FIVE
Ryan’s Past
RYAN SKIPPED DINNER and went right to bed. He couldn’t look at his roommates, and he couldn’t look at Nora who, despite everything, believed him to be a good person.
Reliving his past with the dean had only brought back the wrong he’d committed. It didn’t matter what he’d done since he put his best friend in prison; what mattered was the fact that Ryan had believed himself so right he’d sent his friend there in the first place.
Ryan turned off his bedside lamp to lie in the darkness and closed his eyes. What he’d done could never be forgotten.
* * *
Five Years Earlier
FIELD PARTIES WERE a fall tradition, and finding a back forty off some third-class road was the Holy Grail. Ryan had hiked through enough shit-covered fields to know it was worth faking a friendship with Davis, the asshole whose family owned this particular farm.
He wasn’t the only one who put up with Davis’ douchebaggery. As he lifted a cup to his lips, he observed his best friend. It might be the only reason Beau tolerated Davis as well, though Beau could fake it a whole hell of a lot better than Ryan could.
The jerk in question was currently grinding on top of a John Deere to a nineties-era country song about sexy tractors. There was every possibility it wasn’t his first time doing this dance.
“What stick crawled up your butt?” Beau Rice slung an arm around his shoulder, and he caught a whiff of PBR.
“No stick.” Finishing off the beer, he crushed the cup and stalked over to the coolers to pull out another. He popped the top, downing as much of it as he could, and narrowed his eyes at Davis. “I hate him.”
Davis jumped off the tractor to the cheers of his classmates and laid a sloppy kiss on Chelsea Vanguard. In response, Ryan chugged the rest of his beer.
“Ah.” Beau pointed with his can, a waving, circular motion encompassing Davis and the tractor and the woods behind them. “Chelsea jealousy. Dude. She’s a chlamidiot. You’re asking for itchy balls.”
“Yeah, man.” Ryan smiled. “But those tits.”
“You’re so gross, Ryan.” Beau’s girlfriend, Ashley, joined them. “My boobs are nicer than hers, right baby?”
Ashley got really horny when she was drunk. The varsity soccer captain and honor student simply disappeared after a couple of beers. Lucky for Beau, but depressing for anyone watching. Beau placed his beer at his feet and wrapped her in his arms. Ryan looked away; there was altogether too much tongue involved, and he needed another beer.
Leaving his best friend with his future baby momma to grope each other in the darkness, Ryan returned to the cooler. He dug through the ice and pulled out what was left. Some low-calorie light beer. Gross. But it didn’t matter. Using the bottle opener on his key ring, he opened it and took a slug.
“Ryan! Oh my god, Ryan!” A flash of blonde hair and the overwhelming scent of raspberries were the only warnings he got before she wrapped her arms and legs around his body.
The bottle dropped to the ground. “Shit.”
“Ryan, I am so glad you’re here.”
With no idea who was doing the octopus impression, he looked over at Beau. “Who is this?”
Beau covered his mouth, laughing and shaking his head. Ryan jerked his head back, but all he saw was blonde ponytail. What was it with high school girls? Why did they all want to look the same?
“Oh my God, Ryan. You’re so funny!” The girl blinked at him. Her face wavered for a moment, hazy, and then came back into focus.
“Oh. Kaylen.” He had a few classes with her, talked to her now and then. She was fine. In a pinch, she’d do—especially if Chelsea was occupied. Squinting toward the tractor, he noticed Davis and Chelsea were gone. Yup, she was occupied.
Kaylen adjusted herself on him, wrapping her legs a little tighter around his waist before grinding on him. Suddenly, he didn’t mind spilling his beer. His hands went under her ass, holding her up, her face a little above his.
“I really want to kiss you, Ryan,” she said.
He didn’t wait. Grabbing the back of her head, he pulled her down to him. She tasted like peach wine coolers and lip gloss. She gave a breathy little moan, and in one moment, his night went from shit to fucking awesome.
Opening his eyes, he kept his lips on hers as he stumbled toward the trucks. Thank God he’d met Beau here, which meant he didn’t have to worry about his friend knocking on the window and interrupting what he had planned. He tripped on something and barely hung onto Kaylen, who only giggled.
“You saved me,” she breathed and licked his neck.
He was clumsier when he hurried, but if he didn’t get into her pants, he was going to come in his. At last he found his truck, or at least he thought it was his. He didn’t really care and pressed her up against the door. Snaking her hand between them, Kaylen pushed down his underwear.
“Hold on,” he murmured. “Hold on.” Her legs dropped from around his waist, her whole body going boneless.
Groaning, his forehead dropped onto the cold window.
“All right, man!”
As he looked up, he nearly fell over. The world spun and twisted. Squinting in the direction he’d heard the voice, he called, “Beau?”
“We’re out, dude!”
When had his eyes closed? Trying to pinpoint Beau, he finally located him getting into his tiny, green Civic. Ryan waved, but his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore. Kaylen giggled, and he struggled to stand. The world twirled, and his stomach rebelled.
There was barely time to turn and heave all over the ground before he was face down in the long, cool grass. Flipping onto his back, he stared at the sky and forgot about everything.
* * *
“Ryan! Ryan!”
Turning over, he waved his father away. “Stop shaking me, Dad. Jesus.”
His father gripped his shoulders, and he jerked, opening bleary eyes. “Shit.”
He was still in the field. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, blinking slowly. The field was full of cars and trucks, but along with his friends’ cars were a shit-ton of staties, blue lights flashing.
Looking around, he saw his father wasn’t the only parent there. There were Davis’ parents and Kaylen being led away by her mother. She looked back at him, giving him a small wave and a watery smile before getting into her mother’s car.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, squinting at his father, his head pounding.
“There was an accident, Ryan.”
Forcing himself to his feet by grabbing the mirror on his truck—oh, this isn’t my truck— he steadied himself. “What?”
“Beau was in an accident.”
He stared at Dad, trying to make sense of what he’d said. That couldn’t be right. Beau was at the party. Probably still here somewhere… His thoughts trailed off.
Beau had left; he’d driven away with Ashley.
His dad placed a hand on his shoulder, staring at him sadly.
“Dad?” He waited for it, what he knew was coming. Beau was dead. His best friend, the kid he’d dressed up in ninja costumes with, was dead.
“He’s in the hospital. We don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
There was hope. If he was in the hospital, he could get better. “Can you take me?”
“Yeah. But Ryan—” Dad’s eyes were sad and red-rimmed, and he looked older and exhausted. “Ashley died.”
Ryan’s already nauseated stomach clenched, and he swallowed hard, trying not to vomit. His dad reached for him, embracing him tightly, and for the first time in years, Ryan hugged him back.
* * *
They weren’t the only ones at the hospital. Ryan saw his soccer coach. A bunch of kids from the party. Davis and his parents. They hovered around the main entrance, huddled together and whispering. His father led him past the others, into the heart of the hospital toward the ICU.
“I thought it was you,” Dad whispered as they stepped onto the elevator. “Your mother and I. The phone rang and we both jumped out of bed.”
The elevator doors opened before Ryan could respond. Then all he wanted was to hide behind his father. Ashley’s family crowded the nurse’s station. Her sister and brother held tight to a woman who must be their grandmother while the older woman cried loudly. The sound echoed through the wing, pounding through his already aching head.
He stood frozen; he couldn’t move. Tugging his arm, his father tried to pull him forward, but his feet were like lead. “Ry,” he said. “Come on.”
But he couldn’t look away from Ashley’s sister and brother. The boy didn’t cry. His small, pale face pressed into the woman’s arm, but he watched Ryan walk across the hall to the nurse’s station.
Ryan wanted to break eye contact, but he couldn’t. Something in the boy’s eyes held him, even though he wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. They were stuck in this nightmare together.
In that moment, he realized he was part of something that would be the defining moment of this boy’s life. Everything after this would be after. Every holiday, every celebration—graduation, wedding, everything. It would all be a reminder of this day. There would never be something good without everyone in the boy’s life feeling like something was missing. It was supremely unfair, and he couldn’t help feel like it was somehow his fault.
The headache pounding in his brain seemed to grow along with his anger, both at himself and for Ashley’s brother.
What had Beau been thinking, driving away from the party? They always camped out. Always. He should have known something was up when he’d driven to the party on his own. If Ryan had only been paying closer attention. Fuck!
“Ryan?” His father’s voice brought him back to reality.
“What?”
“Do you want to wait in the waiting room? It’s where most of Beau’s family is.”
He shook his head, but he didn’t know. Should he? His presence was an intrusion no matter where he went.
Dad watched him and then put an arm around his neck, pulling him in for a quick hug. “We’ll find a chair somewhere.”
“Do you mind if I find some water first?” he asked, rubbing his temple.
Nodding, Dad reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He shoved a few dollars into Ryan’s hand and pointed past the nurse’s station. “I think there’s a kitchen back there.”
Taking off, Ryan met the boy’s eyes one more time as he walked by. The grandmother had released Ashley’s brother, and now he stood, arms at his side, lost.
A tiny kitchen was situated between rooms. There was no vending machine, but there was a stack of tiny paper cups and a sink. Filling a cup again and again, he guzzled the water, trying to wash the sour tastes of beer and throw-up out of his mouth.
I don’t want to be here. He leaned against the sink, bracing himself with both hands.
“Ryan Valore?” The commanding tone had him looking up quickly and wishing he’d stayed perfectly still. A state trooper watched him, waiting for Ryan to acknowledge him.
“Yes?” His voice shook.
The trooper walked into the kitchen, crowding him and blocking the exit with his tall body.
“You were with Beau and Ashley at the party last night? Do you know what happened?”
Ryan shook his head. “All I know is there was an accident.”
“Your friend’s car hit a tree. Neither he nor Ashley were wearing safety belts, and they were ejected from the car.”
Shutting his eyes, he rubbed his forehead. Beau. You fucking idiot.
When he opened his eyes, the trooper was still staring at him. Did he expect Ryan to say something else? Finally, the man went on. “Did you see your friends leave the party?”
Needing a moment, Ryan turned on the water again, hands trembling as he filled the cup again. He took a sip, spilling some on his shirt and down his chin.
Everything from last night was hazy. There was Kaylen. The feel of the cold glass on his forehead.
“We’re out dude!” His mind flashed back to Beau getting into the car and driving away.
Where was Dad? Why wasn’t he here?
Taking another gulp of water, he faced the trooper. “I did.”
“Ryan?” His dad appeared behind the trooper as if Ryan had called him.
“Mr. Valore, I was asking your son what he remembered from last night.”
Faced with two dour-faced adults, Ryan’s heart pounded in his chest.
“Ryan, did you see who was driving?” the state trooper asked.
His dad watched him, but it wasn’t his face Ryan saw. It was Ashley’s brother with his wide, scared eyes. Anger toward Beau coalesced and exploded outward.
“Yeah.” He met the gaze of the trooper straight on. “I did. It was Beau.”
After he spoke to the trooper, he didn’t want to stay in the hospital. Suddenly, he didn’t want to know if Beau lived or died. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but Ryan felt like he’d fucked up. Tattled.
On the ride home, Dad praised him. Told him he was proud of him for telling the truth even though Beau was his best friend. A lot of other things came out of his mouth, but Ryan didn’t hear them.
All he could concentrate on was the slow bubble of rage welling inside of him. Beau put him in this position. Beau caused all this with his stupid decisions. What a fucking idiot! How long had they been taught not to drink and drive? Hadn’t he sat through the same depressing-as-hell school assembly, listening to the guy who had to send letters for the rest of his life to the family of the girl he’d killed?
When Dad pulled into their driveway, Mom was out of the house in a second. She must have been waiting for them to arrive. She enfolded him in a hug immediately and tucked her head underneath his chin. She smelled like coffee and something else, something warm and familiar.
“You okay?”
Ryan stepped back, running a hand across his forehead. “Yeah. I guess. I’m gonna go to bed.”
“Of course.” She patted him on the back as he walked inside. Needing to wash away last night’s escapade and the horror of the hospital, he went straight upstairs and into the bathroom.
The sheets were turned down and the curtains drawn when he got to his bedroom. Seventeen years old, but Mom still got his bed ready. Forcing his feelings about Beau and Ashley down deep, he drew the covers over his head and fell asleep.
* * *
The next days and weeks were a blur. He went to school, heard a million different versions of the story, and watched girls huddle in groups and cry loudly. Guys who’d been Beau’s friends as long as him made plans to kick his ass when he got out of the hospital.
For a while, all he did was watch and listen, but as time went on, the small bubble of rage burst, and he slammed Beau as loudly as anyone. Louder, if he was honest with himself, because Beau had betrayed him. He didn’t know when he’d made the decision, or how he’d labeled it a betrayal, but it was.
This wasn’t supposed to be his life. Things had been great, everything was normal, and then Beau had to fuck up and ruin everything.
When he got out of the hospital, Beau’s injuries were still too severe for him to come back to school. Eventually, talk about his friend lessened, and Ryan could pretend things were settling down.
One night after soccer practice, Ryan’s house phone rang. It barely pierced his consciousness; he never answered the landline. If someone wanted to call him, they called his cell. So he was surprised when his mother called up to tell him the phone was for him.
“Ryan?”
The voice on the other end made him suck in an angry breath. “What the fuck do you want?”
Beau took a deep breath, something between a choke and a gasp before he continued. “I didn’t do it, Ryan.”
“The fuck you didn’t. You know what? I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t call here again.”
“Wait!” Beau’s voice broke ,and despite Ryan’s better judgment, he stayed on the line. “I swear to God, man. I wasn’t driving. Ashley was driving.”
“Well that’s convenient, don’t you think? The dead girl was driving? Except I saw you. I saw you get in your car.”
There was a sound on the other end, and he pretended he didn’t know it was Beau crying. “I wasn’t,” he said after a minute. “You’re my best friend. You have to believe me. Why don’t you?”
Ryan pictured the way the world had spun and the way the glass of his truck window had felt against his forehead that fateful night. Beau had gotten into his car. With every passing moment, the scene became clearer and clearer in his head, his mind filling in the details he knew must have happened.
Beau waving. Beau getting in the driver’s seat.
Ryan had seen it. No matter what Beau said, it happened.
Ryan’s life was changed forever. It was more complicated and darker than it ever should have been. Police interviewed him, and the state’s attorney called his parents. Every day as he walked through the front doors at high school, he came face to face with Ashley’s picture and the bouquets of flowers propped on the wall beneath it.
Now Beau was lying? Fuck him.
“You killed Ashley. Admit it, man. Maybe they’ll take it easy on you. But you should come clean. Everyone knows what happened that night. No one believes you.”
“Not even you?” The words were a choked whisper.
“Especially not me.” Mercilessly, he went on, “Because I saw it.”
Beau cried openly now, and it made Ryan sick. Another moment on the phone would be too much, so he hung up.
The knock on his door came too quickly. “Want to talk about it?” his mother asked.
“No.”
She came a little further into the room and leaned against his desk. “Ry, should I get someone for you to talk to? This is a lot for a boy your age.”
The idea of talking to a shrink or the guidance counselor pissed him off even more. “I’m fine, Mom. I just need to forget about the whole thing.”
His mom stared at him long enough he wanted to scream at her to leave him alone. He clenched his fists and refused to look in her direction. Eventually, she sighed, and the door to his room closed.
He needed to relax. Soccer didn’t help. Running until his lungs burned didn’t help. Meeting Kaylen in the locker room didn’t help.
Finding his backpack, he dug through his pencil case, taking out the joint he’d bought from Davis. Then he opened the window and climbed out onto the roof, lighting one end and sucking in. Holding the sour-smelling smoke inside his lungs, he waited for the wave of oblivion to come, and when it did, it was sweet. It was everything he needed.
He leaned back against the shingles, enjoying the rough texture against his arms, and stared up at the sky before taking another hit and closing his eyes. This is much better.
* * *
Over the next few weeks, he developed a routine. He went to school. Met Kaylen whenever he needed a distraction. He played soccer, went for a run, did homework until his eyes were bleary and his head pounded, and then he smoked.
After he fell asleep on the roof a few times, he started smoking in his room with all the windows open. He bought an air freshener and hoped it did the trick. Honestly, he didn’t give a fuck. His parents couldn’t complain; his grades had never been better. He’d scored two penalty shots at the last soccer game, and he and Kaylen were named Homecoming King and Queen.
Beau never returned to school, and Ryan waited anxiously for a phone call from the cops asking him to tell his story again.
On those nights, he wanted to crawl out of his skin and one joint left him paranoid, so he’d grab beers from Dad’s dorm fridge in the garage. Three or four beers combined with a joint or two—or on really awful nights, a blunt—did the trick, and he could sleep.
But eventually the call came. Beau was going to trial. They were going to ask for jail time, and they needed his testimony.
Beau’s trial got a lot of attention. There were cameras set up at the school and news vans in front of the courthouse. It was all anyone talked about. Ryan assumed he was the only one testifying. The cops hadn’t told him any differently, and he didn’t ask.
The night before the trial, Beau’s named flashed on his cell phone. He’d never expected to hear from Beau again, so he stared at it, waiting for it to go to voicemail. When it finally did, he breathed a sigh of relief. Until it started ringing again. And again.
On the fifth attempt, he picked up.
“What the fuck, Beau?”
“Thank God,” he breathed. “I had to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“Ry.” His voice broke, disgusting Ryan. Who was this guy who called him and wept? Beau took a deep breath and began again. “Ryan, I’m going to go to jail.”
“Yeah?”
“To jail. For a long time.”
“You’re lucky you’re alive to go to jail. It’s not like it’ll be forever. Not like being dead.”
“Fuck, man. How can you be like this?”
“Fuck you. You killed someone.”
“I didn’t kill her!” he yelled. “I wasn’t driving! I’m begging you to believe me. Please, man! You testify tomorrow, and I’m done. My life is fucking over.”
“I’m not going to lie. I know what I saw. If they ask me, I’m going to tell them the truth. I’m going to tell them everything.”
“But you’re wrong. You’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong. I wouldn’t make a mistake like that.” Before Beau could reply, he hung up the phone, dropping it on the bed. His hand shook as he wiped it across his face. Feeling sick and jittery, Ryan paced around his room. His skin itched, and he needed to scream. Without thinking, he slammed first one fist and then another through his wall.
The pictures in the hallway rattled, and he heard Mom call up, “Ryan! Are you okay?”
Pulling his hand out of the hole, he stared at his bloody knuckles in surprise. With forced calm, he opened his door and called out, “Yeah. Sorry! Dropped something.”
“Okay,” she called back.
The edges of the hole were tinged red from his blood. It dripped across his hand, landing in a small dot on the carpet. He walked into his bathroom, ran his hands under the water, and reveled in the sting. Then he went into his desk and found the flask he’d taken to carrying around with him. One swig followed another until he was tilting the container back as far as he could, shaking out the droplets. Instead of feeling lighter, looser, his stomach roiled, sick.
All Beau’s fault.
* * *
Ryan wore the same outfit to testify against Beau he wore before away games: a buttoned shirt, a tie, slacks.
“Are you okay?” It was his mother’s mantra. The first thing she asked when he woke up, and when he got home, and after dinner, and when she said goodnight.
“Yeah,” he answered, and this time, climbing the steps to the courthouse, being waved through the scanner, he really was. Testifying meant the end, and he was fucking sick of all this. Of everyone being sad and having this whole thing hanging over his head. Today, he’d tell the judge what he’d seen, and he’d go home and get on with his life.
The trial was already in session when they got there. He and his parents were to wait in the hallway outside the courtroom. The state’s attorney told them they could end up there for a while, but their butts had barely touched the seats when the bailiff came for them.
His parents were seated in the back of the room while he followed the bailiff to the witness stand. The courtroom didn’t look anything like what he’d expected. It was low-ceilinged, and while the judge’s bench was raised, the room had the appearance of a cafeteria. Tile floors, hard seats, cinderblock walls.
Raising his hand to be sworn in, he met Beau’s gaze and was shocked. The change in Beau was startling. Pale and gaunt, he looked ill, like he was dying.
Guilt.
Apparently, it was eating away at Beau. Ryan refused to believe it had anything to do with him.
As he sat in the witness stand, Ryan tried to concentrate on the prosecutor, but his eyes kept going back to Beau. Beau’s leg was in a walking cast beneath the defense’s table, and his arm was in a sling. His dark hair was shiny, like he hadn’t washed it. Behind him were his parents, who remained focused on the floor or Beau.
“Ryan, tell us what you saw the night of September 15th.”
The attorney’s voice made him focus. “I saw Beau and Ashley get into his car and drive away.” He cleared his throat.
“And who was driving that night?”
“Beau was.”
“Are you sure?”
Beau looked up at that, his eyes pleading. Ryan didn’t look away. Let him see I have no doubts. “Positive.”
Beau lowered his head, and his shoulders slumped as if whatever life was left in him disappeared. Perhaps he believed Ryan would change his mind. But Ryan knew what was right, and he wouldn’t lie. Not even for his former best friend.
The defense attorney questioned him after the prosecutor finished, asking a series of questions about how much he’d drunk and how sure he was it was Beau he’d seen. The way the questions were framed built Ryan’s anger again. The man made it seem as if Ryan couldn’t be trusted, as if there was no way he could be absolutely, positively certain Beau was driving.
Well, he was. Absolutely. Positively.