“Right, I read that.” Griffin turned in his chair, trying to harden his heart before he looked at Jim.
The shame was not a surprise, nor was the embarrassment. The tears battered his heart, because Jim didn’t cry. That was Griffin’s role. “I’m sorry.”
Griffin shook his head. “No, you’re not. I mean, you’re sorry I found this, but you’re not sorry you did it. Please be honest.” He rested his hands in his lap, refusing to touch Jim just yet. He needed time.
“You’re right,” Jim said softly.
“Does Matt know?”
“Yes. He told me to get rid of this—send if off and let it go.”
Tilting his head to one side, Griffin smiled faintly. “That’s not going to happen, is it?”
“I’m sending it off.” Jim reached for him, but Griffin didn’t move.
“What’s it going to take? I mean—100 percent honesty here, Jim. What’s going to put this case to rest for you?”
Jim rubbed his hand over his face. He looked… older, suddenly, and Griffin’s heart broke a little. He played in the world of justice and cops and victims. He read the files and saw the pictures, but he’d never understand the pieces of Jim’s soul that rested in all those cases over all those years.
“He has to go to jail,” Jim murmured finally.
Griffin nodded. This time he reached for Jim’s hand, twining their fingers together. He clasped his other hand over Jim’s until he felt like he’d anchored his fiancé to the moment. “Do what you have to do, then,” Griffin said. “Just finish it.”
“Thank you.” Jim closed the space between them and kissed Griffin’s forehead. “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t….”
“We can’t get married until you’re done, though. We can’t—move ahead on other things,” he broke in, voice wavering as his heart crumbled into little pieces. “I need all of you, not the parts that say yes because you feel guilty.”
This was why Jim proposed. This was why he’d acquiesced to the baby talk.
Guilt.
“No, no—that’s not why I….”
Griffin shook his head. He couldn’t look at Jim anymore, not right now. “I love you, okay? And we’re fine. We’re just—paused.”
Jim dropped his forehead to their clasped hands, saving Griffin the trouble of closing his eyes. They both cried a little while the faces of those dead girls stared up at Griffin from the desk.
MATT WAS still at the table when Griffin came back a few hours later. He looked like shit, a fact Matt did not comment on. They shared a glance as Griffin moved to put the empty cup in the sink, and then Matt realized just what happened.
“Griffin, Jim is just….”
Griffin shook his head. “I’m not taking it personally, don’t worry about it,” he said flatly before leaving the room.
Matt drank another cup of disgusting coffee, then watched his phone light up again without picking it up.
Chapter 15
EVAN LEFT Miranda in charge once again, and took the train to the city with Kent. They didn’t speak, didn’t bother with small talk as the N rocked and rattled into Manhattan. Evan felt uncomfortable with all his family’s dirty laundry laid out for this young man to see.
They parted at Forty-Second Street, walking their separate ways.
Evan added his daughter and her boyfriend to the list of people to apologize to.
Matt wasn’t answering the phone, a fact that fueled Evan’s strides to his precinct, jittering his blood more than all the caffeine in the world. He got the hint. It needed to be more than just a phone call. Evan figured he could get into his office, shut the door, and leave the most apologetic message in the world—hopefully prompting Matt to call him back.
Of course his best-laid plans fell to shit when he walked through the door.
The precinct with the lowest crime rate in the city was suddenly buzzing with a mugging and a break-in at a high-end dress shop. His phone started ringing as soon as he sat down and kept going until nearly five. Every time he picked up the cell to leave a message for Matt, someone else showed up wanting “five minutes of his time.”
He gave them all ten minutes, a quiet despair at the back of his mind.
I have to fix this.
At a loss, he took his cell into the men’s room and tapped out a text.
I love you. I’m sorry. Calling at six. Please pick up.
He waited an hour, but his phone finally buzzed back.
OK.
AT SIX, Evan locked his door, shut off the light, and drew the blinds. Only his desk lamp stayed lit as he pressed the line for Matt’s cell.
It rang and he waited.
On the third ring, Matt picked up.
“Hey,” he said coolly.
Evan tapped his fingers against the desk. “Hey. How’s everything at Jim and Griffin’s? Is Daisy all right?”
“Fine—well, not fine. Everyone’s kind of shitty right now,” Matt said finally. He sounded exhausted.
“Do you need anything? I can, uh—I can drive up if you need clothes or whatever.”
“I packed a bag.”
Evan felt the world tilt a little. “Oh. Well—I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday morning. That was really unfair of me to just dump that into your lap.”
Matt didn’t respond. Evan took a deep breath.
“Miranda handled everything, but uh—she shouldn’t have to. Your career is important—”
“But not as important as yours.”
“Matt, I never said—”
“No, you don’t have to say the words when the actions speak for themselves.”
“You’re right—my actions said, ‘You handle it, it’s not my problem.’ And I am ashamed of how I behaved.”
He could hear Matt breathing—he could feel his anger through the line—and for a moment, Evan contemplated hanging up.
“Fine, you’re sorry. What happens the next time? Because we both know there will be.”
Evan felt frustration welling up. “Do you want me to quit? Because that’s the only way I can guarantee this won’t happen again.”
Nothing.
“You pushed me to do this. You were in favor of me taking this promotion.”
“Wait, so this is my fault?” Matt’s tone was utterly incredulous. “I tell you to take advantage of a great opportunity, you decide that’s permission to be a dick?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Evan knew this was going badly. His irritation flared even as he told himself to shut up. “But we both knew what it meant before I said yes.”
“So I should have been prepared for you to fuck me over like you did your wife.”
Something painful and mean exploded behind Evan’s eyes. “You don’t get to talk like you knew her.”
Matt laughed, cold and bitter. “I didn’t know her, but I’m starting to understand her life.”
The line went dead.
The urge to rip something in half with his bare hands overwhelmed Evan. After all their years together, some things were still off-limits. The children, Sherri—they were never weapons or pawns. Whatever flared and snapped between them, they kept it between them.
This was different. Ugly.
Because the worst part was Matt was right.
EVAN WENT home to Miranda folding laundry at the dining room table. She didn’t say anything when he refused dinner in favor of collapsing on the couch. She brought him a beer and sat in the recliner, silent and yet so loudly judgmental, he couldn’t even look at her.
HE DREAMED of Sherri and Matt, cold and fierce, refusing to speak to him as he pleaded and begged for a second chance.
AT BREAKFAST, Elizabeth kept staring at Matt’s empty chair, refusing to engage in Miranda’s attempt to make pleasant conversation. When Danny left without saying good-bye, Evan knew full well whose side his children were on.
“He’s coming back, right?” Miranda asked as they stood at the front door.
Evan tucked his keys in his po
cket, eyes averted. “Yeah. We just—we need a few days to sort something out.”
Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. When Evan looked at her, he saw confusion and sadness playing across her features. It felt like Sherri judging him. It felt like a terrible warning.
“Okay,” she said finally, scuffing her slippers against the entryway rug. “It would suck for the family to get all broken again. I mean—the kids don’t need that, you know.”
Evan swallowed a lump in his throat and drew Miranda into his arms. “Thanks, honey. I don’t want it to be broken either.”
EVAN SENT two texts on the subway, holding tight to a pole as he typed one-handed.
I’m sorry.
Please come home so we can talk.
He didn’t get an answer.
Chapter 16
JIM AND Matt sat in the office, each on their own side of the desk, not looking up.
They were in full work mode, the murder cases divided in half, with Jim taking the odd case out. Calls were made, information triple-checked, more evidence tucked into the files.
In an hour, the phone was scheduled to ring and a Detective Owens from the police department in Ashland, Oregon, would then be presented their case against Tripp Ingersoll. Off the record, of course.
Jim sent another document to the printer, then brought up the UPS website to schedule a pickup.
“Not that I don’t love your company, but how long are you planning to stay?” Jim asked, typing in the address of Ashland’s PD.
“I can leave if it’s a problem,” Matt said stiffly.
“I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to figure out if you left your boyfriend or this is just a selfless act.”
Matt let out a strangled laugh. “No such thing as a selfless act.”
“Fine.” Jim sighed as he turned to face Matt. “You left Evan.”
“No. I just came up here to help you and it was perfectly timed with my boyfriend being a dick.” Matt slapped a folder closed. “I needed a break, okay?”
Jim shrugged, the grit of overuse and a lack of sleep taking a toll on his entire body. “Fine.”
They fell back into a tense silence, every movement a bit harder than necessary. A folder hitting the desk, a drawer yanked out, then slammed back in. A headache began to pulse behind Jim’s eyes, each throb with its own name.
Lack of sleep.
Shame.
Anger.
Even the ticks of the clock seemed to mock the pain.
A sigh from the other side of the room stilled Jim’s hands as he reached for a box to pack the files.
“Sorry. This is bullshit—I don’t need to be fighting with you too,” Matt murmured.
Jim turned the chair around, then slid across the floor closer to Matt. “Agreed.”
“He keeps calling.”
“That’s a good sign.”
Watching his friend carefully, Jim couldn’t miss the depth of his sadness. It reminded him all too well of a night a few years back when two stupidly lonely and heartsore people sat next to each other on some barstools and wound up becoming best friends.
The tightness around his eyes, the downward pull of his mouth. The way his hands trembled as he pushed a pencil around the blotter.
“He doesn’t leave a message,” Matt said. “Just calls and hangs up.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know what to say.”
“Well, that saves me from having an answer.” Matt swiveled the chair to face Jim. “This keeps coming up. Not every day, not every month. But it’s always fucking there.”
The stack of files sat on the desk between them like punctuation to a ridiculous joke. Jim couldn’t miss the metaphor.
“You told me to finish it—then pack it up and let it go.” Jim kicked at the wheels of Matt’s chair. “Maybe you should take your own advice.”
Matt’s head lolled to one side as he shot Jim a look of derision. “So lobotomies for both of us? Erase our memories?”
“No, but talk it out. Tell him how it makes you feel—”
“Your dead wife gets in the way of our relationship?”
“Don’t start with that.” Jim sighed as he stood up, stretching tired and aching limbs. “Maybe… maybe couples’ therapy?”
Matt glanced up at him, his lower jaw actually dropped.
Jim heard the words come out of his month, then winced at Matt’s expression. “Yeah, I heard it.”
“Are you all right? Are you fucking delirious?”
A smile tickled Jim’s mouth—exhaustion high, shields low. He started to laugh. “A yoga retreat?”
Matt glared until he started to laugh too. “Shut up.”
“Kama Sutra Weekend for Couples. Phallic Pottery for Partners.”
Tears started to leak out of Jim’s eyes. He snorted, then fell back in the chair as he covered his face with both hands. “Poetry for Lovers,” he got out before he dissolved into laughter again.
Nothing but the sound of choking and snickering filled the room for four or five minutes straight. Jim would look up, his gaze would meet Matt’s, and they would fall into it again. Jim shook with the release. A near-hysterical edge buzzed to the sound, but it didn’t matter. Maybe these were tears bursting out in a different form. If he couldn’t cry or throw a chair through the window, he could let it out like this.
MATT WIPED his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The thing needed to be set on fire at this point, as he’d been wearing it for over twenty hours. Sweat, tears, and the slick of emotional exhaustion permeated his skin and clothing.
Hot shower—he needed one of those. A full meal.
His kids.
Because fuck. Fuck.
The laughter trickled to a chuckle until he was sitting in the chair with his face in his hands. This wasn’t just about a stupid fight with Evan. This wasn’t even about Sherri’s ghost—or the slot in the household that Matt so eagerly slipped into.
This was about going almost two days without talking to the kids, and the guilt started to choke him. Their kids—their kids. That was what Evan said. That was what those papers in the safety deposit box meant. But more than that, in Matt’s heart, they were his.
Matt cleared his throat, choked on the tears still hovering. “I’m gonna go call my kids, okay?”
HE STARTED with Katie, because she was his girl. She picked up right away, a frantic swirl of words before he could say her name.
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you home? What happened?” she asked. “Matt, you didn’t leave Daddy, did you?”
“Calm down, please,” Matt said gently. “There’s a lot going on, but it’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Katie snapped. “Don’t. I’m not a child.”
Matt leaned against the garage, feet in the mud and his back soaking up the morning dew off the wooden shingles. Everything around him presented a sense of serenity, a quiet haven in the middle of trees and flowering bushes, the pool water lapping quietly. “We had a fight, but that’s not why I left. My friends needed me, okay? That’s all.” The truth—with a lie woven through so quietly he hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“You didn’t call the kids,” Katie said accusingly. “Your friends can’t be more important than that.”
He winced. “You’re right. And I’m going to speak to them as soon as they’re out of school.”
“What about Dad?”
She wasn’t letting him off the hook easily—which, if he was honest, was why he had called her first. “I’ll talk to him too.”
“Just promise, please?”
“I promise you, sweetheart. I’ll make everything all right.”
When Katie started crying through the line, Matt’s heart broke.
EVAN WAS on the phone when his cell rang. He scratched out notes on a legal pad as the community board president complained about the recent mugging. The papers were running stories about how crime was on the rise in Midtown, something not borne out by statistics, and this is how property values take a hit
. Did Evan understand that?
His cell vibrated wildly, and Evan almost ignored it, but it might be….
It was.
“Mr. Killian? I think I should come down and speak to you in person,” Evan said quickly, sliding his finger across the strip and connecting the call.
“One second, please,” he whispered to Matt before going back to his angry citizen. “Can we meet first thing in the morning?”
The real estate broker sighed dramatically but agreed. Eight at his office, first thing in the morning. Evan knew he’d have some serious public relations work to do and plenty of glad-handing, but anything to finish this call. He’d take Casper. It would be fine.
He hung up and immediately pressed the cell to his ear. “Matt… sorry about that.”
“It’s fine, I know you’re busy.”
Evan opened his mouth, then closed it. Coward that he was, he dodged around the words—and the sound in Matt’s voice. “How’s everyone doing up there?”
“Lots of coffee, very little sleep. Being cheerful for Sadie’s sake is fucking exhausting.”
And Evan knew that sound in his voice—way beyond tired, resigned. “I’m….”
“How are Danny and Elizabeth?” Matt cut him off. “I haven’t called them, and I feel terrible about that.” Matt’s voice cracked.
“They understand you have to help your friends,” Evan said carefully. He picked up the pencil and started to nervously doodle Matt’s name under the notes from Killian’s rant.
“I’ll call them after school.”
His heart sank. “So you’re staying up there?” he asked. “For a few more days?”
Please say no. Please come home.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Each word got scratchier and heavier until Evan felt the despair in his chest. “We need to talk.”
The pencil dug into the paper until the tip broke on the curve between the a and t in Matt’s name. “Then come home. Just—we can’t do this over the phone. You’ll feel better, the kids will feel better. Please,” Evan said in a rush. “We can do this.”
Truth & Tenderness Page 11
