Gilded Craving: Cowboy Justice Association (Serials and Stalkers Book 3) Page 13

"I can guarantee you that Skip didn't know his son was gambling with multiple bookies," Jack said. "He never would have allowed that."

  "I still have to ask him."

  Ryan sounded defensive and immediately the tension in the room zoomed higher.

  This could go so badly.

  "I'm just saying that there's no way he would have known."

  Straightening in his chair, Ryan lifted his chin defiantly. "And I'm just saying that I have to ask him. It's literally my job."

  Jack sighed and shook his head. "What kind of a job has you asking good people nosy and intrusive questions? They've lost their son and you're going to make it worse."

  That tension had spiked to the point where there was almost a physical wall that Mariah could actually see between Ryan and his father. It had been going so well...

  "The kind of job that puts the bad people behind bars," Ryan said, his tone hard. He was frowning, his lips a thin, unhappy line. "And that means that even good people have to be asked uncomfortable questions. How much did they know about Brad's life? I don't know the answer to that and to be honest, neither do you. If Brad was a gambling addict do you honestly believe Skip would have told you? There's no way that would have happened because appearances are all that matters to you guys."

  "That's not true," Patricia said. "We just care about Skip and Lilly. We don't want them hurt."

  "I don't want to hurt them either, but do you know what would be worse? To have a killer go free because I was too much of a wimp to ask a few questions. If Skip and Lilly really want to find out what happened to their son, they're going to have to deal with finding out some facts that they may not like. Now, if all they want is to keep up the happy and loving family façade, I can pack my suitcase and be on the red-eye back home tonight."

  Mariah reached out to place her hand on his arm. She could feel the tension in the muscles under her fingers. "Ryan, calm down. I'm sure your father–"

  "Right," he interrupted, his tone derisive. "He didn't mean anything by it. Of course, he meant it. He hates my job and he always has. He doesn't approve. End of story."

  "We don't hate your job," Lilly said. "I guess we just don't understand it."

  Jack shrugged, his own face a match to his son's. Neither was happy. "We've never said we didn't like your job, but it's true that we'd rather you did something else. Your mother was constantly worried that you were going to be hurt or shot when you were a police officer. Being in law enforcement is dangerous and you never thought about how your decisions affected everyone else."

  Ryan threw his linen napkin on the table. "You mean that if I'd just done what you told me to, then everyone would be happy. That's everyone but me, Dad. I wouldn't be happy. I'm doing what I love and I'm trying to help one of your best friends. It's still not good enough for you. If I'm not doing what you want, you're disappointed in me. And now tonight you're even trying to tell me how to be a damn cop."

  "I'm not telling you how to do your job, I'm just telling you that Skip wouldn't have known if Brad had a gambling problem. If he had, he would have gotten him some help."

  Liza and Mike hadn't said much in the last few minutes and Mariah didn't blame them. When Ryan and Jack went down this road, it was best to let them do it alone. Even Patricia appeared to be done with the conversation. She looked like she had so much to say, but it was clear she wasn't going to say anything at all.

  "I'll just repeat myself that I still have to ask him," Ryan ground out. "My job isn't to make everyone feel good about themselves. Sometimes I have to ask the hard questions that make people uncomfortable. Sometimes I have to be the son of a bitch that tells a wife that her husband has been cheating on her and now he's a suspect in his girlfriend's murder. That's just the way it is. The truth doesn't care about our delicate feelings. It's just the truth."

  Jack cleared his throat. "All I'm asking you to do is be kind when you talk to them. That's it."

  "But you didn't ask, Dad," Ryan argued. "You never asked me to do that, and I would have done that anyway. I don't want to hurt them. But no, you never asked. If you had, I would have said yes."

  "Fine," Jack huffed. "Ryan, will you please be kind to Skip and Lilly when you talk to them? They're going through hell and I don't want anyone making it any worse for them."

  "The last thing I want to do is make it worse. Of course I will be kind. But I will do my job."

  Everyone was quiet at the table. The tension still thick. No one seemed to want to speak and that made Mariah antsy. She couldn't take the prolonged silence. Someone had to say...something.

  "I think I'm going to run to the ladies' room before we have dessert." She hopped up from her chair. "I'll be right back."

  Liza jumped up as well. "That's a good idea. Save us some cheesecake. We'll be back in a few minutes. I need to freshen up my lipstick."

  In the summer, dessert was always served on the back terrace as long as the weather was good.

  Liza linked her arm with Mariah and practically dragged her out of the dining room. On second thought, maybe it was a bad idea to leave Ryan alone with his parents.

  "Perhaps I should go back," Mariah whispered, glancing over her shoulder. "Ryan might need me to run interference."

  "Mike will do it. Besides, it's not your job anymore, remember?"

  She did, but it wasn't easy. Having Ryan in the same room, sitting right next to her, overrode all the good reasons they weren't together.

  And they were good reasons. She had lots of them.

  If only she could think of a couple...

  Wait. She had one.

  He was a stubborn jerk about his parents, and he needed a sharp kick to his shin. She just might be the person to do it, too.

  19

  This was one of those nights when Ryan barely recognized himself. Everything had been going smoothly at dinner and then...bam. Tense words were exchanged. This time he couldn't blame it on his father. This was all on him. He'd escalated the situation and ruined everyone's digestion.

  He simply couldn't seem to stop himself from saying something that would piss his dad off. Of course, Jack didn't truly know if Skip was aware of Brad's gambling but if that's what his father wanted to believe, who was Ryan to knock over that apple cart? He should have just let it go but he hadn't, opening his big mouth instead and challenging his old man.

  Jack Beck never backed down from a challenge. Neither did Ryan.

  It looked like Mariah had been right about that one. He had quite a bit in common with his dad after all. In fact, Mariah had been correct about a lot of things, including that Ryan wasn't blameless for the tension between him and his parents. Looking back, he'd carried at least half of the load. Jack and Patricia were only fifty percent to blame. Now he had a hell of a lot of thinking to do about the relationship with his parents. If he could change a bit...let things go...

  Everything always had to be your way. You couldn't compromise, ever.

  Mariah's words haunted him. She'd told him when they'd broken up, and then she'd told him again that first night he'd been in her apartment. How many times did he need to hear it before he believed it?

  A whole bunch, apparently.

  He had changed over the years but when he was back with his parents it was like he was a kid again. And he was acting like it. He needed to straighten up and act like the man he professed to be. He didn't know how he was going to fix his tattered relationship with his mom and dad, but at least now he knew he wanted to.

  Realization had hit him between the eyes and that's the only explanation for why he was now standing in the middle of his childhood bedroom. It wasn't like he hadn't seen it in years. He didn't stay in it when he visited for the holidays - that's what the apartment was for - but it was a handy place to retreat to when family get-togethers became a little too much.

  Tonight, however, it felt like he was seeing this room through fresh eyes.

  His parents hadn't changed much, if anything from when he'd moved out during college. Hi
s sports trophies were still sitting on the shelf above his desk, and his favorite books sat on the bookcase. A quick swipe of his finger down the oak surface told him that the housekeepers were cleaning his room even though he wasn't here. The shelves, books, and trophies were completely dust free.

  So many memories crowded his brain as he stood there, taking his past all in. Images of Liza and himself, hiding in his room to wrap Christmas presents, long nights sitting at the old computer studying, and his friends crowding in on his sixteenth birthday to play video games and eat pizza. He wouldn't mind traveling back for a day or two, just to feel like a kid again, when everything seemed possible and worries were what grownups had.

  "What are you doing in here?"

  Ryan turned at the voice but he already knew who it was. Mariah. She'd come looking for him, and to be honest, he'd expected it.

  Shit, who was he kidding? He was hoping for it.

  Because of all the images that kept running through his brain the most technicolor were of Mariah in this room, laughing and happy. They'd been happy. When had it all changed?

  "I needed space," he finally replied when she didn't say anything else.

  She walked into the room, quietly closing the door behind her. "They're wondering where you are."

  "I know. I just wanted some quiet for a few minutes."

  Stepping back, she reached for the doorknob. "I can leave you–"

  "No," he interjected swiftly. "I don't want you to go."

  "You want me to stay?"

  She seemed confused by his statement. He didn't blame her in the least. He was pretty fucking confused himself, but at this moment he wanted her with him.

  "I want you to stay."

  "Okay." She came to stand by him, her gaze on the bookshelf he was studying. "Are we looking for something in particular?"

  Yes, but not a book.

  "I'm looking for where it all changed. Can you tell me when that happened because I just don't know."

  "What are you thinking changed?"

  "Everything. We were happy together and then we weren't. Apparently, it was because I'm a total asshole and have to have everything my way. I can see that now and I thought I'd changed these past years. I thought I was better. Then tonight happened and I think that maybe I haven't changed at all."

  She turned toward him, placing her hand on his arm to tug him so they were looking into each other's eyes. He had vivid memories of staring into those bright green and gold orbs on more than one occasion. When Mariah was happy, they'd turn a dark forest green and when she was aroused, they'd turn more golden. Those memories were keenly sharp. He could easily recall every freckle and mole on her satiny soft skin. He'd kissed every one of them more times than he could count. Where they still there?

  I want to know.

  "You're not an asshole and you have changed."

  "You can't know that. I've only been home a few days."

  She shook her head and smiled. "The Ryan Beck I knew and loved before would never have asked these introspective questions about himself. He never would have doubted whether he was doing or saying the right thing. He was always supremely sure of himself at all times. It could be very annoying."

  "I don't annoy you now?"

  "You do, but in completely new and different ways."

  The way she said it, lovingly and not in the least bit pissed off, had him laughing. She had always been funny along with challenging and even now she wasn't giving him an out. She still held him accountable for his bullshit.

  "I hope those new ways are better than the past ones."

  "They are." She tugged at his shirt sleeve. "Will you cut yourself some slack? You have changed, Ryan. More than I ever thought possible. But I think you expect perfection. Wait, that was a stupid statement. I don't think it, I know it. I know that you expect perfection from yourself but that might be a tad unrealistic since you're, you know, human and all. You're allowed to have some flaws as long as being a sociopathic killer isn't one of them."

  "You make me sound like a fucking mess."

  She softly laughed. "You haven't figured it out yet, have you? Ryan, we're all a mess. Every single one of us. We're all just trying to get through life without ripping our hair out and retreating into our rooms to draw pretty pictures with non-toxic crayons. You're not special. You're just as screwed up as the rest of us. Welcome to life. Once you let go of your delusions of perfection, you'll be a hell of a lot happier. I know that everyone around you will be a lot happier."

  "My parents aren't a mess."

  His statement was pure instinct but after the words left his mouth he had to wonder if they were even true. When he was younger, he would have said that they were.

  "Naw, they're just better at hiding it than most people. Just like you are. Do you honestly think that they didn't doubt themselves when they were younger and raising two kids? I bet they did, but they didn't want you or anyone else to know. They probably lost a night or two of sleep wondering if they were making the right decisions."

  "I can't even imagine it."

  "Can't you? Really? Do you honestly believe that your parents just know what they do is right and never have any doubt at all?"

  It did sound rather far-fetched. Humans had doubts.

  "I guess I've just never seen it."

  "Because they didn't want you to. Especially when we're young, our parents want us to think that they know everything and can fix everything. It's when we become adults that we realize that our parents aren't perfect. But we love them anyway. Assuming, of course, that they haven't been abusive or anything. I'm talking regular, run of the mill parental units here."

  Ryan had never considered his parents run of the mill or ordinary. To him they had always been almost superhuman, definitely above average. The fact that they made him crazy didn't change that.

  "I do love my parents. They can just get under my skin."

  "Because they don't act the way you want them to."

  He was too ashamed to agree out loud, but Mariah had to know that she'd spoken the truth.

  "You wanted them to be different," she continued on. "You wanted them to be huggy, emotional parents that made brownies and helped you build blanket forts."

  "I didn't even know what a blanket fort was until you told me. I think I was thirteen or fourteen at the time."

  "That's not child abuse, Ryan. They loved you." She stepped back and her gaze swept around the room. "Look at your bedroom. It's a shrine to your childhood. They haven't changed a thing. Not one thing. It's like a time capsule here. Do you think they didn't change it because they're lazy or didn't have the cash to redecorate? No, they did it because they love you. They love you and I bet they think about your childhood a lot. I bet when they're alone they reminisce about funny stuff that you and Liza did when you were little. It's just not their way to do that out in the open. I know you want it to be different, but you need to accept them as they are."

  "They don't accept me," Ryan shot back. He remembered too many arguments with his mom and dad about him becoming a cop. "They hate my job."

  "Are you doing your job to get your parents' approval or are you doing it for you?"

  "For me."

  "Then it doesn't matter, does it? If you're not going to change your job then the whole conversation is moot. Yet, you still let them get you all wound up about it. Ryan, they don't expect you to change your career. When was the last time they bugged out about joining the family business? How long has it been?"

  Years. He couldn't really remember the exact time.

  "A while ago. But they weren't thrilled about my latest job change," he protested. "They weren't happy about that."

  "They were just disappointed. They'd hoped you would come home if you took a new job." She moved right in front of him, and he could smell the teasing scent of her perfume. They were close enough that he could feel the heat from her body penetrating the thin cotton of his shirt. "I was disappointed that you didn't come home."


  That hit him in the chest - right in the spot where his heart resided. He'd thought about her so many times even when he hadn't wanted to. That she had thought about him too made him...glad.

  "Chicago isn't home anymore," he admitted honestly. "But I did think about you, Mariah. More than I should have."

  He'd gotten blind drunk the night of her wedding. He'd told himself it didn't have anything to do with her, he'd simply wanted to go out and have some fun.

  He was a lying sack of crap.

  "More than I should have," she echoed. "Yes, that's true for me. It seems like you were always around, everywhere I looked."

  "I know the feeling. You're in every nook and cranny of this room," he said, keeping his voice low. For some reason they were whispering as if they were confessing deep dark secrets and someone had their ear pressed against the door outside. "I have so many memories of you and me here."

  Almost all of them were steamy, and some downright filthy. Sure, there was plenty of hanging out and watching television, but to be honest he'd been the stereotypical horn dog teenage boy. Just having Mariah in the same room with him was enough to turn even the most innocent of meetings into a hot make-out session. They'd had issues when they were together, but their physical intimacy wasn't one of them. It had always been so good with her.

  She had to be having the same thoughts because the temperature in his old bedroom had risen at least fifty degrees in the last five minutes and he was beginning to sweat on the back of his neck. His heart was beginning to bang against his ribs as well, the blood pumping through his veins. It was amazing that this woman could get him like this without even trying, but then it had always been that way.

  She was...special. There would never be another woman like Mariah. It was time he admitted that to himself.

  Fuck, it was time he admitted a hell of lot of things to himself. He'd been lying and almost believing it for far too long. Time to strip away all of the bullshit and come clean.

  "Mariah, I–"

  The words stuck in his too-tight throat. He didn't know what to say because he barely knew what he was feeling. Was this nostalgia or something more? Something...new? In the last few days he'd been blown away by the sheer magnificence of this woman before him. She'd always been formidable, but now? She was amazing.