RYAN AND I drive down Parkway South, away from the city and toward the Jersey Shore. We both grew up minutes from the ocean—me in an elite community, him on the wrong side of the tracks. I don’t know much about Ryan’s mother except that she’s a functioning alcoholic. A person who gets wasted all the time but still manages to hold down a job and keep a roof over her family’s head. Ryan says that’s about all she manages to do. From a very young age, Ryan was the one who cooked (if there was any food), cleaned, and kept his family together. He was the punching bag when she got out of control, the one who picked up the pieces when she fell apart, and the one who looked after Sean when she was comatose in yet another drunken stupor. It breaks my heart thinking about the shitty upbringing he had, and how desperate he is to have a future different from his past. It also makes me realize how desperate I am to make sure that happens.
If anyone deserves better, it’s him.
Sitting in the front seat of Ryan’s Mercedes CLK350 while OneRepublic sings about counting stars on the radio, I’m perfectly composed on the outside, and clawing the walls on the inside. I don’t know what to expect, but I want to make a good first impression, and I want her to like me. Actually, I’m dying for her to like me. For Ryan’s sake. This meeting is more nerve-wracking than taking the LSATs.
“You know what I miss?” I poke Ryan, hoping conversation will distract me.
“What’s that?” He jumps, smiling.
“Your Wrangler.” It’s the car Ryan drove the summer we met.
“Oh, yeah?” One side of his sexy mouth curves up. “We had a lot of fun in that car. Miss your hair blowing in the wind?”
I try to contain my laughter. “Do you?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Ryan is absolutely beaming, and I know why. A recollection of a very illicit memory. “Maybe we can make this car just as much fun as the Jeep?” he insinuates.
“Maybe,” I tease, running my hand all the way up his thigh.
“Did I tell you how much I love you today?” He glances heatedly between me and the road.
“Nope.” I smack my lips.
“Well, I do. A lot,” he expels aroused, causing me to giggle darkly as I taunt him.
Yeah, we had a lot of fun in that Jeep.
Ryan pulls off exit 105 in the direction of Shrewsbury, another inland shore town closer to Neptune than Colts Neck. We turn into a large parking lot sprinkled with cars. The Americana is an iconical New Jersey diner located on a busy highway. It’s a quintessential eating establishment with mirrored doors, a stainless steel exterior, and neon lights. It’s where high school kids meet late at night and elderly couples venture to in the early morning.
Ryan finds a parking space in front. “Ready?” he asks a tad flustered as he turns off the car.
“Are you?”
“No, but fuck it. You have to meet her.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s time.” He shrugs.
“Time for who?”
“Time for all of us.”
“Okay.”
I step out of the car and smooth out my sweater. I decided casual was the way to go. A chunky cable-knit sweater, brown leggings, and cognac riding boots. My hair is down and my makeup is light. Ryan is wearing loose-fitting jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. He is the epitome of sexy and smooth and urban cool.
Taking my hand, we walk up the front steps together. Like the unified entity that we are. That we have to be.
The inside is flashy with teal booths and reflective walls, typical diner décor. There’s a large counter directly in front of us with two women dressed in pink button-up shirts, aprons, and black pants. One has silver hair and dark skin, the other looks much younger with long, brown hair, smile lines, and Ryan’s big blue eyes. My heart hammers when she looks directly at me. She stands perfectly still with an apprehensive expression on her face as Ryan and I approach, almost like we’re two serial killers stalking our next victim.
There’s an uncomfortable silence at first. I know how hard this is for Ryan. He finally clears his throat and says, “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, son,” she responds uneasily.
“This is Alana,” he introduces me, and she does a once-over, seemingly unimpressed.
I clear my throat, step forward, and put my hand out over the counter. “Mrs. Pierce, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”
She shakes my hand lightly, like I’m diseased.
“You too, honey,” she replies with a thick Brooklyn accent.
Ryan sits down, and I follow suit.
“Coffee?” She flips over the white cups sitting in front of us.
“Yes, please.” Caffeine sounds heavenly right now.
Ryan’s mother pours two cups and slides over some cream and sugar. “Just black for me,” I relay politely before, passing them over to Ryan. Kill her with kindness, I internally chant.
I pull on the collar of my sweater as my body overheats.
Twisting my hair up off my neck before I blow on the steaming cup, Ryan’s mom stops short when she sees my mother’s earring sticking out of my earlobes.
“Those are very beautiful,” she comments coolly, stealing a glance at Ryan.
“Thank you, they were my mother’s,” I extend graciously, although wildly uncomfortable.
“Oh.” My response seems to placate her.
Ryan and his mother exchange some small talk as I quietly sip my coffee, feeling very much like an outsider.
“Have you seen Sean lately?” Mrs. Pierce goes on to ask.
“No.” Ryan is annoyed. As much as he wants to have a relationship with family, that wall is always up. A barrier of past transgressions forever separating them.
They exchange a strange look, and I try desperately to interpret their facial expressions, but I’m not versed well enough in Ryan’s family to understand what they’re silently communicating.
“He’s here,” she clears her throat uncomfortably, “in the bathroom.”
“Great,” Ryan bites.
A moment later Sean slaps Ryan on the back. “Yo, bro.”
We all look at him for a beat before Ryan stands up—slowly, menacingly.
So not good.
“Hey, Alana,” Sean tosses out as he keeps a vigilant eye on Ryan.
Ryan immediately steps in front of me. “Don’t even look at her.”
“Geez, defensive much?” Sean heckles him.
I put my hand on Ryan’s arm. “It’s okay.” But Ryan isn’t having it. He’s still pissed about what happened at Culture.
“You look like shit, brother.” Ryan leans in close to Sean’s face. I sneak a glimpse of Ryan’s mom and feel the stress build monumentally as she watches them attentively.
“I caught a bug,” Sean fake coughs.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? A bug?” Ryan rebukes.
Sean’s face hardens. “I may look like shit, but I can still kick your ass.” He shoves him.
“Really,” Ryan doesn’t back down, “because the last time I saw you I smashed your face into the floor.”
“Boys,” Mrs. Pierce reprimands, “if you’re gonna fight, take it outside.”
I think I just caught a sneak peek into Ryan and Sean’s childhood.
I study the three of them standing together, taking in their mannerisms and features. It’s obvious where Sean and Ryan get their looks from. They have their mother’s straight nose and wide eyes, perfectly proportionate lips, and even the same hair color. You can tell through her worn features and tired eyes that she was stunning once.
Ryan hesitates to move so Sean punches his arm. “C’mon, don’t act like a bitch.”
“The only bitch around here is you,” Ryan spats.
I can’t see Ryan’s face, but I can see Sean’s. He’s fighting not to smile, smug bastard. Ryan’s right, though, he doesn’t look good. His face is pale and thin, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m not going to tell you again, hash it out outside,” Mrs. Pierce orders.
“Fine,” Ryan bites, never taking his eyes off Sean. I’m getting an educational introduction to the dynamic of Ryan’s family.
“We’ll be right back.” Ryan kisses me chastely on the cheek then heads toward the door.
“Don’t kill each other,” Ryan’s mother drawls.
I see Sean and Ryan talking animatedly through the front window. They’re both exactly the same height and even have an identical profile, except Ryan’s hair is fluffed up, while Sean’s is covered by a hat.
“So, Alana.” Mrs. Pierce chews on my name, but pronounces it Alaner. “Ryan tells me you’re a lawyer.”
“I’m in law school.”
“You must be really smart.” She crosses her arms as we converse.
“I study a lot.” I’m humble.
She glances out the window intently before leaning on the counter. “Let me ask you something, honey.”
“Sure.”
“What’s a nice girl like you doing with a boy like Ryan?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“What’s wrong with Ryan?” I demand.
“Nothing, except for the fact he’s a boy with no future who takes his clothes off for a living.”
“That’s a highly negative opinion to have about your son.” I frown.
“It’s not an opinion, it’s reality.” She stares past me bleakly, looking at the two of them. Her sons. Her lost boys.
“I’m not the one who put him in a position to have no future,” I dispute.
She glares at me coldly. Her pupils as sharp as the tip of an icicle.
“Maybe not, but what do you think you’re going to do? Save him?”
“Ryan doesn’t need to be saved,” I assert.
She grunts, looking past me once again, this time despairingly, like those two boys are her only lifeline, and without them she’d disappear.
“Ryan needs so much more than you will ever know.”
“Then, please, enlighten me.” I glance back and catch Sean pulling Ryan into a hug.
“He wants to marry you.” Her statement is blunt.
“Yes, I know.” I turn back to look at her.
“And what’s going to happen when he asks and you say no?”
“Who says I’m going to say no?”
“Sweetheart,” she’s condescending, “the pauper doesn’t end up with the princess, he ends up on his ass.”
It’s exactly what Sean told me at Culture, and I realize the prejudice against me runs so much deeper than I could have ever imagined. It stings, especially because I would never do anything to hurt Ryan, but neither Sean nor Mrs. Pierce seem willing to believe that.
“Look,” I snap, “it doesn’t matter to me where Ryan comes from, it only matters where he’s going.”
Which is straight to Las Vegas to be a headlining act. Oy!
“I hope he doesn’t make you eat those words,” she threatens ominously, before plastering on a fake smile as Ryan sits back down.
“Everything okay?” I elevate my voice pseudo-sweetly. I don’t want Ryan to catch any whiffs of the sour conversation.
Ryan sighs. “Yeah, as much as it can be.”
“Where’s Sean?” Ryan’s mom asks with a hint of concern.
“He borrowed my car.” Ryan thumbs. “To go to the clinic.”
Ryan’s mother shoots me a cautionary look, then pulls out two menus from under the counter and drops them down in front of us. “Hungry?” she huffs.
“Starved.” Ryan picks up the menu and starts flipping through it.
But eating is the last thing I want to do, because I suddenly feel a current of dread pulling me under.
Sean returns an hour later, right as Ryan and I finish our lunch. He looks crappier than before, his eyes are bloodshot and he stinks like I don’t even know what, something foul—skunk.
Ryan seems oblivious, or just acts like he is, as he grabs his keys off the counter and stands. “Thanks for lunch, Ma.”
I guess we’re leaving.
“Thanks for coming, Ryan.” There’s so much sadness in her voice. She’s so broken. They’re all so broken.
Ryan’s mom walks around the counter to him, puts her hands on his shoulders, and stares into his eyes. The eyes that look exactly like hers. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Ryan responds restlessly, before giving her a quick hug.
“It was really nice to meet you.” I attempt to be respectful, even though I have anything but respect for her.
“You too, honey.” Her smile is almost sincere. Almost. It’s exhausting trying to convince Ryan’s family I’m not out to hurt him, and so unfamiliar to feel their prejudice toward me just because I grew up with money.
Ryan takes my hand, and we start walking for the door. “Bye, Alana,” Sean hums warmly from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and return kindly. “Bye, Sean.” Geez, he really does look like hell.
Ryan and I walk down the front steps of the diner, both inhaling the cold, cleansing air. I swear it’s dropped ten degrees.
Ryan opens the passenger side door for me and when I slip inside, I’m immediately struck with the same foul smell that was lingering on Sean.
“It stinks like shit in here.” I cover my nose and mouth as Ryan slides into the driver seat.
“Fucking Sean,” he seethes, “smoking trees in my car.”
“Trees?” I look at him funny. What the hell are tress?
“Yeah, you know. Weed, herb, marijuana.” He punches the ignition pissed off.
“I didn’t, but I do now.” I crack the window, letting the chilly December air flow into the car.
“What did you and Sean talk about?” I interrogate Ryan as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Same shit. He called me an uptight asshole, I called him an irresponsible prick. A few more choice words are exchanged and then he got all choked up and told me that he loves me.” Ryan shrugs the conversation off.
“He told you he loved you?”
“Yup. He looks mean, but he’s a fucking mush.”
“I don’t know if I’d use the term mush.” I squint.
Mush: A person who is sentimental or affectionate. Neither sentimental or affectionate seems much like Sean. Although, I do recall the numbers tattooed on his neck—1254—It’s the number of days Ryan spent in jail. Maybe that’s Sean’s way of being sentimental and affectionate.
“Did you say it back?”
“Say what back?”
“That you loved him.” I shift in my seat to face Ryan.
“Of course, Alana,” he huffs. “Sean may be a complete dick sometimes, but he’s still my brother and he’s a part of me whether I fucking like it or not.”
“Part of you? Like a twin thing?” I attempt to understand.
“Yes, like a twin thing,” he confirms stiffly and leaves it at that.
Two minutes in the car and the conversation is already heavier than a boulder.
As Ryan drives quietly toward the parkway, I contemplate talking to him about how his family feels about me, if for no other reason than to assure him that they’re wrong. I don’t know what they say behind closed doors, but if it’s anything as frank as what they say to my face, I’m afraid that tiny seed of doubt inside Ryan will grow into a full-blown tree of distrust. And that’s the last thing I want to happen.
“Ryan—”
“Shit,” he hisses, looking in the rearview mirror.
I turn to see police lights flashing behind us.
Ryan pulls over and cuts the engine. “Alana, can you grab my registration from the glove box?” He thrusts his chin as he pulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. By the time the police officer makes it over to the car, Ryan has his documentation ready. He rolls down the window at the last second to conserve heat and when he does, a blast of cold air rolls around the inside of the car, kicking up the potent odor of Sean’s trees.
The officer pauses with his head beside the window before he asks Ryan for his license and registration. He’s tall and slim with an athletic build and thick, brown mustache.
“Do you know your taillight is out?” The cop looks over Ryan’s registration.
“Um, no, Officer,” Ryan responds respectfully. “I barely drive. We live in the city.”
The policeman, whose nametag reads Officer Vincent, just nods, and for some reason my stress level suddenly shoots through the roof. The officer takes Ryan’s identification back to his cruiser while we sit and wait in the car. Ryan’s leg is shaking out of control and the look in his eye is anxious. I put my hand on his thigh. “Everything is going to be alright.” I attempt to ease him. “He’s just writing you a ticket.” But even as I speak the encouraging words, I know, deep down, they aren’t true. Something is off. The energy crackling around us is all wrong. Ominous almost.
Officer Vincent returns a few taxing minutes later. His face stoic, his body stiff. “Can the two of you please step out of the car,” he requests.
Shit.
As Ryan and I both step out, another cruiser appears. Ryan circles around the front of his Mercedes to stand next to me on the sidewalk. “Another freakin’ half-mile and we would have been on the Parkway,” Ryan mutters tensely under his breath.
“Mr. Pierce, I smelled a questionable odor coming from your car,” Officer Vincent explains.
“Yeah, so?” Ryan is curt. I don’t think that was the best way to respond.
“So, we’re going to search your car,” he replies snidely.
“Go ahead.” Ryan shrugs, and there’s something different about him now. He’s distant and uptight. Like his defenses have just shifted into sixth gear.
The two cops proceed to tear the inside of Ryan’s car apart, pulling out everything in the center console and glove compartment. Not that there’s much in there.
“I don’t know why they’re wasting their time, they’re not going to find anything,” Ryan gripes, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself than me. I slide my arm around his and watch horrified as the officers carelessly manhandle the interior.
They check under the dash and between the seats, then the other officer pauses. “Got something.”
What? I think the valves in my heart just clogged.
“What the fuck do you mean you got something?” Ryan steps forward aggressively, and I try to pull him back.
The short, stocky officer stands up and holds out a little bag of white powder. What the hell is that?
“Heroin. And it looks like enough to distribute.” He waves the baggie in the air.
“No fucking way!” Ryan rushes the cop, only to be thrown facedown onto the hood of his car by Officer Vincent. I watch, stunned, as Ryan is cuffed, and the cop with the baggie takes hold of my arm. He squeezes tightly. “You’ll have to come with us.” He pulls out a pair of handcuffs of his own.
Holy shit, what?
As I put my hands behind my back, Ryan goes berserk, flailing in Officer Vincent’s grip. “She had nothing to do with it!” he screams. “She didn’t know it was there! It’s mine! It’s mine! I take full responsibility!”
“Ryan, shut the fuck up!” I snap. That idiot just incriminated himself.
The officer pulls at my arm and I catch a glimpse of his nametag. “Is this true? Did you know anything about the drugs?” Officer O’Malley asks strictly.
“No, nothing,” I answer automatically, suddenly realizing I just threw Ryan under the bus. I’m not thinking clearly at all.
Officer O’Malley releases my arm and Ryan expels a ragged sigh as he’s dragged back to the parked cop cars.
My mind is in hyper-drive. I want to scream, I want to yell, I want them to know who the fuck my father is. Who they’re messing with. But I can’t utter his name, because I know as soon as I do, my whole life will get flushed away. I watch helplessly as Ryan is shoved into the back of a Crown Vic, and I can only hope that with all the commotion they’ll forget to Mirandize him.
“Ryan Pierce,” Officer Vincent rattles off in a detached tone, “you’re under arrest, you have the right to remain silent . . .”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Ma’am. Impound will be here shortly to tow the car away. You’ll have to call for a ride or come to the station with me,” Officer O’Malley notifies me.
I look at him vacantly. How ironic, Ryan bought his car at a police auction. Which is where it’s going to end up again if we don’t fix this fast.
“Um, I’ll come with you,” I answer distracted as I watch Officer Vincent’s cruiser pull away with Ryan cuffed in the backseat. His head is pressed against the window, his eyes cast downwards.
I slip into the cop car a shaking mess. “Can I make a phone call?” I ask, shifting restlessly in the back seat. The police radio talking and hissing as we start to drive off.
“Yes,” Officer O’Malley answers evenly as he steers.
I quickly whip out my phone and dial the only person’s number I know can help.
“Uncle John,” I choke after he picks up on the second ring. “I need you.”
By the time I get to Shrewsbury police station, my uncle is there waiting, pacing the front steps. The station is a small, brick building with black double doors and police cars parked in front.
“Alana.” He rushes to me urgently the second he sees me, and I know there’s a reprimand coming by the tone of his voice.
“Uncle John, wait. Before you go all parental on me, please, hear me out.”
“Drugs?” he fumes.
“Yes. . . . No.” I sit down on the cold concrete step and drop my head into my hands. How did everything get so fucked up in a few, short, unraveling moments?
Where the hell do I even start?
“Seven years ago, I met Ryan—”
“Seven years?” my uncle cuts in.
“Yes,” I nod, “and we fell ridiculously in love,” I explain dejectedly. “Then one day he just disappeared, without a trace. I never knew what happened, until I discovered him dancing at Culture the night of Emily’s bachelorette party.”
“That must have been a shock,” my uncle John remarks dryly as he sits down next to me.
“To say the very least,” I scoff, “but what shocked me more was finding out what happened to him. The explanation as to why he disappeared all those years ago.”
“Which was?”
“Sean, his twin, is pretty heavily involved in drugs.” I paint a picture.
“I see.” He thinks he understands, but in reality, he has no idea.
“That’s the thing, you don’t.” I turn to him. “Sean used Ryan’s identity to get out of an arrest, and then never showed up for the court date. Ryan got pulled over and was detained on the spot for an outstanding warrant. He wouldn’t give Sean up. And ended up serving time in Sean’s place. He did three years.”
“What?” My uncle is outraged.
“Yes, and I never knew, but it gets better.” I run my hands through my hair. “Daddy convicted him.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” My Uncle John rakes his hands down his face. “So, Ryan’s occupation had nothing to do with why you didn’t want your father knowing about him?”
I nod somberly.
“And it was Sean’s drugs in Ryan’s car?”
“Yes.”
“You know Ryan is back in the same boat as before. Shrewsbury is in Merrick’s district.”
“I know,” I nearly cry despairingly. But tears are nowhere within reach. The only thing I can do is strangle my emotions, restraining everything I feel.
“Where is Sean now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Alana, you have to find him. He’s the only person who can get Ryan out of this.”
“I know, but I don’t think Ryan’s mom will tell me where he is. She’s part of the reason Ryan took the fall for Sean in the first place.”
“This situation just gets better and better.” My uncle looks at me in utter disbelief. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” the bad-ass lawyer emerges. “First, I’m going to go find out when Ryan’s arraignment is, and then get him a lawyer. Shelly, she practices in New York and New Jersey, and she’s one of the best criminal attorneys on my payroll. Then, Ryan has to find Sean.” He stipulates, “He can’t take the fall for him again.”
No disagreement there.
“I’m going to put in a call to Judge Reynolds, he’s a personal friend and owes me big for keeping his son out of jail. If, worst case scenario, you can’t find Sean, I’ll at least make sure Ryan doesn’t go in front of your father again. Hopefully we can work a deal with the prosecutor. It’s going to be tough, though, this is his second offense. From what you told me on the phone, with the amount of heroin they found, he’ll be charged with not only possession but also intent to distribute. That’s twenty years, Alana.” He adds forewarningly. The ominous statement a medley of caution, counsel and threat.
“I know, Uncle John.” My heart constricts at the thought.
“Honey . . .” My uncle takes my hand. “This might get messy. I know Ryan is a nice guy and you love him, but are you sure he’s worth jeopardizing your entire future for?”
Anger strikes me like whiplash. Ryan has already been through hell once. I’m not going to desert him if he ends up back there a second time.
“Yes,” I bite as viciously as a pit bull.
My uncle nods steadfastly. “Okay, then, it’s time to come out swinging.”
It’s signature saying when he has a tough case ahead of him. Except this time, it’s not a court case he’s referring to.
It’s my life.