Page 45 of Finding Home with You

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says. “The slashed tires, the constant checking of the rearview mirror for a tail,” she adds in a way that tells me she hasn’t missed a thing.

I let out an exhale. “You noticed huh?”

“Come on, Ryan,” she says. “I grew up in the mob, remember. This isn’t my first rodeo with this kind of shit.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I know,” I admit, wishing more than anything that all of this stuff was foreign to her. “And yes, my tires were slashed and it clearly wasn’t an accident,” I concede, grateful I haven’t told her about the note under my wiper or the other one in my mail box. “Checking the mirrors is just a reflex, babe, a habit of the job. Although all things considered, it’s not a bad habit to have at the moment.”

“So, we are hiding?” she asks.

“No,” I say carefully. “We’re using it as an opportunity to get away for a bit. I have a work thing up here anyway and I figured you could come along, meet my family and stuff.”

“What kind of work thing?” she asks, her tone serious.

I shake my head, wishing I could just magically make all of this shit disappear so that this really was nothing more than me taking the woman I love home to meet my parents. But it’s not, and I know that as long as this shitstorm is hanging over us, it’s never going to be normal.

“Well,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I need to speak to someone out at the State Prison.”

“What?” she half shouts. “Who? And when did this come up?”

I glance over, see she’s staring at me, a defiant look on her face as though she’s almost daring me to lie to her about this. “Earlier at work,” I explain. “When I was filling the boss in before you showed up.” I don’t want to tell her too much, for so many reasons, the least important of which is that I can’t.

“Who is it you’re speaking to?” she asks again.

I scrub a hand down my face in exhaustion. “Erin,” I say gently. “You know I can’t tell you that, babe.”

“Seriously?” she asks.

“Seriously, Red,” I say. “I promise one day, if I can, I’ll tell you, but for now I really can’t.”

“Why?” she asks quietly, sadness in her voice.

I reach for her hand, sliding my fingers into hers as I lift it to my mouth for a kiss. “Because for one thing, I don’t know if it’s going to turn into anything,” I tell her. “And for another, because I don’t want you unnecessarily exposed to this shit if it doesn’t.”

Erin lets out a loud huff, pulling her hand from my mine and crossing her arms over her chest as she turns away from me, eyes on the road in front of us now.

“Babe, please. I promised I’d tell you everything I could.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles, still not looking at me.

“Come on, Erin,” I say gently, reaching over and squeezing her thigh. “I need you to trust me on this one.”

I watch as she swallows hard, as though she’s trying not to let me see how much this pisses her off or upsets her. It breaks my heart that I can’t just be honest with her about it all, but keeping her safe is all I care about and when it comes to the mob, knowing too much, especially about the stuff you shouldn’t, is almost always a death sentence.

Erin continues to sit in silence, not looking at me. I keep my hand on her leg, giving her a few minutes to process what I’ve told her, hopeful she understands the reasons. Eventually though, I try and swing things back to her.

“So, babe,” I say gently as I run my hand up her thigh. “You think maybe you could start talking to me now?”

“I have been talking,” she says in a huff.

“Not about your family, you haven’t,” I say. “And a deal’s a deal, remember.”

“Yeah, but am I talking to Ryan, my boyfriend?” she asks, eyes still staring straight ahead. “Or am I talking to Ryan, the hot-shot Boston detective?”

I let out a short laugh. “Your boyfriend,” I confirm, smiling as she glances at me. “I promise.”

Erin says nothing for a few minutes as she repeatedly uncrosses and crosses her arms. I can tell she’s nervous and uncomfortable, but there’s no getting out of this anymore. Not with everything that’s happened.

“Babe,” I say, grabbing her hand in mine. “I promise this is not an interrogation, okay?” I add, kissing her knuckles. “And that this is just as weird and awkward for me too.”

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