A Moonlit Serenade Page 16

  Beneath the picture, in the same red paint that covered me, the words read, “Until death do you BOTH part.”

  I dropped my keys, hands covering my mouth.

  Jake reached into his pocket and yanked out his phone. “This is an escalation. We can’t ignore this. And I won’t, not even for your crazy, over-the-top loyalty to people who treat you so poorly.”

  I nodded, my chest hollow as I stared at the words—and the implicit promise of them.

  18

  Jake

  I photographed the picture and note before I let Ryn into her apartment. Maybe not the wisest choice, but she was shivering and making these strange gasping sounds, barely able to stand. I called Detective Davenport on his cell as soon as we were inside and I’d locked the door, speaking in a low voice so as not to freak Ryn out further. After telling us not to change or shower, he promised to bring a police photographer with him and hung up.

  An hour and a half later, Ryn and I huddled on her sofa, our clothes shedding bits of dried paint. Ryn insisted on making me a cuppa tea when we came in, but those mugs, left untouched, sat in front of us on the coffee table, long-cold.

  “I don’t have the full picture,” Detective Davenport said, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “Explain to me your relationship with your deceased husband’s family.”

  Ryn’s body stiffened and I caught her glance at me. Did she want me to leave? Was she still in love with him? Blimey, that thought hurt enough that I rubbed my chest before I realized how obvious I was being.

  I cared for Ryn—deeply—but I wasn’t sure what love was, really. Not like my parents were the best examples of the emotion.

  Murphy’s extreme focus on Mila, her well-being, making sure she was happy and safe, came much closer to my own feelings for Ryn—along with fear and impotent rage each time she called Ted or Joyce.

  I’d thought living together for a while would clarify my feelings. A trial run for what we’d do if our relationship progressed further.

  I never told Ryn I bought a two-bedroom flat the day I moved out of the suite—in her building, on her floor—for my body guards. She thought I’d rented the place—by sheer luck. I hadn’t said more about the apartment because I wanted to spend all my time with Ryn. She seemed to like having me around, and I made a point of keeping up with the laundry and house cleaning—both chores I used to do for my mum. Ryn never asked me to do anything, and surprise and thankfulness lit up her face whenever I helped, making me wonder even more about her relationship with Dez.

  Ryn twisted her fingers, a sure sign of her discomfort. Unable to watch her tug at the skin, causing it to go white, I placed my hand over hers.

  “My parents didn’t want me.”

  Her words were quiet, but firm in their truth, and they broke my heart. I squeezed her cold fingers, but she didn’t respond to my gesture.

  “Excuse me?” Detective Davenport said.

  “They didn’t want me. I was a late-in-life surprise. My father turned fifty the week after my birth. They’d been itinerant up until that point—traveling the world with no clear purpose. He insisted on opening an insurance company, and my mother worked for him. They worked a lot. So I spent time at the neighbor’s. At Dez and Sam’s.”

  “I’m still unclear as to why you think your parents didn’t want you.” Davenport’s voice was kindly but the words were not.

  Ryn’s hand convulsed beneath mine. “They told me I was a mistake. That’s one of the first conversations I remember.”

  “That’s why you don’t call them often,” I said.

  She kept her head bowed, as if she feared seeing my reaction, but she whispered, “Yes.”

  “So, you spent time at the neighbors’ house,” Detective Davenport said, his voice gentle. His face held the kind of sympathy Ryn deserved but would never accept.

  “Pretty much all my time because I was friends with Dez and Sam. My parents appreciated the ease as my relationship developed with Dez. Joyce and Ted accepted me as their own long before Dez proposed.”

  Ryn and the detective continued to talk, but my mind spun out in myriad thoughts: Ryn’s expression every time I said I wasn’t ready to start a family, the sad longing with which she stared at the children in her classes, the sobs she didn’t think I heard when she stayed in the shower for an hour, the pack of birth control pills that sat on the bathroom counter, each day another pill missing, and her slow pull back from me the closer we came to the completing the album.

  My dad hurt my family—destroyed it, some would say—whereas Ryn’s parents took away her sense of safety and ability to belong. She searched for it, desperate for the connection, just as I tried to escape any opportunity that could lead me down my father’s path.

  My hand still covered hers, the smears of cracked red paint—the gulf widening between the edges just as my fear caused a deepening chasm between Ryn and I. One I hadn’t seen because I didn’t want to.

  Her fingers were long and slender, her nails short and neat, covered in a pale-pink polish. Strong hands, capable ones. But her voice—the hoarseness that showcased the pain she’d buried for years—bit into my chest, leaving it open and bleeding.

  To give me the space and lack of responsibility I wanted, Ryn began to forfeit her own desires and happiness. And I’d accepted her doing so as my due. Hell, my right for staying with her, invading her home and bringing unwanted media scrutiny and further stress.

  Ryn’s hand kept trembling but she straightened her spine.

  Dez, Sam, Joyce, Tim, the kids in her program, even Asher and me…we took from her. Took parts of Ryn. Because she let us.

  Ryn disappeared as soon as the detective left. The water turned on, and, only after I was sure she was under the water, I tested the door handle, unsurprised but disappointed she’d locked the door. Didn’t even break me off my game—I collected the thinnest of Ryn’s knitting needles and popped the lock in seconds.

  After stripping my clothes, I opened the shower curtain. Ryn, her back to the shower’s spray, tipped her head back toward the water, red streaming from her long hair into the drain. Her neck arched, pushing up her wet, luscious breasts. Blimey, I was a lucky, lucky man.

  I stepped into the tub just as Ryn opened her eyes and met my gaze. Her eyes held a pain too deep-seated to ever annihilate.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice gravelly with emotion. One of which, I was shocked to realize, was anger.

  She dropped her gaze and wrapped those wet arms around her middle. “Because then you’d leave, too. Everyone does eventually.”

  “That’s a fucking long leap for you to make. I’m not your parents. I’m not Dez. And I don’t like the comparisons.” Before she had time to take a breath, my mouth covered hers. My lips ravaged hers over and over, seeking entrance into the warm cavern of her mouth, going deeper each time, proving my point that she was mine…and in doing so, I was hers.

  She mewled into my mouth, her fingernails scrabbling for purchase on my wet shoulders. I pressed her tighter against the tiles, lifting her right leg as I thrust my hips into her welcoming heat. I pulled back long enough to catch a breath, the groan ripping from my throat as I swiveled my hips. I wanted to tell her I’d become certain of one important truth as she spoke with Detective Davenport: I was in profound, acute love with her. The words hovered on my lips, but when Ryn tipped her head back with a gasp as I hit that spot she loved, my mouth drifted to her neck, licking and nibbling my way back up to her lips—the ones I craved.

  Long after the shudders from pleasure wracked our bodies, long after I helped Ryn wash her hair and skin, long after I cuddled her in bed, I lay awake, puzzling through the bits of Ryn’s past I knew. Her loyalty and selflessness shown brighter than any beacon.

  I climbed out of bed around 1:30 a.m. and grabbed my phone. I closed her bedroom door and turned on the under-cabinet lights in her small kitchen, enjoying the faint, warm glow. Opening a beer, I pulled up my e-mail account and beg
an to type out a series of messages.

  Ryn would never ask more of me. Not when unworthiness had been ground into her soul by her bloody awful parents. Here I was—crying over my shit-bag father when my mum threw the bastard out to ensure Murphy’s and my continued safety and happiness. Not only did I have my mum’s unwavering love, I had Murphy’s and Mila’s. But Ryn’s “family” consisted of people who insisted she partake in their traditions to become part of their family.

  The revelations caused my chest to ache.

  Ryn seemed so put together, so capable, so loving. And she was. Yet, I understood about veneer, the façade I wanted the world to see. That kept people from delving to the unhealed scars and tender bits of themselves too fragile for others to know. Ryn lived her entire childhood being told she was a burden—a waste of time and energy.

  Combatting that level of neglect and, yeah, abuse, would take time—if she ever healed fully.

  I sipped the last of my beer and stared out into the dark, gray fog laying heavy over the city. I should have talked to my mum or even Murphy more about my fears of becoming my father—of how it had twisted inside me. Because in telling Ryn I wouldn’t have a child, I forced her into a terrible choice: be with me, or have that unconditional love she didn’t just crave, she needed, with the same desperation a seed sought the sun.

  19

  Ryn

  The knock on my door early the next morning jolted me from deep slumber. I rubbed my eyes, still gritty from a late night and the intensity of emotions wrung out of me by talking with the police and then, my shower with Jake.

  I glanced over to where he lay on his side, facing me. His lips were slightly parted, his cheeks relaxed. His hair flopped forward onto his brow. My handsome man. He’d reconfirmed it for me again last night, not just with his words but with his mouth, tongue and, I blushed hard, the rest of his body.

  The rapping at the door started up again. Jake’s brows scrunched as he snuggled deeper into the pillow. I jumped from bed, grabbing my robe and tying it over the tank top and flannel pajama pants I’d put on after our shower. I closed the bedroom door firmly, hoping to get rid of whomever it was before they woke Jake.

  A quick glance in the peephole caused my heart to hammer and my mouth to dry out.

  I opened the door with trepidation. “Ted. Joyce.”

  “How could you do this to us?” Joyce demanded, storming into my apartment.

  I glanced back at the bedroom door, hoping Jake managed to sleep through this altercation. Then I bit my lip, thinking of the promise I’d made him. But these were Dez’s parents. They wouldn’t hurt me.

  Then again, I’d never thought Sam would hurt me either.

  “I guess you heard the Seattle police department planned to bring Sam in for questioning.”

  “For questioning! The officer handcuffed my daughter and put her in the back of the cruiser not twenty minutes ago!”

  I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, hating how Dez’s death still caused so much pain.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Ryn.” Ted’s voice was softer than Joyce’s, but his calmness made me shiver. “I told you I’d take care of the situation.”

  “Unfortunately, Sam escalated the situation to a point I couldn’t wait for you to ‘take care of it.’” I walked toward my small kitchen—eyeing the counter where I’d left my phone. Jake, ever thoughtful, had plugged it into the charger. “You woke me. I need some coffee. Either of you want some?”

  Joyce made a strangled sound while Ted followed me. So much for texting Jake or even Linda with ease. But I did slip my phone into my pocket before I began the task of filling the coffeemaker.

  I set out mugs and turned, bumping into Ted, who frowned down at me. For the first time in my life, Ted intimidated me. His eyes held daggers, all pointed at me.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I bit back a scream.

  No reason for this jumpy feeling. These were my in-laws. People I’d known my whole life—I’d spent nearly as many nights at their house as my own, growing up. They wouldn’t hurt me.

  With a shaking hand, I managed to pour a cup of coffee. I shoved it at Ted’s chest and pulled out my phone at the same time, sidestepping around him. Caffeine could wait—my adrenaline level shot up to highest alert.

  The text was from Alan. You okay with your company?

  Thank goodness Alan and Isaac had a place in the building, and one of them always remained on duty. I texted him back: In-laws just showed up. Not happy with me.

  I hit “Send.”

  Joyce paced around my living room while Ted set his coffee on my counter, arms crossed and scowl building to new, darker heights.

  I pocketed my phone and tried to rearrange my features into a pleasant expression.

  “I hope you know I don’t have any ill will against Sam. She’s just stuck in her grief.”

  “Unlike you.” Ted’s anger slid over me, leaving me cold and even more afraid.

  Jake’s words from one of our late-night pillow talks came back to me: Mila thought she could handle her stalker herself. That cost her and Murph their unborn child and nearly got her killed. I don’t want to run your life for you, make all your decisions. But I do want you to be safe. And I can help you with that. Let me, Ryn, Please.

  My phone chimed again.

  “Will you turn that damn thing off? For God’s sakes, we deserve your full attention!” Joyce said, advancing into my space.

  “Yes, of course. Let me tell Linda I’ll have to meet her later.”

  I didn’t read this message. Just quickly shot off another text: Scared.

  I shoved my phone back into my pocket but continued to clutch it in my hand. Like a lifeline. I refused to look toward my door, concerned Ted would notice my preoccupation.

  “You have my attention.”

  “Too bad Dez didn’t. You were supposed to love Dez forever. You promised.” Joyce’s eyes were wet, tear-tracks lined her cheeks.

  “I did. And I meant it.”

  “But look at you. You’re all snuggled up to a new man.” She spat the word. “Because being married to a real hero, a soldier, wasn’t enough. You wanted more fame. More, more, more!”

  “That’s not true nor is it fair,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. But her accusations hurt. Deeply, if I was honest.

  Joyce’s lip trembled and more tears splashed down onto her cheeks. “It is. You’ve only ever thought about yourself. You wanted to get married. You wanted your career. Did you ever stop to think about Dez’s needs? Ever?”

  I clenched my hands together in fists. “Look, I loved Dez. But he had to have things his way—and one of those things was going to basic training and then Lewis-McChord without me. Th-that’s why I wanted a baby. I wanted a piece of him.” I firmed my chin. “I wanted a piece of him to keep, always, because he wouldn’t let me have him.” But there was more there. What was it?

  “You’re lying,” Ted said, pulling me away from the realization teasing through my head.

  “I’d never lie about my relationship with Desden. I never have. But you need to understand he wasn’t perfect.”

  “Don’t speak that way about my boy. My dead boy.” Joyce wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “I know you miss him.” I laid my hand on her shoulder. “I do, too.”

  “Bullshit!” She knocked my hand off, her face twisting in rage. “You wanted your music career, and now you have that. A big star! You’re selfish—you’ve always been a selfish girl, and I wish you’d died instead.”

  I reeled back, my chest aching as I tried to comprehend her words. A fist hammered against the door. Alan, no doubt.

  “Joyce,” Ted said, his hang-dog eyes flicking to the door. “That’s enough.”

  “It’s not!” She turned to glare at me. “Everything was always about you! I should have hit you with Sam’s car. You deserve that for taking away my son.”

  I stumbled back into the wall, palms flat, as I stared at Joyce.

/>   “You-you knew, didn’t you?” I asked Ted.

  “Ryn!” Alan yelled through the door. “Open the door or I’m calling the police.”

  Ted dropped his chin to his chest, his eyes never leaving my face, his expression blank.

  “If Jake didn’t pull me back, I might be dead. Paralyzed. And you covered for her?” My breath came in small, painful gasps as I backed away. “I never did anything other than love Dez. Ever.” Tears leaked down my cheeks and dripped to my chest. My parents might not like me, resented caring for me, but they never actively tried to hurt me. “I loved all of you.”

  “Time for us to go, Joyce,” Ted said, standing up to his full height, his angry, sad eyes boring into mine. “You need to forget what Joyce said here.”

  “She might,” Jake said from behind me. My body melted with relief even as my brain rebelled. Jake heard what Joyce said. What if he agreed with Joyce? What if, even after last night, he left me, too?

  “Ryn! Open the door.”

  I stumbled over to it and managed to turn the handle. Alan barreled into the room, followed closely by Isaac. Both men stepped in front of me, their bodies between me and the threat of my in-laws.

  Jake brought his phone forward and pressed play. Joyce’s vindictive voice filled the room. “I should have hit you with Sam’s car.”

  I shoved my fist against my lips, pressing harder as the sob threatened to overcome me.

  “Just so you know, I already forwarded that to my body guards here, brother, and manager. You’re not covering this up, mate. Now, we’ll let you go because Ryn needs to get away from your wife. But be sure you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  Ted glanced up at Alan, then over to Jake. He dropped his red-rimmed eyes and dipped his head, acknowledging Jake’s words.

  Jake shoved past Alan’s big body and pulled me into his arms as Isaac locked the door behind Joyce and Ted.