Free The Singing River by R.K. Ryals Page B

bottom lip. My arms tightened, the pressure so hard against Roman’s chest, he tried to gasp and couldn’t.
    “Damn it, Roman! You’re not the only one dealing with it. Quit being selfish!”
    Roman tried slamming his head back again, but I was prepared for it this time, and he missed.
    “Selfish! Me? Are you kidding me! I’m not the one who left!” he yelled.
    I looked away, my eyes going to the door.
    “I went to school,” I murmured.
    Roman laughed, the sound harsh and desperate. “No, you left. You could have put school off a semester, maybe come home for Christmas ... something ! But you didn’t!”
    My back was beginning to burn where it lay against the wall, my bare skin raw where it hit the rough wood. I focused on the pain.
    “He wouldn’t have liked seeing either one of you the way you are now,” Uncle Marley intervened, his calm voice breaking through the tension.
    My brother and I froze. Our uncle wasn’t a prolific man. He was mostly eccentric, always chasing some scheme or story. As the second son in a wealthy family, he’d never had much need to fulfill any obligations. And yet, for the first time, Marley’s eyes were clear, sad, and knowing.
    The older man moved toward us, hesitant but more confident than I’d ever seen him.
    He stopped in front of Roman. “We learn a lot from life, but sometimes we forget there is just as much to learn from death.”
    Roman stiffened. “You’re a crazy old man.”
    Marley smiled sadly. “I’ve never been crazy, just full of dreams.”
    “You didn’t see him,” Roman whispered. “You didn’t see the way he looked in the end.”
    My eyes closed; images I needed to forget but couldn’t replacing the back of my eyelids. I shuddered.
    “I need to go home,” Roman repeated.
    I was exhausted, the heat and strain from holding Roman sapping me of strength.
    “You can’t,” I told him. “It doesn’t matter what you take, the images will always come back. I know.”
    Roman’s shoulders shook, his fists planted on the floor.
    “Let me go,” he whispered.
    “And if I do?” I asked.
    He looked up at me, pleading. “Please.”
    My arms loosened. “Running is pointless, Roman. You’re right. I left, but it didn’t matter how far away I went. The images and the pain went with me. Running is pointless.”
    I let go of him.
    Roman stood, his wild eyes finding Haven against the wall, her fingers clutching the keys. She shook her head as if to say, ‘I’m not giving them to you.’
    She’d long since pulled the ponytail out of her hair, the wavy strands falling to the middle of her back, damp tendrils clinging to her cheeks and forehead, her green eyes wide.
    “Pain killers,” Roman finally said, his eyes on hers. “I take pain pills.”
    Her eyes widened further. I felt jealously then, not because Roman had finally admitted what he was taking, but because he’d admitted it to a girl neither one of us really knew, his eyes watching her as if no one else was in the room.
    She put her hand behind her back, the truck keys with it.
    Uncle Marley straightened. “Well, then,” his gaze encompassed our group, “maybe we should focus on eating something and settling in for the night. We need to get an early start on the river.”
    No one moved. The sun outside was lower, the shadows longer, the sound of insects and frogs loud in the silence. Marley switched a lamp on near the sofa, the faint light illuminating the living area.
    “I need to go home,” Roman said again.
    He sounded less convinced now, his fingers running restlessly through his hair. He looked pale, his skin clammy.
    Haven edged along the wall. “My mother would have said something incredibly witty right now.”
    My eyes followed her. “And you don’t plan to?” I asked.
    She glanced between Roman and me. “I’ve got nothing,” she admitted.
    Roman snorted, his trembling hand going to his stomach, his eyes closing.
    Haven moved behind the kitchen counter, laying the truck keys