45. Ransom
45
RANSOM
I lean against the doorframe, watching Blair tuck Max into the guest bed. More sand trickles from my ear as I scratch it. The damn stuff got everywhere. There's still grit in my shorts too, but a shower can wait. I don't want to miss a moment with Blair.
"And then the dragon swooped down..." Max's voice carries through the quiet room as he tells some convoluted story to his stuffed dinosaur. This kid is growing on me. A lot. He's a weird mix of foul language and sweet little boy.
And he shouldn't have to lose his mom. It's so fucking wrong.
Blair smooths his hair back, a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. "Time to sleep, buddy. We'll see Mom first thing tomorrow."
"Can Ransom come, too?" Max peers around Blair to look at me.
"If he wants to," Blair answers, her voice soft.
I nod. "I’ll be there buddy. Nothing’s more important to me that taking you to see your Mom.”
Max grins and burrows deeper under the covers. Blair kisses his forehead and rises, padding past me in bare feet. I follow her downstairs to the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of water.
The distance between us feels wider than the few feet of tile floor. Something changed between the hospital this morning and now. She's gotten introspective, and I hope like fuck it's not because of me.
But I’m afraid it is.
I step closer, feeling all kinds of needy. "Blair." .
She sets down her glass. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that. Like you're afraid I'm going to disappear." Her fingers trace patterns in the condensation on the glass.
"Aren't you?" The words come out rougher than intended.
"I have responsibilities here. To Max. To Maggie. I can’t run from them."
She can’t run from them. What about me? "I know that. I want to help."
"You can't fix this, Ransom." Her gray eyes finally meet mine. "You can't fix Maggie, and you can't fix us."
"I'm not trying to fix anything. I just want..." I run a hand through my hair, dislodging more sand. "I want a chance. Our chance. The one we never got twenty-five years ago. And I know that feels impossible right now, with the way things are with Maggie."
"Maybe we missed our window." Her voice cracks on the last word.
I step closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo. "I don't believe that. Do you?"
Blair's shoulders slump. "I can't even think about this right now. There's too much happening with Maggie."
"That's not all of it though, is it?" I take another step closer. The kitchen island between us feels like a fortress wall. "There's more you're not saying."
She shakes her head, but I press on. "Talk to me, Blair. What are you really afraid of?"
"Don't." Her voice has that warning edge.
I’m feeling all kinds of desperate. The smart move here is to back the fuck off. Give her some breathing room and keep it light. We could curl up on the couch and watch a movie, and pretend we’re on a date. But apparently, I’m incapable of being smart. The distance between us is making me nuts. "Is it because of how I left? Because I've explained why?—"
"Stop pushing." Her knuckles go white around the glass.
"Then tell me the truth. All of it." I lean forward, palms flat on the counter. "You're scared to give me another chance."
The silence stretches between us until she finally looks up. "Maybe I am scared. But that doesn't matter right now. My best friend is dying. Her six-year-old son needs me. I don't have room in my head or my heart for..." She waves a hand between us. "Whatever this is."
Fuck. I've been in enough business deals to recognize when someone is completely closed off to negotiation. Blair has that same shut-down look she used to get as a kid when she'd made up her mind about something. No amount of pushing will change it.
I straighten up, adjusting my shirt cuffs. "Right. Well, I should go take care of some things." My voice comes out clipped, professional. The tone I use when a deal's gone south. I'm an amazing actor because I never felt like this in any of those negotiations. They mattered, but nothing like this does. Like she does.
"Ransom—"
"It's fine. Get some rest." I head for the door. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I'll be back later."
I don't wait for her response, just slip out and take the stairs down to our private gym on the 35th floor. I need to work off this restless energy, this ache in my chest. The rejection.
I fucking knew I should have left it alone. I only have myself to blame for her reaction.
I hit the track at full speed, my feet pounding against the rubber surface as I try to outrun the hollow ache in my chest.
Lap after lap, I push harder. Faster. The lights of Chicago twinkle beyond the windows, mocking me with their brightness. Everything I've built, everything I've achieved, and I still can't get the one thing I want most.
Blair's words echo in my head. No room in her heart. Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm being selfish, pushing for more when she's dealing with so much. But walking away from her again feels impossible.
"Yo, Ransom!"
Kade's voice breaks through my thoughts. I glance over to see him and Jonas by the track entrance, grinning like idiots.
"Not now," I growl, picking up my pace.
"Someone's cranky," Kade calls after me.
I ignore them, focusing on my breathing. In. Out. One foot in front of the other. Simple. Uncomplicated. Unlike everything else in my life right now.
A phone chimes. Then another. And another.
Within minutes, the track fills with my brothers and their women. Micah holding Noah, hand held tightly to Holly's. Nick and Maverick shoulder to shoulder. Colton and Evie, a baby monitor clutched in her hand. Declan and Cara, Zach and Maya. Becca, Cadence, Janey, Bree, John, and Abby. All of them are here. Except Mia; hence Evie's baby monitor.
"For fuck's sake," I mutter, slowing to a stop. "Can't a man run in peace?"
"Nope." Nick steps forward. "Not when he's clearly trying to outrun his problems."
"I'm not?—"
"Cut the bullshit," Maverick interrupts. "We've watched you carry whatever this is for twenty-five years. Time to spill."
"There's nothing to?—"
"Ransom." Colton's voice is quiet but firm. "We're your family. Let us help."
I look at their faces—these men who went from strangers to brothers. Who built an empire with me. Who trust me with their lives, their dreams, their fears. And here I am, still keeping secrets.
The fight drains out of me. I drop to my ass on the track, wiping sweat from my face.
"You want the whole story?" I ask.
Every head nods in unison.
"It's not a happy one."
"We kind of already figured that," Nick says, tucking his hands in his pockets. Everyone spreads out, some sitting on the track, some of the women taking a seat on the weight benches Colton and Zach carry over.
I don't want to do this. I don't want to see the way they look at me change. But they're right. It's not fair that I'm keeping secrets.
But I don't know how to start. How do I explain?
Sucking in a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, I just lay it out there.
"When I was eleven, I killed my family."
I tiptoe across the creaky floorboards, my heart pounding in my chest. The pile of clothes I stashed earlier clutched tight against me. Man, this is gonna be awesome. Just gotta make it outta here without waking anyone up.
I freeze as my sisters stir in their bunk beds. Our house is really small. And at eleven, I'm way too old to be sharing a room with my little sisters, but I don't think my family's ever gonna get out of this neighborhood or this house. Mom said we can try and put a curtain up, but that isn't going to keep them from touching my stuff. Girls are so annoying. They don't wake up though, thank God. I inch towards the door, careful not to bump into anything in the dark.
I step carefully on the thin carpet in the hallway. The floor is squeaky as hell, and if I'm going to get caught, it's going to be here, on the stairs. Mom keeps asking Dad to fix the squeak, but Dad's no sucker. He told her that he's going to leave the squeak so us kids don't get any kind of ideas about sneaking out.
It's not going to work. I know every squeaky spot. I have for years. Mom and Dad have a lot of opinions about what's appropriate for me to watch on TV. So I sneak down and watch after they've gone to bed. I've been doing it for years.
Tonight though? That's different. Tonight, I have big plans, so every step feels really heavy. The stairs are the worst part. Each step could give me away. I take 'em slow, one at a time, praying I don't mess up.
Finally, I'm in the kitchen. Stripping right there, I leave my pajamas in a little bundle under the kitchen table, then grab my supplies from the fridge. Putting the frying pan on the burner, I flip on the gas stove, the soft hiss breaking the silence. Butter sizzles in the pan as I lay down the bread. The smell of melting cheese fills the air. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I'm always hungry. Mom says my leg is hollow. I don't really know what that means, but she smiles and shakes her head when she says it, so it must not be bad. But these aren't just for me. The guys asked me to bring snacks, and since the girls ate the last bag of chips, this will have to do.
Besides, grilled cheese, even if they're a bit cold by the time we eat them, are a million times better than chips.
I'm pretty proud of myself, learning to cook and all. Mom's face when I serve her dinner... man, that's the best. But tonight's about somethin' else. Tonight's about adventure.
But the guys are still going to be impressed. I know it.
Flicking the knob on the stove off, I yank the towel off the stove handle and wipe my greasy fingers, toss it on the counter next to the stove, then hurry and wrap the sandwiches in paper towels and stuff them in my backpack. My palms are sweaty with excitement. We're gonna check out that abandoned house, maybe even smoke some cigarettes if Joey managed to swipe some from his old man. And those magazines... I've never seen a naked girl before. My face burns just thinkin' about it.
My house keys in my hand, I reach for the doorknob, then freeze. Was that a noise upstairs? I wait, hardly daring to breathe. Nothing. False alarm. I turn the knob slowly, wincing at every tiny sound.
The cool night air hits my face as I step outside. Freedom. I did it. I'm out. My friends are waiting just down the block. My heart's racing, but not from fear anymore. This is gonna be the best night ever.
Before I leave, I lock the door. This is a shitty neighborhood filled with lots of nice people, and a few really bad guys, and an unlocked door is like waving a red flag at a bull.
No one's getting to my family tonight. They'll stay safe and never know I was even gone.
I trudge down the street, my feet heavy with exhaustion. Nothing went like we planned—Joey chickened out and didn't take his dad's magazines, and we ended up just hangin' around inside that stupid house. It wasn't as cool as I thought it would be. It smelled kinda like shit. I'm pretty sure someone was squatting in there, but luckily we didn't see anyone. My sandwiches were fucking awesome, though. But I'm not sure sneaking out was worth it. I'm only going to get a few hours of sleep before breakfast, so I'm going to fall asleep at school, guaranteed.
Rounding the corner onto my block, my heart stops.
I don't know how I missed it. Too busy thinking about how much of a letdown tonight was, I guess.
Red, yellow, and blue lights flash, glinting off the houses' windows. Smoke hangs thick in the air, stinging my eyes and choking my lungs. I break into a run, my backpack slapping against my back with each step.
No. No, no, no.
It's my house. Our house. Flames lick at the windows, smoke billowing out into the night sky. Firefighters swarm the place, their hoses aimed at the inferno that used to be my home.
I can't breathe. I can't think. This can't be happening.
"Mom! Dad!" I scream, trying to push past a police officer who grabs me.
"Whoa there, kid. You can't go in there."
"But my family-"
His face turns tight and sad. His hands tighten on my shoulders, and he guides me to the other side of the road, pushing me down onto the grass.
The next few hours blur together. Sirens wail. People shout. The neighbors stand around in their pajamas, hands covering their mouths. The smoke burns my nose and makes my throat ache. I sit on the curb, numb, as the firefighters battle the blaze.
Then I sit some more as the flames die, and all that's left is a smoking black thing that used to be a house.
Then I see them. Four black bags on stretchers. And everything stops.
Mom. Dad. My sisters. Gone.
I can't look away as they wheel the bodies past me. What do they look like under those bags? Are they burned? Did they suffer? The images flood my mind - their skin charred, their faces twisted in pain. I lean over, throwing up my grilled cheese in the gutter.
"Looks like it started in the kitchen," a firefighter says nearby. "Right at the stove."
The stove. Where I'd made those stupid sandwiches. Where I'd left that towel. But I turned it off. Didn't I? I remember turning the knob. But I was rushing, focused on getting to my friends.
I didn't check.
This is my fault. I did this. If I hadn't snuck out... if I'd just stayed in bed...
The weight of it crushes me. I can't breathe. I can't move. All I can do is sit there, staring at the smoldering remains of my life, knowing that I'm the reason it's all gone.
I did this.
I killed my family.