Saving Rain(67)

“Thank you,” I said, grateful for his acknowledgment and friendship. “Word gets around fast, huh?”

He chuckled at that. “Small towns. You know how it goes.”

“I do.” I nodded fondly.

“Ya know …” He hesitated as his face took on a somber expression, biting his lip and slipping his hands into his front pockets. “I'll be honest. I wasn't sure what to expect of ya when ya moved in. I liked ya enough after we met, but …” He shrugged and offered an apologetic grimace.

“I get it, man,” I said, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Given your past and family history, I'm sure ya understand.”

Family history?

I smiled as the gears in my head creaked to life while not wanting to dig too deep into the past with Noah present. “It's cool, man. You and I are all good—you know that.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to say, you've been a great addition to this town. And I'm not just sayin' that as … ya know … Mr. Cop. I say that as a friend. We're lucky to have ya. I truly mean that.”

I was aware of the stigma of a man getting publicly emotional, especially in the presence of another man. But the clenching of my throat couldn't be fought as I nodded and said, “Thanks, Patrick. But honestly”—my eyes flitted between Ray and her son—”I think I'm the lucky one here.”

***

Ray didn't actually make me sleep alone that night. Instead, after sending Noah to bed, we made out on the couch before moving into her bedroom, where she locked the door and rode my body with her head thrown back and her nails piercing my chest. And when we were both sated and exhausted, she tucked herself beneath my arm and curled up against my body and asked if I'd stay.

I had never stayed over with Noah in the house.

“Are you sure? What about—”

She yawned, nuzzling her cheek against my chest. “He knows we sleep together, Soldier. He's not oblivious.”

“No, I know. But—”

“If you're uncomfortable, that's okay. But don't leave to protect Noah from something he's already aware of. And honestly, we both feel better when you're here anyway.”

I furrowed my brow, staring into the darkness as my arm tightened around her small body. “He said that?”

Her head softly bobbed against my chest. “We talked about it the other day. You make us feel safe.”

She didn't need to clarify who they felt safe from. Seth. Their personal bogeyman. And if I made them feel better about him forever lurking in the shadows, unknowing when he'd come back—if he ever came back—then I’d be hard-pressed to ever let her sleep alone again.

The house was still as Ray's breathing softened. She drifted off toward slumber, and I closed my eyes to follow her into our dreams. But Seth lingered in my head—threatening me with nightmares and silent sinister promises to be back one day—and then there was Officer Kinney's voice …

“Your past and family history …”

What the hell was he referring to?

I knew my personal history. I was the only one in my family with a record. Gramma and Grampa had worked so diligently to keep my mother clean in the eyes of the law even if her body wasn't clean of the drugs and booze. They had hidden her wrongdoings, they had protected her, and while some might’ve judged them for what they'd done, I knew it had all come out of a place of love—for their daughter and also for me.

But then what the hell had Patrick meant by that? Surely, I would know if my mom had been arrested or incarcerated at some point—right?

The easiest thing would be to ask Officer Kinney—I knew that. But I also didn't want the discussion to be opened to other things I didn't care to talk about, things that didn’t matter—or so I thought.

And why bother when I already had the World Wide Web at my fingertips?

Thanks again, Harry.

Carefully, I lifted my arm from Ray's body and reached for the nightstand to grab my phone. After opening the web browser, I typed in my mother's name: Diane Mason.

Millions upon millions of results popped up. Too many to weed through.

I refined my search: Diane Mason, Connecticut.

The first several listings were for obituaries. Another was a lawyer’s office, and another was a real estate agency. But then there was the eighth listing down, and that one snagged my attention.

An article titled, “Man Dies of Fentanyl Overdose, Friend Arrested for Murder.”

Murder. I swallowed as my brows drew together. This was what people found when searching my family name. Sure, the article was dated back to the day after Billy’s death, and nobody knew then that I’d only be convicted of manslaughter. But still, the word triggered a nauseous reaction in my gut, and Billy’s mom suddenly came to mind.

Does she still believe I’m a murderer? Even all these years later?

Of course she does. I took her only child away from her.

Ray slept soundly beside me as I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to cry.

We had all made our choices. We had all made stupid, life-altering mistakes. I understood this now, but that didn’t quell the constant ache in my heart. I’d gotten used to it after all this time; it had become a part of who I was. But every now and then, it made itself known, rising above the noise in my head and the good I’d found in life.