Love Unrehearsed
Page 131
Just as the paparazzo tried to grab for the camera and Scott’s leg, Ryan lunged and tackled him again. The guy rolled and elbowed Ryan in the face. Blood instantly gushed from Ryan’s nose. Matt wrestled the guy until he had him pinned face-first in the grass.
I heard the police sirens in the distance.
Mike was trying to break it up, but the second that Ryan got injured, Matt joined the rumble. The boys from Pittsburgh were giving this guy an ol’ fashioned ass-kicking.
Ryan staggered to his feet and spit a wad of blood out of his mouth. Then he picked up the camera from the grass, removing the memory card. He set the camera near the guy’s head.
The sirens were getting closer. Ryan’s hands were bloody from his nose bleeding all over the place. Now the entire neighborhood was alerted to the melee. The elderly couple that owned the yard we were in came out of their house.
Scott took off his shirt and handed it to Ryan, who proceeded to wipe his bloody face with it.
“Sit down,” Matt yelled at the paparazzo and gave him a shove when he tried to stand.
Ryan balled up the bloody shirt, rolling his gaze from me to the shirt and back again, then handed it to me.
The cruiser’s engine gunned and then screeched to a halt at the curb. As soon as the police officer got out of the car, Ryan and the guys were ordered to lie facedown on the ground. Tears ran down my face watching Ryan get handcuffed and patted down like a criminal. Another police SUV came blaring down the street from the opposite direction.
Ryan’s father and Mike were trying to explain things to the cops while the photographer blabbered on about how he was assaulted and his camera destroyed.
Ryan looked worn and battled; his bare chest was bloodied and stretched from being handcuffed. Blood splatters were all over his swim trunks with a smear of it on the upper part of his knee. He motioned for me to come to him.
“Baby, are you okay?” I wiped the edge of his chin with the shirt.
“I need a towel. Wait . . .” I knelt back down on one knee. His eyes instructed me to come closer.
“Careful with that. Make it disappear.” I clutched the shirt to make sure nothing fell out, knowing what was wrapped up in it.
“Are you under arrest?”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
“I don’t know. I’m gonna need you to call David,” he muttered quickly. “And my lawyer. Oh, and call Trish.” He spit out more blood, cursing to himself.
Now that the adrenaline was subsiding, I could see the magnitude of the last ten minutes crashing down on him.
While Ryan was being interviewed by the police, an ambulance came zipping down the street. I felt like my bones were going to rattle right out of my skin from shaking so hard.
“Are they taking him to the hospital?” Ellen asked in a panic as she ran back with a bath towel.
The ambulance crew attended to Ryan first, swabbing the blood off his face and nose. I knew exactly why he refused to be taken to the hospital. That would have set off a media feeding frenzy for sure. We had to keep this contained.
The elderly neighbor, whom I had met yesterday when he and his wife came to our party, ambled over to talk to Ryan. “How are you doing, son?”
“I’ve been better, Mr. Doughten. Sorry about all of this.”
The old man scowled at the paparazzo.
“So that bastard was in my tree, was he? Spying on your family?”
Ryan nodded, staring mostly at the ground. “He was taking pictures of us, sir.” It was apparent that he was embarrassed to be standing there talking to a man he obviously respected while wearing handcuffs.
“Pictures, huh? Oh Jesus, Mary, Joseph.” He scrubbed his bristly gray whiskers. “You can’t catch a break, can ya kid?” Mr. Doughten’s lower lip quivered as he eyed me up and down.
The police officer sidled up to Mr.
Doughten. “Huh? Hell yes, I want to press charges.” He raised a crooked, arthritic finger. “That son of a bitch was in my tree, tres-passing on my property. Damn right I’m going to press charges. This is ridiculous.”
“And Mr. Christensen?” the officer asked.
Another police cruiser sped down the street, red and blue lights whirling.
“Hell no. That boy knows my front lawn better than I do. Been cutting my grass since he was old enough to run the tractor. He’s a good boy. And his two friends there. Been helping Lill and me for years. Planted every one of them arborvitaes over there for me.
And Scotty put in my brick walkway. They’re all good boys from good families. Now do your job and get those damn handcuffs off of them. Let them go back to their party.” The officer turned to Ryan. “Mr. Dooley claims that you stole the memory card from his camera.”
I heard the police sirens in the distance.
Mike was trying to break it up, but the second that Ryan got injured, Matt joined the rumble. The boys from Pittsburgh were giving this guy an ol’ fashioned ass-kicking.
Ryan staggered to his feet and spit a wad of blood out of his mouth. Then he picked up the camera from the grass, removing the memory card. He set the camera near the guy’s head.
The sirens were getting closer. Ryan’s hands were bloody from his nose bleeding all over the place. Now the entire neighborhood was alerted to the melee. The elderly couple that owned the yard we were in came out of their house.
Scott took off his shirt and handed it to Ryan, who proceeded to wipe his bloody face with it.
“Sit down,” Matt yelled at the paparazzo and gave him a shove when he tried to stand.
Ryan balled up the bloody shirt, rolling his gaze from me to the shirt and back again, then handed it to me.
The cruiser’s engine gunned and then screeched to a halt at the curb. As soon as the police officer got out of the car, Ryan and the guys were ordered to lie facedown on the ground. Tears ran down my face watching Ryan get handcuffed and patted down like a criminal. Another police SUV came blaring down the street from the opposite direction.
Ryan’s father and Mike were trying to explain things to the cops while the photographer blabbered on about how he was assaulted and his camera destroyed.
Ryan looked worn and battled; his bare chest was bloodied and stretched from being handcuffed. Blood splatters were all over his swim trunks with a smear of it on the upper part of his knee. He motioned for me to come to him.
“Baby, are you okay?” I wiped the edge of his chin with the shirt.
“I need a towel. Wait . . .” I knelt back down on one knee. His eyes instructed me to come closer.
“Careful with that. Make it disappear.” I clutched the shirt to make sure nothing fell out, knowing what was wrapped up in it.
“Are you under arrest?”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
“I don’t know. I’m gonna need you to call David,” he muttered quickly. “And my lawyer. Oh, and call Trish.” He spit out more blood, cursing to himself.
Now that the adrenaline was subsiding, I could see the magnitude of the last ten minutes crashing down on him.
While Ryan was being interviewed by the police, an ambulance came zipping down the street. I felt like my bones were going to rattle right out of my skin from shaking so hard.
“Are they taking him to the hospital?” Ellen asked in a panic as she ran back with a bath towel.
The ambulance crew attended to Ryan first, swabbing the blood off his face and nose. I knew exactly why he refused to be taken to the hospital. That would have set off a media feeding frenzy for sure. We had to keep this contained.
The elderly neighbor, whom I had met yesterday when he and his wife came to our party, ambled over to talk to Ryan. “How are you doing, son?”
“I’ve been better, Mr. Doughten. Sorry about all of this.”
The old man scowled at the paparazzo.
“So that bastard was in my tree, was he? Spying on your family?”
Ryan nodded, staring mostly at the ground. “He was taking pictures of us, sir.” It was apparent that he was embarrassed to be standing there talking to a man he obviously respected while wearing handcuffs.
“Pictures, huh? Oh Jesus, Mary, Joseph.” He scrubbed his bristly gray whiskers. “You can’t catch a break, can ya kid?” Mr. Doughten’s lower lip quivered as he eyed me up and down.
The police officer sidled up to Mr.
Doughten. “Huh? Hell yes, I want to press charges.” He raised a crooked, arthritic finger. “That son of a bitch was in my tree, tres-passing on my property. Damn right I’m going to press charges. This is ridiculous.”
“And Mr. Christensen?” the officer asked.
Another police cruiser sped down the street, red and blue lights whirling.
“Hell no. That boy knows my front lawn better than I do. Been cutting my grass since he was old enough to run the tractor. He’s a good boy. And his two friends there. Been helping Lill and me for years. Planted every one of them arborvitaes over there for me.
And Scotty put in my brick walkway. They’re all good boys from good families. Now do your job and get those damn handcuffs off of them. Let them go back to their party.” The officer turned to Ryan. “Mr. Dooley claims that you stole the memory card from his camera.”
