Page 84 of Finding Home with You

“Erin,” he whispers, and his voice sounds sympathetic, like he’s trying to soothe me. “Baby, can I come in?”

I nod even though I know he can’t see me, pausing for a second before I open the door. I can’t look at him; the guilt of my admission crushing me like a ton of bricks.

“Fuck, Erin, I’m sorry,” Ryan says, pulling me into his arms. “I don’t know how to be your boyfriend in this situation.”

Again I nod, but this time my head is resting against his chest. He’s trained to question people, trained to detach himself emotionally from things and that’s exactly what he did with me.

We were opposites.

When a secret is kept, long and still, held quiet, the only thing that can come of it is emotions and right now everything is spilling out.

“I promise you I know nothing else,” I mutter through muffled sobs, my face pressed to Ryan’s chest. Ryan begins to shush me, his hands rubbing my back, and just as I begin to settle down I ask, “Are you going to arrest me?” As I suck in a ragged breath, the tears falling hard once again.

Ryan chuckles a little but quells it when he realizes I’m serious. “Why would I arrest you?” he asks, and the tone in his voice gives away the smile I know is tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m an accomplice or guilty by association? I don’t know…” I say shrugging my shoulders because honestly I don’t know. A mob boss father may have raised me, but I’d never been in trouble with the law in my life. Fuck if I know how it really plays out.

I can do the hiding thing, the money laundering, a new identity, but none of that was in response to anything illegal. As much as I like to think I’m a badass, I’m fucking terrified of what may come from all of this.

Ryan and I stand in the bathroom for a while, his arms wrapped around me, neither of us speaking. I think we’re both trying to process how to proceed, and how to draw that line between our relationship and this situation.

“I don’t want you to go through with this,” Ryan says firmly. “This isn’t good for either of us.”

I push back from him, a feeling of confusion pulsing through my body, because we both know I can end all of this.

“I am going though with it,” I respond back just as assertively. “I understand that we’re both struggling with this fine line we have here, but I can’t carry this burden any longer. I want Anthony arrested. I want this over.”

Ryan sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face and running it though his hair. I can see the stress on his face, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed as he mulls over my words.

“Let me talk with the captain about what you told me, about what you know about Anthony and see if we have enough to arrest him. I’ll run some missing person reports for that year, check Atlanta and Boston and cross-reference them for any mob connections,” Ryan tells me, but I know it’s not enough. It’s one of the reasons I never went to the police long ago. What was I supposed to say? I think I heard gunshots and I think my boyfriend fired the gun? It’s too vague, too simple to use it in any capacity.

“Ryan, we both know it’s not enough and even if it were, you can’t find Anthony.”

He’s like a ghost; he fades into the background, only coming out when he chooses. He’s knows they’re on to him so he’s being cautious right now, but he will crack easily.

He’s a mess; carrying that picture of us, showing up at my house, his botched attempt to kill Ryan; it’s a strategically placed house of cards and it’s about to come crashing down.

When Ryan doesn’t say anything more I add, “He’ll come to me. I’m the one person he knows could ruin it all.”

Sucking in a long hard breath, Ryan says, “Let’s get this fucker.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ryan

Erin and I are drinking coffee in the kitchen when a knock at the door signals Chris’ arrival. I move through to let him in and when we walk into the kitchen, Erin has already poured him a cup.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it from her. “Everything okay last night?” he asks, turning to look at me.

I nod, even though okay is not the word I’d use to describe all the things we talked about, the things Erin told me. This new piece of information about Anthony potentially having murdered someone shouldn’t shock me. But knowing Erin was there that night, that she was so close to something so dangerous and ugly, freaks the shit out of me, even if it did happen over ten years ago now.

“I’m heading back to Boston,” I say, moving to stand behind Erin, my hands resting on her shoulders. “But I’ll be back around noon,” I continue. “We have a situation developing and I’ll likely need your help with it.”

Chris looks from me to Erin and back to me again, silently sipping his coffee. Eventually he nods once and moves toward the table, pulling out the chair opposite us and sitting down. “Guess you better fill me in then,” he says.

Half an hour later and I’m in the car and on my way back to Boston, ready to fill the captain in on what Erin’s told me as well as her willingness to be a part of all this. The coffee I was drinking earlier churns in my stomach, a feeling of nausea washing over me as I try not to think about all the things that could go wrong with this plan.

It doesn’t work though, my mind endlessly racing through all sorts of possibilities and permutations for how this could all play out. Deep down, a part of me knows Anthony won’t hurt Erin, that regardless of how much time has passed or the fact she is now with me, he will never hurt her.

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