Amy was sure to be glaring and pacing the length of the living room in reaction to my tone of voice. She never could hold still when we were fighting. She got too worked up.
“How dare you move someone in to live under the same roof as Ryan without even telling me. I should’ve had a chance to meet the man first, at the very least.”
“Why in the world would I introduce you to Holden? So you could be an asshole to him like you are to me?”
“I have a right to know who’s going to be around my son every day.”
“You really think I’d put him in danger?”
Amy sounded hurt, which was shocking. I didn’t think we still had the ability to hurt each other. I believed all that was left between us was anger.
“No matter what goes down between us,” she said. “I would hope that you’d know I wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t know anything, except that you’re a bad judge of character.”
“I must be if I married you.”
No matter what we fought about, it always came back to the marriage. She’d tell me I was a shitty husband, and I’d remind her that she was the one who cheated, her betrayal killed the marriage altogether. It was getting old. I sighed. “Seriously, you crossed a line. When we first split, you asked me not to bring any prostitutes or one-night stands around him and I listened. Now, you think you can bring whoever you want around and it’ll be fine? Well, it’s not.”
“Are you really comparing Holden to prostitutes?”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Of course it’s not. Holden and I are serious. He’s not some random piece of ass that I don’t even know. I love him.”
“Could you just get down off your high horse for a minute?” I wasn’t even going to address her proclamation of love for this guy. She was too flaky to be trusted and I felt sorry for the guy. “This is bullshit, Amy. It’s inconsiderate as hell, at the very least.” I knew I was getting louder as I talked to her, but I couldn’t help it. I was driven by an unstoppable rage.
“What do you want from me?” she asked tiredly.
“Not a damn thing,” I seethed. I was so sick of reopening old wounds every time I talked to her. Besides, I couldn’t do anything about it now. A stranger was already living in the house with my child. “I don’t want anything from you.”
She hung up the phone first this time.
I told myself it didn’t matter, but it still made me angry. Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I walked toward the bedroom door, wincing when I realized I didn’t get it all the way closed behind me. My bedroom wasn’t far from the kitchen, so there was a good chance Ryan heard the fight. I came out of the bedroom, but Ryan wasn’t sitting at the kitchen island anymore. “Ryan?” I called out. The house wasn’t very big, so he should have heard me anywhere inside. But I didn’t get a response. “Ryan?”
Repeating the name louder did no good either.
Was he outside? I opened the back door and looked out, but I didn’t see anyone in the fenced-in yard. Concern filled me. Did he leave the house? Maybe he heard me fighting with his mom and took off, upset. I didn’t see his phone or wallet anywhere, so I knew they were both with him. I called his phone, but it went straight to voicemail. I left a message, demanding he call me, and I sent a text too. If his phone was off, he would know I was trying to reach him the moment he turned it back on.
“Damn it, Ryan,” I muttered, praying nothing had happened to him.
I had to find my son. Going outside, I got onto my bike, riding around the block first, then working my way outward, hoping I would just see him walking. He had to be on foot, right?
But I didn’t find him. After forty-five minutes of looking all over the neighborhood, I returned to the house, once again shouting out his name as I walked through.
Still nothing.
Something close to panic took a hold of me, and I pulled out my phone to call the other club members. I needed their help. If something happened to Ryan, I’d never forgive myself.