Twenty five years. Twenty five fucking years I heard those words in movies, I heard them said to other people, read them in books, and I waited. Why not me?
Now, the first time I heard those words spoken to me, he thought he was talking to somebody named Sarina Bell. I wanted to ask him to say “I love you, Sarina Beckett,” but that would raise some questions, to put it mildly.
Part of me hoped to hear some kind of doubt in his voice, or to hear the cocky edge of a player telling a girl whatever he thought would get him more pussy. I didn’t hear that. When he said it, I believed him.
Most of all, the rational part of me wished that I didn’t love him so much too. Once Ryan said the word, put a label on this almost tangible connection between us, there was no way to construct even a flimsy argument against it.
I was in love for the first time, and I had to live with the knowledge that we were almost certainly doomed. What possible way was there for it to work out?
Even if I renounced everything I had made out of myself in my so-called real life and ran off with Ryan, the authorities would find me, and then he’d find out what I was. He’d hate me for that betrayal, he’d think it was all the lie that it was supposed to be.
But it was real and, in its own little bubble, it was perfect. The best thing for me to do was to push forward with the investigation, get as much information as I could on people upstream of Ryan’s supply chain, and divert as much of the heat away from him as possible when it came time to crack down on the F operation.
Our relationship already muddied the waters a lot, in terms of any charges that might be levied against Ryan in the future, and I’d divert as much as I could too. It was the only chance we had for either of us to end up with the equivalent of a slapped wrist rather than going to prison, and the only chance for him to, maybe, forgive me.
Last night, after all that sex, he’d seemed impressed when I handed over a bundle of cash that paid Ryan back for the F he’d given me. That was why, when Ryan said he had something important to show me, my ears pricked up with the thought that maybe he was going to take me to meet his source of F.
In undercover cop terms, the investigation had been moving at light speed, but this would be the first breakthrough that would point the finger at somebody other than Ryan. My heart leapt at the opportunity, though it was brought crashing down pretty quickly by the brief but intense wave of shame in the hallway.
I wasn’t that loud, was I? Just how thin were the walls in Cumberland, anyway?
I didn’t have to feign the embarrassment that kept me quiet as Ryan drove the car, but the reasons for Ryan’s silence were a mystery to me. From the glances I stole at him as we went, he was definitely nervous about something.
Was his supplier dangerous? Another one of those Cannibal thugs? Just somebody who’d hate to see a new face like mine turn up during a transaction?
The questions only deepened when we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Was his supplier a doctor? A nurse? Anybody else who had access to the stockpiles of drugs in a hospital? Was Ryan also a middleman, bringing ingredients for the manufacture of F?
All those questions melted away when we entered the elevator and Ryan pressed a button for the tenth floor labeled “Private Wards.” He looked pale, like all his strength was being sapped away from him.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, leaning in and slipping my arms around him.
“I hate this place.”
“Why?”
“Some days are better than others, but she should be relaxing at home, enjoying her retirement. Some days are bad.”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. We walked out slowly as he rested his arm over my shoulders, almost leaning on me.
“Wait… your mom?” I asked. “Is your mom here?”
Ryan nodded after a few seconds. Holy shit. He was introducing me to his mom. My heart jolted like a monster had just jumped out in a horror movie. Would she grill me about my intentions with her boy? What were you supposed to do when you met your boyfriend’s mother?
I blinked a few times and composed myself. However startling it was for me, it looked like this was a lot tougher for him. For most people, I could have understood that this was a daunting milestone in the relationship, but Ryan had always been so immensely self-assured that it was scary to see him looking so embattled.
“Is there something I need to know?” I asked.
Ryan took a deep breath, then let it out as he rethought his wording before starting again. “Well, like I said, you’ll see when you get in there. I want you to meet her. I want her to meet you. But…”
“But what?”
“But I would never bring just anybody here. I don’t know how much longer I could stand coming here alone. I need help.”