Chapter 25
Ryan
The tires of Larry's pickup crunch over the gravel at Erie Memorial. Rain beats against the roof, loud enough to drown out everything else. I cut the engine and just sit there, the wipers stopping mid-swipe. I stare out the window, gripping the steering wheel.
Tomorrow's the anniversary of their death. But I couldn’t wait. I needed to see them today.
I reach over and grab the bouquet from the passenger seat. White carnations. Mom's favorite. The plastic wrapper crinkles too loudly in the quiet cab. I pull my Titans hoodie up and step out into the rain.
Cold water soaks through my jeans instantly. My boots sink into the mud. Don't need to see where I'm going. My feet know the way. Past the oak tree. Left at the angel statue with a broken wing.
And there they are.
Three headstones. Side by side.
Sarah Elizabeth Henneman
Beloved Daughter and Sister
Michael James Henneman
Loving Husband and Father
Jennifer Rose Henneman
Devoted Wife and Mother
I lay a few carnations on each stone, the white petals too bright against the dark, rain-slick granite. “Hey, guys. It’s me.”
Rain runs down my face. Or maybe it's tears. Can't tell anymore.
“I miss you guys so much. Every day.” My voice cracks. “But this month . . . this month is the worst.”
My knees hit the mud. Legs too weak to stand.
“I . . . I was working hard. I wanted to make you proud. But everything’s such a mess.
I don’t know what to do.” I lean forward, pressing my forehead against Mom’s headstone.
The granite's cold against my skin. “Mom, I need you. I’m so lost. Need you to tell me it's okay, that I'm not as broken as I feel.”
It feels like my chest splits wide open.
A deep, guttural wail tears from my throat, then another. My whole body shakes as I cry harder than I have in years. Harder than when I woke up in that hospital. Harder than after the group home.
Snot runs down my face as my hands claw at the mud. I need something solid. Something real.
“You'd be so ashamed of me.” The words come out between gasps. “So disappointed I’m in love with Connor even after everything he did.”
My forehead presses harder against Mom's stone until it hurts. The pain's good. Real. Better than the hole in my chest. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to fix me. Please, just . . . just tell me what to do.”
“Ryan?”
My body tenses.
No. Not here. Not at their graves.
I scramble to turn around, slipping in the mud. My vision's blurred by tears and rain. I blink hard, thinking I'm hallucinating. “Connor?”
He's standing a few feet away. Actually standing there, soaked through.
My heart slams against my ribs. Part of me wants to run to him. Part of me wants to scream at him to leave, to get away from them, from this place that's mine.
I’m up and closing the distance between us, but stop a foot away. Jesus. His face. It’s fucked up—black eye, swollen split lip, bruised cheeks.
Mouth agape, my hand reaches for his face, fingers hovering just above the bruises. I hate myself for caring. Hate that even here, at their graves, I can't stop needing to protect him. “Your dad—”
“Knight.” He smirks, but it falters immediately. “And Kai.”
I blink, pulling my hands back. “What? Why?”
He snorts. “You left. I flipped out. Grabbed Merci. Zach lost it. Figured Kai might know where you were. But when I told him about what happened with your scholarship, he fucked me up more. I didn't care, just needed to find you.”
“So, he told you where I was?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Then how?”
“You really don’t want to know.” His gaze drifts past me to the three headstones. “Is this them? Your family?”
I can only nod, my throat too tight for words.
He reaches under his sweatshirt and pulls out my bear. “You left this. Thought you might need it.”
My hands shake as I reach out and take it. He . . . he brought it to me. Again. I swallow hard, clutching my bear to my chest. “Why’d you do it?”
“Baby, it wasn't me. I swear. My mother . . . they went after you to get back at me.”
Not surprised. Not really.
If my head wasn’t already a wreck, maybe I would’ve considered it was his parents pulling the strings.
I turn back to the graves, my shoulders slumping. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
After walking back over, I sink back to the ground and pull my knees to my chest, hugging my bear tight. “It’s not fair. Why did they have to die while I got to live?”
“Because if you hadn't, I never would've found you. Never would've . . .” He pauses for a second. “You changed everything. Made me want things I didn't know I could want.”
“You don't mean that.”
“I do.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “I know I fucked everything up. I know I hurt you. But Ryan . . . I'm in love with you.” His voice drops, barely audible over the storm. “Been trying not to be. But I can't stop.”
I twist to look at him. “W-what?”
Rain drips from his hair, his battered face serious. “You heard me. I’m in love with you.”
One minute, I feel everything. The next, nothing at all. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that he can’t love someone this broken. That I’m nothing.
But I can’t because I’ve seen his broken parts too, the ugliest and darkest pieces of who he is, and as I stare straight into those hazel eyes, I just know. “I . . . I love you too.”
He sits next to me, neither of us says anything more, but we don’t have to. Not sure how many minutes pass, but eventually Connor bumps my shoulder. “Fixed the tuition issue. You don’t have to worry about a scholarship anymore.”
“How?”
“Paid the next three years for you.”
“No. Connor—”
“Stop. It’s done. Think of it as a belated wedding gift.” He gestures toward the headstones. “Tell me about them.”
So, I do. I tell him how my mom won the bear at the county fair by cheating at a ring toss game, and then charmed the guy into giving it to her anyway.
“That’s why it’s so important.”
“It's all I have left of them. We were on our way to celebrate my birthday. I'd just turned eleven. We'd just won a game and Dad was going to take us out for pizza.”
The memory is so sharp, so clear, it might as well have happened yesterday. The sound of Sarah complaining about the music, the smell of Dad's cologne, the sight of Mom's smile in the rearview mirror.
“It was raining. Like this.” My voice goes hollow. “This truck . . . he ran a red light. Hit us. Sarah and Mom died on impact. Dad. . .” I swallow hard. “He died at the hospital.”
“Tomorrow's your birthday?”
I nod, the motion small and tired.
“Fuck. Ryan, I didn't . . . Fuck.”
My chest hitches. Once. Twice. Then a sob breaks free. Then another. Tears streak down my cheeks, my shoulders shaking so hard I can’t stop them.
Connor shifts closer. Not holding me, not talking. He just exists beside me, letting me grieve without trying to fix it.
Eventually, I’m too tired to keep crying. So, I take a shuddering breath and shift to stand.
“I got you.” Connor places one hand on my bicep and the other on my forearm, helping me to my feet.
“Thanks.”
He smiles softly as he takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together. We walk back toward the path. His grip is firm, warm, and I hold on like he's the only thing keeping me upright.
“I’m sorry. For all of it. I was so focused on my own shit, I never. . .” Connor stops walking, then turns to face me. “You deserve better.”
I clutch the bear to my chest tighter and clear my throat. “What about once you’re free from your father?”
His eyes never leave mine. “Your choice, Ryan. I took that from you once. Won’t do it again.”
I nod, because right now, it’s all I can do. It’s all I have the energy to do.
We reach our cars and stand in the rain a bit longer. I bite my lip and turn to him. “Are you heading back to Crestwood?”
He shakes his head. “Larry would kill me if I did.”
My eyes widen. “You met my foster dad?”
“Well, yeah. Drove to your home address. He told me you were here, at the cemetery.”
“He knows we’re married.” I duck my head, digging the toe of my boot into the mud. “I . . . I told him everything.”
“I know. He read me the riot act before he told me where to find you. Said if my face wasn’t already punched in, he would’ve done it himself.”
A real laugh escapes from me as I look up, meeting his gaze. “You’d deserve it.”
“I know.” He squeezes my hand, thumb brushing across my knuckles. “We’ll come back tomorrow and stay as long as you like. We can even stay for the week if you need.”
“But you have classes. And hockey.”
He clears his throat. “Pretty sure I have a concussion.”
“Jesus, fuck, Connor.”
He snorts. “I’ll be fine. But we should get going before we both get sick.”
Reluctantly, I pull my hand free and open the door to Larry’s truck. As I slide into the driver’s seat, I glance back at the cemetery, at the three graves under the oak tree.
Did you three bring him here? You know he kidnapped me, right?