered aloud, “is how this even came up. I mean, my name is not publicly associated with the conviction. I was underage when I testified.”

  The professor stopped shoving his papers into his bag and looked at him curiously. “Really? Someone alerted them to your past.”

  “Must be. It wasn’t in my essay. Not because I was trying to hide it, per se,” he whispered under his breath.

  After latching his bag, Bismarck scowled at him from under his eyebrows. “Why was that? It’s interesting how, of all the students in my class, you have the most experience with the judicial system, but I only learned of it when we met Miss Leslie.”

  The door to the classroom opened to a line of students filtering in for the next class. Bismarck gestured toward the door, and Ryan followed him out. As soon as they were past the crush of bodies, Bismarck began to speak again. “Were you trying to hide it?”

  Since meeting his best friends, he’d done his best to make up for the wrong he’d committed. They knew his past, and they knew he needed to disappear for a while sometimes, either by burying his head in a book or to some cause he thought might indirectly benefit guys like Beau. Guys who’d been fucked over by a system meant to protect them. What he’d done to Beau was always in his head, influencing every choice he made. If someone asked him directly, he’d never deny what he did, but he didn’t volunteer his story either.

  The truth was, he hadn’t been up front with CCSL either, and he should have been.

  “No,” he finally answered. “I wasn’t trying to hide it. But I didn’t disclose it either.”

  “What the fuck actually happened, Valore?” His professor grabbed his arm to stop him.

  Students filed by, chatting with each other, smiling at both Ryan and the professor. “Let’s go to your office and I’ll give you the whole story.”

  Nodding, Bismarck led the way to his office and unlocked it. He waited for Ryan to pass by him and then sat in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. Ryan dropped his bag next to the chair, staring out the window behind Bismarck’s desk. He could see the lake far off in the distance.

  The man waited patiently for him to begin. Keeping his eyes fixed on the lake, Ryan recited his story, holding nothing back. Starting from the field party, he told Bismarck everything up to speaking to a very angry Beau earlier that same day.

  “I own it,” he finished. “I’ve taken every opportunity I’ve found to somehow make amends for what I’ve done. I never stop searching for a way to make it all better.”

  Finally, he met Bismarck’s eyes, ready to see disappointment written all over him. What he saw, though, was understanding and sympathy.

  “Jesus, Ryan.” He rubbed his hand across his eyes. “What a mess for a boy to la
nd in.”

  Embarrassed, his face flushed. Ryan had landed himself in a mess, but he was shocked when, a moment later, Bismarck reached for his arm and squeezed. “I’m sorry you carry this around with you.”

  For a moment, he was too surprised to form words. Answering honestly, he said, “I deserve it, Professor.”

  “No.” His face got sadder. “You made a mistake, and you are seeing your mistake through a boy’s eyes. But it was a mistake.”

  “I was a cocky asshole who refused to listen to reason.”

  “You were a seventeen-year-old who believed he saw something resulting in a death. You believed you were doing the right thing.”

  Standing, Ryan walked agitatedly to the window. “I’m not telling this right…” He turned to face Bismarck. “I’m not the victim here.” He pointed to himself, stabbing his finger at his chest. “I’m the bad guy.”

  “So all of these”—Bismarck paused significantly—“extracurricular activities you’ve done? They’re your way to make up for this ‘unforgivable’ thing?”

  “There’s no making it better.” How could he make his professor understand? “I can never undo what I did to Beau. He’ll never forgive me, nor should he. I ruined his life.”

  “How do you know?” he challenged. “What do you know about his life?”

  It took the wind out of Ryan’s self-righteous sails. “I…I don’t know what it’s like. I assume—”

  Bismarck cut him off. “Don’t assume, Valore. It makes an ass of u and me.”

  Understanding what the professor meant and agreeing with him were two separate things. How could Beau’s life be anything but shit after what he’d lived through.

  Is Nora’s life shit? A voice in Ryan’s head asked. She lived through something horrible. He imagined the look she’d give him if he described their life in anything but positive terms, and he smiled without realizing it.

  Professor Bismarck saw the change in his expression, though, and waggled his finger knowingly. “Ah… I see you’re coming to understand what I mean. Look, Valore,” he began, businesslike. “No one will deny you made a huge mistake.”