Truth & Tenderness (16 page)

J
IM
AND
Matt sat in the office, each on their own side of the desk, not looking up.

They were in full work mode, the murder cases divided in half, with Jim taking the odd case out. Calls were made, information triple-checked, more evidence tucked into the files.

In an hour, the phone was scheduled to ring and a Detective Owens from the police department in Ashland, Oregon, would then be presented their case against Tripp Ingersoll. Off the record, of course.

Jim sent another document to the printer, then brought up the UPS website to schedule a pickup.

“Not that I don’t love your company, but how long are you planning to stay?” Jim asked, typing in the address of Ashland’s PD.

“I can leave if it’s a problem,” Matt said stiffly.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to figure out if you left your boyfriend or this is just a selfless act.”

Matt let out a strangled laugh. “No such thing as a selfless act.”

“Fine.” Jim sighed as he turned to face Matt. “You left Evan.”

“No. I just came up here to help you and it was perfectly timed with my boyfriend being a dick.” Matt slapped a folder closed. “I needed a break, okay?”

Jim shrugged, the grit of overuse and a lack of sleep taking a toll on his entire body. “Fine.”

They fell back into a tense silence, every movement a bit harder than necessary. A folder hitting the desk, a drawer yanked out, then slammed back in. A headache began to pulse behind Jim’s eyes, each throb with its own name.

Lack of sleep.

Shame.

Anger.

Even the ticks of the clock seemed to mock the pain.

A sigh from the other side of the room stilled Jim’s hands as he reached for a box to pack the files.

“Sorry. This is bullshit—I don’t need to be fighting with you too,” Matt murmured.

Jim turned the chair around, then slid across the floor closer to Matt. “Agreed.”

“He keeps calling.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Watching his friend carefully, Jim couldn’t miss the depth of his sadness. It reminded him all too well of a night a few years back when two stupidly lonely and heartsore people sat next to each other on some barstools and wound up becoming best friends.

The tightness around his eyes, the downward pull of his mouth. The way his hands trembled as he pushed a pencil around the blotter.

“He doesn’t leave a message,” Matt said. “Just calls and hangs up.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know what to say.”

“Well, that saves me from having an answer.” Matt swiveled the chair to face Jim. “This keeps coming up. Not every day, not every month. But it’s always fucking there.”

The stack of files sat on the desk between them like punctuation to a ridiculous joke. Jim couldn’t miss the metaphor.

“You told me to finish it—then pack it up and let it go.” Jim kicked at the wheels of Matt’s chair. “Maybe you should take your own advice.”

Matt’s head lolled to one side as he shot Jim a look of derision. “So lobotomies for both of us? Erase our memories?”

“No, but talk it out. Tell him how it makes you feel—”

“Your dead wife gets in the way of our relationship?”

“Don’t start with that.” Jim sighed as he stood up, stretching tired and aching limbs. “Maybe… maybe couples’ therapy?”

Matt glanced up at him, his lower jaw actually dropped.

Jim heard the words come out of his month, then winced at Matt’s expression. “Yeah, I heard it.”

“Are you all right? Are you fucking delirious?”

A smile tickled Jim’s mouth—exhaustion high, shields low. He started to laugh. “A yoga retreat?”

Matt glared until he started to laugh too. “Shut up.”

“Kama Sutra Weekend for Couples. Phallic Pottery for Partners.”

Tears started to leak out of Jim’s eyes. He snorted, then fell back in the chair as he covered his face with both hands. “Poetry for Lovers,” he got out before he dissolved into laughter again.

Nothing but the sound of choking and snickering filled the room for four or five minutes straight. Jim would look up, his gaze would meet Matt’s, and they would fall into it again. Jim shook with the release. A near-hysterical edge buzzed to the sound, but it didn’t matter. Maybe these were tears bursting out in a different form. If he couldn’t cry or throw a chair through the window, he could let it out like this.

M
ATT
WIPED
his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The thing needed to be set on fire at this point, as he’d been wearing it for over twenty hours. Sweat, tears, and the slick of emotional exhaustion permeated his skin and clothing.

Hot shower—he needed one of those. A full meal.

His kids.

Because fuck.
Fuck
.

The laughter trickled to a chuckle until he was sitting in the chair with his face in his hands. This wasn’t just about a stupid fight with Evan. This wasn’t even about Sherri’s ghost—or the slot in the household that Matt so eagerly slipped into.

This was about going almost two days without talking to the kids, and the guilt started to choke him. Their kids—
their
kids. That was what Evan said. That was what those papers in the safety deposit box meant. But more than that, in Matt’s heart, they were his.

Matt cleared his throat, choked on the tears still hovering. “I’m gonna go call my kids, okay?”

H
E
STARTED
with Katie, because she was his girl. She picked up right away, a frantic swirl of words before he could say her name.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you home? What happened?” she asked. “Matt, you didn’t leave Daddy, did you?”

“Calm down, please,” Matt said gently. “There’s a lot going on, but it’ll be fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Katie snapped. “Don’t. I’m not a child.”

Matt leaned against the garage, feet in the mud and his back soaking up the morning dew off the wooden shingles. Everything around him presented a sense of serenity, a quiet haven in the middle of trees and flowering bushes, the pool water lapping quietly. “We had a fight, but that’s not why I left. My friends needed me, okay? That’s all.” The truth—with a lie woven through so quietly he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“You didn’t call the kids,” Katie said accusingly. “Your friends can’t be more important than that.”

He winced. “You’re right. And I’m going to speak to them as soon as they’re out of school.”

“What about Dad?”

She wasn’t letting him off the hook easily—which, if he was honest, was why he had called her first. “I’ll talk to him too.”

“Just promise, please?”

“I promise you, sweetheart. I’ll make everything all right.”

When Katie started crying through the line, Matt’s heart broke.

E
VAN
WAS
on the phone when his cell rang. He scratched out notes on a legal pad as the community board president complained about the recent mugging. The papers were running stories about how crime was on the rise in Midtown, something not borne out by statistics, and
this is how property values take a hit. Did Evan understand that?

His cell vibrated wildly, and Evan almost ignored it, but it might be….

It was.

“Mr. Killian? I think I should come down and speak to you in person,” Evan said quickly, sliding his finger across the strip and connecting the call.

“One second, please,” he whispered to Matt before going back to his angry citizen. “Can we meet first thing in the morning?”

The real estate broker sighed dramatically but agreed. Eight at his office, first thing in the morning. Evan knew he’d have some serious public relations work to do and plenty of glad-handing, but anything to finish this call. He’d take Casper. It would be fine.

He hung up and immediately pressed the cell to his ear. “Matt… sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I know you’re busy.”

Evan opened his mouth, then closed it. Coward that he was, he dodged around the words—and the sound in Matt’s voice. “How’s everyone doing up there?”

“Lots of coffee, very little sleep. Being cheerful for Sadie’s sake is fucking exhausting.”

And Evan knew that sound in his voice—way beyond tired, resigned. “I’m….”

“How are Danny and Elizabeth?” Matt cut him off. “I haven’t called them, and I feel terrible about that.” Matt’s voice cracked.

“They understand you have to help your friends,” Evan said carefully. He picked up the pencil and started to nervously doodle Matt’s name under the notes from Killian’s rant.

“I’ll call them after school.”

His heart sank. “So you’re staying up there?” he asked. “For a few more days?”

Please say no. Please come home.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Each word got scratchier and heavier until Evan felt the despair in his chest. “We need to talk.”

The pencil dug into the paper until the tip broke on the curve between the
a
and
t
in Matt’s name. “Then come home. Just—we can’t do this over the phone. You’ll feel better, the kids will feel better. Please,” Evan said in a rush. “We can do this.”

Silence stretched out between them, Evan’s plea sitting out there in the middle, offering Matt a choice.

“Please,” Evan repeated. “We can do this.”

And that was it—that was what Evan hung on to. They wanted to do this, fought for it even when they were fighting each other.

“Okay. I’ll be home by five.”

Gratitude and relief rushed through Evan’s chest. He covered his eyes with his hand, breathed.

Deeply.

“Thank you.”

“We need—”

“I love you,” Evan said firmly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Then the call was disconnected.

A
T
FOUR
Evan started clearing his desk. He’d talk to his sergeant about leaving early again, something that pained him—Evan didn’t leave early; Evan didn’t come in late. He fought against his natural instinct to stay.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock sounded on his door.

“Evan, sorry.” Casper was already inside before Evan could call out. “Can we talk?”

Evan checked his watch, biting the inside of his cheek as he gestured Casper in. “Something wrong?”

“The mugging victim is holding a press conference with her lawyer,” he said, waving his phone around like Evan could see what it said. “In about an hour.”

Swallowing a curse, Evan stood up, momentarily at a loss for what to do. “Where?”

“Where she got attacked.”

Now Evan swore. “Fuck. That’s gonna look….”

“I know someone in her lawyer’s office—he’s a PR whore, and if I tell him I can get the captain down there to support her call for action, I think he’ll say yes.” Casper crossed his arms over his chest. “Better press than her standing there alone.”

Evan grabbed his phone, clutching it in desperately clenching hands. A decision had to be made—a decision he didn’t want to make.

“Call him. I’ll do it,” Evan snapped. “And if you can excuse me, I need to make a call.”

Casper’s expression was telling. Maybe sympathetic, but mostly knowing.

M
ATT
WAS
already on the road when the text came through. He’d showered, packed up his few belongings, and after hugging the entire population of the house, headed for Brooklyn.

The call with the Ashland Police Department had gone well enough. Jim looked slightly less troubled. Matt felt ready to leave. He needed to be home. Before the urge to find a bar and drown his sorrows became more than a reappearing bad habit.

As he pulled into the driveway, the very first thing Matt noticed was the lack of Evan’s SUV.

When he grabbed the phone from the console, the message was not a surprise. But it was a disappointment.

O
NCE
UPON
a time, the sight of Jim on the living room floor with Sadie—giving purple monkey a checkup with a giant stethoscope—would have destroyed Griffin’s sense of propriety and left him a puddle of joy on the floor.

Now he just felt sick to his stomach.

Daisy, in a pair of his sweats that threatened to swallow her entirely, sat at his side on the couch, struggling not to cry. “I thought he was different,” she said for the thousandth time.

Griffin squeezed her hand gently. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I signed a prenup thinking this time—this time I wouldn’t need it. I was so safe I signed the thing laughing.” She bit her lip, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye. “I’m safe, but I don’t wanna be.”

“F-u-c-k him,” Griffin muttered, sliding Daisy into his arms.

He tried not to panic for himself, pushing down thoughts of his movie. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but he was beginning to feel like the Carmen Kelly case—and everything surrounding it—was cursed. You think things are fine, you think you’ve figured out how to make everyone happy, and it falls apart.