Finding Valor Page 7

  Nora. In her mind, he emphasized her name judgmentally. Did he think she wasn’t a good person? She didn’t care about doing the right thing? She speared a piece of broccoli and lifted it to her mouth before dropping it. The guys looked at her, forks halfway to their mouths.

  “Excuse me,” she said quickly and ran up the stairs.

  She didn’t knock on Ryan’s door. She threw it open, lunging forward to grab it before it slammed into the wall. He was asleep. The light was still on, and one shoe dangled off his foot. Even when she made no effort to quiet her steps, he didn’t move.

  She stood watching him, her hands on her hips while she considered what to do next. Mostly she wanted to wake him, but another part of her saw the exhaustion etched under his eyes.

  So she took his shoes off his feet and grabbed the quilt from the bottom of his bed. She turned on the fan sitting on the bedside table and shut off the light. “You’re a good person, Ryan.” Still he didn’t move. “Whatever you did in the past, or whatever they think you might be because you helped me, you’re a good person.” Leaning over, she kissed his rough cheek. His eyebrows drew together, almost like he was pained, and she straightened.

  The room darkened, a shadow from the hallway blocking the light. Matisse met her as she closed the door behind her.

  “What happened today?”

  The door latched, and she leaned against it, her head dropping back. “I don’t really know. He’s still waitlisted. I thought it was me. It still might be about me…”

  Grabbing her arm, he pulled her down the hall and into his room. The door shut behind them, and faster than she expected, he picked her up and threw her on the bed. He landed with an oomph next to her, one hand propping his head, boots crossed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you know CCSL has a morals clause?” Turning on her side, she mirrored Matisse’s posture.

  “At a law school? I thought all lawyers…” He scrunched his nose like he smelled something bad.

  Nora nudged his shoulder with two fingers, pushing him onto his back. Leaning over him, she gave him a kiss. “Be nice.”

  “Not Ryan,” he amended. “Ryan will be an honest, truthful lawyer. My God, if they wanted a poster boy for goodness and justice, it would be Ryan! He’s practically Clark Kent.”

  “That’s why I thought it must be me!”

  “You lost me, crazy.”

  “No.” She shook her head, and when her curls fell into his face, she tucked them back with one hand. “Think about it. I’m a pariah, and he comes to my rescue. Lets me live with him…”

  Matisse continued to shake his head, even as she nodded. “No.”

  “Yes,” she spoke over him.

  Reaching up both hands, he grabbed her face between his palms, all traces of amusement gone. “No. Nora. Whatever the morals clause is and however it affects Ryan’s admission, it has nothing to do with you.”

  She flipped over onto her back, and he quickly laced his fingers with hers, dropping their hands to the bed. She thought about the day, from beginning to end, racking her brain for any clue Ryan had given her she might have missed.

  “He talked about being a good person and how they only wanted good people.”

  Matisse stilled next to her.

  “What?” She turned her head, but he stared up at the ceiling. Sitting, she dragged his face to her. “What, Matisse? Spill.”

  Kicking his boots off, he sat. They landed on the floor with a heavy thud, and he crossed his long legs, while staring at his wall like it would give him the answers. Some kind of struggle took place across his face.

  “You don’t want to tell me because it’s Ryan’s business.”

  He glanced at her quickly and then away again. “A week ago I would have spilled all of his secrets. But he’s different right now. It’d make things worse. I think. Shit. Maybe? I don’t know, Nora.”

  She cracked her knuckles before pushing herself against his pillows and leaning against the headboard. Biting at her thumb, she hissed when she tore the skin. Her fingers clenched around the small hurt, and Matisse took her hand, lifting her thumb to his mouth and sucking at the wound before giving it a tiny kiss. “Better?”

  It wasn’t, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she nodded. “If I ask him what’s wrong?”

  “He’ll say ‘nothing.’”

  “I won’t let him wallow. It’s eating him up inside, Matisse. Whatever this is has him so tied in knots.” She squeezed his hand. “He’s not the same Ryan.”

  “He is.” Matisse pulled his hand away. When Nora looked at him, his face was harder, shut off. “You don’t know him like I do.”

  “So tell me!”

  “Cher.” He attempted to soften his tone but shook his head. “I won’t guess at this. Let him tell you. Some things need to come from the source.”

  If Ryan needed something, something she could give him or something she could do to help, did it matter if Matisse only had conjecture to fuel his suspicions? She covered her eyes.

  No. Telling Ryan’s secrets wasn’t the right thing to do. Her own secrets were kept locked tight, and while she’d revealed a few, she wasn’t ready to open Pandora’s Box yet.

  “Okay. But what do we do if he seems worse?”

  “We stay.” The bed shifted as he faced her, pulling a curl straight and then letting it spring back into place. “We’re here when he’s ready.”

  He hadn’t really answered her question, but she didn’t plan on going anywhere. Ryan was hers now. When she’d realized she loved him, he became a part of her. No matter what, she’d never leave him.

  Nine

  Forgiveness

  RYAN WOKE UP the next morning wrung out. His dreams had been a mash-up of scenes from his past and worst-case scenarios. Several times during the night he awoke, jerking in panic. Everything would float back to him: the committee, Beau, his failures.

  Bleary-eyed, he stared at himself. He was still dressed, but someone had covered him in a quilt. Probably Nora. She must have come in last night, though he didn’t remember. The guys would have checked on him, too, but they never would have covered him.

  That was a girl thing. Or a thing guys did for girls. An image of Apollo tip-toeing into his darkened room and gently tucking him in had him snorting out loud.

  Rubbing a hand across his forward, he tried to push away rising anxiety. His problem-solving approach did not include sitting on his ass, but there was nothing he could do except wait for CCSL’s student committee to make a decision about his future. Applying for early decision had been a cocky move on his part.

  When he’d applied, he’d known it was his one shot at each of his schools. There was no delaying or holding on to one acceptance to see if another school came through. Calvin Coolidge School of Law was his first choice, located close to the guys who’d saved him.

  He hadn’t thought too far into the future about what would happen to each of them when they had an opportunity to pursue their lives elsewhere. Even Seok returned to their house after traveling abroad. It was their base. Where they landed.

  Boston and New Haven weren’t places he wanted to move. His plan was to stay with his friends, living in Brownington and commuting to school. Once his acceptance from CCSL came in, he’d sent in his refusals to the other schools. Now he was stuck, at least for another year.

  Throughout his morning routine, he thought about what he wanted to do. Was it really the worst thing in the world to wait another year to apply to law school if CCSL rejected him?

  Intellectually, he knew it wasn’t. He spit his toothpaste into the sink and stared at himself. It would be much more complicated if he went somewhere else. Going away to school meant leaving Nora or taking her with him.

  Not an option.

  He couldn’t spend days away from her, and he couldn’t take her from the others. It was hard enough getting Apollo to let her go grocery shopping with one of them. His rela
tionship with her complicated everything.

  The kitchen was empty when he came down. A note from Nora on the wobbly card table told him she’d gone to Converse Hall to Dr. Murray’s lab, and his stomach clenched. He still didn’t like her going there. Four lab sessions in, and the doctor continued to make him uncomfortable.

  The very first session Nora participated in had been a stress test which had left her shaken and all of them furious. They’d managed to talk her out of returning to the study after the test but realized too late Dr. Murray had a clause written into his contracts with student participants stating they needed to pay back any fees they incurred. Upon learning she’d have a ten thousand dollar bill, Nora opted for staying in the study.

  The other times she’d been to the lab seemed fine. All she did was complete a series of tests: personality tests, intelligence tests, and a polygraph test. She told them the last one was uncomfortable, and when pressed, she didn’t want to talk about it. She said the testing was invasive and she didn’t like talking about herself, but she wasn’t scared.

  So Ryan had held his tongue. Each time she returned from Converse Hall, he studied her intently. The rest of the guys did as well. They all watched for signs, but she reminded them; she was tough. She loved them. She was fine.

  Pouring himself a coffee, he made a plan to walk to Converse Hall after his first class to check in with her. And check on Dr. Murray.

  In spite of himself, he grinned. Watching after Nora made him feel more like himself than he had since yesterday.

  The house was quiet. He listened for Seok, but the familiar whir and grind of saws or other woodworking equipment was absent. Remembering how his friend snuck out yesterday, Ryan suspected he was beginning a special project for one of the people in the house. Perhaps another apology present. A set of bookends holding up law tomes had been Seok’s gift after an especially heated argument they’d once had. Worried his roommates had been fighting the previous day, he made a mental note to check in with Seok later on.

  His fingers tapped on the kitchen counter, and he took another large sip of his coffee before pouring it into the sink.

  Beau.

  He needed to contact him and not only because of everything going on with CCSL.

  Years ago, not long after he met Seok and then Cai, Ryan had attempted to find him, but Beau had wanted nothing to do with him. When he’d shown up at Beau’s house uninvited, his mother had ended up in hysterics. It had been wrong of him to show up unannounced, especially when her son had been barely released from prison.

  Periodically, he tried to contact him, but Beau never accepted his phone calls. Never again would Ryan appear on his doorstep. It wasn’t fair to Beau’s family; Ryan’s guilt wasn’t their problem.

  Over the years, he’d developed a ritual for calling Beau. He got out a notebook and pen. Why? He wasn’t sure. So he could take notes about what a horrible person he was? It was easy enough to imagine Beau enumerating them for him.

  Asshole? Check.

  Liar? Not on purpose, but this mental conversation wasn’t about Ryan; it was about Beau, so: check.

  Ruiner of lives: Check, check, check, check. One check for each member of Beau’s family.

  Opening his notebook, he skimmed his writing. On the cover was every number Beau’d had since his release. It started with his parents’ number and then went through a series of cell numbers. Whenever one number was disconnected, he asked Matisse to find the number. Like a stalker.

  He hadn’t attempted to call in six months. Sitting at the card table, he dialed the number, heart thumping and stomach churning. The pen hovered over the notebook, and then he began drawing spiral after spiral, vines, leaves.

  “Hello?”

  His voice failed him.

  Beau had answered the phone only once before, and that time he’d hung up immediately after hearing his voice.

  “Beau, it’s Ryan.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone but not from being disconnected. The line was open.

  “I can’t believe you answered,” he mumbled.

  “I expected to hear from you.”

  “You did?”

  Beau laughed, and Ryan could see him, hands on hips, staring at the ground. It was a posture Ryan had imitated so long it was his own now. Beau had looked so cool, so disaffected each time he did it.

  “What do you want?

  “To apologize.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. With Beau on the line, everything spilled from him. All of it incoherent. “I’m sorry. I ruined your life. I can’t imagine what you went through. You tried to tell me. I’m an asshole. I’m so sorry. Every day. I think about what I did to you. Every day.”

  “Jesus, Ryan.” His impatience bled through the phone. “I don’t care.”

  “How can you not care? You went to prison.”

  “What was it you said to me? It’s not forever. Not like being dead.”

  This wasn’t on Ryan’s checklist, Beau throwing his words back at him.

  “It is forever, though.” Nora’s face flashed through his mind. Her situation was the only thing he knew that was analogous to Beau’s. “No matter what, no matter your innocence, it follows you.”

  “Fuck you. Don’t pretend to fucking know. Don’t pretend you know what I go through. What the people who love me went through and still go through every time someone recognizes my name. Do you know people still think I’m guilty? Video evidence to the contrary, they still think I must have done something because the police don’t arrest innocent people. They don’t parade them in front of the media unless they did something.”

  As much as Ryan wanted forgiveness, he couldn’t force it from Beau, so he bit his tongue. If Beau hated him forever, it was his right. He could hear his former friend panting into the phone, as if speaking with him was physically exhausting.

  “What I did to you was wrong. I am sorry. I will be sorry until the day I die. Probably won’t stop then. You don’t have to forgive me. I deserve your hatred.”

  A choked sound came from the line.

  “But thank you.”

  “That’s it?”

  Ryan got to say he was sorry, but Beau had to listen to him. His ever-ready guilt swamped him. He’d been raised to believe he should apologize when he did something wrong. But what purpose had his apology served? It hadn’t made Beau feel better.

  “I’m sorry, Beau.” Sorry for what he did, for what Beau lived with, for calling, for everything.

  “You haven’t begun to be sorry,” Beau snapped, and the line disconnected.

  His phone beeped in his hand. Shutting it off, he placed it carefully next to his notebook. He had a page full of doodles he didn’t remember making. The spirals and swirls he’d made when putting the call through turned into sharp lines and jagged angles. The page was covered in edges, lines stacked on top of lines like a maze of blades. He shut the notebook. Nothing was resolved.

  “Good morning,” Seok greeted.

  He took a deep breath before meeting his friend’s eyes. “Good morning.”

  Seok pulled a handkerchief through his hands, watching him carefully. His eyes flicked toward the notebook lying on the table, and he pulled out the chair across from Ryan.“Did Beau answer?”

  He nodded.

  “Really?” Sitting back, he frowned. “It didn’t go well.”

  Ryan barked a laugh. “Yeah. No.” He collected the notebook and stood, shoving it inside the junk drawer and slamming it shut. “I don’t know what I expected.”

  “Not forgiveness.” Seok stared at him. “Why should he forgive you?”

  “He shouldn’t.”

  “I’m not saying he shouldn’t, Ryan. I’m asking why he should. Think about your life and what you’ve done. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what you’ve done. You’ve given him no context for forgiveness.”

  “It shouldn’t be about me! I don’t want to give reasons why I testifie
d against him or why I believed he was guilty. I don’t want him to think he has to forgive me for my sake.”

  Seok clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “Perhaps he needs to forgive you for his sake.”

  “Stop talking in riddles, Seok. Jesus. I thought we’d moved past this.”

  Seok’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood. “So did I, Ryan. I thought you were finished punishing yourself.”

  “What makes you think I deserve it? I should be punished!”

  Flinging the handkerchief onto the counter, Seok stalked to Ryan, pointing his finger at his chest. “Beau lived through a horrible experience, and it was at the hand of his best friend. What do you think that did to him? Inside? Did he sound like he’d made peace with the world?”

  “I’m not going to make him forgive me unless he well and truly feels it.”

  “People don’t forgive because they feel it,” Seok scoffed. “They make up their mind to forgive and they work at it. They do it because if they don’t, it leads to rot. Your friend is angry and caught in a cycle that will eat him alive until he is looking for revenge or retaliation.”

  Now it was his turn to scoff. “All right, Yoda.”

  “Don’t be an asshole, Ryan. You need forgiveness, and he needs to grant you forgiveness. He needs it for himself, and without giving him a reason to accept that truth, Ryan, you’re damning him just as surely as you sent him to prison.”

  Playing with a torn piece of plastic on the card table, Ryan was unable to maintain Seok’s stare.

  “He’s suffering, Ryan. Keep at it.”

  Beau’s words came back to him then: You haven’t begun to be sorry.

  Ten

  Two Gnomes

  DR. MURRAY HAD three colleagues who helped him with his study. The first, Jessica Chase, was a medical doctor and often sat in on Nora’s sessions with Dr. Murray. The other two, Grant Perretti and Nils Gundersson, were tenured professors at other universities. Jessica was friendly, but she was quiet, and she observed Nora so keenly it made her uncomfortable. She also had a habit of reaching for her wrist to take her pulse without warning.