His soft voice finding the chinks in my armor.
Ten minutes to fall apart. Ten minutes to soak in the comfort he offers regardless of whether I deserve it. I will take these ten minutes then pull myself back together.
The water starts to cool so Ryan shuts it off, then somehow grabs my towel without letting me go. I stand still as he dries me off.
“Want to crawl in the bed? Or want to eat first?” he asks as I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversize tee.
“Is Rachel still here?” I ask.
He nods as he towels off. “Yes, she feels personally responsible for you. She plans to stay within arm’s reach until we get to Atlanta.”
I take in a deep breath. Then one more. “You don’t need to go with me to Atlanta.”
Ryan shrugs. “Of course I do. But we’re not talking about that tonight. We’ll make our plans tomorrow.”
My mind is already working through different scenarios now that I know what I’m up against. I’ll go to Atlanta after I make a few other stops first.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks.
I don’t like that he can read me so well. It shows how much I’ve let my guard down where he’s concerned.
“Just thinking about what they’ll ask me. And what they’ll do if I can’t answer their questions.”
Ryan pulls me in close. “I’ll be there with you the entire time. So will Rachel. We’re on your side. If there’s one thing you believe, believe that.”
I grasp his hands in mine and pull them to my mouth, kissing each knuckle. “I’m hungry. But I need a minute to gather myself.”
He smiles and squeezes my hands. “I’ll go pick up some food. Come down when you’re ready.”
Ryan leaves the room and I sink down on our bed.
I’ve had my pity party, and now it’s time to get to work.
Chapter 18
Present Day
Mr. Smith wants me in Atlanta by the day after tomorrow and the last thing I need is to have Rachel there with me.
I head downstairs to find she has set up a mini office in the dining room. Her laptop sits on one end while file boxes are scattered down the length of the table.
“Where’s Ryan?” I ask in place of a greeting.
She doesn’t look up as she organizes a set of files next to her computer. “He ran to pick up food.”
I watch her long enough to unnerve her. She stops what she’s doing and finally gives me her full attention, dropping down in the chair at the end of the table. “We have to be in Atlanta by nine a.m. Friday, so we need to leave here on Thursday,” she says. “I’ve looked at flights and there’s a direct one at four thirty that afternoon. We can get a couple of rooms in one of those hotels near the airport. Let’s plan to spend today and tomorrow going over everything so we’re prepared.”
I sit in the chair next to her, pushing the papers out of my way so I can lean on the table. “I’ll meet you in Atlanta by eight thirty on Friday morning, but there are some things I need to do first. Alone.”
She’s shaking her head before I finish my sentence. “I’m responsible for you. If you don’t show, it’s my ass. And while I’m sure you can easily—and happily—disappear, I live here. My whole life is here.”
“I wouldn’t do that to Ryan,” I answer quietly.
She rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t even know your real name.”
Rachel wants to get a rise out of me and she’s pretty close to succeeding. “It’s not up for discussion. I could ditch you anytime I want and you’d never see it coming. But I’m being nice by telling you I will meet you in Atlanta on Friday. Just tell me where to be.”
We’re staring at each other, waiting for the other to break. The back door opening alerts us to Ryan’s arrival with the food, and I need this settled before he’s in the middle of it.
“I know it may not mean much to you, but I give you my word. I will be there. And when I give my word, I don’t break it. Ever.”
She lets out a rugged breath. “You don’t think we need to spend any time going over your case.”
I do need to prepare, but it needs to be with Devon, not Rachel. “I do not.”
Ryan peeks his head into the dining room. His gaze darts from me to Rachel and back again. “All good in here?” he asks.
“All good,” Rachel says.
“Of course,” I answer.
“Y’all come eat,” he says, and we follow him back into the kitchen.
I pull out plates and utensils while Ryan sets the food out buffet style on the island. “I got a few different things because I didn’t know what everyone wanted.”
In the song and dance of getting the meal ready to eat, Rachel watches Ryan and me closely. Watches how we move around the room, how we are always conscious of where the other one is. She is weary of me, and I’m sure it’s hard for her to witness, knowing what she does.
I’m scooping a huge serving of chicken parm on my plate when I finally remember Ryan was supposed to have gone to the Bernards’ house today. “Was Mrs. Bernard upset you weren’t there today?”
He takes a long pull from his beer before he answers me. “I called her and told her I had something come up and wouldn’t be able to make it.”
I take the seat next to him at the kitchen table. “His funeral will be this week, so I think you should definitely be here for that instead of going with me to Atlanta.”
“I already told the Bernards I won’t be there because I’ve got an out-of-town emergency.”
I’m shaking my head. “You really need to be there. Rachel and I can handle things in Atlanta.”
He drops his fork on his plate and the sound echoes through the kitchen. “Pretty sure I can decide where I need to be.”
We’re giving Rachel a good show, so I decide to table this conversation until we’re in the privacy of our bedroom. She already knows I plan to leave this house alone. I look up at her and say, “I assume you’re okay missing the funeral as well?”
“Yep,” she says, making that p really pop. “Last time I talked to James was about two years ago, when he called begging for money. I gave it to him on the condition he would get some help. I even had a spot lined up for him in a rehab facility. He ghosted me as soon as he got the cash. I was one of the few from our group who didn’t see him when he got to town a couple of weeks ago.”
Ryan grunts. “Yeah, I have about ten stories like that.”
The rest of the meal is filled with meaningless chitchat, and soon enough we retreat to our bedroom and Rachel to the spare downstairs.
Standing in the middle of our room, I blow out a long, slow breath. Center myself. “I need to take care of a few things alone,” I say to Ryan as he turns down our bed, not noticing that someone made it up for us. His expression sharpens, but I push on. “I’m meeting Rachel in Atlanta. You’re welcome to meet me there too.”
Ryan watches me as he strips down and climbs into bed. “I don’t want to talk anymore today.” He holds the covers back, inviting me to slip in the bed with him.
I should push, but I’m done with talking, too, so I kill the lights and join him.
* * *
I’m at the kitchen table, my notebook out in front of me, when Rachel wanders in. I pull out the two sheets I was writing on, fold them until they are small enough to fit in the back pocket of my jeans, then put the notebook in my backpack before moving to the coffee pot so I can fill my travel mug.
“Where are the cups?” Rachel asks.
I nod toward the cabinet over the pot. She ambles over to grab one. “Are you leaving this morning?”
Glancing at the clock, I answer, “Within the hour.” I scroll through Instagram on my phone and stop when I get to the latest post from Food Network that shows Bobby Flay in front of a grill with his trademark shit-eating grin. I comment: Beat Bobby Flay is my #1 fav show!! 45 mins to beat him is impossible! #EveryGoodRecipeIsWrittenDown