Don't Shoot the Messenger: Hazard Falls Book 2

by Samantha A. Cole

  Chapter Seven

  Holding an old photo of Grant and Drake, Blair sat at the kitchen table next to Trevor, while her husband put Regan and Michael down for naps. They’d both been exhausted after coming home from Blair’s friend’s house, where they’d gone swimming with Danielle Harrison’s sixteen-year-old twin girls who’d babysat for a few hours. Zoe and Lily were Blair’s go-to sitters whenever she and Drake had a rare date-night without the children.

  Trevor nibbled on the apple slices Blair had given him for a snack, as she tried to come up with the words to explain Grant’s return in a way his seven-year-old mind could understand.

  Reaching out, she stroked his head and then showed him the framed picture she’d taken from the wall in the family room. It had been taken the summer before Grant and Blair had left for D.C. “Honey, do you remember what I told you about Daddy’s brother, Grant?”

  Trevor nodded. “Uh-huh. You said Uncle Grant was in heaven with our grandmas and grandpas.”

  “That’s right, I did.” She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “Well, Daddy and I found out today that we made a mistake. We . . . um . . . you see, um . . . we thought Grant had died in an accident, but the people who told us that were wrong. Sometimes adults make mistakes, and this was one of them. Your Uncle Grant is alive, and . . . um . . . he came home to . . . uh, see us. He’s here.”

  The little boy’s eyes widened. “He is? Where? Can I see him?”

  Her lips quivered as she tried to smile. “Of course, you can. In a little bit. He’s . . . um . . . in the apartment over Daddy’s workshop, taking a nap.” Honestly, she didn’t know what Grant was doing right now, but it really didn’t matter for this conversation.

  “Cool. So, is he going to live here with us?”

  “No—no, sweetie. I mean, I don’t know. For now, he’s just visiting. He lives in Florida.”

  “Oh.” He thought about that for a moment, then grinned. “Does that mean we can visit him someday and go to Disney World?”

  She relaxed a little and chuckled. Ever since one of his friends from school had told him about a trip to the Orlando theme park, he’d been begging to go. She was sure it was going to be on the Christmas list he would send to Santa later this year. “We’ll see. For now, he’ll be visiting us for a bit.” A thought occurred to her. “Trevor, have any strangers approached you and tried to talk to you about me, Daddy, or Uncle Grant? Or have any strangers tried to talk to you at all?”

  His little shoulders went up in a shrug as he chewed and swallowed the last piece of the apple. “Nope. I know I’m not supposed to talk to any adults I don’t know, and I won’t go with anyone who doesn’t say the magic phrase.”

  The “magic phrase” they’d all agreed on was “Mr. Hippopotamus sent me,” since the stuffed animal had been Trevor’s favorite when he was younger before he’d passed it on to Regan, who’d recently given it to Michael. If a stranger tried to say they were sent by Blair or Drake to pick up their sons or daughter and didn’t say that phrase, then the children were supposed to yell, “fire,” as loud as they could, and run. They were to tell anyone who responded to their alarm that the stranger wasn’t their parent. Every few weeks, Blair made sure her children remembered the phrase and that it superseded any puppies, kittens, or candy a stranger might use to lure them away.

  “Good boy.” She got to her feet and ruffled Trevor’s hair. “I have a few things to do before dinner. I’m making chicken tonight; do you want carrots or peas?”

  “Peas, please. Can I go practice my pitching?” For his birthday, they’d gotten him a pitch-back rebounder. When he threw a baseball at it, the equipment’s taut netting sent the ball flying back to him. It was a way to play catch by himself if no one else was around.

  “Sure, just stay where Daddy and I can see you.”

  “‘Kay.”

  The alarm on the clothes dryer buzzed, and Blair hurried to get the laundry out of it. After folding several towels, she went to the linen closet and got a set of spare sheets. Summoning up her courage to see Grant again, she strode out the back door, across the small lawn separating the house from the barn, then took the stairs on the side of the building to the one-bedroom apartment. She knocked and waited for an answer as her stomach roiled in a combination of dread and anticipation. Hearing nothing, she turned to leave when the door swung open. Her heart nearly stopped, and her jaw went slack as she stared at Grant. God, he was still as handsome as ever. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, but she would know those sharp hazel eyes, firm jaw, and beautiful lips anywhere. What she wouldn’t have given all those years ago to have one more hour with him.

  Her heart was breaking in two. Here was who she’d thought she’d be spending the rest of her life with, while inside the house was her husband who she’d fallen in love with in this man’s absence. She’d cursed the universe when it had taken Grant away from her, and her emotions were now all jumbled after he’d been returned to her nearly eight years later. She honestly didn’t know which event was crueler. Had he kept the fact he was alive a secret because he hated her and Drake and felt betrayed because they’d fallen in love with each other? It was a question she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to.

  “Blair?”

  She blinked, unaware how long she’d stood there, gaping at him. Shaking the torrent of emotional thoughts from her mind, she held out the stack of laundry to him. “You’ll need new sheets and towels.”

  He took them from her. “Thanks.” After a moment’s pause, he stepped back and opened the door wider. “Want to come in?” When she hesitated, he added, “I won’t bite, Blair.”

  Nodding, she swallowed hard, then stepped forward. When the door closed behind her, a feeling of being trapped flashed through her, but when she looked up into Grant’s face, she saw his own anguish over the situation. This was killing him as much as it was her.

  She tore her gaze from his and glanced around the sparse room—it was filled with just the necessities with very little décor. It’d been months since she’d been up there, and the apartment needed a good dusting and vacuuming. Through a partially-opened door, she saw the stripped queen-sized bed. “Here, let me make the bed for you.”

  When she tried to take the sheets back from him, he moved them out of her reach and set them on a small table next to the room’s couch. “I’ll do it later. You don’t need to cater to me, Blair.”

  She fidgeted, uncertain what to do or say next. “Sorry.”

  “About what? About marrying my brother?” She gasped and paled at the words he’d viciously spit out, as he ran a hand down his face. His tone and expression softened. “Shit, don’t answer that. I’m sorry, Blair; that was completely uncalled for. I thought I’d gotten used to the idea and had accepted it, but . . . I guess not. The only person here to blame for this whole mess is me. If I hadn’t thought I was invincible back then, none of this would have happened. But it did, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. I’m the one who’s sorry; the last thing I’d ever wanted to do was hurt you.”

  “Grant, I never meant to fall in love with Drake, and it didn’t happen right away. I grieved for you for over a year, and he was there for me—platonically.” Hot tears scorched the skin on her cheeks. “I didn’t even have a grave where I could visit you. If I did, I probably would’ve curled up into a ball and cried on it every day. I kept praying it’d all been a mistake. But, after Trevor was born, I . . . I started to move on—it was time. I took one look at his sweet baby face, and suddenly I had something to live for again. Up until that point, I’d just been going through the motions. I’m sorry nothing turned out like you and I planned, but how can I regret anything that’s happened over the past seven years when it would mean I wouldn’t have Regan and Michael too? I love them as much as I love Trevor. And . . . and I love Drake now as much as I loved you then.”

  Not waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and ran out the door and down the stairs, swiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop
pouring forth. Once, again, she cursed the universe, only this time she didn’t know the reason why.

  Drake’s hand paused on the knob of the back door as he stared outside the window. He watched as Grant approached Trevor, squatted in front of him, and held out his hand, which the little boy shook. Drake’s gut churned. He’d always seen the resemblance between Trevor and the memories he had of Grant, his biological father, but never had it been more prominent as it was now that the two were mere inches apart as they spoke. Grant said something that made Trevor smile and laugh. The boy nodded, glanced around, then ran over to where the pitch-back was set up in the yard. He picked up Drake’s baseball glove and gave it to Grant, who slid it onto his hand.

  After putting some distance between them, Trevor threw the ball to Grant, and it was caught with ease. Back and forth, the ball was tossed, as a lump formed in Drake’s throat. God, he was jealous of his own brother, who was playing catch with his biological son!

  What the hell is wrong with me? How many times have I wished Grant could see what an amazing kid Trevor is, and how I regretted the boy would never know his real father?

  No matter how he tried to convince himself he should be rejoicing over the fact his brother was alive, Drake couldn’t shake the feeling that his family was about to be ripped from his arms. There was no way he’d step back and surrender Blair to the man she’d loved first. It may have taken time for them to consummate their marriage, but he was madly, passionately in love with his wife. They had a happy life in Hazard Falls and a beautiful family, and Drake would be damned if he gave that up—for anyone.

  Drake heard Blair approach from behind, and he turned around. She had Michael in her arms and Regan ran toward him. “Daddy!”

  He bent down and picked her up. “Hey, there, my ray of sunshine. How was your nap?”

  “Good! Who’s that?” She was looking over his shoulder to where her older brother was still playing catch.

  He took a deep breath and stared at Blair. “That . . . that’s your Uncle Grant.” At least he could say that truthfully to his two youngest children. “Would you like to meet him?”

  “Yes!” She and Michael were too young to know about Grant’s alleged death. To them, he was just a man in some of the photos in various places around the house.

  Putting her back down, he took Michael from Blair—the boy was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Blair gave Drake a weak smile and patted his arm. “Go introduce them. I better get dinner started if we’re going to be done in time for the meeting.”

  Lane had texted Drake about an hour after he’d left and said he’d spoken to everyone on his list and they’d all be there at 7:00 p.m. with the exception of Betty Lou. One of her bartenders was sick and she had no one but herself available to take his evening shift. Lane would fill her in on the details tomorrow, if she was in a mood to speak to him at all.

  “Are you okay?” he asked his wife. She’d been crying again but had tried to hide the fact by taking a shower. However, her eyes were still red and puffy.

  Her mouth thinned. “Not really, but I will be. It’s just a lot to take in—Grant being alive, and someone taking that photo . . .” She glanced down, and Drake’s gaze followed. Regan was staring up at both of them, listening intently. Blair pasted on a fake smile. “But we’ll talk about that later. Go on outside and let me get dinner started.

  “Let’s go, Daddy.” Regan opened the interior door and then the screen door, and Drake followed her outside. Without waiting for him, she rushed over to where Grant caught another throw. She stopped next to him, looked up, and waved, cheerfully. “Hi! I’m Regan!”

  Grant bent his knees and dropped down to her level, holding out his hand. “Well, hello there, Regan. I’m your Uncle Grant. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She placed her tiny hand in his big one. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m five; how old are you?”

  “Regan, you know it’s not polite to ask adults that question,” Drake admonished as he approached. His daughter was inquisitive to a fault sometimes.

  She shrugged. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  Grant gently touched her cheek. “That’s okay. Sometimes I forget it’s not polite to ask certain questions too.” Rising again, he faced Drake and studied the little boy in his arms. “And this must be Michael. God, he’s the spitting image of you when you were that age.”

  “In the workshop, I have side-by-side photos of him and me as two-year-olds; it’s freaking scary.” Although things were tense between them, both men were doing a good job of hiding it from the children.

  Michael squirmed in his arms. “Down, Daddy.”

  Drake did as his youngest ordered and set him on the ground. The boy squatted, picked up a rock, and examined it. He was fascinated by them, and Drake swore the kid was going to grow up to be a geologist or something along those lines.

  “Hey, Dad,” Trevor called out as he tossed the ball in the air and caught it. “Uncle Grant goes to the Royals games when they play the Rays in Florida.” Watching the Royals’ games on TV was something Trevor and Drake had enjoyed doing together over the past two years. Even at such a young age, the boy could rattle off the starting lineup and got annoyed if a favorite player wasn’t on it for any given game.

  “Really? That’s awesome.” Drake ground his teeth together as he glared at Grant. It was sinking in that Grant had been enjoying life in Florida while everyone in Hazard Falls, Kansas, had thought he was dead. Drake also didn’t miss his older brother’s wince when Trevor had called him “Uncle Grant.” Well, too bad—that was Grant’s problem. If he hadn’t been working for the CIA, Trevor would be calling him Dad right now. Someday, they’d have to tell Trevor the truth, but Drake didn’t even want to think about that at the moment, because he had no idea how the hell they’d explain it to him.

  That awkward silence returned between the two men as the children talked and played around them. Finally, Grant broke eye contact and gestured toward Trevor. “He’s a great kid . . . they all seem to be. You and Blair have done a great job raising them.”

  “Someone had to.” Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that, but it was the truth.

  Grant just nodded, his gaze on the ground as he toed the dirt in front of his foot. “Yeah, someone did . . . because I screwed up.”

  Drake looked away for a moment, then his curiosity got the better of him. “What happened? I mean, how did you get caught?”

  “I wish I knew. I—”

  “Here, Uncle Grant. I picked you some flowers.” Both men’s gazes dropped to the little girl who was holding up a small bouquet of her mother’s daisies.

  Taking them from her, Grant smiled. “They’re as pretty as you are, Regan. Thank you.”

  A broad, pleased grin spread across the little girl’s face. “You’re welcome.”

  She skipped away, and Grant watched her go. Instead of going back to whatever he’d been about to say before he’d been interrupted, he smiled sadly. “You’re a lucky man, Drake.”

  Drake was lucky at the expense of his brother spending six years in a prison camp, unbeknownst to his family, friends, and the country he served. He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t say anything at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Answering the bell at five minutes after seven, Drake opened the front door to find Sheriff Graham Hughes and Officer Tad Winslow standing on the porch. “Hey, come on in. Everyone else is here.”

  As each man entered, he shook their hands, then led them into the living room. Shane was sitting in a wingback chair, with his husband, Tucker, standing behind him, resting his folded arms on the back of the seat. Hank and Seth had settled in on the couch, and the sheriff took the recliner, while Tad sat on the empty loveseat.

  “You’re probably wondering why we called you all here,” Lane said from where he was leaning against the side of the room’s fireplace.

  Shane snorted. “Sounds like the beginning of a murder mystery, but now that you mention it . . .”
<
br />   “Drake’s got some shocking news for you first, but then we’ll need your help.”

  Everyone’s head swiveled to face Drake, who stood next to the loveseat. He took a deep breath as his stomach roiled. Never had he thought he’d be having a conversation like this with his friends. “I . . . God, where do I start?” It was a rhetorical question. They just waited for him to explain at his own pace. “The reason you’re here is because I know I can trust you all with my family’s lives. I can’t tell you where he’s been, because I don’t even know the whole story, but . . . my brother, Grant, is . . . is alive, and he’s here in Hazard.”

  “What?” The barked response was filled with shock and disbelief and had come out of everyone’s mouth except for Lane and Tad, the latter not knowing the significance of the bombshell.

  “What the fuck?” Shane had lowered his voice on the last word and glanced around, probably making sure none of the children had wandered into the room. They were currently in Trevor’s room with Blair, playing Chutes and Ladders or some other board game. “Are you kidding us?”

  “No, he’s not.” The dead-man-walking, who’d been waiting in the kitchen, entered the room through the dining area.

  Shane, Seth, and Hank all jumped to their feet and gaped at Grant as if they were seeing a ghost. Well, figuratively, they were.

  Paling, Hank muttered, “Holy shit.” After he had a moment to recover, he added, “God, it’s really you!”

  The man stepped forward and embraced Grant; it was an emotional reunion for the two childhood friends.

  “Someone want to explain what the fuck is going on?”

  Tucker placed a hand on his husband’s tense shoulder. “Calm down, Shane.”

  “Calm down? Calm down? What the fuck?” He quickly glanced around the room before his hard gaze landed on Grant again, his fist clenched in incredulous rage. Shane was the same age as Drake, two years younger than Grant and Hank, and they’d spent all twelve years together in school. “I watched one of my best friends grieve for his brother for years. I saw him step up to the plate and become a father to Trevor, because, supposedly, you were dead. I watched him fall in love with Blair. And now you’re back from the grave, to what? Claim what’s yours? Bullshit. Where the fuck have you been all this time?”