Hold On (Page 180)

I just needed to do that for Ryker.

And I needed to find out if he was still alive.

Jones resumed opening and closing cupboards. “Just shut up.”

I shut up and looked from the chair at my kitchen table that Jones had planted my ass into to Ryker.

I was too far away. I couldn’t see if he was breathing.

I jumped when something crashed.

Jones was shoving all my stuff from my shelves to the ground. Bowls, plates, pitchers, everything crashing on the floor, breaking, the shards flying everywhere, hitting Ryker.

Years of yard sale finds, estate sale finds, garage sale finds, antique shop finds, my kid’s cereal bowls, the plates Merry always chose for when he made us waffles or pancakes.

My life crashing to the floor, the jagged shards hitting my brother Ryker.

Fucking motherfucker.

“What are you looking for?” I snapped.

“Cameras,” he grunted.

What the fuck?

“Cameras?” I asked.

He turned on me. “That little weasel plant cameras?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That weasel. No, not a weasel. A rat. Did he plant cameras?”

It hit me.

“Ryan?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Jones bit out. “The rat. The rat who led them to Denny. Him. He likes to watch. He’d like to watch you. Did he plant cameras?”

I stared at him, breathing hard. “Is Ryan okay?”

“He’s as okay as that guy there.” He jerked his head to Ryker.

Oh fuck.

Oh no.

Ryan.

My eyes got wet.

“You shot him?” I whispered.

“Dead.”

Dead.

Ryan.

I stared at Walter Jones.

The tear fell.

I should have known.

I should have known, with my life.

I should have known there would always be room for tears.

* * * * *

Garrett

His phone rang.

He looked to it.

It was Rocky.

He drew in breath and took the call. “Honey, unless this is about Ethan, now’s not a—”

“Merry?” Ethan interrupted.

The pain spiked, scoring into his brain.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Rocky doesn’t know I’m usin’ her phone. I swiped it. But I had to…I had to…” He drew in an audible breath. “Can I go to the station? Maybe Tanner can come and get me. I just…I just wanna…sit at the station.”

Fuck, he sounded scared.

His boy sounded scared.

Pain skewered Garrett’s brain as he beat back the fury.

“Prefer you where you are right now, kid,” Garrett told him.

“I know, but—”

“Ethan, bud, I gotta be doin’ what I’m doin’. Tanner’s helpin’. Mike. Cal. Colt. Sul. My dad. Everyone. So I got no one to look after your gramma except you. Need you to look after Grace. Can you do that for me now? Look after your gramma?”

“Yea—” His voice broke and Garrett’s vision blurred. He listened to Ethan clear his throat before he said, “Yeah. I can do that. I can look after Gramma.”

“Good, bud. See you soon, yeah? I’m gonna see you soon, buddy. You hear me?”

It was weak and nearly inaudible when Ethan replied, “I hear you, Merry.”

“Suck it up, Ethan,” Garrett ordered gently. “Need you strong, okay? Before you go back to your gramma, suck it up for me. Go back to her strong. She’s probably scared. You need to take care of her, yeah?”

Ethan didn’t reply.

“You with me?” Garrett prompted.

He heard Ethan clear his throat again and his voice was a lot stronger when he said, “I hear you, Merry. Gotta get back to Gram.”

“Yeah you do. See you soon. See you both soon.”

“’Kay, Merry.”

“Love you, son.”

A sniff, then, “I love you too.”

“Right. Later.”

“Later, Merry.”

They disconnected.

Garrett drew a sharp breath in through his nose and kept scanning.

“You did right, Garrett,” Mike said softly. “Gave him strength, direction. Something like this happened when Jonas was Ethan’s age, a time he’s just beginnin’ to figure out what kinda man he wants to be, he wouldn’t wanna look back and remember himself fallin’ apart.”

“Right,” Garrett bit out.

“He needed a mission.”

“Right,” Garrett repeated.

“You did right.”

Garrett said nothing.

Mike drove.

Garrett’s phone rang again.

He looked to the screen.

It was Cal.

If Cal had something to say that wasn’t important, he’d text.

He was phoning.

Garrett took the call.

He didn’t say a word before Cal spoke.

“Burgundy Taurus, man, right in your woman’s goddamned driveway.”

The pain spiked.

He looked to Mike. “They’re at Cher’s.”

Mike turned on his blinker.

“You got eyes?” he asked Cal.

“Walked by. Sheers closed but movement in the kitchen,” Cal answered. “Otherwise, made no approach.”

“Distinct movement?”

“Yeah. One person. Couldn’t tell much. But it wasn’t Cher.”

It wasn’t Cher.

“Stay clear,” Merry ordered. “We’re on our way.”

“Got it.”

Garrett disconnected and ran his thumb over the screen.

“He took her to her own fuckin’ house?” Mike asked.

“Cal says car’s in the driveway and there’s movement in the kitchen, not Cher,” Garrett answered as he made his call and put the phone to his ear.