by Victoria Sue
“Shut up.” His father backhanded him, and the pain made his head reel. His legs didn’t work too well for a few seconds, and that was all it had taken for Mikey to step outside the door without him.
And he never knew why. How his strong, brave brother could suddenly leave him. It had taken a lot of years before Deacon had forgiven him, before he had understood that at seventeen, Michael had still been a child himself. And by the time Deacon was at college and Mikey made contact, six years had passed. Mikey had done what he had to, faked his age and enlisted, and he hadn’t known they’d moved shortly afterward when Dad changed jobs. It had been a catalogue of missing things, missing addresses, and missing opportunities. Deacon had never expected Michael to go anywhere without him, and feeling like Mikey had turned his back on him, he’d done the same.
And when he’d finally realized his mistake, it had been nearly too late.
“Deacon?”
Maverick saying his name brought him into the present with a start. He squirmed a little to see all eyes on him and wondered how long he had been lost in his regrets.
He looked at the detective even though it had been Maverick who had spoken. “I would have to think about an alibi for the other days, but to be honest, I know I don’t have a complete one.”
“We are hoping to get the time of death narrowed down when our ME gets his results,” Detective Wright said. “At the moment, we don’t have any confirmed sightings for at least three days, but we have Amazon rental activity seventy-two hours prior. If we use that, then the time of death would be the eleventh to the fourteenth or the weekend through Tuesday when the fire started. The email makes it a little closer if true because that was sent on the twelfth.”
“Except I didn’t receive it and I didn’t meet with him,” Deacon reiterated and glanced at Mav, but Mav was looking at Detective Phan. Neither of the local cops had said a word, and Deacon wondered what they were doing here. “My landlord said you had visited.” He glanced at Mav’s friend. “Officer…?”
“Chaplin,” he supplied. “Yes, we followed up with the landlord, but he had already cleared your apartment when we got there.”
It figured Atkins had lied. Slimy money-grubber. So there was nothing they could do. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, to be honest.
“So that’s it?” Mav asked, the disbelief apparent in his voice.
Detective Phan stood up, and Detective Wright passed Deacon a card. “We may need to speak to you some more, so we would appreciate it if you inform us of any travel plans.”
What travel plans?
“Can we contact you here?” Detective Phan glanced at Maverick, then Deacon.
“Yes,” Maverick confirmed before Deacon even had a chance to think about his reply. Deacon was still musing on it as the detectives left, and when Mav came back in, Deacon hadn’t moved. He didn’t know what to say. What to think. He watched Mav’s hands tremble slightly as he picked up the water bottle he hadn’t touched yet.
“Why did he leave?” Maverick asked.
Deacon knew Mav meant his brother. Was he ready to tell him? “They were yelling at each other on the stairs when I came in from my grandad’s. Dad said I had to go to my room, and when I tried to go after Mikey, he backhanded me. My dad basically said Mikey wasn’t his. It was the first I’d heard about it, but there were five years between us, so I was only twelve. It was another six years—nearly seven—before we finally spoke to each other, and he didn’t want to talk about anything to do with my dad.”
“Didn’t your mom say something, or your grandad? Wait,” he said before Deacon could answer. “Your dad hit you?”
Deacon nodded. “Mom all the time. Michael when he could get in between them. Me not so much, but I was good at keeping out of the way.”
“Then why on earth did you let him take Molly? She’s not safe. Surely to God you could get witnesses. What about your grandad?”
“I—”
“I mean, I guess looking after a small child is difficult, but any home is better than that one.”
“Difficult,” Deacon parroted. “No—”
Mav shook his head, and Deacon stilled, realization dawning on him. “My dad’s dead,” Deacon said flatly. “You really thought I would have let that happen if she was going to that bastard?” Deacon didn’t know whether to be horrified or angry. He’d thought Mav believed him, but really he was just the same as everyone else.
Chapter Five
MAV’S LIPS parted, but he couldn’t form any words. Fuck, he had thought exactly that.
It was Deacon’s turn to shake his head. “Pops was in a nursing home by the time Mikey left. My dad had a stroke the year before I graduated high school and died just as I left for college. Mom married her attorney, of all things. Not that I blamed her for it.”
But you blame her for other things. “I’m sorry,” Mav offered, knowing that was completely inadequate.
Deacon shrugged. “Of course, you wouldn’t know, but yeah, Percy Fellhouse the Third is rich. Mom decided she wanted Molly, and Percy paid for it to happen.”
“What, you mean bribes?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think she needed to. They’re rich.” He started counting off on his fingers. “She’ll go to the best schools. I’m not rich. In fact, at the moment, I don’t even have somewhere to live.” He was silent a beat. “Or a car. I may or may not have a job tomorrow.”
“That’s why you didn’t fight it.” The explanation dawned on Maverick. “You think she would actually be better off there.” It made a ton of sense even if some things still weren’t adding up. “But you said she drank. Why didn’t that come out in court?”
“She was sober every time I saw her. I guess she doesn’t need it anymore.”
Which was bull. Alcoholics always needed it. It was simply that the need to stay sober was greater. When Mav got a chance, he was going to see if Jamie knew anyone who knew this judge, because something seemed off to him.
“I just miss her.” Deacon chewed his lip.
“How long was she with you?”
“Ten months.”
Mav didn’t know whether talking about her made it better or worse, so he kept on. “How old is she?”
Deacon’s eyes suddenly became a little brighter, and he dipped his head quickly but not before Maverick saw them. “Two. She was two a couple of days ago.”
The words were whispered so quietly Maverick barely heard them. Deacon missed her birthday? “Can’t you see her?”
Deacon nodded. “Yes, I was granted visitation every Thursday for two hours.”
Fuck. That was harsh. “Wait. It was Thursday two days ago. On her birthday.”
Deacon looked miserable. “I called there at three as usual, but she had left for her party in some hotel, so I couldn’t see her. I left her gift with the housekeeper.”
“But that means you should get another day, surely,” Mav argued.
“I guess. I’ve been too distracted to sort it out.”
Mav reached out and squeezed his arm before he even thought about what he was doing. “Understatement of the year?”
Deacon returned his smile, and Mav removed his hand. That was the second time he had touched Deacon without thinking, and this was work. “Do you need to do anything else today?” He looked exhausted. It was on the tip of Mav’s tongue to tell him to go catch a nap when he realized he was overstepping. Deacon was an adult. “I’m hungry,” Mav said, not giving Deacon a chance to answer his question. “Jamie said the fridge was full.”
“I could eat,” Deacon replied, and they both stood at the same time, which was awkward, especially when Deacon walked away from him and took the long way around the table so Maverick wouldn’t hold him up. Mav blew out a short breath as he put an unsteady foot forward. Maybe he needed to make some calls. He’d spent the last three months burying his head in a bottle, and while life might not be how he envisioned, he might be able to make it a bit better. Deacon, not surprisingly, mad
e it to the kitchen first and pulled open the door on the large fridge.
He brightened. “What do you feel like?”
Mav kept his face carefully straight. “I can make sandwiches.”
Deacon smiled. “I can make a Spanish omelet.”
“Sold,” Mav said and went to fill the coffee maker.
MAVERICK WATCHED Deacon carefully, quite pleased with himself. They’d taken their coffees into the living room after he had discovered Deacon was a damn fine cook, and Deacon had called and made arrangements to see Molly. It had sounded like his request wasn’t received favorably at first until he asked if they preferred the request to come from his attorney, and then they promised to call him back.
Maverick had looked at his own phone then so it didn’t seem he was listening, and considered texting Charlie. He also searched for the new prosthetics facility out past Johns Creek he had been referred to and shot them a reply to one of the many emails they had sent him. It was a start. He looked up from his phone after he realized Deacon had stopped talking, and couldn’t help the smile. Deacon was sprawled on his couch, asleep. Or he had his eyes shut anyway.
His gaze roamed over Deacon’s body. His own body was giving off interested signals for the first time since he’d woken up in Somalia, and he had to keep reminding himself propositioning Jamie’s clients wasn’t a good business decision. He wasn’t dumb either. Deacon’s model-worthy good looks or the way he dressed so carefully weren’t an indication of anything. He knew gay came in all shapes and sizes, and just because Deacon had accepted a casual, comforting touch, then initiated one when he was under so much stress was in no way flashing a green light. Mav tried to stretch out his leg and winced at the pull in his back.
“When are you seeing your therapist?”
Maverick focused on the tired blue eyes that were open and watching him lazily. “I emailed them a few minutes ago, actually.”
“That’s good.” Deacon yawned.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I’m a little wired, to be honest, and I’m waiting to hear from my mom.”
“You could be waiting a long time.” Personally, Maverick thought they were giving him the runaround in the hope he would simply give up.
Deacon’s eyes widened a little. “You think I should just go?”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
Deacon tugged at his lip with his teeth. “They say she’s out.”
“So you won’t be any worse off.”
Deacon swung his legs down from the couch and stood up. “Can I borrow the truck?”
Maverick shook his head. “That’s not how this works. Wherever you go, I go. Call me your assistant, if you like, and I can always wait in the truck if they won’t let me in.”
Deacon’s smile turned innocent. “But doesn’t hired help get to wait in the kitchen?”
“This isn’t some PBS rerun,” Maverick growled and stood up. “Where do they live?”
“Ansley Park.”
Mav tipped his head. “Big house?”
“Huge,” Deacon answered forlornly and followed him out.
“Can I ask,” Mav started as they got in the truck. “How many times have you seen your mom recently?”
“Apart from the visits with Molly—two—and the court. I haven’t seen her since I was eighteen.” Mav shot a glance at him, but Deacon was looking at the road as he drove. “I left as soon as I inherited the money Pops left me for college,” he explained. “Dad had his first stroke the year before, but if anything, that made him meaner. The only benefit was he couldn’t move as fast.”
“I’m sorry he hurt you.” Maverick could have happily gutted the bastard.
Deacon shrugged. “I wasn’t as brave as Mikey.”
Which in no way made it Deacon’s fault. But Maverick wasn’t sure how to convince Deacon of that. “I don’t know your brother, and I mean no disrespect, but I think you mean you weren’t as confrontational. It takes as much courage sometimes to stay calm as it does to lash out.”
Deacon glanced at Maverick as if the compliment surprised him. “You think?” he asked hesitantly.
“What did you do at eighteen?”
“Went to college and had a blast,” Deacon replied and chuckled. “It was like being let out of prison. I probably went a little too far at first, until it was forcibly pointed out to me one day I’d wake up broke with no job and no prospect of getting one.”
Maverick smiled. He would have liked to have seen a wild Deacon. It would make a nice change from the too quiet one.
“Of course, it still came back to bite me on the butt.”
“How so?”
“Court.” Deacon sighed. “About four of us got caught smoking weed, and it’s still illegal in Alabama. I was lucky because I wasn’t in my room, and the guy who bought it had already gotten into trouble once, so I got away with it. It sobered me up very quickly to what I had nearly thrown away, so I got my head down and finished. I’d done pretty well at school, so even though I wasted six months, it only took me two years.”
Maybe not an airhead, then.
“Then we won the talent contest at school, then a local radio one, and someone put a clip of us on YouTube. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“Were you studying music?” He was more of a rock fan himself, but he knew Six Sundays had been very popular.
“No, biology, actually.” Deacon laughed. “I can’t read music one little bit. My roommate, Jazz, was the music aficionado, except he couldn’t sing, and I seemed to be able to write catchy lyrics as well. The other guys were musicians Jazz had strong-armed for the contest. We were all pretty stunned when the clip was aired and Sony contacted us.”
“And you don’t see them anymore? If you weren’t prosecuted, how was it mentioned in court?” But he wasn’t an attorney. He had no clue.
“Sara Jeffries found all this out. I wouldn’t speak to her, so she just basically made everything up. It was in the papers, and that’s when my mom found out about Molly and that I had been given custody. And at the custody hearing because Jazz and the others who ended up having their lives tanked all appeared at court blaming me. My lawyer said they had probably been paid ‘expenses’”—Deacon finger quoted the word—“to appear. Except, funnily enough, the guy who actually was to blame, no one could find him. He progressed to the harder stuff pretty quickly, and he hasn’t been seen in some time. The whole case was whether I was a fit person to care for an infant, so everyone my mom’s solicitor could find to say I couldn’t was dragged in. Manny was there, as I said. He was still trying to resurrect his career, so he made out in court I was a hysterical, strung-out junkie like my brother and he’d been following orders.”
Mav made a disgusted sound. “I don’t blame you for not talking to Jeffries.”
Deacon glanced at him as they came off the highway at the next junction. “It’s not because she was a reporter, but because we have history.”
“You were together?” The sharp stab of disappointment jabbed at Mav.
“Oh God no.” Deacon shuddered. “I don’t do lady parts.” Mav concentrated very hard not to react. “It was what she did to Shelley Young.”
Maverick recognized the name of the woman who had died in the car crash. “What did she do?”
“Made her life hell for a few weeks. She was ill. She’d been in psychiatric care but skipped town a few times and ended up in Atlanta with a child.”
“No father around?”
“All she would say was when he got back, he was going to marry her. No idea if it was true. If he was away somewhere, or even if she really knew who he was. He could have been a one-night stand.”
“A john?”
“I don’t think so,” Deacon said. “She had money for concert tickets anyway. The first time I met her was after a concert. She’d been one of the fans who had lined up in the rain for five hours beforehand, and Manny invited a few of them in as a publicity thing to meet us.” He shook his h
ead. “She was soaked, and I gave her my jacket. Then we went on tour—our first and only one—and she kept turning up. I didn’t notice until one of the doormen came in saying a lady was outside insisting she was my girlfriend. He thought it was nonsense, but he promised to ask me because she had the baby with her, and he was worried. I followed him behind the ticketing area, which was restricted. I recognized her right away, and Manny said I mustn’t talk to her, so I gave the doorman some cash to get her a cab. The only other time I saw her before the accident was during a concert when she tried to get on the stage, but security stopped her.”
“Then the story came out about your brother,” Maverick said, understanding how everything had escalated.
“Yes, and it was Sara Jeffries who did that.”
Maverick winced.
“Then Manny made up that ridiculous story about the stalker, and Shelley handed herself in to the cops. Sara was on her right away. According to the police, she was in one of the cars that pursued Shelley before the accident.”
“She wants locking up,” Mav decreed. “But Shelley got the blame because she was high?”
“Yes, but Sara—not being content with ruining just Shelley’s life—convinced Manny somehow she had proof he had made the whole story up, and he panicked and blamed me, which was a much better story for her. She ran the piece, which played right into my mom’s hands, and I got sued for custody of Molly.”
Maverick didn’t know what to say. It had been one disaster after another, so he went with the first thing that occurred to him. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Not half as sorry as I am,” Deacon said bitterly, then flushed. “That was unfair.”
“And your mom didn’t try and help?” She would have had the money.
Deacon scoffed like the idea was ridiculous. “The first time I met Mikey after he left, we’d arranged to meet in a coffee bar near campus. I was still under twenty-one,” he added. “It was hard looking at him through an adult’s eyes, as the last time I had seen him I was twelve, and he always seemed larger than life then.”
