I FRET ON the bench outside the courtroom. Today is Ryan’s sentencing hearing.
I know I shouldn’t be here, but I just can’t abandon him when he needs me most. I keep holding out hope, praying the sheriff’s department finds Sean in time. It’s 7:53 a.m., and Ryan’s court appearance is scheduled twenty minutes from now. Twenty-two minutes to be exact. Twenty-two minutes left for fate to decide how Ryan’s future—and mine—is going to play out. Life changing together or life changing apart, because even if I do confront my father, there’s no guarantee I can keep Ryan out of jail. I can, potentially, give up everything and get nothing in return. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. For Ryan, I would risk almost anything.
The double doors at the end of the long hallway swing open and the sound of high heels tapping vigorously against the marble floor echoes. I look up to find Emily and my uncle walking briskly toward me.
“Alana.” Emily hugs me once she reaches me.
“What’s going on?” I hug her back puzzled. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“Honey,” my Uncle John breathes a little too gravely, “they found Sean.”
“They found him?” Hope sprouts in my voice. He hands me a piece of paper, and I grab it. Unfolding it, I scan the report, my vision becoming blurry.
“He was dead when they got there.” My uncle tries to console me.
The police report reads: dead on arrival, suspected cause of death, heroin toxicity.
I crush the paper against my chest and stumble back, my uncle catching my arm. I try to get a grip, but the enormity of what I just read levels me.
Sean’s dead?
Sean’s dead . . .
The world crumbles around me.
Ryan. All I can think about is Ryan. This is going to destroy him. After everything he’s done for his brother. This is how it ends? How much can one person possibly take? And where will he mourn? Alone, in a prison cell, accused of a crime he didn’t commit.
No.
All at once my entire life falls away.
“Alana, where are you going?” I hear Emily ask from the edge of my thunderous thoughts. I don’t respond. I don’t even turn around. My legs just move on their own accord.
There’s an extreme transformation of time as I walk. Everyone around me is moving at hyper speed while I’m stuck in slow motion. All my senses seem heightened—I can feel the slight breeze from the air vents above me, smell the floor polish percolating from marble beneath me, hear my pulse thump in my ears like a drum inside me, and taste the remnants of the last supper on my tongue. My last supper—a cup of coffee and a half-eaten granola bar.
I stomp up to the door of my father’s chambers and am met by his watchdog, Miles. A court clerk who is a miserable, little snivel of a man with an unhealthy predilection to sweater vests, and treats me exactly like the spoiled, rich girl he perceives me to be.
“Alana, you can’t go in there!” he snaps. “He’s about to go into court.”
“I know,” I snap back, surprising him. “That’s exactly why I need to see him.”
To my amazement, Miles backs down, but not without a contemptuous glare. I grab the doorknob, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I’m about to wash my entire existence out to sea.
I burst into my father’s chambers. “Alana?” He looks up from his desk immediately, perplexed.
“Daddy, I need to talk to you.”
He’s a little taken back, but keeps his composure, just like I’m attempting to do.
“What’s the meaning of this? I’m due in court.”
“I know. Daddy, please listen.” Shit, I should have prepared a little better, because suddenly I don’t know what to say. “Your first hearing, the guy. He’s innocent.” I blurt out the first thing that pops into my mind. It’s not pretty, but it will have to do.
“What? Alana, this is highly irregular and completely inappropriate. I can’t discuss my cases with you,” he bites.
“I know that, but you don’t know the whole story, and you’re about to sentence an innocent man.”
“How do you know he’s innocent? And how the hell do you know him?” My father’s dark eyes are as cold as a block of ice.
“He’s a friend,” I stumble over my words.
“So, then you know I’ve already convicted him once on a very similar offense,” he relays condescendingly.
“Yes, I know, and he was innocent then, too. His twin brother used his identity, and Ryan went to jail for his crime.”
My father scoffs like that’s preposterous. Then a disturbed flash of recognition flickers across his face after I speak Ryan’s name.
“I’m not lying to you. He did it because he was afraid Sean would die in prison.”
My father sits behind his imposing desk a superior entity, stiffer than a statue of an ancient Judge of the Dead.
“And I suppose next you’re going to tell me the drugs they found on him were his brother’s, too?” he inquires superciliously.
“Yes!” I explode emphatically.
“So, where’s his brother now? Because it’s obvious this boy is feeding you a load of lies. Blaming his transgressions on someone else.”
“It’s not a lie,” I demand and my father pins me with his emotionless eyes. “Ryan didn’t do it, and Sean’s dead. He overdosed.” I wrap my arms around myself, the words scorching my lips. “I’m not even sure if Ryan knows.”
“Alana.” My father is clearly unmoved. My outburst having no influence on his impending decision. “He’s pulling the wool over your eyes, all he sees is a meal ticket.”
“Daddy—” I protest.
“Alana, enough,” he silences me, “this conversation is over. It never happened as far as I’m concerned. Now, go home.”
“No,” I growl.
“Alana, don’t push me,” he warns.
But I’m going to push him—right to his limit.
“You can’t do this. It’s wrong. He’s innocent.” I hold my ground.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He all but dismisses me—like always.
But not this time.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” I rise out of the shadows. Out of his inhibiting, black shadow.
“He’s trash on the street.”
“He’s not, and I love him!” I shout, my whole body suddenly seizing. There’s a tightness in my chest, and a strange feeling burning my eyes.
My father stands slowly, threateningly. “Alana, I am going to say this one last time. Leave. Never speak of this again, and I won’t retaliate.”
Retaliate? I’m his daughter, for Christ’s sake.
“You won’t retaliate!” I throw his words back at him, slamming my hands on his desk, my palms stinging on impact. I drop my head, trying to restrain the rapidly building emotion, but I can’t control it. It’s too strong. Too fast. Too overpowering.
The thought of losing Ryan utterly destroys me.
“I have done everything you ever asked me to,” I bubble tumultuously. “I’ve been everything you ever wanted me to be, and I know,” my chest heaves, “I know you wish it was me who died in that car accident instead of her.” My eyes are becoming glassier with every syllable. “But I’m begging you now, if you ever loved me—ever—please, don’t take Ryan away.” And as the words fall from my lips, so do the tears from my eyes. Huge, wallops of jewels that explode when they hit the desk, ricocheting tiny droplets all over my hands and the cherrywood finish.
It has finally happened.
I have finally been stripped bare.
I lift my head and look up at my father. He’s frozen in place, stunned by my outburst. His eyes like two huge, brown disks, flat and inanimate.
“Alana, you need to leave. Right now.” His voice is hoarse. “There’s nothing I can do.” He drops the gauntlet just like that. Just like my pain, and sorrow, and suffering is nothing.
I stand up straight with the tears proudly streaming down my face. It seems now that they’ve started, they won’t stop.
I look at him dead in the eyes. How is this man any part of me?
“I hate you,” I hiss. “And I’m done.”
“Done with what?” my father demands.
“Done with you. And done being your daughter.” I turn and stalk to the door, grabbing the doorknob. “Goodbye, Daddy,” I declare without so much as a second look. My decision is final. It’s definitive, decisive, and resolute.
I tear past Miles and back down the marble hallway of the courthouse, bawling the whole time. I walk into the courtroom to find Emily and my uncle sitting in the gallery. They both rise when they see me, Emily nearly tackling me with a hug. I sob into her shoulder as she holds me tight, my uncle rubbing my back. When I finally lift my head to look at them, I’m distraught. “I think I’m going to need a place to live,” I snivel.
They both nod feverishly, and Emily pulls me back into her arms. Suddenly, we hear the shuffling of feet and the closing of a door. I look up to see Ryan being escorted into the courtroom with a bailiff holding his arm. He halts when he sees me, a myriad of emotions darkening his beautiful face.
I’m sorry, I mouth. The tears starting again.
A moment later Miles announces my father. I sit down despondently next to Emily. She holds my hand as I just stare at the two most important men in my life—the one who never loved me and the one who always will.
“Have faith, Alana,” Emily encourages.
“Faith, Em? My whole world is about to come crashing down around me. I don’t think faith can help me now.”
We all stare at my father as he commands the bench, stately in his black robe and serious expression. Miles reads over the proceedings, recapping for everyone why Ryan is here. Once that’s finished, it’s time for sentencing.
My father looks around the room impassively before he speaks.
“Mr. Pierce, it’s disappointing to find you here again, although not surprising. You are unfortunately the product of your environment, and it saddens me that you were not able to rise above it. But I understand the difficulties, I see it in this courtroom every day. Waste that will recycle through the correctional system until it finally just dissipates.”
I squeeze Emily’s hand as I listen to my father’s unconscionable testament. He’s twisting the fucking knife.
“I believe you deserve the maximum sentence, Mr. Pierce. This is your second offense, and I see a pattern beginning.”
My heart is rupturing beneath my chest. I’m not sure I can handle this. As I glare at my father, I can’t help but to think that Ryan and I have lived the last two and a half years in vain.
“Now that I have you back I’m not letting go of you again. . . . I need you. . . . You make me happy here. . . . I’ll always take care of you. . . . I’ll make love to you the rest of your life, if you’ll let me.”
I can’t comprehend how we got here. I have excelled in every aspect of my life. Risen to every occasion. I am programmed to succeed; my father made it so. Yet, here I am, staring defeat right in the face. Confronted with separation. Twenty years of injustice. Demise at its best. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it except watch as the next five minutes goes up in flames like a fatal car crash in the middle of the road—my spirit and emotions left burning in the wreckage.
“With that being said,” my father declares dissatisfied, “some recent developments have come to light.” Looking straight at me, he states, “I understand you are in a relationship with my daughter.”
My body stiffens as Ryan glances back at me dumbfounded.
“Don’t look at her, son, I’m the one talking to you,” my father asserts. “Do you admit to being romantically involved with my daughter?”
“Um, yes, sir,” Ryan responds stunned, but confidently.
“Is it still going on?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then,” my father stares coolly at Ryan, “because of that small, but vital piece of information, we have a problem. I’m a by-the-book kind of man, Mr. Pierce, and when I say by-the-book, I mean, I want to throw it at you. If I had known you had any affiliation with my daughter, this case would have never even skimmed across my docket. Because of that fact, and the conflict of interest it poses, I have no choice but to declare a mistrial.”
A mistrial?
“Holy. Shit,” my uncle mutters under his breath. He’s astounded, as are the rest of us.
“Ryan Pierce, you are hereby acquitted of the charges brought forth against you by the state of New Jersey, and free to go. Court adjourned.” My father bangs the gavel, and my heart suddenly jump-starts back to life.
I don’t know who to look at first, so I do a quick glance around the room and every facial expression is the same: one of sheer shock.
I don’t remember standing, or walking, or even breathing, for that matter, but I suddenly find myself in Ryan’s arms. He’s hugging me tightly, murmuring how much he loves me and it starts all over again, like I’m being sprayed with a goddamn super-soaker, the tears just won’t stop.
“Mr. Pierce,” my father announces authoritatively, “I’d like to see you in my chambers.”
No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
Ryan runs his thumbs across my cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”
“You haven’t. No one has,” I sniff.
“Don’t stop.”
“What, crying? Why?” I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“Because I want to kiss away every tear.” He gently swipes his lips over mine. “I’ll be back.”
“You don’t seem nervous.”
“I’m not. The only thing that scares me is not being with you.” He runs his hand down my arm, heading off in the direction of my father’s chambers.
I think I need to lie down. Is this really happening? Maybe I should pinch Emily to make sure I’m not dreaming.
I watch, dazed and confused, as Ryan strides over to where Miles is waiting in the back of the courtroom. He disappears, and I just can’t help myself. I walk brusquely after him, past the bench, and up to the closed door. I press my ear against the wood, wishing I had a warrant and a wiretap right now.
“That’s incredibly rude,” Miles bristles.
“Your existence is incredibly rude,” I retort, continuing to eavesdrop.
It surprises me how clearly I can hear their voices through the dense wood. “Alana has told me some interesting tidbits about you and your brother. I don’t take my daughter for a liar, Mr. Pierce, but I would like to hear it from you.”
Ryan is silent for a brief second before he launches into the story of him and Sean.
Sean. Ryan doesn’t know about Sean yet, and I dread having to be the one to tell him. This day is nowhere near close to having a happy ending.
The last thing I hear Ryan tell my father is, “Sometimes I feel sorry for him, sometimes I feel fed up and tell myself it was his choice to ruin his life.”
There’s a long pause.
“That must be a very difficult thing to live with,” my father comments.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it is,” Ryan responds.
Then another long pause.
“How emotionally invested are you in my daughter?” my father asks bluntly. No beating around the bush with him.
“I want to marry her, sir,” Ryan replies openly, and it makes me wish my father would officiate right on the spot.
“And is my daughter aware of this?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s agreed?”
“Um, no, not exactly.”
“Would you like to explain that statement, Mr. Pierce?”
“She didn’t tell me yes or no. She just said I had to ask in order to find out her answer.”
I hear my father grunt, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad. “I see. And were you going to ask my permission first?”
“No,” Ryan is frank, “but I did ask your brother’s.”
What? When the hell did he do that?
“My brother?” my father counters, as surprised as I am. “Do you know John well?”
“Yes, sir. I designed the logo for his law firm.”
More silence.
It’s maddening.
“I’ll be honest,” my father finally speaks, “you’re not my ideal choice for Alana. Not by a long shot. But she was willing to risk everything for you, and because of that, I’ll give you one chance. One.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is that really my father in there?
“One is all I need, Sir.”
“Fine, then. Good. You can go,” my father dismisses Ryan. Now there’s the man I recognize.
I step back from the door right before Ryan opens it. I spring into his arms as soon as he walks out, my body craving the feel of his.
“What did he say?” I play dumb.
“Nothing much, just some guy talk. He’s a really outgoing guy once you get to know him.” Ryan laughs.
“Mr. Congeniality,” I quip.
“Alana!” my father’s voice resonates.
Oh, shit.
I look at Ryan wide-eyed. “Are you ready to pick up the pieces?” I ask quickly.
“Yes, and I know exactly where each one goes.” He kisses me lightly, liberating the emotions I’ve suppressed deep inside.
I glance at Ryan one last time before I walk into my father’s chambers.
“Shut the door, please.” He waves from behind his desk while concentrating on some paperwork.
I do as he asks, but I don’t take one step closer to him. I just stand there in my black pants and white, oversized collared shirt, my heels digging into the dark green rug like they’re sinking in dirt.
He looks up at me with his eyes only. “Interesting choice of a significant other.”
“I know he’s not your ideal applicant, so let’s just get this over with.” I steel myself against the door. “I’ll go. Erase myself from your life and never look back again. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”
“Who says you’re a disappointment?” My father scoffs.
“You don’t have to say it. I can feel it.”
My father doesn’t flinch.
“Alana,” he addresses me sternly, “today, for the first time, in a long time, I was scared.”
“Of what?” I can’t fathom him being scared of anything.
“Losing you.”
“What?” I squeak.
“I always thought you were like me, but I was wrong. You’re your mother.” His eyes almost look warm when he mentions her. “You have her fire, and her affection, and her courage.”
“What?” I repeat blankly, because I am totally floored right now.
“I’m not good at conveying my emotions,” he squints as if it physically hurts to admit his flaws, “but you were wrong when you said I wished it was you and not her, because the only thing worse than losing your mother, would be losing you.”
I have become a statue, unable to move. Who is this man? He looks like my father, he sounds like my father, but the words he’s speaking are not my father’s.
“Your mother and I had a very special relationship, Alana.” He looks away uncomfortably. “She was the only one who ever loved me.”
I step forward rigidly. “She’s not the only one. I love you.”
I think that was the most difficult sentence of my life.
My father pauses for a long moment and then looks back at me. “And I, you.” His face is still stoic, but his eyes are warm pools of chocolate brown, the reflection of mine. And I know then that was the most difficult sentence of his life, as well.
There’s another lengthy pause. And the only sound that can be heard in the room is the rushing of my blood through my hot veins.
“What now?” I ask unsure.
“Do you still want to finish law school?”
“Yes,” I reply automatically. “You’re not disowning me?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
“No,” I answer without hesitation. “But why not, exactly?”
This is so uncharacteristic of my father I think I might be in shock, maybe denial, definitely disbelief.
My father sighs. “Alana, sometimes it takes one instant to change an entire life’s perspective.”
“Oh?”
“You walking out that door was mine. So, no, I’m not disowning you. I would, however, like to ground you,” he shares dryly.
I smirk, amazed. When did my father become a comedian?
“You said Ryan’s brother died. I’m under the impression he doesn’t know?”
“I haven’t told him yet.” I wring my hands together.
“Then maybe you two should talk.” My father stands up. “You can use my chambers. I’ll utilize Judge Reynolds’ until you’re finished.”
“Thank you.”
He walks toward me and my heartbeat accelerates by the overbearing presence of this this huge, strapping man with salt and pepper hair and a face chiseled out of stone. There’s no physical exchange as he stands in front of me—no touch or hug or kiss, just a small, barely discernible smile. And although that may not mean much to anyone else, to me, it feels like the crevasse in the Earth that separates us just became a little narrower.
I watch as my father walks out of the room, and Ryan walks in. The two most important men in my world, the one I’ve loved my whole life, and the one I’m going to love for the rest of my life.
There’s no wavering on Ryan’s part, he doesn’t stop striding until our bodies are pressed together and our arms are wrapped around each other. His touch feels so good, like the first few raindrops after a year-long drought.
Ryan kisses me repeatedly, on my forehead and cheeks and lips. “I love you, I love you so much, baby,” he repeats, almost reverently.
“I love you, too,” I respond, trying to figure out a way to break the worst news imaginable. “Ryan—” I start, but he suddenly drops onto one knee, sliding his hands down my body.
Oh, shit.
“Alana, I know I don’t have a ring, and this probably isn’t the most ideal place.”
“Ryan—”
“But I love you, undyingly and—”
“Ryan, please, stop.” I grab his hands tightly, silencing him, and watch as his expression becomes crestfallen. “Ryan—” I panic seeing the dejection on his face. I drop down in front of him, his beautiful, blue eyes large, confused, and teetering on heartbroken. “There’s something I need to tell you.” My voice is shaky and so are my hands.
“Alana?”
I look down, trying to string the right words together. “They found Sean.” I sweep my eyes up at him gravely.
“Found him?” Ryan trembles.
“He was already gone.” My voice is so tiny and my vision is blurry as tears well in my eyes. “There was nothing they could do.”
“No.” Ryan shakes his head vehemently, rejecting what I’m trying to tell him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No!” he shouts, and then the dam explodes—tears unleashing in devastating sobs.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” I yank him into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur over and over, the two of us on our knees, me supporting Ryan’s full weight as he weeps on my shoulder; his pain is as potent as the eye of a hurricane, the emotional surge leaving catastrophic destruction in its wake.
I just want to take it all away—the pain, the suffering, the regret—but I don’t know how, or what else I can do, so I just give him me. All of me. All my strength, all my love, all my support, hoping it’s enough. Praying it’s enough.
Ryan cries until my knees go numb, and my shirt is drenched with tears. When the last drop of salty fluid falls, he slumps back wearily onto the floor.
He drops his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, and breathes like there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. I crawl onto his lap so we are face to face. He sniffles and sighs, trying desperately to compose himself. I wipe away some residual tears and wait until he’s ready to talk.
“Are you okay?” I ask delicately.
“No,” he answers truthfully, “but I will be.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He looks up at me with tear-soaked eyes and a wrung-out soul. “I have you.”
“Yes, you do. And you’re not the only one who knows where the pieces go.”
“Good, because I’m going to need someone to help me with this puzzle.” He blows out some hot air and drops his head back. “Maybe it’s better this way,” he expels mournfully.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because now we’re both free.”
“Oh, Ryan,” I choke, grief-stricken from their tragic end. “I’m sorry it feels that way.”
“I’m not.” He rests his head on my shoulder and I hug him tightly, imprisoning him in my arms. “He was never going to get better.”