Page 40 of Finding Our Reality

Glancing at me, begging silent forgiveness for the trauma he’s about to put me through, Ry hands the modified last picture copy to Trash. Carrie’s body is blurred for a small modicum of decency. The only thing you can see are her hands, arms, and face. Her gorgeous, beautiful face, with her twisted and knotted hair draped across it.

“Holy shit. Is she getting boned?”

My voice is firm and steady. “Raped. Unconscious women can’t give consent, Trash. Perhaps you should remember that for future reference.”

He drops the picture in his lap and holds up his hands. At least he has the common decency to act surprised. “Hey, Ella, I had no idea that Carrie was raped, okay.”

Ry interjects, “You had no clue that this happened that same night? No one said anything to you? After the fact?”

“No, Trey kept a lot of things close to the vest. He called us his friends, but we were his pushers, his ticket to money. You know that. It’s why I flipped on him to get reduced time. He didn’t give a shit about me. Hired some big, fancy lawyer. Left me with the acne-faced, dick-in-hand public defender.”

I point to the picture. “Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Look again,” I beg. “Is he the supplier? Is there anything familiar about him? The clothes? The scar on his leg?”

“I don’t know him.” He scoffs, “I don’t look at naked men. How am I supposed to know about a scar on his leg? And his clothes? He’s dressed like a professor.”

Closing my eyes, I reach back, rubbing the scar on my neck. I take several deep breaths trying to calm myself while Ry wraps up the interview. Feeling defeated, I tuck the toxic pictures back into my notebook while Ry turns off his body cam.

“Do you mind waiting for me in the truck? I need to talk to Trash about a couple of personal things before we go.” Ry hands me his truck keys.

Nodding, I make my way out of the room, trying to escape before Trash lights up another cigarette. “Ella, don’t I get a goodbye hug?”

I turn and flip him the bird.

It’s not meant to be funny, but for some reason, he laughs like a hyena. “That’s okay. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again. Now that you’re back, you think my brother’s gonna let you leave? Think again.”

I slam the door, which is hard to do when it’s made of warped aluminum. So, I kick it for extra measure.

The winter sun has already set, coating the earth in darkness. Chill bumps immediately break out on my bare legs. I jump in the truck and start the engine, cranking up the heat. It’s a really nice truck. Leather seats, all the fancy buttons, moonroof. My eyes meander to the glove box.

Huh. The glove box.

Ignoring the urge to snoop, I pull out my phone and listen to the two voicemails I received while we were interviewing Trash. One is from Aunt Teresa telling me to be careful on my work trip tomorrow. The other call is from an assistant producer, telling me she emailed some specific questions she wants answeredwith the first-round interview tomorrow afternoon. I check my emails, but quickly decide it will be easier to work from the laptop when I get back home.

I slip my phone back in my purse and find myself staring at the glove box. Again.

Little tendrils of curiosity climb from my stomach to my throat, weaving through my body like a suffocating kudzu.

Screw it.

Before I can change my mind, I flick the button, and the lid of the glove box bounces open. There, sitting obnoxiously among the car title and insurance cards, is a red box of condoms. Not only that, but there are several loose condom foil packets floating haphazardly around the compartment. The loose condoms are a different brand from the condoms still in the box. How many different kinds of condoms does one man need? I pick up a black foil packet.

XXL. Ultra-Thin. Ribbed.

Well, it’s ribbed for herpleasure. Whoever the hellheris. But I already know the answer to that. There isn’t just one her, there’s a million. Ry is having sex with every Susie, Jane, and Jill in the county.

And it makes me furious.

Absolutely furious.

Like cut off his dick and run it through a blender furious.

For me, sex with Ry was indescribable. I closed my eyes and pictured him every single time Hudson laid a hand on me. I thought what Ry and I had was more than just sex—I thought it was making love. And to know that he’s still chasing that feeling with every vagina in town breaks my heart. He must really love sex. Was I just another hole to stick it in?

Because for me, it was more.

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