Page 117 of Deeper

Rylan

Eight Years Later

The smell of freshly mowed grass hangs in the afternoon air. The sun is hidden behind masses of black clouds, and a light sprinkle of rain hits my skin. I fight to keep my heels from wedging into the grass of the cemetery as I walk. My black dress is conservative and appropriate for the circumstances that brought me back to Maplefield.

I stop in front of the marble headstone.

I’ve traveled through most of the states since leaving here almost a decade ago. I’ve seen the mountains and the country and been to both big cities and small towns. On my return, I’m no longer the same girl that I was when I first came. I’m no longer drowning in grief and grudges. I’ve tamed my impulses—a bit—at least, enough not to force Callen to have to clean up my messes. I’ve seen, heard, and done a lot since then.

I’ve loved—hard and unconditionally.

I’ve fucked—everywhere and anywhere, fast and slow.

I’ve found friendship—Tatum is part of my life, no matter where we are on the map.

I’ve killed—brutally and mercifully.

I’ve done it all with Callen by my side.

This is no different. His fingers soothingly stroke the back of my neck. It’s not the first time we’ve been back in the last eight years, but it’ll probably be the last. Our only tie to Maplefield finally escaped the imprisonment he chose so that he could save us. An oak tree sits to the side of Willy’s and Louise’s side-by-side graves. We look down at the words Callen picked out for our friend.

WILLY RUSSO

HE’S GONE HOME TO FIND PEACE WITH HIS LOUISE.

There is no funeral. No one else is even coming to visit. Callen and I killed his only family he had left, but that’s okay because he’s back with his love again. The prison gave us a hard time about releasing his body, but Callen wouldn’t have it any other way. He manipulated, lied, and did whatever was necessary in the petition to the courts. They didn’t think a man charged with his crimes deserved a proper burial. Or they just wanted to give us a hard time.

Congregating in a church to pay respects is always morose. Saying good-bye beside a grave will forever be heartbreaking. This is a far cry from my father’s funeral, though equally as somber. Hundreds of people came from all walks of life. Tears of remembrance and cries of sorrow filled the church. Flowers from loved ones flooded his graveside. He was well liked, loved, and admired. He was a friend, a husband, and a father. That day was hard for me, as were a lot of the days after. His death still plagues my heart, but I am strong and love the person I am today. His death, no matter how much it hurt, was part of shaping me.

But, like Willy, there was no church for my mom’s funeral. The same priest who proudly performed my father’s service politely turned me away with a subtle shake of his head. People cried, but they also whispered. The air was filled with hushed gossip and public fodder. She was a grieving widow, a struggling mother, and a conflicted addict. I’ve learned to let it go. My grudges would only hold me in my past. I’m the one that has to live with the emotions I chose to cling to when it comes to my mother’s choices in life and her decision to end it. I choose to move on. I pick happiness.

People like Willy make seeing the good easier.

“Should we say something?” I ask Callen.

He’s been quiet all day, but he clears his throat. “Family isn’t about blood. It’s about being there for the ones you care about. The people who create us, the ones we create—those bonds don’t guarantee love. Willy, I once told you that love wasn’t for me, but that was because I had never felt its power. Thank you for teaching me what love is and for giving me the example I need to love Rylan the way she deserves.”

I wrap my arms around his middle and look up at his face. The ruthless man, the killer, isn’t visible today.

Callen and I haven’t suddenly reformed over the years. We kill over and over again. We continue to play with our victims, and we get each other off on the spilled blood. It’s a life I never imagined, but I wouldn’t change one thing, not even a second.

I’ve gotten to know a man who adores me and always treats me well. Unless a paddle is involved, and I’m asking for it, that is.

Beside Willy’s grave, I only see the man who loved and lost his friend.

I see my best friend. The man I could never envision my life without.

“I love you, Callen.”

“I love you too, Little Bird.” His hold tenderly grips around my neck.

“Thank you, Willy,” I speak softly into Callen’s shirt.

Willy protected my freedom so that I could continue to fly, which I have.

For us, there is no black or white, light or dark, good or evil; there is only us. We’re a chaotic mix of all of it.

“Ready?” Callen asks.

“Ready.”

We leave Willy with Louise.

I couldn’t be more grateful for everything he’s done for me, for us.

We pull away from the cemetery, but we’ll never really leave Willy behind.

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