Chapter Thirty-Seven Edward
The first night, they started with his life up to his arrest. By the time they fell asleep, facing each other on her bed, Ren knew all about his foster mother, Mary. He even showed her a dorky photo of him in his first ugly Christmas sweater, though he’d be willing to bet it wasn’t meant to be ironic. She knew that he was placed with Mary when he was seven, that his life with her and her two sons wasn’t perfect, but it was good. She knew that he was loved, and that Mary had begun the long, arduous process to adopt him.
Ren also now knew that when he was thirteen, the lease on their apartment was up and wouldn’t be renewed; the building was being torn down to build luxury condominiums. Mary had to pack up the three boys and move. But because she no longer had the rent-controlled two-bedroom apartment, she and her two biological sons had to move to a smaller space, and Edward’s foster placement with her wasn’t reapproved; the adoption process was halted.
By the time they fell asleep, Ren also knew how he’d spiraled, running away from his temporary group home and living on the streets. She knew that he’d stolen a car, not realizing there was a gun inside. And how when he was fourteen, he’d been sentenced to eleven months in a juvenile correction facility.
“I think that’s enough for tonight,” she said after that, and in under a minute, she was fast asleep.
They slept until well past ten. By then the news about Ren had broken everywhere—the front page of every major newspaper, the top story on every news channel. An abducted girl found after twenty years made a pretty splashy headline. They were told by their security team to stay in the hotel.
Ren had lunch with Chris and a team of therapists in a private room, and then returned, hollow eyed and exhausted, saying only “He’s very nice” before promptly falling asleep again.
Of any of the victims of this, Edward was the least of anyone’s problems, but he was grateful when his assigned therapist, Lisa, asked that he stay on to support Ren through the sequestered crisis-management phase. “Quite frankly,” he told her, “if you hadn’t invited me to stay, I would have booked a room here anyway.”
His phone rang while Ren was still sleeping, her head in the crook of his neck. He had no intention of actually answering it, but when he saw his father’s name on the screen, he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. Carefully disentangling himself from her, he climbed from the bed and let himself out onto the balcony.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Edward,” he said. “Where are you?”
“Boise.” Edward tried to work up the indignation he usually felt when he spoke to his father, the familiar anger that buoyed him and kept his eye on the endgame—Robert Fitzsimmons’s downfall—but he couldn’t seem to muster any. Whatever happened to him after this, whether he lost his recommendation or had to face academic or legal consequences, he knew he’d eventually be okay. Ren had changed, but Edward had changed just as profoundly. He was still terrified and had to fight the instinct to keep people at arm’s length, but his doors had been blown open and he didn’t want to close them again. He wanted to let go of the anger and let someone see him. He wanted to heal.
“The papers just said Idaho, I wasn’t sure where,” Robert said.
“Yeah, the police put us up while they sort everything out.”
“And how are you? Sounds like it was pretty rough.”
Edward looked at his phone, unfamiliar with the strain he could hear in his father’s voice. Anger, yes. Condescension, always. But gentleness? The edge of concern? That was brand-new. “It was,” Edward said. “But I’m fine. I’m more concerned about Ren. Her whole life has been turned upside down.”
“I heard you figured out where she was and got the police there before it could get any worse. That was good thinking, son,” Robert said, and a beat of silence passed over the line. “Whatever you did to get yourself into this, I’m glad it happened. She’s lucky to have you. I’m proud of you.”
Edward looked back toward the room. He could see Ren still asleep in the bed, and for the first time in his life he wished he could tell someone—one particular someone—what he was feeling. Was this what it was to feel safe? He’d share one piece of himself, and then another, and eventually the floodgates would open? He hoped so. It was terrifying, but he wanted Ren to know all the parts of him, even the ugly ones.
Edward turned away, staring, unseeing, at the parking lot and strip malls facing the back side of the hotel. Wood-scented smoke poured from the chimney of a barbecue restaurant.
“Thank you,” he said finally.
“The dean should be calling you tomorrow. You’re an adult, so you’ll have to work out the details directly with him, but he should be offering you a leave of absence. I suggest you take it.”
The authority in his father’s voice was more familiar ground, but Edward would gladly take it. “Yes, sir.”
“And what about your interview?”
Edward stared into space. His father knew about the interview. Of course he did; he had connections everywhere. But Edward realized it didn’t matter anyway. He was done hiding from his father. “I emailed to let them know I’d need a rain check.” He laughed dryly. “They understood.”
Another pause, and then, “Call me after you’ve spoken to the dean, and we’ll figure out the next steps.”
“Okay,” Edward said, “I’ll do that.”
“Have a good night, son.”
His father ended the call, and Edward stared at his phone until the screen went dark. It was the least contemptuous conversation he’d ever had with Robert Fitzsimmons, and he was unsure how to feel about it. Without the rage he’d tended for so long, he felt slightly off-kilter, unsure if he was seeing his father differently now, or whether Robert really had changed. Was that even possible? And when Edward really thought about it, did it matter? He felt like he was just stepping out of a long fog, and had many, many things to figure out. As long as he knew where Ren was and that she was safe, the rest was just details.
Inside the room again, he turned on Clueless but stared blankly at the screen, finally ordering room service for dinner and keeping the trays covered until she woke up, rumpled and red-eyed, shuffling to the table he’d set up.
“Those,” Ren said, pointing to the pancakes when he’d shown her the options he’d ordered. “Thank you.”
It was a weird feeling to be sitting across from the current most famous woman in the country, to know her better, he thought, than anyone. He mumbled a quiet, “Yeah. Of course.”
She spread the butter and poured syrup and then poked at the pancakes with her fork. There was a lot on his mind, but nothing he felt he could say out loud. He didn’t want to tell her how huge the story had become, how there were gigantic mobs of strangers standing in front of the hotel holding signs proclaiming how strong and amazing she was, or how people from all over the world had already donated an ungodly amount to a trust set up for her by the State of Georgia. How she would never have to worry about money again. It was already too much.
All he cared was that Ren never had to worry about her safety again.
“How are the pancakes?” he asked, stupidly, because she hadn’t even taken a bite.
She looked up at him. “What happened in the juvenile correction facility?”
He smiled down at his Caesar salad, relieved to be given this prompt, relieved she wasn’t scared off by what he’d told her last night. “All right. I like it. Keeping me on track.”
So he picked up where he’d left off, telling her about how he learned in juvie that he actually loved school, that therapy was pretty effective, and—most importantly—that he could play by anyone’s rules. He learned to leverage his greatest skill—charm—to make his life easier. He told her how he became a model inmate, how Judge Amira Iman took him under her wing, brought him to city fundraisers for disadvantaged youth to meet and talk to people in the community, and how it was there that he met the socialite Rose Fitzsimmons, and the spark of an idea struck her that she wanted to do more to help than throw money at the various foundations: Rose wanted to adopt a fifteen-year-old reformed hooligan named Edward Fallon. And then he told Ren how Rose’s husband, real estate developer Robert Fitzsimmons, loved the idea of adopting him, but for a completely different reason: After a slew of lawsuits that claimed his firm had broken various civil and criminal codes, he needed an image overhaul.
And once he learned the truth about Robert, young Edward was a very willing accessory: His new father’s latest project, a high-end series of condominiums, was to be built on the same city block where Mary’s apartment—and Edward’s happily ever after—had once stood. With the ember of loss still burning in his chest, Edward hoped he could one day gather enough information on local developers to be able to take them down one by one.
Edward told Ren about moving into the Fitzsimmons estate, about how he felt out of place from the minute he first stepped foot on the property. He told Ren how he took the opportunity whenever he could to learn how to integrate himself into every situation: fancy dinners with politicians and in the kitchen with the staff; pickup basketball games at the park and fundraisers with celebrities. He hated everything about the rich, privileged life he was living, and a plan was forming even then, one where he would use everything he learned living in that house to take down the first pillar of the big developer community: Robert Fitzsimmons.
By that point, Ren’s eyes had lost some of their attentive focus, and he stood, taking her napkin and piling everything neatly on the table. “Let’s get you to bed.”
They rolled the room service table into the hall, where the Fridge grunted out a sound of greeting and wheeled their dinner away.
Ren put her hand on Edward’s arm. “Don’t go.”
With a grin, he reminded her, “I’m not going anywhere until you kick me out.”
This earned him a tiny flicker of a smile, and they carefully locked up, brushed teeth side by side, and then climbed back into the giant bed.
She reached over, turning out the bedside lamp, leaving only the light from the bathroom softly drifting across the foot of the bed. Ren rolled to face him, curling up on her side, hands tucked up under her chin. She was so beautiful, it made his chest constrict.
“How’s my Sunshine feeling tonight?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Why didn’t you just walk away when I left you in Atlanta? Weren’t you mad?”
It took immense effort to not propel his body forward and pull her into his arms. “No, Ren. I wasn’t mad, not for one second. I don’t trust easily, and I’m working on that, but I do trust you. If you left, I knew there had to be a good reason. I was only ever worried.” He tilted his head, smiling. “Panicked may be a better word, especially once we put together what happened.”
She looked up at him, eyes sincere. “Thank you for being so smart.”
He felt his face heat. “I just put the puzzle together. You tell a good story. Thank you for talking so much.”
She smiled. “Thank you for coming for me.”
“It was never a question.”
“I’m sorry Gloria tried to blackmail you into staying quiet.”
He waved this off. “It’s fine. I was already at Chris’s house by the time my father called to yell at me.” He closed his eyes, searching for the sinking feeling in his stomach, the anxiety that he’d ruined his future, but it didn’t come. “I didn’t want Gloria to have any power over us, though….” He swallowed. “I called Audran from the airport and told him that I’d doctored my scores. I explained a bit why—Judge Iman told me just before I got out that if I finished at the top of my class, she would give me a recommendation to any law school in the country. It doesn’t make what I did okay, but he was actually pretty cool. He agreed to give me a zero but shut down the academic dishonesty inquiry. I’m not sure I deserve that, but I’m not going to argue. I still need to iron the details out with the dean, but it looks like I’ll be taking an extended leave.”
“You’re not going back to school next week?”
“I think I need time to figure it all out. School feels like another planet right now.”
“Everything feels like another planet.” Her smile was limp. “I can barely focus on anything.”
“Pretty sure there’s not a soul in the world who would blame you.”
She adjusted her pillow under her head. “Are you still planning on going to law school?”
He thought about how relentless he’d been, how his need for misguided revenge had driven him toward money and success, and away from depending on or trusting anyone. He felt lighter without it, unaware how heavy a burden he’d been carrying until it was gone.
“I don’t know. The whole point of law school was to become powerful enough that I could take everything from men like my father.” He laughed, because it sounded sad and empty, even to his own ears. “I was still holding on to what had happened to Mary, had happened to me. I wanted to destroy him and everything men like him had.”
“You don’t want to do that anymore?”
“I still want to take care of Mary, that hasn’t changed, but with everything that’s happened, the rest of it sounds kind of dumb.”
Ren laughed and found his hand, squeezing it. “It’s not dumb. It’s very noble that you want to help her.”
“Noble to live my life like the most pathetic Bond villain?”
She laughed again. “Even I get that reference.”
“Maybe I don’t even want to be a lawyer. I pursued that as a means to an end, but not because I’m all that passionate about it.” In the darkness, his smile faded. “It seems kind of pathetic to be mad forever. Exhausting. I have meeting you to thank for that.”
“Meeting me?”
“Yeah. You changed me. The way you approach the world with such optimism. Such an open heart. I want to be more like you.”
Quietly, she scoffed. “An open heart feels like a curse right now.”
He reached across the darkness to carefully pass a hand down her arm. “Look, I know everything is…I mean, there aren’t words. What you’re dealing with is beyond comprehension. But your fundamental goodness is why I’m so lost for you, Ren. You made me a better person, and that’s why I’ll be here as long as you want me.”
There was shifting of the blankets, and then she scooted closer until she was carefully pressed up against him.
Tentatively, he wrapped an arm around her, urging her closer. “Are we still doing this?”
“Doing what?” she asked, but there was a teasing lean to her voice.
“Things people do when they share a king-sized bed.”
She snorted quietly into his neck. “What else are we going to do? We can’t leave the hotel.”
“Look at you, making jokes already,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.
She pulled back enough to look up at him, and in the dim light filtering in from the bathroom, he saw a tender gleam in her eyes. “I hope we’re still doing this,” she said. “I like you a lot.”
“Trust me, I’m absolutely crazy for you. But I’ll be crazy for you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. Even if we don’t do anything tonight.”
Ren sent a hand up his neck to his jaw, tracing his lower lip with her thumb. “I want this one normal thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Having a crush on a guy and using it to ignore all my other problems.”
With a laugh, he bent, pressing his lips to hers.
They kissed a lot that night—deep and claiming and fevered—and it meant they were exhausted the next morning when the alarm on Edward’s phone went off. But he laughed as Ren jumped out of bed anyway, and an hour later, they were walking hand in hand downstairs to meet Mary, who had arrived on an early flight.
Edward watched as the only real mother he’d ever known pulled Ren into her arms and held her in that big, warm hug that had been like oxygen to him once upon a time. He watched Ren’s small, tense shoulders slowly loosen, watched her arms finally come around Mary’s waist. When Ren started to cry, Mary pulled back, pushing Ren’s hair out of her face. Frowning in concern, Mary murmured gently, “Well, it looks like I got another bird in my nest. It’s going to be okay, sweet thing. We got you now.”
That night, at a new hotel in Atlanta with the same giant guards and the same looming questions about what life looked like from there on out, Ren pressed up against him again. “Kiss me” was all she needed to say.
Daytime was for therapy and self-reflection. Nighttime was for escape, and Edward was happy to follow her lead, giving her everything she needed. Because if the news feeds were to be believed, Chris’s house was surrounded by journalists hoping for a glimpse of a family member. They’d been mobbed by reporters on the short walk from the hotel door in Boise to a van waiting at the curb. It was becoming clear to Edward, if not to Ren, that there wouldn’t be a return to normalcy for a while. People who went missing and famously reappeared didn’t just blend back into society, especially when they were as recognizable as she was.
Their second night in Atlanta, she seemed to realize it, too.
There was a knock at their door, and the Fridge handed him a bag from CVS. “For Ren,” he said simply.
Edward found her in the bathroom, brushing out her hair, and set the bag down on the counter. “Fridge brought you some stuff.”
“Did you tell him thank you?”
“Uh…yes?” he lied.
With something between a sideways smirk and a glare in his direction, Ren put the brush down, gathered her hair in her hands, and slid the length of it over one shoulder. Then she pulled a pair of scissors out of the bag. With a deep breath, she looked at herself in the mirror before turning to him. “Will you do me a favor?”