The Justice of the Peace meets us in a side office. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the faint smell of coffee lingers in the air. No flowers. No music. No witnesses.
Perfect.
Most of what she’s saying doesn’t register until the end. “Do you, Connor Walsh, take Ryan Henneman to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Ryan Henneman, take Connor Walsh to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.” His voice is barely audible.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Connecticut, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss.”
While rings are not exchanged, there is a perfunctory kiss. Henneman tenses as our lips meet, eyes squeezed shut as if this is the hardest moment of the day for him. I don’t drag it out, not when my brain starts to register how soft and warm his lips are.
I pull back, teeth clenched.
We finish signing the official document, which Henneman doesn’t bother reading. I fold the marriage certificate and slide it into my pocket, a dull thrum in my ears.
That’s it. I’m no longer eligible to marry Veronica Callahan.
Henneman won't look at me. His eyes are fixed on the wall, lost, checked out.
“Time to go home, husband.” It sounds strange, even to me, like calling a knife a flower. But I’ll have to get used to it, for now at least.
As we walk across the parking lot, Henneman’s knees buckle, and he stumbles. I catch him before he hits the pavement, my arm around his waist. His solid muscles flex, and for a second, I forget to let go.
He stiffens, then pulls away. “I'm fine.”
“No, you’re not. But if you want to act tough, next time I’m letting your face hit the pavement.”
I walk to the car, unlock it, then open the passenger door for him. “Get in.”
Henneman doesn't speak, just drops into the seat. He's shut down completely, gone somewhere I can't follow.
Not that I want to.
I lean in, my voice low. “You try to back out or cause problems, and you’ll lose everything. Your scholarship, your future, your fucking life. My family owns half of Rosewood Bay, including the cops. No one's going to help you. No one’s going to miss you.”
He finally looks at me, eyes hollow. “You're a monster. Got it.”
“Welcome to the family, dear husband. You’re mine now. Legally.” I slam the door, round the hood, and drop into the driver’s seat. “Oh, and one last thing . . . we’ll be dorming together this year.”
His breath hitches, a tear running down his cheek. But he wipes it away quickly.
I was raised to be ruthless, to take what I want, to use every tool, every advantage, to see weakness as opportunity and kindness as stupidity.
Lesson learned. And my father will soon find out just how far I’m willing to go to take my life back.
Chapter 4
Ryan
I stand in the doorway, my few possessions in worn duffel bags at my feet. The space is bigger than my old single, and yet it might as well be a cage. Two beds. Two desks. Two dressers. One bathroom.
And one husband I never asked for.
Wish I still had my room from last year, the one Coach Nieminen and my foster dad secured for me when I came to Crestwood. Having a roommate was out of the question, not when I haven’t felt safe withanyonein the past four years.
