14. Ryan
I tried once. Made it all the way into bed, turned off the light, stared at the ceiling for maybe six minutes, then picked my phone back up to make sure Ally hadn’t texted while I was busy accomplishing absolutely fucking nothing.
She hadn’t. So now I’m back at my desk with my laptop open, three different searches going, my phone faceup beside my hand, and the same message burned into my head.
That’s the part we need to talk about.
That was hours ago. Since then, I’ve gotten exactly enough information to keep me from driving to her house and not nearly enough to make me feel better. Roman left. Tobias is with her. They’re safe for tonight. I fucking hate for tonight. I hate that those words count as reassurance now.
My screen is full of shit about Victor Tremblay I’ve already read twice. Marianne’s name is sitting in one tab. Old business records in another. Some charity dinner from almost ten years ago in a third. I’m not absorbing any of it. Every few seconds my eyes go back to my phone.
“Fuck.” I shove away from the desk and pace to the window. Her dad came home angry. Something happened — something bad enough that Ally didn’t want to put it in a text. And I’m here. That’s the part making me fucking crazy. I’m here, and she’s there.
My phone starts vibrating. I’m across the room before my brain catches up.
ALLY — FACETIME
I answer immediately. “Hey—“ Her face appears, and everything inside me stops. There’s a darkening mark across one side of her cheek. Her bottom lip is swollen. Split. For one second I just stare. Then my entire fucking body goes cold. “What happened to your face?”
Ally’s expression falters. “Hi.”
“Ally.”
“Ryan—“
“What happened to your fucking face?” She looks away. That’s enough. I’m moving before she says another word. “Did he hit you? Did Roman fucking hit you?”
Her eyes come back to mine. “Yes.”
My chair goes over behind me. I don’t even look at it. I grab the sweatshirt off my bed, shove my feet into the first shoes I find, and reach for my keys. “Get Tobias.”
“What?”
“Wake him up. Get whatever you need. I’m coming.”
“Ryan, no.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t.”
“Watch me.”
“Ryan.” I’m already at my bedroom door. “Ryan, stop.”
Something in her voice gets through. Barely. I stop with my hand on the knob. She’s sitting on the floor beside her bed, hair down around her face, and I can see just enough of the room behind her to know she’s keeping her voice low.
“Think for one second.”
“I have been thinking for fucking hours, Ally.”
“No, you’re not thinking now.”
“No shit.”
Her face softens. “I know.”
“I’m coming to get you.”
“And Tobias?”
“I’m taking him too.”
“You know you can’t do that.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“I do. If you come here and take me, Dad can’t force me back. If we take Tobias, he can. Then tomorrow he tells everyone you kidnapped his six-year-old son, and Tobias ends up right back here.”
“I’m not leaving him there.”
“Neither am I.”
“Then what the fuck do you want me to do?”
“Help me get him out in a way Dad can’t undo.”
I look down at the keys in my hand. She’s right. Arthur already explained this to us. Tobias is the trap. Ally can walk out of that house whenever she wants. Her brother can’t. “That was before tonight. He put his fucking hands on you.”
“I know.”
I throw my keys onto the dresser hard enough to bounce. “Tell me what happened.”
She takes a breath. “Tobias saw the ring.” I lean back against the dresser, because apparently that’s as close as I’m getting to sitting down.
“He was being Toby. Asking how much it cost, if it was real.” Despite everything, I can picture that perfectly.
“Then he asked if it meant I was getting married soon. Dad answered him. Tobias asked if he could live with me after.”
My stomach tightens. “Roman said no.”
“Yes.”
“And Toby?”
“He kept asking. He said he wanted to live with me. Dad told him he lives there.” She stops. I already know. “Tobias said he didn’t want to.” Her voice drops. “Dad hit him.”
My fingers curl against the edge of the dresser. “He hit Toby?”
“He slapped him.”
I stare at her. “He slapped a six-year-old in the fucking face?”
“Hard.” Something ugly moves through me. Not hot. Not yet. Cold. “He stumbled into the island. Then Dad grabbed his arm and started jerking him around because he wouldn’t look at him.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“He was crying, and Dad just kept yelling.” Her eyes drop. “So I got between them.”
There it is. I close my eyes. “Ally.”
“I know.”
“No, you clearly fucking don’t.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”
“You cannot put yourself between an angry grown man and a kid while you’re pregnant.”
“He was hurting Tobias.”
“I know he was hurting Tobias.”
“What was I supposed to do, Ryan?”
“Anything except put yourself in front of him.”
Her eyes narrow. Then she asks the one question she knows is going to end me. “What would you have done?”
I look away. She waits. “Don’t.”
“What would you have done?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because—“ Nothing. I’ve got fucking nothing. If someone put their hands on one of the boys in front of me, I’d be moving before I knew I’d made the decision. If it were a kid, forget it. I drag a hand over my face. “I would’ve done the same thing.”
“I know.”
“I still fucking hate that you did it. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad that you had to.” That changes her face. Just a little. I want to touch her so badly my hands hurt. “What happened when you stepped in?”
“Dad told me to move.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.” A tiny piece of pride mixes into all the terror and rage in my chest. My sweet, proper girl looked Roman O’Toole in the face and told him no. I wish to God she’d never had to. “He grabbed me.”
The pride dies. “Where?”
“My arm first.” She adjusts the phone, and I catch the edge of something dark beneath her sleeve.
“Show me.”
“Ryan—“
“Baby.” She sighs, props the phone against something, and pushes her sleeve up. Finger-shaped bruises circle her upper arm. I stop breathing. “Other one.” She hesitates. “Ally.” She pushes up the other sleeve. More.
“He grabbed that one when I tried to turn back toward Tobias.”
I make myself keep my voice level, because if I don’t she’ll stop showing me. “How hard did he shake you?” Her silence answers before she does. “Ally.”
“Hard. Hard enough that my teeth hit together.”
My eyes go to her mouth. “And then he hit you.”
“Yes.”
I turn away from the phone. Just for a second. One fucking second with my hand over my mouth while every violent thought I’ve ever had lines up neatly in my head and volunteers for the job.
Then I turn back, and I make myself do the only thing that’s actually useful right now. “Okay. I need you to answer me about the baby.”
Her expression softens. “Okay.”
“Did you fall?”
“No.”
“Hit anything when he shook you?”
“No.”
“Did he touch your stomach?”
“No.”
“Any cramping? Bleeding? Pressure, pain, anything different at all?”
She shakes her head through all of it. “No. Nothing.” Her hand settles over her stomach. “We’re okay.”
We’re. Fuck me. I sit down on the edge of the bed before my legs decide to do it for me.
“Give me a second, baby.” I stare at the hand resting over our kid until the pressure in my chest backs off enough to let me breathe. Then I look at her face again. “What happened after he hit you?”
Her expression changes. “Mom lost it. She came at him.”
I sit straighter. “Jane came at Roman?”
“She grabbed him and pulled him off me. She was screaming at him. He shoved her into the island.”
“What the fuck?”
“She got back up.” I stare at her. “He told her to stay out of it. She wouldn’t. She kept yelling that he’d hit both of us, that we were scared of him because of him.”
That sounds so far from the Jane I know that for a second I can’t picture it. Not because I think she doesn’t love Ally. Because every time I’ve seen that woman near Roman, she looks like she’s trying to take up as little space as a person can occupy.
“He grabbed her. Threw her into the wall. She got back up again. Then he threw her into the table.” My stomach turns. “And hit her.”
I stare at Ally. “Roman hit your mom?”
“It wasn’t the first time.”
Everything goes quiet. Even the shit in my head. “What?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Jane told you?”
“No.” Ally looks down. “I saw it.” I don’t say anything. “She was fighting him. Angry. Trying to get away. And then—“ Her voice trails off.
“Then what?”
“She stopped.” Ally’s eyes fill. “She knew what was coming. She turned her face before he hit her. Changed the way she was standing. She knew exactly when to stop fighting him.”
A tear slips down her cheek.
“Baby.”
“And then I started remembering. Bruises she said came from walking into something. Long sleeves. Makeup when she wasn’t going anywhere. Days she stayed upstairs with a headache.” Her voice breaks. “It was all right there.”
“Ally.”
“I believed her.”
“Of course you did.”
“I should’ve known.”
“No.” It comes out harder than I mean it to. Her eyes lift. I soften it. “No. Don’t do that to yourself.”
“But I lived there.”
“You were a kid in that house too.” She wipes at her cheek. “You were her daughter, Ally. You weren’t supposed to be running an investigation into whether your dad was hitting your mom.”
Her mouth trembles. “She tried to protect us tonight.”
“I know.”
“I thought she never did.”
That one hurts, because I know exactly how long she’s carried it. I lean closer to the screen, wishing for the hundredth time tonight that it wasn’t between us. “She did tonight.”
“She knows about the baby.”
I go still. “What?”
“She saw my stomach… so I told her the truth. I showed her the ultrasound pictures.”
Of all the shit Ally has told me tonight, somehow that one hits differently. “What did she say?”
“She told me to hide them.” Ally’s mouth trembles. “And to get out.”
“Ally—”
“She knows about you too, Ry. She knows it’s yours.”
Then she reaches for something beside her. “I took pictures.”
“Of your injuries?”
“Mine. Tobias’s.” She pauses. “And Mom’s.”
I sit up. “She let you?”
“After Dad left. She didn’t want me to at first. I told her we needed them.”
“Send them.”