Page 45 of Ransom

I have no fucking idea what I want to do.

Last night, I should've followed my instincts, thrown her over my shoulder caveman-style, and made her listen. I could have explained to her why I left and made her forgive me.I could've kissed her senseless until she forgot why she was mad at me in the first place. I could've?—

Shaking my head, I force myself to take a steadying breath. I know those are just fantasies. I'm never going to tell her the real reason I left. I won't risk hurting her memories of Robert.

And it feels wrong to throw him under the fucking bus. He's not here to defend himself. I know he did what he did because he thought it was the right thing to do.

I'm still not sure if he was right.

Besides, I'm here to fulfill a promise, not get Blair back. There are too many years and too much hurt between us. I know that.

I just have to get through to her.

The problem is, I can't seem to get clear on what I want to get through to her about. Am I here to force her to sell that garage, or am I here for me?

16

RANSOM

The bell over the door jingles as I push open the door to the grocery store. The familiar scent of produce and cleaning supplies hits me, bringing back a flood of memories. I spent twenty hours a week here before I left town. Before I can fully step inside, a voice cuts through the air like a knife.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

I freeze, my hand still on the door. Angela's standing behind the counter, her eyes blazing with fury. She looks different from how I remember her in high school—older, of course, but also worn out. She was always smiling back then, always bouncing when she walked. We worked here, together, for almost a year. She was a friend.

Now, her eyes are hard.

And I can't fucking blame her.

"Angie, I came to apologize."

Her laugh is bitter, devoid of any real humor. "Apologize? To who, Ransom? My dad? Because he's dead."

This fucking sucks. Her dad was a good guy. The best, really. He took a chance and gave me a job, despite some of the shit Ipulled when I first moved to town. And he never held it against me. A clean slate, he said. I got to start fresh with him. "What? I... I didn't know. I'm so sorry, Angie. Your mom?"

"Gone," she snaps.

I swallow hard, guilt twisting in my stomach. I knew this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation, but I didn't expect to still feel so bad about what I did to her family. I made amends with her father years ago. Or at least I tried. I could have tried harder, I know. I could have come back and spoken to him in person. But I couldn't risk it. Not then. "Can we talk? Outside, maybe?"

Angela's eyes narrow, suspicion written all over her face. "Why should I give you the time of day?"

Valid question. And I don't have an answer for her. This apology is selfish. I know that. It's about making me feel better and a little bit about changing the way Angie feels about me. I'm used to people liking me, or at least not being outwardly hostile. It's amazing how much ass-kissing you can get used to. My ass gets kissed a lot, thanks to the size of my bank account. But most of those people don't matter to me. Angie does. Or at least she used to. "Please. Just five minutes."

She stares at me for a long moment, probably trying to decide if she can physically shove me out of the store, then sighs. "Fine. Five minutes." She turns to a young employee restocking shelves. "Cover the checkout, will you?"

We step out the back door into the alley. The moment it closes behind us, Angela whirls on me.

"Do you have any idea what you did to us?" she hisses. "That rock you threw through our window? It cost us nearly two grand to replace. Two grand! And after everything my dad did for you?"

I wince, remembering that night all too clearly. "I know, I?—"

"No, you don't know," she cuts me off. "My dad supported you. He gave you a job when no one else would. And how didyou repay him? By trying to destroy our business. You broke his heart."

The worst part is, she's right. Mr. Harding had given me a chance when I didn't deserve one. And I'd thrown it back in his face. I needed to make an impact with my exit, and it sure as fuck looks like I accomplished it. It doesn't matter that I made it right years later. It took me a long time to save up the money to pay him back, but I did it. I mailed him an anonymous envelope of cash with an 'I'm sorry' sticky note inside. I didn't put my name, but I always assumed he knew who it came from, and why.

"I'm sorry," I say, knowing how inadequate the words are. "I was in a bad place back then." Not a lie, but another half-truth. I didn't do it because I was in a bad place. It was part of the plan. A necessary, but very shitty part.

Angela's laugh is harsh. "A bad place? That's your excuse? Lots of people had it bad. Hell, I was struggling. But we didn't go around smashing windows, fucking with people's livelihoods."

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