59 Ryan
It feels like we’re sleepwalking as we leave the jail.
No one speaks. We move through the doors, across the lot, and into the car like we’re on autopilot.
Christian and I turn our phones on at the same time.
They immediately explode- buzzing, dinging, vibrating nonstop.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, staring at my screen. Three voicemails. Unknown number.
“It’s David,” Christian says, already lifting his phone to his ear. He listens for a few seconds, then goes completely still.
“Holy shit.”
Frankie and I speak at the same time. “What?”
“Jamie’s mom,” Christian says. “She went to the police this morning. Gave a statement.”
My chest tightens. “About what?”
“I don’t know- I’m calling.”
He pulls the phone back, hits redial, and switches it to speaker. It rings once before David answers.
“Christian,” David says.
“What’s going on?”
“I haven’t spoken directly with the prosecutor yet,” David says, measured, careful. “But from what I understand, Mrs. Marshall went to the police station this morning and gave a statement.”
“About the murder?” Frankie asks, hopeful.
“I don’t believe she has any direct evidence about the murder itself.”
Her shoulders slump. “So what did she give a statement about?”
“She gave them extensive information about Jamie’s father’s criminal activities. About the large-scale drug operation he’s been running. Enough to strongly suggest the murder stemmed from a drug transaction. Enough to arrest Mr. Marshall and several others he works with.”
My heart kicks hard. “They’re arresting him?”
“Yes.”
Frankie leans forward. “Does that mean Jamie gets released?”
“Not yet,” David says. “Their arrest warrants are for drugs- not the shooting. But hopefully someone squeals once they are in custody.”
I don’t like the sound of that. It sounds like we are dependent on criminals growing a conscience. “Why would they talk?”
“Because murder changes the math,” David says. “These are people getting picked up on drug charges, fraud, theft. Once homicide enters the conversation, someone will want out. I’m heading to meet the prosecutor now to start pushing an immunity framework.”
Silence fills the car again. “This is good news,” David adds. “Really good.
“When will we know?” Frankie asks softly.
“I can’t say. Depends who talks first.” A pause. “Keep your phones on.”
The call ends.
Christian pulls out of the parking lot, and no one speaks as we drive. It isn’t joy- not even close- but something has shifted. The air feels lighter. A little less hopeless.
When we get to the house- the new house- we go inside and just stand there for a moment, like none of us quite know what comes next.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Frankie finally says. “How to be normal while he’s in there. How to live when he’s locked away.”
I pull her into my arms.
“You just have to,” I say quietly. “Do you really think he wants you frozen? Afraid to move? Just… waiting?”
Christian steps up behind us, his hands settling on her hips. “He’d want you living,” he says. “We work with David. We wait. But if he gets out and finds out all we did was cry and stare at walls, I think he’d try to kick our asses.”
She lets out a small laugh, muffled against my chest. “Okay.”
So we try.
We unpack, opening boxes and folding clothes, moving forward inch by inch- not because it’s easy, but because stopping feels worse.
We go to bed, but none of us really sleep. Frankie lies between us, curled on her side with her back to my chest and her face turned toward Christian. Every so often, her breathing catches- like she’s crying quietly and doesn’t want either of us to notice.
And I just keep replaying Jamie’s face in that visiting room. His words.
He told me he didn’t regret it. That he’d do it again in a heartbeat. That I’m worth saving. Worth protecting.
As if he wasn’t.
~
The sound of a shrill ring wakes me up. I jolt upright as Christian grabs his phone.
“It’s David,” he says. I check the time- it’s barely 6am.
“Morning,” David says on speakerphone. “Are you all there?”
“We’re here,” Christian says.
“Great- I’ll get right to it. They arrested Rick Marshall around two thirty this morning. Along with two associates for distribution.”
“That’s good, right?” Frankie asks.
“It’s a step in the right direction.”
“Has anyone talked? About Gary’s murder?” I ask.
“Not as of now. But give it time. They’re separating them. Pressure works.”
I swallow. “So Jamie- ?”
“No change there. Not yet.”
The words hit like a blow to the chest, even though they aren’t a surprise. We thank him, and Christian hangs up.
“Let’s go see him,” Frankie says, already swinging her legs out of bed.
I hesitate, hating what I’m about to say. “I don’t think I can.”
She pauses. “What?”
“I really ought to go into work today.”
Her face falls, quick and quiet. “You’re right. Of course. You need to.”
I take her face in my hands. “I think I’d rather keep some time banked in case we need it later.
” I hate it, hate leaving her right now, but it feels like the smart thing to do.
And I guess this is one of the benefits of this type of relationship- I'm not leaving her alone.
I'm leaving her with another man who loves her as much as I do.
She nods, swallowing. “Right. It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I’ll take you, love,” Christian says, already standing.
We all get ready and head out.
In the driveway, Christian catches my eyes as he shuts the passenger door of his car after Frankie gets in. Neither of us says anything.
What is there to say?
Jamie is sitting in a jail cell. We're both terrified.
And neither of us can do a damn thing about it.
Christian glances toward the car, where Frankie is staring out the windshield, twisting her hands together.
Then he looks back at me.
We share no words. Just an unspoken understanding.
We'll fall apart later.
Right now, she comes first.
I pull out as he circles to the driver’s side, and a second later we’re heading in opposite directions.
We just found our footing after all these years, and I can’t help but feel like we’ve already lost it.