"You were my wife's decision." He paced, rubbing his face, breathing hard. "She lied to me," he muttered. "She said she loved me."
I didn't respond. He wasn't looking for comfort. He was looking for somewhere to aim the pain. "You ruined everything," he said again.
But it sounded weaker this time, like the sentence couldn't hold up under its own weight. "You know what the worst part is?" I asked quietly. "She never planned to leave me. She never planned to run away with you either."
"You and Brandon weren't escape routes. You were props." He flinched like I'd hit him. "She called you a golden retriever," I continued.
"Said you were easy to manipulate. Said Brandon was desperate enough to do what she needed." His jaw clenched. His breathing changed.
He finally understood the real betrayal, and it wasn't mine. "You're lying," he whispered. "I'm quoting," I said. His face contorted.
Shame, anger, confusion, all fighting for position. He reached behind him, grabbing at whatever was in his jacket pocket. I didn't move. I didn't need to.
He took one step too many, too fast, and lunged like he had something to prove. I sidestepped. He slammed into the cold metal of the concrete mixer. Hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
Not enough to break anything. He went down on one knee, groaning, clutching his shoulder. No punches. No struggle.
Just gravity and poor decisions. Mike stepped out from behind the shed, a crowbar resting on one shoulder. Not threatening, just present. Ryan looked up, saw he was outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out of excuses.
"Get up," I said. "We're going to make this simple." He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly. "You're going to leave town for a while."
"You're going to stop blaming me for choices you made, and you're going to stay away from Lauren." He opened his mouth to argue. I cut him off. "Because if you don't, I'll hand over the rest of the messages I didn't use yet."
"The ones your wife hasn't seen. The ones your licensing board definitely wouldn't like." His shoulders sagged. His fight drained out like water through gravel.
"You think you're some kind of hero?" he muttered.
"No," I said. "But I'm not your villain either."
He stared at the ground. Then finally, he nodded. He left without another word, climbing back into the rental and disappearing into the night with nothing but his own stupidity riding shotgun. When the gravel settled, Mike exhaled.
"You handled that cleaner than I would have," he said. "I know," I said. The pilot light inside me didn't flare. It didn't need to.