Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(96)

Colin yanked him in for a hug. “Yeah, I know,” he said softly. “I know, man. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold on to a possibility. You wanted that hope that maybe she hadn’t done it.”

“Can you blame me? Wouldn’t you want that too?”

“Sure,” Colin said with a nod as he broke the hug, stopping to pet Ryan’s dog, who’d wandered into the kitchen. “Of course it would be really f*cking fantastic if she didn’t do it, Ry. It would be like the greatest thing in the world if our mother didn’t have our father killed, right?”

Though there was a touch of sarcasm in Colin’s remark, there was also the bare truth. It would be the greatest thing.

“But you see, I came to peace long ago with the fact that she did,” Colin continued. “Maybe details are still coming to light. Maybe the detective is looking for accomplices. And maybe he’ll find them, and they can join Jerry f*cking Stefano in the big house where they all belong. The fact is, our mother was into some f*cked up shit, from associating with the likes of Stefano, to the ass she was cheating with. She was a messed-up, desperate woman who wanted money, and wanted out so badly she killed for it.”

Colin dropped the volume on his voice and draped an arm over Ryan’s shoulder. “This shit happens. Just look at the New York prison escapees and how that woman was going to have one of them kill her husband. It’s awful, and it feels shocking from a distance, but up close, when it happens to you, you can’t believe it. You wish it didn’t happen.” Colin tapped his chest with his free hand. “I wish that, too. But it did. This is our f*cked up story. This isn’t the news. This isn’t the papers. This isn’t someone else’s tragedy. It happened to us, and deep down somewhere inside you”—Colin moved his hand to Ryan’s chest, tapping his breastbone, searching for his heart—“you know it’s true.”

Ryan swallowed hard. He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, trying to process the whole damn day, but making no sense of the way the floor beneath him was tilting and cracking. “What do you mean, I know it’s true?”

Colin squeezed his shoulder. “You think this confession changes your whole life. You think it changes everything you’ve believed about Mom. But it doesn’t. Deep down, you knew she was involved. Deep down you knew she was responsible. But you hoped, because you’re human. Because you wanted to believe in redemption, in basic goodness, in good overcoming evil. You held onto that tiny little kernel of hope,” Colin said, cupping his palms together as if he were holding a precious seed. “You held it and you wanted it to become something. You wanted to believe that maybe things were different. It’s okay to have hope. It’s okay to cling to it. We all wanted that, too. Desperately. The rest of us just let go of it sooner. Now, it’s your turn. Let it go,” he said, and opened his hands.

Ryan watched the cool, empty air in his kitchen, imagining a dandelion seed falling in the breeze, the wind blowing it away. Was Colin right? Had Ryan truly known in his gut, in his heart, all along? Had some part of him known she was responsible, but some other part clung to the idea that she might be innocent simply because hope felt good?

Was that why he held onto the pattern? Why he went to see her every month? Why he nursed the possibility of innocence like a gardener tending to the first buds of spring? Because hope was a precious thing, it was a gift, and when so many things had gone wrong, he’d needed an anchor?

Hope was his anchor.

Hope that the past could be rewritten.

But the past didn’t have to be redone. It was still playing out in the present, unfurling new wrinkles every day, and he’d have to roll with them, to dodge, dart, and avoid the punches.

His true anchor was right here with him. His brother. And his other brother Michael, joining them now, along with his sister, Shannon. They were his foundation. They were the ones who’d made it with him through the years.

Today had floored him. But tonight had taught him that he’d been clinging to something he was ready to say goodbye to. “Anyone want to go for a late-night swim?” he asked.

“Hell yeah,” Michael said.

*

A few hours later, Ryan and Michael were buzzed, Shannon was tipsy, and Colin was hyper on caffeine. They’d also lost track of who was winning the water volleyball match, but who cared? The clock was closing in on two in the morning, and they were having a blast in the turquoise water, lit up from the lights in the pool. They’d talked some, and they’d cried some, and they’d laughed some more. Through it all, they were together, just as the four of them had always been.

No matter what.

Michael slammed the volleyball out of the water, sending it careening across the dark grass. He swam to the shallow end, and they followed him.

“Let’s drink a toast,” Michael said when he reached the steps and grabbed his beer.

“You’ve been drinking all night,” Colin said, hopping out of the water to grab a towel and dry his hair.

“No need to stop now,” Ryan chimed in as he reached for his bottle, and rested his arm on the edge of the pool. “Besides, you brought us the beer. Your fault.”

Colin pushed a hand through his damp, black hair, then tossed his towel on a lounge chair. “I’m sure you had plenty in your fridge. I was just trying to be nice to my sad sack of a brother.”