Finding Our Reality (The Reality Duet #2)

Chapter 18

ELLA

“I just don’t understand how you can be okay with what we just saw?”

His jaw clenches, and his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Did I say I was okay with it?”

I rub my hands together, trying to warm them against the frigid weather. Not asking permission, I reach over and crank the truck heater to full strength. “No. You’re not saying anything, and it’s driving me absolutely crazy. That was a horror show back there. That woman is completely cracked out. And that house? The thought that those children actually sleep there? My god, Ry, Protective Services should be there right now. Right this minute.”

He pulls the truck off the road and slams it into park. “Damn it, woman, you should know me well enough by now to know that I can’t talk about it without getting angrier. And the angrier I get, the more I wanna turn this truck around, grab that lady by the throat, rub her face in that pile of dog shit, burn her house to the ground, and steal those kids. Run away with them to a tropical island where the only thing they’ll ever have to worry about is building sandcastles and jumping waves.”

I sit back in my seat, watching him. His broad chest heaves with every staggered breath. The muscles in his shoulders bunch with pounds of tension. A strand of his hair is cowlicked from where he took off his ballcap. I want to reach over and straighten it. I sit on my fingers instead. “You never struck me as the tropical island type.”

He licks his lips, smirking. Slowly, his breathing returns to normal. “Oh yeah, and what do I strike you as Lulu?”

“The mountain type. With woods and creeks. Like the homestead.”

His eyes flare with a familiar desire, causing me to rub my thighs together, and I quickly switch topics. “Why didn’t you arrest her? What we saw was more than enough physical evidence to show negligence and endangerment, at the very least.”

“Because the kids came home. Because CPS is more equipped to handle a domestic situation like this. When domestic situations are involved, there’s a protocol to follow. It’s for the safety of everyone involved. What if I tried to arrest her today? She could’ve hurt one of the children. I wasn’t equipped today.”

“So, what will we do?”

“Well, I ,” he points to himself, emphasizing the word I, “will contact all of the proper people. CPS will probably gather the kids while they’re at school. That would be the easiest and safest transition. And you can bet your fine ass that I will request to be on the arresting detail for taking Holly into custody.”

The interview with Holly was not an afternoon filled with sunshine and rainbows, as you can imagine. She was high. The complete and total opposite of Christina. Christina crawled her way out of the shit of her past. Holly decided to keep crapping and then roll around in it for good measure. Her arms were full of track marks. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in months, her clothes were filthy, and her face was covered in scabs from drug-induced picking. Even her nails were stained with the black smoke from whatever she cooks up.

The outside of the house was bad but not horrible, dilapidated but not a total dump site. So, I had high hopes when we knocked on the door. Those hopes came crashing to the ground the second we stepped over threshold. In fact, my hopes crashed to the ground, spontaneously combusted, and then the ash blew in my face, making me vomit.

Her house was covered in trash—rotten food, empty beer cans, soiled clothes, piles of dog shit from the little puppy whimpering in the corner. The smell was so bad, I had to spend most of the time with my fingers underneath my nose, trying to suck the last little bit of scent from my cherry almond lotion into my nasal cavity.

And then… the kids got off the school bus.

A little boy and a little girl.

We didn’t realize there was only a half day of school today. The boy said he was nine, and the girl said she was seven. While Ry was interviewing Holly, I attempted to keep the children occupied. I was glad for the distraction; I couldn’t stand to be in her presence anymore.

Well, I thought I was glad for the distraction.

Until the kids showed me their bedroom.

One half of the room looked like the rest of the house, meaning it was completely filthy. The other half of the room is what the kids actually considered ‘their bedroom’. There were two bare mattresses lined up against the wall, both stained brown and yellow.

But what really broke my heart was their few meager personal belongings, neatly stacked by their makeshift beds. Stacked and organized to display everything, the way only a child would do. The little girl told me that her brother has a rule that they have to keep their part of the house very clean. They each had a small pile of folded laundry, a few books, and a few toys.

When Ry finally came to get me, he froze in the doorway, watching me as I played with the children. Even the little boy was so happy to have someone to play with him, he allowed his sister to choose a game of dolls. She owned three small plastic dolls. We each got one.

As soon as we got in the truck, I started crying. And I absolutely hate crying in front of people. That’s probably what added to my anger. When the tears finally subsided, I decided the best thing to do would be to lash out at Ry.

Taking a deep breath, I nod. “Okay, I understand. I’ll let you handle it. But you will handle it? Today?”

“Lulu, I promise you, no one will be laying a head on their pillow tonight until they know about this situation. I can swear to you, shit will happen. It may be Monday. But I will make sure it happens.”

“Okay.” I reach for my bottled water, eager to wet my dry throat. I look down and see Ry already drank his. Offering him my bottle, he takes it, tipping it up to his mouth. While he’s drinking, I turn the heat back down. It’s suddenly very hot in here. “So, how did the interview go? Did you get anything useful?”

“No, her brain is complete mush. She barely remembers her own name.”

“Not surprising.”

“I taste you.”

My head whips around and my face blushes beet red. “Excuse me?”

He nods at the water bottle. “Your lip stuff. It tastes like oranges.” Placing the bottle back in the cup holder, he leans against his door, narrowing his eyes in amusement. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

The bastard always liked it when I was tongue-tied and embarrassed. “Nothing. I just didn’t hear what you said.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I nod my head at the windshield. “Do you plan on driving anytime soon?”

Chuckling under his breath, he pulls back onto the road. He’s making me furious. And horny. Leaning my head against the cold window, I close my eyes, rubbing my scar to calm my nerves. Visions of Ry burying his head between my thighs makes the breath hitch in my chest.

I taste you.

He sure tasted me alright. Moisture drips down my leg just thinking about it.

And that makes me even angrier.

***

“You’re a grown woman, now. Do you think it’s appropriate to have your feet up on my desk?”

“You’re a grown man. Do you think it’s appropriate to keep secrets from your best friend?” I retort, still guilt-tripping him about keeping Ry a secret all these years.

Marcum twirls his ink pen in his hand like a baton. “Who said you were my best friend.”

“Well, I have to be more fun than Colson. And we all know I’m better to look at than Leary.”

He snorts on his laugh. “You’ve got me there.” He tosses the pen down on his desk and laces his fingers behind his head. “Didn’t go good today, huh?”

“Did Ry tell you?”

“He did.”

“It was devasting. Traumatic. Those poor kids. To live through that?”

He nods in empathy. “I know your parents left a lot to be desired in the way of love, affection, and attention, but at least they supplied for your basic needs. Food, clean clothes, a safe place to live. Up until that summer, I mean.”

“I’m not delusional enough to compare the struggles of my upbringing with what those kids are going through.” I look over at Ry’s empty desk. “Or even what he went through as a little boy.”

“Yeah, from what I gather, his plight was pretty damn rough before his grandparents took him away.”

I think back to all the stories Ry told me.

Marcum cocks his head. “But just so you know, your struggles after leaving here were pretty damn significant. Catastrophic. I’m not bypassing that. Have you ever thought about sharing those with him?”

I shrug.

Marcum leans across his desk, knocking my feet to the ground. “Ella.”

“Okay, yes, I’ve thought about it. But I always come back to the same conclusion… no. Hell, no. He left me. He chose not to be a part of my life. He chose to wash his hands of any problems—any feelings—for me. I can’t put myself out there like that. What good will it do? He probably wouldn’t even care.”

“Ella Hill, that’s a damn boldface lie, and you know it.”

“All I know is that I can’t open myself up to him again. Even if he wanted me to. Even if I wanted to. I barely survived the last go round. I’m not strong enough to make it.”

Marcum smiles. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

I snort. There’s no point in rebutting his compliment. Marcum likes to shower them on me like a spring rain. I learned a long time ago to keep my mouth shut. I decide to switch topics instead. “You should’ve told me about his injuries. I wasn’t prepared.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“He told you?”

“No, Ray called. He wanted me to know how upset you were in case you reached out to me.”

“Ry was bombed, Marcum. Someone tried to kill him.”

“Sweetie, you can’t think of it like that. That kind of danger comes with being a soldier. That bombing would have happened with him there or without him there. At least, him being there kept some people alive.”

I shake my head in question. “What do you mean?”

Marcum’s brow furrows in confusion. “He saved lives, Ella.”

My hand flings to my mouth in shock. “What? Who?”

“Well, the US ambassador for one.”

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“Of course, he didn’t.” Marcum glances over at Ry’s desk, puffing his chest outward like a proud papa. “Crutch received awards for his bravery.”

I swallow, trying to digest that information. It sticks in my throat like dry oatmeal. “How do you know all that? He told you?”

“Well, some information came from him. Some from his commanding officer.”

“You talked to his commanding officer? When I went to the recruiting office, after he enlisted, they wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“I was his POA.”

Now, I’m really blown away. “What?”

“He came to me after Harlan’s funeral. Harlan had been his power of attorney. He couldn’t ask his parents or his brother to do it. He said I was the only person he could think of. One of the few people he respected. He said that if you trusted me, then he trusted me too. It was either me or Ray, and he knew Ray wouldn’t do it, not considering how he’d left you.” Marcum clears his throat. “A power of attorney was even more important in his situation because of his grandmother and the decisions regarding her care that had to be made on a regular basis with the nursing home. He left me in control of all his finances, all decisions about his grandmother, everything. Of course, I didn’t do anything without consulting him, but there were a couple of times that I had to act first and ask him about it later. Being overseas, he was sometimes out of pocket for days or weeks. I was his medical POA too, and listed as his next of kin contact. They contacted me after the IED explosion.”

I shake my head, rattling my brain from one side to the next. “How could you not tell me he nearly died?”

Marcum leans forward, wrapping his hand over mine. “The same way I didn’t tell him that you nearly died.”