by Ella Frank
Bailey nodded, but said nothing.
“I mean it. You followed your gut, you saved someone’s life, and you did nothing wrong.”
Bailey clenched his jaw as those words slammed into him and tried to fight back the overwhelming need to vomit. Then Sean was clapping him on the shoulder and letting him go. They straightened up and shifted apart in the squad car.
Sean cleared his throat. “They’re gonna wanna talk to you back at the station. Go over this. Make sure you call your union rep just to be safe. There’ll be an investigation until it’s officially cleared, but I doubt it’ll take long.”
“Right.” Bailey rubbed a hand over his face as he glanced at the clock on the dashboard, knowing his morning was about to get a whole lot longer and complicated over the next few hours. “God, this is so not how I saw my night going. ”
“Never is. Just do what they say and it’ll be over in a few hours. Once it’s officially cleared, you’ll be back on duty and things will start to feel normal again. The first time is always the worst, Bay. But if you need anything, you call me. Okay?”
Bailey nodded, then looked at his brother. “What about your case? I was going to—”
“Don’t worry about it. And remember what I said: you didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t forget that.”
Sean climbed out of the car, and as he shoved the door shut behind him, the sharp slam made Bailey flinch.
Yeah, somehow, he had a feeling it was going to take a lot more than filing his report and telling himself he didn’t do anything wrong for his world to start going back to normal—if it ever could.
“WELL, WELL, WELL. So glad you could grace me with your presence tonight,” Henri said as Detective Dick stepped out into the cool night air and slammed his car door shut behind him.
This was the first time Henri had seen Dick since the wake-up call at Bailey’s the other day, and Henri would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a little antsier than usual. That was the only excuse he really had for the smartass comment that flew off his tongue the second he saw Dick. Well, that, and this was the first time Dick had ever been late.
But as the detective got closer, Henri noticed there was no fuck-you response getting loaded up and ready to be fired. Instead, there was a look of concern marring his face.
“Would’ve been here sooner, but there was a shooting I got called in on. Bailey didn’t call you?”
“To tell me your work schedule? Uh, no,” Henri said, shaking his head. “We got better things to talk about. Shocking, I know.”
Dick let out an irritated sound that Henri figured was about to lead into the whole brotherly lecture thing. But instead, Sean’s eyes narrowed and he said, “Guess you’re wrong about that—talking to each other, that is. Bailey was there tonight, asshole. Thought he might’ve called if you two were hooking up to, you know, bump uglies later or whatever.”
As Dick’s words began to sink in, Henri rewound them and hit play again, and when he got to the part where the words shooting and Bailey met in the middle, Henri’s pulse skipped a couple of beats and then fired off like he’d been injected with a shot of adrenaline.
He shoved off the car and straightened. “Bailey was in a shooting? Tonight? And you just left him there? Is he okay? Where is he now?”
Dick raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Take a fucking breath, Boudreaux. He’s just fine. He wasn’t hit. Someone else was.”
Oh, yeah. Okay, that makes sense. But even as Dick’s words began to compute, Henri’s heart was still threatening to up and stop on him.
“Do you need to sit down? Take a minute?” Dick asked, and when Henri stared at him blankly, the detective continued, “Well, at least I know my baby brother’s more than just a fuck to you now. That’s a relief.”
Dick’s words snapped Henri back to reality. Before he thought better of it, he got up in the detective’s face and said, “You should watch your fucking mouth.”
“Oh yeah? And if I don’t? What are you gonna do about it?”
Knowing that this particular moment was probably the most important one Henri would have with Dick regarding his baby brother, it was imperative that the detective knew that Henri wasn’t going away anytime soon, and he wouldn’t be goaded into a fight.
Henri gritted his teeth and balled his fists by his sides as he faced off with the eldest Bailey brother, and reminded himself that hitting the fucker might make him feel better, but in the long run would likely cause more problems than it would solve.
“I’m not gonna do anything. But how do you think Bailey would feel if he heard the way you were just talking about him?”
The silent standoff between the two continued, and when Dick finally took a step back, he said, “You said you had information on the phone earlier. Is that true?”
“Well, I didn’t just call you ’cause I missed your face.”
“Spit it out, Boudreaux, then we can both be gone.”
And it was the promise of that that finally made Henri talk. He wanted out of there as soon as possible, so he could go ahead and check in on Bailey. “I caught up with Scooter’s boy Ricky. Turns out the kid was onto something. Took me a few minutes and a handful of cash, but Ricky promised me a meetup with his supplier.”
“Did he give you the name?”
“Yeah, rAz. Was real jumpy ’bout it when I asked. Seemed worried the guy would know if he even mentioned it without having permission first.”
Dick put his hands on his hips and let out a sigh. “I mean, makes sense. RAz isn’t exactly known for politely asking people to keep quiet. I have three dead girls who can attest to that.”
“Sounds like a stand-up guy.”
“Yeah, one who’d rather chop out a tongue or lop off a head than have someone snitch on him. He’s one person I can safely say the world would be better off without.”
Henri knew the kind. Had been related to one, and grown up in fear of the other. But he doubted Dick would appreciate the comparison, or voluntarily offer to ease the world and end rAz’s existence.
“Okay. So, we’re waiting to hear back from Ricky?”
“Right.”
“Did he give you a time frame?”
Henri shrugged. “A week.”
“A fucking week?” Dick said. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s the best I could get, and it’s more than we had, so…”
Dick ran a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck. “Yeah, shit. Okay. So the second he calls, I want to know. We’ll co-ordinate and head over there. This guy doesn’t fuck around. If he even gets a whiff that you’re working with us, he won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head. You are not to go alone.”
“But—”
“Boudreaux,” Dick said in a steely tone. “This is non-negotiable. If I find out that you went to see this motherfucker without me, so help me God, I will kill you myself. Got it?”
Henri had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from telling Dick that he was more than capable of looking after himself. But in the spirit of trying to keep the peace for Bailey’s sake, Henri gave a clipped nod and reached into his pockets for the baggies. As he handed them over to Sean, he said, “I got it.”
“Very good. Then we’re done here.”
“Guess we are.”
Dick pocketed the drugs and then turned to walk away, but halfway to his car he stopped and looked back. “You know he’s too good for you, right?”
Henri absently twisted one of the rings around his fingers. “I do.”
Dick nodded. “Be sure to remember that anytime you think of doing something that would hurt him.”
Henri schooled his features but otherwise remained silent. Dick headed to his car, climbed inside, and drove away.
It wasn’t until he was gone that Henri noticed a sting in his palm, and looked down to see that he’d balled his fists until the ring on his left hand had cut through the skin. The idea of hurting Bailey causing both
an emotional and physical response, because whether Henri wanted to or not, the likelihood that he wouldn’t mess this all up was slim to fucking none—wasn’t it?
Henri shook his head and shoved that thought aside. It was too late to turn back now. He was in too deep, felt too much for Bailey. But when he pulled his phone out of his pocket, Henri saw that his desire to reach out and comfort Bailey would have to wait—at least for now.
Bailey: Something came up at work. I need to cancel. Talk to you later.
Chapter Nine
CONFESSION
I knew he would catch me.
That’s why I came.
IF SOMEONE HAD asked Bailey how he’d wound up standing outside a locked lobby door staring at an intercom in the Fulton Market District, he would’ve had no idea how to answer them.
But that was where he found himself at nine forty-five in the morning, wearing the same blue jeans and black long-sleeved shirt he’d worn into work the night before, looking at the four names by the buttons for… There it is—H. Boudreaux.
It’d been several hours since Bailey had sent Henri the text saying he would have to cancel their sleepover date, and while he hadn’t gone into details, Henri’s quick understanding and lack of questions had been much appreciated at the time. Now, however, it seemed Bailey’s brain had a different idea.
The last eight hours had seemed like an eternity. Bailey felt as though he’d been walking around in a daze, barely able to see an arm’s length in front of himself, as he tried to navigate each new line of questioning lobbed his way. But luckily for him—or unluckily, depending on which way you looked at it—there’d been someone with him the entire time, writing down his responses and recording his every move.
He’d been assured time and time again that it was just standard procedure, protocol, that what happened tonight seemed fairly straightforward and he shouldn’t worry. But the longer Bailey was left to think on his own, the more he kept coming back to: Fairly straightforward…?
Was that how he was supposed to view taking someone’s life? Because it didn’t feel straightforward at all.
“Hello?”
Henri’s greeting was the first thing that seemed to cut through the fog that had enveloped Bailey’s brain since he’d handed over his gun and been ushered to a patrol car. And as Bailey startled and blinked at the speaker in front of him, he couldn’t even remember pushing the button.
“Hello?” Henri said again, and Bailey quickly leaned forward to talk into the speaker.
“Uh, hi… Henri?”
“Bailey?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I know I said I wasn’t coming over and, well, it’s early, but—”
Before Bailey even finished his sentence, there was a click from the door. “Come up here to me.”
Wow. Simple as that.
Henri asked no questions, wanted no explanations. He merely unlocked his door and ordered Bailey up, and that—among a whole slew of much more complicated reasons—was why Bailey had ended up on this doorstep in the first place.
Out of all the people in his life at this point, Bailey had known that Henri was the least likely to pass judgment and offer up some feel-good platitudes. He struck Bailey more as being the no-bullshit type, which was exactly what he needed right now.
As Bailey got off the elevator on the third floor—the top—he realized if this had been any other day or time, he might’ve wondered just how much a place like this cost to rent. Or own. He wasn’t sure which Henri did, but it had to be a lot.
There were two residences on this floor. A duplex penthouse, for all intents and purposes, and after double-checking the number Henri had given him the other day, Bailey made his way down to the one on the far left.
He was just coming up to the door when it opened up and Henri moved into the doorway to lean against the frame. As Bailey’s eyes landed on Henri, the suffocating haze that had been surrounding him instantly began to shift.
In faded blue jeans and a white cable-knit V-neck, Henri looked comfortable, relaxed, and the best ending that Bailey’s shitty day could possibly have. His feet were bare and he was sporting a couple days’ stubble, and when Bailey stopped in front of him, Henri moved aside and let him in.
It was that moment, as Bailey stepped over the threshold and let go of any vestiges of caution he might have had left, that he handed his heart over to Henri Boudreaux, to do with it what he would.
BAILEY LOOKED LIKE he’d been to hell and back. His light blue eyes were bloodshot and his color pale. His shoulders looked heavy, weighted down with the burden he’d been carrying around for the past however many hours. The smile that Henri had kissed goodbye the last time they’d been with one another had been replaced with a tight, thin line.
After receiving Bailey’s text saying he would be canceling their date together because of work, Henri had debated whether to go check on Bailey later today just to make sure he was doing okay.
Dick had told Henri little to nothing in the way of details surrounding the shooting. But it didn’t take a genius to work out that Bailey was not doing okay.
Not that he’d really expected him to be. From everything Henri had observed of Bailey during their time together, he’d come to realize that Bailey had this relentless optimism for humanity in spite of the career path he had chosen.
Here was someone who no doubt saw the very worst society had to offer on a frequent basis, and yet Bailey was this sweet, shy guy who reminded Henri of summertime and sunshine whenever they were together. It was Bailey’s warm smile and quick-to-flush cheeks, always ready to light up his handsome face. Something Henri sorely missed now.
Henri quietly closed the door and moved into the room. Bailey was now standing between the dining table and the kitchen island. He’d just stopped, and Henri wondered what exactly was running through his head.
He knew firsthand what it was like to pull the trigger and end someone’s life, and whether or not they deserved it, the visual imprint from that moment changed you. It was something you could never go back from, was something you could never un-see—something Henri had learned just recently.
Not that he could tell Bailey any of that, but at least Henri understood, and maybe, just maybe, he could offer some kind of solace to a man who looked seconds away from crumbling.
Knowing the last thing Bailey probably wanted to do was talk more about what had happened, Henri walked by him and into the kitchen, where he decided to try for a little normalcy. To try to get Bailey thinking about something other than the shit-ton of questions he’d no doubt been bombarded with at the station.
“Are you hungry?”
Bailey turned toward where Henri now stood by the oven.
The kitchen wasn’t overly large, nor the distance between it and the dining table, but as they stared at one another across the space, Henri suddenly felt as though it were a giant chasm where he stood on one side, and Bailey was a million miles away.
Henri picked up the frying pan he’d gotten out before his intercom had buzzed and held it up. “I was about to make breakfast, an omelet. Have you eaten?”
Bailey shook his head.
“Would you like one?” Bailey nodded, and Henri gestured to the island. “Why don’t you sit down, keep me company?”
Bailey’s eyes flicked to the two barstools, and Henri turned away to make him feel less self-conscious about actually being able to move his legs to walk from one side of the room to the other.
Bailey looked rough, like a gentle breeze might knock him down, and Henri couldn’t help but worry that shock was setting in.
Henri put the pan on the gas range and went to the fridge to grab out the carton of eggs, some ham, and cheese, and as he placed them all on the counter by the stove, he heard the stool pull out and looked over his shoulder to see Bailey settling down onto it. Good—that was a much better outcome than him passing out cold on the hardwood floor.
Henri shut the fridge and moved all the ingredients over to the small workspace on
the other side of the stove, and as he cracked the first egg on the side of the glass bowl and watched it fall inside, Bailey finally spoke.
“I killed a man today.”
Henri put the broken shell back in the carton and turned to find Bailey’s eyes locked on him. The complete and utter devastation in those usually carefree depths gutted Henri to his core.
“I wanted some candy, so I stopped at a Quick Mart. Then I killed someone.” Bailey’s tone was flat, devoid of all emotion, and so far removed from the man Henri knew that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand.
“Bailey—” Henri started as he walked to the opposite side of the island, but Bailey cut him off. Then a barrage of words spilled out of his mouth as though he was finally done holding them back.
“I mean, he had a gun and a hostage, and I told him twice to put it down, but he didn’t listen.” Bailey shook his head. “He didn’t listen, and then his fingers moved. They moved, Henri. He was going to shoot. So I fired first.”
Bailey’s eyes were wide and his hands trembled, and when he seemed to realize what they were doing, he brought them up to his face and scrubbed them over it, muttering, “I killed a man today…”
Henri stepped around the island and wrapped his hands around Bailey’s wrists.
“I killed a man. But it was all ‘straightforward,’ so that makes it okay.”
Nothing about Bailey’s expression said he thought that this was okay. He had the look of someone who was stricken with guilt. There was a lot of self-condemnation behind those glistening eyes as they began to fill. Henri drew him forward and wrapped his arms around Bailey’s shoulders, and Bailey began to shake.
Desperate fingers clutched at the back of Henri’s shirt, and as Bailey pressed his forehead to Henri’s chest to hide his shame, Henri wanted to tell him there was no need.
But Henri said nothing, knowing there were no words that could make any of this easier or better. There was no magic eraser to remove the images that would forever be in Bailey’s mind.
