Truth & Tenderness

by Tere Michaels

  “It’s a few days. She’ll be fine,” Griffin said soothingly. “You need this—you both do.”

  Daisy looked like hell, a condition that Griffin couldn’t sit idly by for. Whatever rough spots in their past, Daisy was his friend, his sister, his family—and if he had to be a busybody to help her, so fucking what.

  Which was exactly what he was going to say when everyone got on his case about it.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong. He’s acting so weird,” Daisy said, rubbing her eyes. Nothing about this picture gave him any comfort. Daisy looked like hell in jeans and a T-shirt he suspected was Bennett’s. She’d driven up by herself with Sadie in the backseat—almost unheard-of behavior given Bennett’s overprotectiveness. The overnight bag she had carried in—well, Griffin was fighting to keep a calm face.

  “And you are going to deal with it, whatever it is,” Griffin said softly. He let Sadie win the game and have his glasses; it gave him a chance to walk over to Daisy and pull her against his free side.

  “Momma,” Sadie said, petting her head.

  “Yes, Momma needs to go talk to Daddy, and we’re going to have so much fun,” Griffin said brightly, even as he felt Daisy’s tears against his shirt. “Can you say ‘bye, Momma! Love you!’”

  Sadie didn’t quite get the game, but she smothered Daisy’s face with kisses and waved at her a few minutes later as Daisy pulled herself together at the open door.

  “I love you,” Griffin said, and Daisy gave him her best brave smile. “Bennett loves you—remember that.”

  “I know.” Daisy blew kisses to Sadie, who was now wearing Griffin’s glasses, and then she was gone.

  Griffin looked at the—blurry—closed door, then at Sadie, who was blinking at him behind his round glasses.

  “Oh Sadie girl, what are we going to do with these people?”

  JIM STOOD in the posh lobby of the Trump Hotel, hands in the pocket of his suit pants. A small overnight bag sat next to the sleek tan leather chair he’d claimed. He’d spent two hours of coffee and texting with Matt, going over the specific dates and times they needed Tracey to confirm.

  He had to get something from her, something that would compel the Ashland detectives to act.

  And now it was going to happen.

  Tracey had sent him a message from another unknown cell number, and in a few minutes, they would meet.

  It didn’t take long to spot her. She walked out of the elevators a few feet from where he was waiting, dressed in a smart black pantsuit, her hair tucked up in a simple twist.

  Jim blinked. Liz had him prepared for a broken woman, a woman overwhelmed by her fear as she hid from her husband.

  Tracey looked like a model.

  Her smile was meek, though, as she spotted him. They met in the middle of the elaborate gold-and-mirror lobby. He extended his hand like this was a casual meet-up with an acquaintance.

  “Detective,” she murmured, her hand cold and small in his.

  “You can call me Jim.”

  THEY SETTLED into the seat grouping farthest away from the check-in desk. Tracey’s back was ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap. Jim settled across from the couch. He smiled tightly, trying to remain calm and focused on the young woman before him.

  “I appreciate this, Tracey. I want you to know, before we start, that if you need assistance—if I can help put you in touch with people.”

  Tracey nodded, twisting a slim gold bracelet on her wrist. “Thank you. I’m all right for now. My parents have been helping me with some money and uh—once the lawsuit is done….” She trailed off as Jim shifted in his seat.

  Money for the divorce, Jim assumed. He didn’t bother to comment.

  Silence settled between them as the murmur of guests arriving and departing around them swarmed.

  He cleared his throat and began.

  “I don’t want to talk about that girl in Los Angeles,” Tracey said softly. “You can’t do anything to him because—”

  “I know,” Jim cut in, rubbing his hands on his suit pants. Calm, he reminded himself. Calm. “We don’t have to go over that.” The urge to ask her about providing his alibi hurt as he buried it down deep. “Can we talk about you and Tripp in college?”

  Tracey’s doe eyes widened a fraction. “College?”

  “You went to Ashland, in Southern Oregon.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “And you played lacrosse.”

  She tipped her head to one side as if trying to figure out his line of questioning. “Yes. Four years.”

  From memory, Jim reeled off some of the colleges she had competed against, mixing up various schools with the towns where the murders occurred.

  She nodded through each one. “That sounds right,” she said as he finished his list.

  Jim’s heartbeat sped up. He could feel his mouth drying up, his tongue swelling as he pressed it against the roof of his mouth. “Did Tripp ever travel with you?”

  “My sophomore year,” Tracey murmured, a tiny hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “He said he would miss me too much if he didn’t.”

  It was all Jim could do not to get up and beat his chest.

  HE VIBRATED from the Trump Hotel to the airport to the plane. He texted Matt everything Tracey told him, hands shaking as he settled into his first-class seat.

  They had confirmation.

  Jim reined in his emotions as best he could, but the replay loop in his mind would not stop.

  Before they parted, Tracey had shaken his hand, her voice soft and tremulous. “He told me I’d end up like Carmen if I didn’t watch myself. That’s why I left, you know. That’s why I’m getting the divorce. His parents are going to have to give me what I’m owed.”

  The only thing Jim could focus on when she said that was the confession woven through Tripp’s threat.

  He might not be able to put Tripp away for Carmen Kelly’s murder, but he knew, even if no one else ever would.

  “I’m going to get him, Ed. It’s almost done,” he whispered before shooting off a text to Griffin.

  I love you.

  GRIFFIN HANDLED a bout of tears when Sadie realized that the “bye, Momma” game ended with Momma being bye-bye. They sat on the living room floor and played with the box of toys Griffin kept for her; Sadie found a purple stuffed monkey that she immediately began cooing to and petting like it was a baby doll.

  “Okay, purple monkey baby makes you happy, which makes me happy,” Griffin murmured, stroking Sadie’s fine dark hair. His phone buzzed, which caught her attention. Griffin pulled Sadie into his lap so he could read his message.

  “See? Uncle Jim loves Uncle Griffin,” he said, showing her the screen.

  Sadie made the purple monkey kiss the phone, and Griffin’s heart melted.

  I have a surprise for you!

  He hoped said surprise would push his fiancé a little further down that long hallway toward fatherhood.

  JIM FELT amazing. Jim was jazzed and pumped and ready to come home and suck his fiancé’s brains out through his dick.

  Twice.

  So when he tipped the driver before heading to the front door, there was a spring in his step. Then the door opened and, well….

  “Uncle Jim’s home! Hi, Uncle Jim! Sadie’s having a sleepover!” Griffin enthused.

  Sadie waved a purple monkey at him.

  He got three kisses after that—one slobbery, one stuffed, and one from Griffin that included a brightly desperate smile.

  “Don’t kill me?”

  THEY ATE pizza in the living room, Jim remarkably calm about a child, red sauce, and crumbs coming in contact with a rug and the upholstery.

  “We’ve had sex on this rug—she can drop a crumb,” Griffin muttered.

  “I’m fine. I didn’t even say anything.”

  Sadie ignored them both. She sat primly with her back against the recliner, a dish towel tied around her neck and a large plastic plate in her lap. The monkey sat next to her, similarly decked out.
Griffin cut her slice into smaller pieces, and she ate each one carefully.

  The monkey was not hungry.

  “You know, I actually think she’s cleaner than you,” Jim observed, reaching for another slice from the box on the coffee table. “Think I can make a trade?”

  “Haaaa. You’re a laugh riot.” Griffin offered her a juice box. She leaned over and took a sip, then went back to her pizza.

  When he looked up, Jim was staring at them. Him.

  “What?”

  Jim smiled then, one of those smiles that had a terrible effect on Griffin’s knees. Lucky he was sitting on the floor. “Nothing.”

  BATH TIME started well, but that ended abruptly when Sadie tried to take the stuffed animal into the tub. Griffin couldn’t get her to stop crying, so Jim plucked the monkey from her hands, then proceeded to give it a “special bath” in the sink with a washcloth and Griffin’s toothbrush for behind his ears.

  Sadie sniffled a few times, then consented to getting washed, but only if Uncle Jim brushed the monkey’s fur.

  Jim was glad Griffin didn’t have a camera.

  Sitting on a closed toilet, brushing a monkey with one of Griffin’s seven hundred hair accessories. Watching Griffin handle Sadie like a pro—from hair to ears to crevices where pizza crumbs had gotten into, he kept her laughing and content the entire time.

  He’s going to be such a good father, Jim thought. His hands tightened around the monkey as Griffin wrapped Sadie in a giant towel. Her shrieks of laughter as Griffin pretended to lose her in the folds made Jim smile.

  “Pajamas and stories!” Griffin yelled as he scooped Sadie into his arms.

  Jim followed as if pulled by an invisible string.

  GRIFFIN FELL into bed, utterly spent and deeply happy.

  Jim was home, Sadie had gone to sleep, and no news from Daisy felt like a good thing. Clearly she and Bennett were taking advantage of baby-free time. Everything was good and right in his world.

  “So, you’re good at that,” Jim said, lying down next to Griffin. They hadn’t even washed up or changed into sleep clothes.

  Griffin turned his head to Jim and smiled. “I told you. Several hundred nieces and nephews. Not my first rodeo.”

  “Now see, I know that in theory, but this is the first time I saw you….” Jim rolled closer, pressed a kiss against Griffin’s cheek.

  “I love taking care of her, Jim,” Griffin whispered. He tucked his forehead against Jim’s neck, letting the contact bolster him. “And I feel like—my career is settled, we have a home now, a real home, we’re getting married.”

  Jim twined their hands together.

  “Have you thought more about it?”

  “Yeah,” Jim said quietly. “I have.”

  The silence that followed was killing Griffin, literally sucking his life away. But before he could open his mouth, Jim made everything perfect.

  “Let’s have a baby.”

  MUCH LIKE when he had proposed, all of Jim’s carefully planned and thought-out life decisions went out the window. Spending the evening with Griffin playing godfather and caregiver tugged at Jim’s emotions. Maybe it would be all right—Griffin would clearly be the hands-on parent. And Jim would be there, strong and steady, supporting his Griffin.

  No. God. No, wait.

  Jim put his arms around Griffin, who was babbling in utter delight at Jim’s words.

  He wasn’t going to be his father. He’d figure this out, how to be a good dad. How to be like Ed Kelly, who loved his girls so much he had suffered just for the privilege of having them in his life.

  He could….

  The doorbell rang, shattering the moment.

  IT DIDN’T ring once. It kept ringing.

  Griffin ran down the stairs, calling for Jim to check on Sadie to make sure she hadn’t woken up. He slid across the foyer, then pulled open the door, not even looking to see who was on the other side.

  Daisy, hysterical and sobbing, fell into his arms.

  Chapter 12

  MATT WAS halfway through his morning cup of coffee when his cell went off. The kitchen bustled with activity—Evan getting his breakfast, the twins in and out of the refrigerator.

  “Yeah, hey, Jim,” Matt said, taking his coffee and his phone into the living room. “You on your way? You have to be at the offices by nine.”

  “Sorry, Matt—you’re going to have to take this one.” Jim sounded exhausted, and Matt’s first thoughts were: more of the Tripp Ingersoll case. He ducked out of the kitchen and walked into the farthest corner of the living room for some privacy.

  “We had an agreement about this fucking—”

  Jim cut him off. “Daisy showed up here at about midnight,” Jim said coolly. “She left Bennett.”

  Matt stopped short. “What?”

  “Apparently he fucked an old boyfriend a few weeks ago. Claims it was a one-time thing, but Daisy wasn’t having any of his bullshit.” Jim was whispering now, and Matt heard a door open and close. “She drove up here and fuck—I haven’t slept, Griffin hasn’t slept. It’s a mess.”

  On the one hand it made sense, given Bennett’s behavior, but Matt couldn’t reconcile this man, so protective and loving and devoted to his wife and daughter, cheating. Anger started to boil up inside him. “Fuck,” he swore.

  Footsteps behind him made him turn; Evan stood there, looking confused.

  Matt held up a finger, then went back to Jim. “So you can’t come down here today?”

  “I’m a hazard on the road, and frankly someone has to be around to mind the kid because Griffin’s got his hands full with Daisy.”

  Matt blew out a breath. “Okay, I’ll figure something out.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s nothing you can help. Give Daisy my love, okay?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call you later.”

  Matt switched off the call and threw his phone across the room onto the couch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Sighing, Matt turned back around to Evan. “Daisy left Bennett. Apparently there was someone else.”

  Evan looked about the same way Matt felt—shocked and a little sick. “Jesus. I’d never expect him to be the type….”

  Matt shrugged. “No one expected this. And now Jim can’t make it to the inspection today or the afternoon meeting. Shit.” He was supposed to work from home today and Jim was handling the appointments in the city. The kids both had things after school. “I need to go into the city.”

  “You can’t.”

  The words stopped Matt cold. “What?”

  “Danny has a game and Elizabeth’s got dance at five.” Evan looked at his watch. “I’m late.”

  “You’re late? For a community meeting on parking meters or something?” Matt snapped.

  Evan narrowed his eyes. “You need to take care of this. I can’t.”

  They didn’t fight. It wasn’t their thing. There was grousing and maybe some passive-aggressive door slamming, but they didn’t do this.

  But Matt was standing in the middle of the living room watching Evan put on his suit jacket, and he thought his head might explode. “You’re the fucking captain—you can leave a few hours early once in a while,” Matt said sharply. “And please don’t act like I’m making this shit up. You and I both know—”

  “We both know that I’m being scrutinized more than most, and we both know that your job is flexible. Mine is not.” Evan grabbed his keys off the table near the door, and Matt felt the vein in his head throbbing.

  “You’re just going to leave—”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m late.”

  Incredulous, Matt watched as Evan opened the door and left.

  Left.

  “What the almighty fuck.” Matt exhaled. When he turned around, Danny and Elizabeth were watching wide-eyed from the kitchen.

  MATT CALLED the phone tree, parents who came through in emergencies when Matt was out of town.

  No one was free—apologies all around—and Matt got angrier a
nd angrier with each call. Why was this his problem?

  Oh right, because you made it your problem, Matt thought. He sat in the parking lot of the high school, angrily pressing buttons.

  He tried keeping up a smile for the kids, but no one believed him, so he wiped the fakery off his face, gave them each ten bucks, and waited for them to laugh at the old joke.

  Nothing.

  The last person he called was the one person he feared might say no just to spite him. “Miranda?”

  “SO JUST pick them up, get them where they need to be, and feed ’em?” Miranda asked.

  Matt rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I’m sorry—will you be okay leaving work early?”

  “I can take the afternoon off. Don’t worry about it.” Miranda called to someone in her office; then Matt heard a door close. “What time will you be home?”

  “Six or seven.”

  “Dad still rolling in around nine?” It was a joke except for the part where it wasn’t.

  Matt didn’t laugh. “Yeah. Or ten. He usually calls.”

  “Right. Food, or am I doing the No Dad, Let’s Have Takeout Thing?”

  “There’s food in the house. Make two vegetables.”

  “Cool. Do you mind if Kent comes over?”

  “No, that’s fine. No making out on the couch, though,” he teased, letting himself unhitch from the anger for the time being. He owed the girl big, particularly considering their truce was still written in wet ink.

  Miranda snickered. “No promises.”

  A nice moment. Matt would press this into his scrapbook right after “Fought with Evan.”

  “Just—thanks, okay? I appreciate this.”

  Miranda’s response was so blasé, he knew it wasn’t a shot or a pointed remark. “You forget, Matt, I used to have to do this for Mom all the time.” Noise started up again on her end, and she told someone to hang on. “I gotta go. See you tonight.”