Chapter 26
Connor
Ryan's clothes hang loose on my body. His joggers bunch at my ankles, the drawstring pulled tight to keep them up. The Titans hoodie swallows me whole, sleeves past my fingertips, collar soft and worn against my throat.
Fuck me for not grabbing clothes before driving to Erie.
I took off the second Viktor texted me Ryan’s home address. I don’t know if he got it from Harper, which would be the easiest way. But he definitely didn’t tell his fiancée about it.
Alexei lit up my phone, too. All threats. Murderous ones. Can’t blame him. Wouldn’t be fucking surprised if he goes after Zach. No way he’ll let what happened go. That man is obsessively protective of his husband.
I grip the banister when the world tilts half a degree. My head throbs hard enough that I have to close my eyes.
Fuck.
Definitely a concussion. I deserve it. Maybe not the part where Kai decided my face was a heavy bag. He lost it when he realized Ryan was missing and refused to give me any information. That's why I turned to Viktor for help.
And fuck my life, he was a nosy bitch. Took twenty minutes of me screaming into the phone before he finally gave up prodding and agreed to help.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, not giving a shit what Larry may throw at me because Ryan’s mine. And I owe it to my husband to make it work with his foster father.
Even if I have to eat shit.
But a small part of me is nervous. Just because Ryan admitted to being in love with me doesn’t mean he’ll come back. Doesn’t mean he’ll choose me outside of protecting me from my father.
Larry's eyes narrow as I walk into the room. “Sit.”
Plates are already set on the table. Soup steams in bowls. Glasses are filled with water. It’s like one of those kitchens where people actually eat together. Every night.
Fuck if I know what that's like.
I sit across from Ryan, but he doesn’t look up. Just picks at the edge of his placemat. His eyes are puffy, his shoulders hunched.
I want to make him feel better. But fuck if I know how.
He didn’t even smile when I blurted out that I was in love with him. I’m such a fucking idiot. Wasn’t the right time. Wasn’t even planned.
It just . . . happened.
But he said it back. After everything I did, he said it back.
Mine. He's fucking mine. And fuck, I’m his.
Larry sets a platter of grilled cheese cut into triangles in the center.
The fuck? Are we six?
I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
He grunts, then takes a seat, not bothering to look at me before picking up his spoon and eating, like I’m not even here.
Fair.
I'd ignore me, too, if some asshole kidnapped my kid.
My vision darkens around the edges, a bolt of pain shooting through my head. My fingers dig into my thighs, and I take a slow breath, waiting for it to pass.
“Don’t like the food?” Larry’s tone is not warm. Not hostile either. Just measured.
“It’s fine.” I’m not about to explain the headache or the way the kitchen light bothers my eyes. It would only make Ryan worry, and I don’t need to add to his stress.
It’s also not the first concussion I’ve had. They’re common in hockey.
I pick up my spoon and eat. Helps I’m fucking starving. I haven’t had anything since lunch yesterday.
Ryan grabs a wedge of grilled cheese. He takes a small bite, then picks at the crust.
Fuck.
He’s not eating. Can’t imagine he even wants to. Can’t even comprehend what he’s truly feeling because I have no idea what it’s like to lose my entire family. On my fucking birthday, no less.
Then again, if it were my family, I might actually be celebrating.
Especially if it was my mother, who just had to fuck with my husband when he’s barely holding it together.
Bet she did it on purpose. Afterall, my parents admitted to having their head of security look into my husband, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that bitch decided to fuck with him because she knows his family died around this time.
Nothing she does is coincidental. Every strike is meant to destroy.
Wish that cunt would die.
Larry reaches across and rests his hand on Ryan's forearm. Just sets it there. No hesitation. “Kiddo, you need to eat more than that.”
Ryan doesn't flinch. Doesn't freeze. Just keeps picking at the crust. “I know.”
My jaw clenches so hard a spike shoots up behind my temple. I want that. My hand on him like it’s nothing. His body not bracing like I’m a threat. I crave it so badly it makes me shake.
Larry steeples his fingers and finally looks at me. “Gonna give it to you straight, Mr. Walsh. I don’t want you in my house. And I don’t want you with Ryan. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?”
Mr. Walsh.
That’s my father’s fucking name. Not mine.
I force my tongue against the back of my teeth until the urge to spit back something nuclear passes. “I made a mistake.”
“Mistake is leaving the milk out. Not blackmailing my son with his scholarship to force him into marriage.” He doesn’t say more, just keeps his gaze locked with mine.
Ryan didn’t tell him about the gun? About drugging him?
My husband sits across the table, staring at his plate as if he’s not even there.
I set my spoon down and meet Larry’s gaze again. “I fucked up. I get it. Don’t expect you to like me. Don’t even like myself half the time. But I love—”
“I don’t approve, Mr. Walsh.”
“Can we not—” Ryan’s voice is small and raw at the edges.
Larry reaches over and squeezes his forearm. “Kiddo, I won’t pretend this is normal.” His eyes cut back to me. “Divorce him. This whole marriage—”
“No!” Ryan slams his hands down on the table. “My choice. Remember.”
My heart beats fast, my mouth agape as I stare at him.
Ryan’s choosing me. Not to shield me from my father.
But me.
“Kiddo, this isn’t what you deserve. Not by a long shot. What he did . . . Ryan, it hurts me to even think about it.”
My husband sighs, slumping in the chair. “I don’t want him to go.”
Larry grunts, rubbing his temples. “Fine. For tonight, he can stay.”
“And tomorrow.” No fucking way I’m leaving him. I’ll sleep in my goddamn car in the driveway if I have to. “Don’t care if you disagree.”
Larry’s eyes harden a degree. “Don’t push it, Mr. Walsh.”
My skin itches, like the name has been carved into it and freshly scabbed over.
Mr. Walsh. Mr. Walsh. Mr. Walsh.
I’m not my goddamn fucking father.
“Fine, you can stay tomorrow as well.” He flicks his gaze to Ryan and back to me. “In the guest room.”
I almost laugh. Almost. But it’s not the first time I’ve heard of some absurd bullshit. Alexei told me Eli’s parents made him sleep in the guest room even after they were engaged.
I grab one of the grilled cheese triangles from the platter. Larry does the same. Ryan just leans his head on one hand, stirring his soup, spoon clinking against the ceramic.
Larry finishes chewing, then leans back in his chair. “Kiddo, I think you should consider going to counseling again.”
“Was planning to. Had an appointment. Then got the email.”
God fucking dammit.
Ryan sets his spoon down, then pushes back from the table. “I need some air.”
I’m halfway out of my chair when Larry lifts a hand and shakes his head. “Give him space.”
Every muscle in me rebels. But I sit anyway. The front door closes, and now it’s just Larry and me, which is uncomfortable as fuck.
Larry finishes the rest of his grilled cheese, then stands and takes his plate to the sink. I do the same, setting mine on the counter.
“Don’t care if it’s my place, but you should look into counseling too.”
My spine goes rigid. “I’m fine.”
He huffs a grunt as he turns on the water and starts rinsing the bowls before placing them in the dishwasher. “The way you handle problems, Connor, that comes from somewhere. And that boy out there loves you. God knows why after what you did. But he does.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He turns the faucet off and faces me, his eyes boring into mine. “Because from where I'm standing, you've got a lot of work to do if you want to deserve it.”
I lean against the counter, fingers gripping the edge. “No shit.”
“Watch your tone, young man.”
Young man.
I snort. Can’t help it.
But fuck, at least he's not calling me Mr. Walsh like I'm my piece of shit father.
“Look, I paid his tuition for the year and the next two. He won’t have to worry about a scholarship anymore.”
Larry's eyebrows shoot up. “That's—”
“Not enough. I fucking know.”
Larry grunts, eyes narrowing.
Great. So, he’s really going to make me watch my language. Fine, whatever.
“Connor, whether he goes back to Crestwood is his choice. Not yours, not mine. His.”
My fingers dig into the countertop so hard my arms shake. I want to punch something. Not Larry, not Ryan. Just . . . fuck. If he needs this place more than he needs me, then . . . “You think if he stays here, it’ll be better for him?”
“Maybe. But whatever he chooses, you respect it.”
The pounding in my skull's getting worse, black spots dancing at the edge of my vision again. I blink hard, trying to clear them.
Fucking concussion.
I straighten up, ignoring the way it makes my head swim. “I just want him to get the help he needs.”
Larry snorts. “Maybe you're not completely hopeless.”
“High praise.”
“Go rest. You look like you’re about to pass out. The guest room is upstairs, second door on the right.” Larry crosses his arms over his chest. “And don’t let me catch you in his bed.”
A humorless chuckle escapes before I can stop it. “Already had enough people beat the shit out of me. Not looking to add another.”
Larry just shakes his head.
But as I turn, everything spins. I blindly reach out, trying to grab something before I fall over.
Larry grabs my upper arm, steadying me. “Don’t even want to know how you drove here, but let’s get you to bed.”
I huff. “It’s just a concussion.”
“And I’ve coached hockey for as long as you’ve been alive. It might not be anything severe enough to land you in the hospital, but you need to be careful.”
“Can take care of myself. Always have.”
He grunts, mumbling something under his breath as he wraps his arm around my waist. “You’re in my house now, young man. And in my home, we take care of each other.”
I want to snap back, to tell him I’m not weak. But it’s not his fault. I’m just not used to having people care for me. So, I keep my mouth shut and let him help.
On our way upstairs, I spot Ryan through the window just sitting out there in the fucking dark.
Fuck the guest room. I'll sleep on the goddamn floor outside his door if I have to.
Not letting him deal with this alone. I’ve got his back.
Like he’s always had mine.