41 - Peyton
PEYTON
“And you’re absolutely sure that’s what he said?” Ripley asked again. “Natalie?”
His voice was cold and gravelly. The expression on his face was something between deep trepidation, and violent, barely-controlled rage.
“Yes,” Colson replied. “Adam and Brayden, too.”
Theo tried passing a mug of coffee his way. Ripley swatted it to the other side of the table without looking at it.
“I’ll kill him.”
The words were dark and full of gravity. There was no doubt in my mind he meant what he said.
“Ripley, listen—”
“No, YOU listen!” he snapped acidly. “Before, I was content to ruin him. To expose and destroy him, and his whole fucking network.”
He curled his fingers into a fist so big, it looked like the head of a sledgehammer.
“But now, he dies.”
He pounded the table and stood up, knocking his chair over. Then he stormed straight through the living room, into the foyer, and right out the front door.
Colson rose quickly, and moved to follow. I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Let me handle this one?”
An inner conflict crossed the Marine’s face. He considered me for a moment, then nodded.
I hurried out, grabbing two of the oversized, snorkel-hooded coats hanging near the door.
I slipped into one quickly, the sleeves hanging well past my wrists.
The other I carried with me as I ran after Ripley, who was moving with a speed driven by anger, frustration, and maybe, the need to be alone.
Too bad on that last one.
Outside, the snow floated down in big, lazy flakes, much slower than usual.
I followed him around the side of the house, and out into the narrow path beyond the lava ridges.
The breeze usually whistled against the rocks here, feeding into the side of the house like a wind tunnel.
But it was oddly quiet now, with the snow muffling everything.
“Ripley!”
The cold bit at my face and hands, even without the wind. As silent and beautiful a scene it was, I found myself missing the constant low hum of the geothermal flooring.
“Ripley, wait!”
I caught up to him a few dozen steps later, leaning against a jagged outcropping of rock. His head was down. He wouldn’t look at me.
“Please,” I huffed. “This air’s biting my lungs. I can’t run.”
“So don’t,” he said miserably.
“Here. Take this.”
I held the second jacket out to him. He shook his head.
“Ripley—”
“Do you have any idea what happens next?” he said abruptly. “Now that Donovan’s found my sister?”
I looked back at him, open-mouthed. “Your… sister?”
“Foster sister. Yes.”
He started pacing back and forth, like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. All I could do was stand there and blink.
“Colson told me you were a foster child,” I admitted. “He also said you got put in a real bad place.”
Ripley snorted. White puffs of air exited his nose, making him look like a dragon.
“Bad place,” he repeated, sardonically. “You could say that.”
“Ripley…”
“More like the center stage of the clusterfuck circus,” he barked. “Violent father. Checked out mother. Way too many siblings for such a tiny house, each of them pulling their own full set of emotional baggage.”
I held the jacket out again. This time I shook it at him.
“Why so many?”
“Because when you’re a foster parent, you get paid by the kid. And the more messed up each kid might be, the more problems they have, the more benefits you can cash in on.”
I could visualize it all, of course. A whole childhood, never getting the attention you truly deserved. Fear of attachment. Fear of detachment. Sharing a space with brothers and sisters who felt more like roommates, sailing in and out of your life.
“The man I hurt real bad, when I was young?” Ripley continued. “That was my foster father. He was violent with me all the time, but I chose to take it. I kept telling myself it made me tougher. That it was no big deal.”
He sighed heavily, and sank against the rock.
“I was about sixteen when he finally left me alone,” he said bitterly.
“As it turned out, there were new targets to pick on. Adam. Brayden. My little foster brothers were young and naive, and the system hadn’t ruined them yet.
He tried pulling the same shit, but I stepped up and protected them.
I’d finally grown bigger than him. He was afraid of me. ”
“Good,” I agreed.
“Good for a while,” agreed Ripley. “But by then I’d just about aged out of the system. I showed Adam and Brayden how to stick together. Prepped them to take care of themselves, for when I couldn’t be there to protect them.” He let out a weary breath. “And that’s right about when Natalie showed up.”
I dropped the jacket and went to sit beside him. For a quiet few moments, we just watched the snow fall.
“Things changed when Natalie entered the house,” he explained.
“And for once, it was for the better. Everything seemed softer, happier, more alive. We fixed the house up together, played games, cooked meals. There was finally laughter. Camaraderie, between all of us.” He paused, trailing off. “Until…”
I knew before he even said it.
“He went after her, didn’t he?” I asked. “Your foster father?”
“Not at first,” Ripley said slowly. “But yes, eventually he did. And in a… much different way.”
My lips went tight. “Shit.”
“I had to do something,” Ripley growled. “When I did, it was just like the guy, back in Belize. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I broke so many bones in his face, he didn’t even look the same afterwards.”
“The fucker deserved it,” I seethed. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I know, and I don’t regret it. I never have.
” He looked to the snow-flecked sky. “But after that, I went on the run. I couldn’t check with Adam or Brayden for years, but they turned out okay.
They got a place together, down in Savannah.
I still send them a couple of bucks here and there, when I can. It helps out.”
“And Natalie?”
He turned to face me. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for her?
Foster kids are hard to track. So many name changes.
So many records that get sealed up, or thrown out.
I’ve wanted to know about Natalie forever.
I’ve always pictured her laughing and smiling, raising a family. Enjoying her life.”
His jaw went ferociously tight.
“And now Donovan Prescott’s going to use her as leverage against me.”
I leapt to my feet and spun to face him. Putting my forehead to his, I grabbed him by the cheeks.
“No,” I snarled. “He’s not.”
I picked up the jacket, and shoved it into his chest. I did it with such ferocity, that this time he took it.
“Put that on,” I demanded, “and walk with me. Tell me about Natalie, and your foster brothers, and your time together. I want all of the stories — the good ones and the bad.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you, Ripley,” I told him fiercely. “And I want every part of you to be a part of me.”
He looked back at me for what seemed like a really long time, but was probably only a second or two. Yet staring so deeply into each other’s eyes, an eternity passed between us.
“When you’re done telling me stories, we’re going to march back to the house,” I said firmly. “And then we’re going to sit down, destroy an entire fucking pot of coffee, and figure out the fastest way to take Donovan down for good.”
Ripley shrugged into the jacket and zipped it up, all without breaking our gaze. Then he reached out, and his big warm hand engulfed mine.
“You know, I’ve been looking for you,” he said softly. “For a really long fucking time.”
My heart melted a little. I smiled, hopped onto a rock, and kissed him.
“Good,” I chuckled. “I was starting to think you got lost.”