Laurel Heights 3

by Lisa Worrall

  “Shut the fuck up!” Will growled, his nerves stretched and tight. “Please, just shut the fuck up!”

  Thankfully, the rest of the journey was taken in silence and Will opened the passenger door before the car had come to a complete stop. He heard Scott mutter beside him, but didn’t care, he wanted out. The dull thump in his skull had stepped up a notch and his eyelids weighed a ton a piece. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but no one could prove different, so he was going with it. His stomach rumbled as he strode to the lift and, for the first time, he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Scott could fuck off if he thought Will was going to cook tonight. The only attempt he would be making to fashion any kind of cuisine this evening was to make a call to Tony’s Pizza.

  He jabbed in agitation at the elevator call button and the doors opened immediately. Stepping inside, he briefly wondered whether it was a step too far to close the doors before Scott reached them. It was tempting, but good manners won out, so he pressed the hold button while cursing his impeccable upbringing. Scott jogged the last few feet to the elevator and stood next to Will, trying to catch his gaze. But Will wasn’t that easily swayed.

  Will squeezed his way out of the elevator before the doors had barely opened wide enough and strode into the department. He headed straight for Noah, who sat at his desk leafing through paperwork, and barked out his name. “Noah, give me something good!” Thrown off guard, Noah shuffled through the papers on his desk nervously. “Come on, Noah,” Will complained. “It’s not rocket science. Were they the American dream or not?”

  “Will,” Scott’s admonishment was delivered sternly, followed by the flash of a smile for Noah. “Ignore him, Noah.”

  Will’s nerves stretched that little bit further and snapped. “Actually, Noah, as your superior officer, I would appreciate it if you didn’t ignore me!” His voice rose on every word and he couldn’t have given less of a shit who heard him. “So, quit mooning over Detective Turner for five fucking minutes and give me your fucking report!”

  “I-I-I’m so—”

  “Harrison! Get in here!” Hall’s voice echoed across the department, cutting Noah dead.

  “I’m busy!” Will yelled back, much to Scott’s and indeed his own surprise.

  “Now! Bring your boyfriend, too!”

  Will shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto his chair. He was absolutely seething. How dare Scott undermine him like that! He glared at Scott, brushed past him and stomped toward the Captain’s office. “Ignore me?” Will rounded on Scott as soon as he closed the door behind him.

  “Will—”

  “At least you could pull my hair or talk dirty!”

  “What?” Scott took a step back from the force of Will’s attack.

  “Well, if you’re gonna fuck me in front of everybody, I might as well enjoy it!”

  “Calm the fuck down!” Scott yelled back.

  “Sit down! Both of you!” Hall’s roar practically rattled the windows in their housing, and they slumped into the two chairs in front of his desk like petulant teenagers. He looked from one to the other, his expression thunderous. “I do not know, neither do I care, what is going on between you,” he growled. “What I do care about is closing this case, so stow whatever baggage you have, and tell me what you found at the village apartment.”

  Will ran his fingers through his hair, gripping at the strands. He was absolutely furious. All pretense of maintaining his composure dissipated, and he was at the mercy of the whole gamut of emotions that had been clamoring for release since, she’s my sister, fell from Scott’s lips. The look Will threw Scott dared him to make Will take the lead. He relaxed into the chair when Scott began to speak.

  “We met Gary Walters, the owner, at Thompson Street,” Scott began. “He indicated that the building had been converted into three apartments about twenty years ago and, as we know, Petersen has been renting the first-floor apartment for the last three years. He said he was a nice guy, paid his rent on time, never gave him any problems.”

  “So, the guy was a saint?” Hall drawled sarcastically.

  “Not quite,” Scott replied. “It would appear Saint Petersen rented the first-floor apartment for his secret second wife and child.”

  Hall’s gaze widened and he stared at Scott in disbelief, then switched his attention to a slightly calmer Will. “Is he shittin’ me?”

  “No,” Will shook his head. “He is not shittin’ you.” He rearranged his position in the chair. “We arrived to find the apartment occupied by Mrs. Tiffany Petersen and her two-year-old son, TJ.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yep.” That was Scott.

  “Fuck indeed.” Will’s response was given on a heavy sigh. “She thought he was on a business trip in Buffalo. So yeah, fuck is probably the best way to describe the situation.”

  “Did she know he was a bigamist?”

  “I couldn’t tell her.”

  “So where are we then? Has the other wife been released from the hospital yet?” Hall asked.

  “I think they were letting her go around one,” Scott said, “but I need to talk to Noah.”

  “What’s he been doing all day?”

  “I hope he’s been interviewing the neighbors about the happy couple.” Scott glanced over at Will. “I also told him to make sure he asked about any suspicious characters, so we can rule out the whole home invasion scenario.”

  “And the secret Mrs. Petersen?”

  “We’ve arranged for her to come in tomorrow, so we can get her story before we bring Audrey in for questioning.”

  “Okay.” Hall nodded as he mulled over the information he’d been given. “Okay.” He stared at each of them for what seemed like to Will, forever, before he suddenly clapped his hands together. “Go home.”

  “We really need to talk to No—”

  “Wasn’t a request, Turner.”

  Will stood up and walked toward the door, not even bothering to check if Scott was behind him. His hand was on the handle when Hall’s warning rang loud and clear.

  “And whatever this is… fix it, now.”

  That wasn’t a request either.

  Chapter five

  Scott pulled onto their drive and turned off the engine. As at the station, he’d barely stopped before Will was out of the car. He sighed heavily and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Yes, Will had every right to feel hurt, but there were incredibly good reasons why he hadn’t told him about Ally. Jesus, he’d never told anyone about her. Damn her! Why now when everything was perfect? Where was she when he cried himself to sleep, his hands pressed over his ears to drown out his father’s drunken rants and his mother’s screams? He flinched as the front door slammed loudly behind Will. Maybe if he drove around the block a couple of times, today would reset and he wouldn’t have to see the pain that’d been in Will’s eyes all afternoon. Pain he’d caused. Pain he was going to do his utmost to take away—taking a deep breath he got out of the car and headed toward the house—if Will would let him.

  When he stepped into the hall, Scott could hear Will bashing about in the kitchen. Not a good sign. Neither was Will’s jacket over the bannister and his shoes in the hall. Scott tossed his keys onto the hall table and locked the front door behind him. Whether it was force of habit or he was worried Will might be so angry he’d try and make a run for it, he wasn’t entirely sure. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on top of Will’s, kicked off his own shoes, then padded down the hall to the kitchen, where Will angrily unloaded the dishwasher.

  “Will.” The crash of crockery stilled when Scott said his name, but only for a moment, then the cacophony continued. Scott strode toward Will and grabbed his hand as he bent to pluck another plate out of the dishwasher. “Will, stop,” he groaned. “Please, just stop.” Scott took a step closer and Will sagged against him as Scott pulled him into his arms. Scott laid his cheek on Will’s hair and wrapped his arms around Will’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he murmured over and over, his heart aching
as Will shuddered with emotion, his fingers curled into the fabric of Scott’s shirt.

  They stood like that for several minutes, in silence, drawing comfort from one another, until Scott pulled back and cupped Will’s face in his hands. “Let’s get changed,” he said softly. “We’ll order pizza and we’ll talk, okay?” Will was obviously too drained to do more than offer the slightest inclination of his head in acknowledgement, so Scott pressed a kiss to his forehead then led him up the stairs to their bedroom. After he sat Will down on the edge of the bed, he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt out of the drawer and tossed them onto the bed beside him. He reached out to loosen Will’s tie but was met with a look of disdain sharp enough to still his fingers in mid-air. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I—”

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” Will replied. “But I think I can manage.”

  “Of course.” Scott gave an apologetic shrug. “I was just… just…,” he sighed heavily. “I don’t even know what I was just.” Will half-smiled at that as he pulled off his tie. Scott returned to the chest of drawers and took out the raggedy old jeans Will was always on at him to throw away. He wouldn’t, they both knew that, but it had almost become a standing joke between them. He’d put them on, Will would complain and list all the reasons why they should go in the trash, to which Scott would reply with all the reasons why he could not be parted from them. Not least, was the fact that he had blown most of his first wage packet on them when he was eighteen and they still fit thirteen years later. They may go a little higher up his leg than they used to, but they were still the most comfortable pants he owned.

  Scott took off his tie and laid it over the arm of the large antique Queen Anne wing back chair under the window. When they bought it about three months ago, it had been tarnished and threadbare, but Will had been so excited, Scott had been unable to refuse. Even though, as he lowered the seats in the back of the car and wedged it in, he thought it would have been better off on a bonfire. Of course, Will proved him wrong by lovingly restoring the chair to its former glory. Scott smiled wistfully, but then Will did enjoy proving him wrong.

  He tossed his shirt onto the seat of the chair then shuffled out of his suit pants and threw them on top of the shirt. Usually, Will would grumble that clothes should be in the basket, but this time he didn’t say a word. The silence between them as they dressed was heavy, cloying, like a room full of smoke, and the acrid taste of it burned the back of Scott’s throat. Part of him wanted to grab Will, to spew information over him in quick vomitous bursts until he drowned in it, so it would be over quickly. The air would be cleared, and Will would smile and nod, say everything was okay and the entire day would dissipate like a mirage, as if it had never happened. But that wasn’t fair to Will or him. He needed to do this right if he wanted to keep his world intact.

  By the time he had changed into his jeans and a T-shirt, Will had already gone back downstairs, his clothes lying on the floor. Scott swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. That tangled heap of fabric gave an indication of Will’s inner turmoil. He didn’t think Will had ever left his clothes where they dropped in all their time together. His neatness had always been a great source of amusement for Scott and he’d accused Will of having OCD on more than one occasion. Any other day he would have laughed at Will and teasingly suggested they go to the emergency room as there was clearly something wrong with him. But not today. He grabbed his phone off the bed where he’d dropped it and headed down the stairs to find Will.

  Will sat cross-legged on one end of the soft leather couch, in the muted glow of the table lamps, staring at the bottle of Bud in his hands. Scott surmised the bottle on the coffee table at the other end of the couch was for him, so he picked it up and mirrored Will’s position as he settled back against the cushions. After a few minutes of more silence, Scott motioned to his cell on the coffee table tried to keep his tone as casual as he could. “Pizza?”

  “I already ordered,” Will replied, continuing to stare at his drink. “Should be twenty minutes.”

  Scott nodded. What happened now? Did he wait for the food to arrive? Did Will want to wait for the food to arrive? He scrubbed a hand over his face in desperation. The truth was he had no idea what to do next. His heart pounded like a drummer on speed and he could hardly discern one beat from another among the blood rushing in his ears. Everything hinged on what he had to say. Everything. How the hell was anything going to be good enough to explain why he had kept something so huge from the man who thought he already knew everything about him. The truth? He loves you. If you want that to continue, the only thing you can do is tell him the truth. Okay. Scott took a swig of bud and squared his shoulders. The truth.

  “My sister’s name is Ally,” he began, “and it was her third birthday three days before I was born.” He glanced at Will, but his gaze was still on the bottle, absently picking at the label on its neck. “We had the usual brother and sister shit like everybody does, but we were inseparable, even as we got older. She never made me feel like the snot-nosed little brother and was always happy to see me. Took me with her whenever she could. She was my safe place. My protector.”

  “Protector?” The word was said so quietly, for a moment Scott wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. As Scott searched for the right words, the doorbell rang, giving him a momentary reprieve. Will put his beer on the coffee table and got up to answer it. He was back in minutes, carrying a large pizza box, which he set down on the coffee table. Scott watched as he opened it and took out two pieces, one of which he gave to Scott before settling back down on the couch as before. Will nodded at the slice in Scott’s hand. “Eat.”

  Scott followed Will’s instructions gratefully. He needed time to formulate the answer to Will’s question. An answer he knew was not going to sit well. Scott bit into the pizza, savoring the burst of zingy pepperoni and stringy mozzarella cheese as the flavors burst on his tongue. He hadn’t thought he was hungry, but apparently his stomach disputed that, because he practically inhaled the rest of the slice. Will snorted, picked up the pizza box and put it on the empty seat between them so Scott could take another. It was as Scott washed down his second slice with another swig of beer that Will asked the single word question again.

  “Protector?”

  “Yeah.” Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Truth, remember. He remembered, but sometimes the truth was so much worse than the lie. “My dad was an alcoholic bigot who liked to take his inadequacies out on others,” he said, scratching his fingers through his hair.

  “You?”

  “My mom mostly….”

  “You?” Will repeated.

  “Sometimes,” Scott admitted, albeit reluctantly. It wasn’t exactly something you shouted from the rooftops. “I got pretty good at staying out of his way and, when I couldn’t, Ally protected me as best she could.”

  “He hit her, too?”

  “Not as much. She learned, if she squared up to him, he backed off. Classic bully. He abused her in other ways.” Will gasped and Scott immediately shook his head. “No, no, not like that. The man was an expert mindfuck. I wanted to stand up for her, too but she wouldn’t let me. She said she could handle it.” Pain tightened around his heart at the memory. “She was my protector, but I couldn’t be hers.”

  “Sounds like she was always there for you,” Will said softly.

  Anger quickly replaced the pain as Scott pushed the memory away. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Until she wasn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I woke up one morning when I was fifteen years old and she was gone.” Scott scrubbed a hand over his face. “No note, no explanation. She was just… gone.” He sighed heavily, the pain of that morning slamming into him as hard as it had all those years ago and his breath hitched in his throat. “I… thought she’d send for me. Couldn’t believe she’d desert me. But she didn’t… and she did. My father blamed everybody but himself and, without her in my corner, I was easy pickings.”

  “Scott—”
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  “Please, let me finish. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” Scott frowned, trying to find the words. “I just want you to understand why I didn’t tell you. But I want you to know I told you everything that mattered, everything that makes me who I am when I’m with you. My past doesn’t change that. What happened today doesn’t change that. All that’s ever mattered is you and me. Hell, I can’t even remember a me before you.” His breath hitched again, as tears stung his eyes and emotion thickened his voice. “You’re the reason, Will. My reason. I would never hurt you. You must know that. I love you.”

  Will grabbed the pizza box, tossed it onto the coffee table and scrambled across the couch toward him in one smooth movement. He sank into his embrace as Will wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held onto him, the tears now falling freely as Will murmured a litany of “I love you” into his ear. Scott curled his fingers in the fabric of Will’s T-shirt and pressed his face into the warm, soft skin of Will’s neck.

  Every emotion he’d fought so hard to hide all day spilled over in harsh hiccupping sobs that he couldn’t control. The shock of seeing Ally. The momentary rush of joy quickly quashed by the desolation of her abandonment, followed by the searing heat of the pain he thought he’d buried deep inside so long ago. All of which were decimated by the hurt in Will’s eyes. As his sobs eased, Will pulled back and cupped his face in his hands, the warmth of his palms seeping into Scott’s skin, forcing him to look at him.

  “I do know,” Will said, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears on Scott’s cheeks. “I do, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve been a dick. I should have trusted there was a reason you’d kept it to yourself, instead of making it all about me.”

  “I should have told you a long time ago.” Scott sniffed inelegantly. He was not the world’s prettiest crier. “I wanted to, but I could never find the words. Hoped I wouldn’t have to.” Will stroked his finger along the scar on Scott’s forehead that disappeared past his hairline, then traced the faint silvery line above his eyebrow. Scott swallowed hard. Will had seen them a million times, even followed their path with his tongue, but now he looked at them as though he were seeing them for the first time. Scott reached up to grip Will’s hand, stilling its movement. “Will—”