Page 43 of Finding Home with You

I grab some bottles of water from the fridge and walk into the living room expecting to find Ryan sprawled out on the couch watching TV, but he’s nowhere to be found.

I call his name, but I get no answer and in that moment my heart begins to race. I begin to walk through the house, looking in every room, but I still can’t find him. I’m already on edge since visiting my dad and with the idea of meeting his family, but this is making it much worse.

By now I’m practically sprinting to the front door and as I fling it open I yell out his name, “Ryan!”

I’m panting and out of breath, the tears are about to start when I hear him call out, “What, Erin?” and he seems as out of breath as I do.

“Where are you?” I call, my voice cracking slightly as I try to regain control, knowing that I’ve just panicked for absolutely no reason.

“I’m out back,” he calls back, as I grab my suitcase from the house and toss it in the trunk, then make my way to the back deck.

Ryan is pushed up on his toes in front of the door attaching something to the frame as I round the corner.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, shaking my head as I think I already know.

“I’m finishing up installing your security system.”

I look up and see a small motion activated camera tacked above the back door, and I roll my eyes. As much as I’m paranoid about this shit, I feel like this might be over the top. I’ve lived here for nearly ten years without incident, and without a security system.

“Maybe if you hadn’t taken my gun you wouldn’t have to do this,” I respond, leaving him to do whatever he feels he needs to do. But secretly I’m happy about it because maybe I won’t have to share a bed with Finn anymore.

“If you want your gun back you have to let me teach you how to use it correctly,” he calls back and laughs a little.

“Whatever, Ryan!” I yell back as I walk in the house and flop down on the couch.

I’m scrolling through my phone when Ryan walks back in five minutes later and announces that he’s done and ready to go.

“Ryan, seriously?” I ask, yawning, mentally and physically exhausted from this day, and now the thought of getting in the car and driving four hours just sucks.

“Yes, Erin. I told my parents I was coming and that you were coming with me. I’m not bailing now. Get your ass off the couch and in the car,” he says, giving me a look that says he’s prepared to toss my ass in the car if I don’t comply.

“Fine,” I say, giving in but not without pouting as we both get in the car, me slamming the door after I do.

My arms are crossed over my chest as Ryan starts the car and backs out of the driveway.

“Come on, babe,” he says. “My family is going to love you, so stop worrying about it being too early or whatever.” He reaches over and takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips, he presses a few kisses to my knuckles. “We’ve been together for six months, Erin.”

“No we haven’t,” I respond back, rolling my eyes.

“Yes we have,” Ryan argues back. “It’s been like six months since we fucked in the bathroom at the pub.”

“Oh my god, Ryan, you can’t count that as being together.”

“What? Yes we can. When would you say we got together then?”

Both of us are smiling as Ryan drives out of Rockport and toward the highway. He makes me happy, and this conversation is a nice reprieve from the usual bullshit.

“I don’t know, I guess. I never really thought about putting a timeline on it, but if we count the bathroom, it’s been at least six months,” I reply and Ryan nods his head, his smile growing larger.

“Best six months of my life.”

He’s so fucking cheesy at times, but I have to agree with him.

I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder, my arms wrapping around his arm as he guides the car onto the ramp for the highway. Despite the casualness of our conversation, I can’t help but notice the number of times Ryan checks the rearview mirror; his eyes flicking between the mirror and the windshield as he drives.

He’s checking to make sure we aren’t being followed, an act I’ve become familiar with, and something I noticed my father and Anthony do for as long as I can remember. I hate that I’ve now passed this on to Ryan, but I don’t want him to know that it worries me or that I feel responsible.

This visit to his family is important to him, even if it’s just to get us out of Rockport and away from what we are dealing with. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. I know something is up. Tires don’t just get slashed on a whim.

---