Tryst

It doesn’t take long before I realize that Ransom has left the property. When I find Justice in his office and tell him what’s happened, he instantly springs into action, reviewing the surveillance tapes of the last hour or so.

“What’s going on?” Riku asks as he passes the open office door, his arms stacked with what looks to be giant leeks.

“Ransom. Have you seen him?” I try to keep the alarm out of my voice, but I know I’m failing. It hasn’t been long since I left his abandoned room and those empty pill bottles, but every minute that ticks by is another minute that his life could be in serious peril.

“No, not since early this morning. We got up before sunrise to hit up the fish market and grab produce. Actually, I was looking for him too. He offered to park the company truck in the garage for me after we unloaded. Still need to grab the keys from him.”

Justice and I lock eyes, both of us wearing identical looks of dread. It only lasts a second before he turns back to the surveillance footage, narrowing his search down to the compound’s gates.

“There,” he says pointing to the screen. “The Oasis truck, leaving at . . .” he squints at the time stamp and then at his watch, “shit, just ten minutes ago.”

Ten minutes?

I could have stopped him. I could have found him before he had a chance to leave. Instead, I was confronting Tucker, something we could’ve done together.

Justice opens a drawer and produces a set of keys. “Here. Try to get to him. I’ll find Tucker and we’ll be right behind you.”

I take the key fob dangling from his fingers and hold them to my chest, nearly emotional with gratitude. There’s still a chance I can catch him. And considering the logo on the keychain says Porsche, my chances are pretty good.

I race to the garages and hit the Unlock button to see which beauty lights up. While Justice may have a huge estate, he isn’t really big on flash and pretention. However, his love for fast cars must be the exception. Ally once told me that Justice didn’t have a guilty pleasure. She had tried to corrupt him with ice cream and bad TV, and while he was a good sport about it, he was pretty clean in the vice department. But now that I see the full extent of his car collection—Ferrari and Bentley and Jag, oh my—it’s plain to see where he gets his naughty kicks.

I slide into the 911 GTS and rev the engine, relishing the sound of pure power and fury. While I’d love to savor this experience, I don’t even get time to enjoy the butter-soft leather and the luxury accouterments. Not if I want to catch Ransom.

Luckily, the journey between the compound and the next signs of civilization is merely a long, flat, dusty stretch of two-lane highway. If Ransom is on the road, I should find him, and catching up to him shouldn’t be an issue in the Porsche.

A few miles and several passed grandma drivers later, I catch a glimpse of a white Ford truck with a familiar emblem on the tailgate. I release a sigh of relief and begin to slow. He’s pulled over onto the shoulder. Not the safest place for him to be on these narrow roads, but it’s better than him driving under the influence.

I pull over, getting as far off the street as I can to avoid any unfortunate dealings involving Justice’s baby. I’m pretty sure if I got even so much as a scratch on her, he’ll have my head. Ransom has left the vehicle, but has good sense enough to lean up against the passenger side door. I wait until the coast is clear and hop out into the sweltering desert sun. There are no trees or shade for miles. And with Ransom’s bellyful of pills and whiskey, he could easily suffer from dehydration.

“Ransom!” I call out, jogging over to him. “What are you doing out here? What happened to you?”

He slowly looks up at me from his spot in the dirt and shrugs his hunched shoulders. “You want me gone. I’m gone,” he slurs. His eyes are glassy, his face is ghostly pale, and it looks as if he’s struggling to stay upright. I crouch down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders to steady him. His skin is slicked with sweat and clammy, yet cool to the touch.

“No, Ransom. I don’t. Not like this. I know everything now. I confronted Tucker. I don’t know what all of this means, but we’ll be ok. All right? I’m sorry if I hurt you. You have to know I never meant it.”

“No, you were right,” he drawls, trying to shrug me off. “Your place is with him. You should go be with him, H. I’m no good.”

“Don’t say that, Ransom. You are good. You’re so good for me. And you and me . . . we’re good for each other. Or at least we can be.” I cup his face in my hands and turn it to face me. His gaze is unfocused, his pupils dilated, and his mouth is slack. I don’t even think he can see me right in front of him. If we waste any more time out here, he’ll lose consciousness. I can’t wait for Justice and Tucker to get here. I have to get him in the car and blast the AC. Tucker is a lying sack of shit right now, but he is a doctor. He’ll know what to do.

“Come on. We can talk about this back at Oasis. I need you to push yourself up so I can get you to the car. Ok? Can you do that for me?”

He does something that looks like a nod of his head, but ends up slumping forward, pressing his full weight on me. I struggle to get him upright again, but my meager 128 pound frame is no match for his six feet, four inches of hard, lean muscle. Still, I have to try. I can’t leave him out here in this condition. He looked to me to save him, and I’ll be damned if I let him down.

With nothing but adrenaline and desperation, I somehow get Ransom on his feet. He stumbles the entire way to the car, but thankfully doesn’t give in to gravity until I open the door to the Porsche and maneuver his long legs inside. It would have been easier and closer to get him into the truck, but the sports car is much faster. Plus, there’s no way I could justify leaving a car like that on the side of the road.

I’m buckling a nearly unconscious Ransom in when he lifts a hand to gently brush against my cheek. His eyes are mere slits and his lips are dry and cracked. Still, he manages to lucidly utter those three little words that will aid in the undoing of my marriage. Those three words that I’ve felt but hadn’t found the courage to say out of respect for the man I once thought was the perfect husband.

I quickly retreat from his lap like it’s on fire, and shut the door. I can’t go there right now. Not when there is still so much left unsaid. So much we all need to discuss.

Is my marriage over? I don’t know, but considering the mistakes we’ve both made, it probably should be.

Do I still love my husband? Of course, even though I hate him right now, I’ll always love him.

Do I love Ransom? Yes, I do. In the way a little girl loves a stray, mangled cat. Fiercely and fearfully.

I’m so preoccupied by my discovery that I don’t realize how far into the road I’m stepping, nor do I take notice of the speeding car that is driving dangerously close to the shoulder. But as the side of the car clips me with enough force to send me flying twelve feet into the air, launching me several yards away into oncoming traffic, I think about that movie, and the bloody irony of this very moment.

There’s a reason why the broken ones stay broken. When they pretend to be mended, their glue never truly gets the chance to dry.

Chapter Thirty-one

Breaking News: Ransom lead singer, Ransom Reed, has been involved in a gruesome accident in Arizona. Although foul play is not suspected at this time, authorities are investigating.