Chapter 4
Ryan
* * *
It was 2 a.m. when Aria eventually came home.
Fucking 2 a.m., and she only made it home because Jim, one of the patrol officers, brought her in—not because she’d gotten in trouble, but because I’d gone insane and reported her missing.
Jesus, God in heaven, I knew—knewI’d totally overreacted, just like IknewI’d totally overreacted with my new neighbor,Miss Mouth.
With her, I would have probably backed down a little, but she had an attitude that rubbed me the wrong way, especially since I was pissed that her arrival meant I couldn’t go after Aria.
That would have been my next move if Miss Mouth hadn’t come bumbling down the road in her piece-of-shit car. Then what pissed me off even more was the arrival of Noah Whyte. The guy was one of my favorite former NFL players.
What I didn’t like was the high-and-mighty attitude he’d taken with me, although I most likely would have done the same thing too if I was filthy rich and powerful like him. Aside from the wealth and the power, he was just taking care of his girl. I got that, understood it, but I was still mad as hell, and that incident had fueled my rage.
I put both occurrences down to me losing my mind. I’d officially lost it.
Calling the cops to search for Aria was my last resort, the final thing I’d thought I could do. I’d sat out on that porch waiting, worrying myself to death the whole time. I only didn’t go looking for her myself because I wanted to be home in case she got back.
I must have visualized every terrible thing under the sun that could have happened to her,everythingfrom being kidnapped to raped and murdered. By ten o’clock, I was sure something truly awful had happened, and that was when I called the station.
I wanted to give her a piece of my mind for making me worry like that. The crazy thing was, when Jim brought her back to me, I was so relieved, so relieved and happy to see she was alive that the momentary happiness abated my anger.
Then I saw the look of fury on her face.
She just looked at me, livid, but also like she hated me.
Was that truly how I’d been when I was that age? I had gotten up to some really bad stuff, things my parents would never know about, things I would never tell anyone.
Aria went straight to her room. I couldn’t even pursue her to argue. The atmosphere was so tense and thick it would have needed to be cut with a chainsaw. I figured she thought she could get away with being out all night because I’d worked super late on Fridays for the last few weeks, most times well into the morning. It was the case I was currently assigned to and then all the shit that kept happening in between.
Later in the night was when it had dawned on me that I needed help with her. She’d had a babysitter until she argued she was too old to have one, and she’d even become one herself for the Pearsons.
I agreed that she was too old. She’d be seventeen soon and would hate me even more if I suggested that, but I didn’t know what choice I had other than to sort things out at work. That would be difficult because I wasn’t some random cop. I was a detective with a lot on my plate, especially with Captain Hawkins’ attitude that we all had to do whatever work came our way.
I felt like I was in limbo, because Aria wasn’t a baby. I shouldn’t have had to be thinking about that shit. At the same time, I didn’t want her to lose her way and…end up like me—or rather, in her case, end up like Olivia: seventeen and pregnant by an idiot jock who thought he owned the world.
At least I’d done what was necessary to take care of my family, and Olivia had known when I married her, it wasn’t because she was pregnant. I’d even made a point of it by asking her to marry me after Aria was born.
I did that so she would know I wanted them both in my life. I did that so she would know that even though we’d made mistakes, Aria was no mistake. I didn’t think I was the best guy ever for doing that, but I knew a majority of eighteen-year-old guys would not have done that then, and they wouldn’t do it now.
Definitely not now, when that child was looking at me like she wanted to kill me.
I’d just walked into the living room. She had on Saturday morning kids TV while she munched on a toaster pastry.
There was too much angst in me to spread the tenseness out any longer. We had to talk.
I’d barely slept and couldn’t live through another day without airing out all the shit that was on my mind.
Without saying anything, I grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. Then I pulled up one of the wooden chairs from the dinner table and sat right in front of her.
She glowered at me, the weath of hate intensifying with each nanosecond.
“We’re going to talk now,” I declared, straightening up.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” She shook her head and frowned. Her green eyes darkened and she narrowed her little eyes at me. “Dad, you sent the police to get me.”
