Truth & Tenderness (15 page)

After screwing the lid on the sippy cup, Matt offered it to Sadie, who looked at it like she was sure it was full of evil. Griffin took it, then handed it to the toddler.

Who started sucking away.

Matt tried not to take it personally.

“Well, if you do, tell him I quit.”

Busying himself with a fresh cup of coffee, Matt heard shuffling and looked up to find Daisy entering the kitchen, her grief apparent in every line of her face.

“Hey, boss lady, you want some sugar with your coffee?” he asked gently, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She leaned against him, a light weight against his side. “Yes, please,” she whispered.

They didn’t move for a few minutes, just comforting each other next to the stove, in no hurry to break apart.

“Right, right. Let me know.” Griffin’s conversation was winding up. The refrigerator door opened and closed. “Call me later.”

Daisy pulled away from Matt’s side, peeking out from behind him.

“Momma!”

They ate breakfast at the table, Sadie in Daisy’s lap, Matt and Griffin on each side. Griffin kept casting glances out the back window toward the office until Daisy patted him on the shoulder.

“Go bring him coffee or something,” she said softly.

Griffin opened his mouth to put up a fight, but a few minutes later, he was gone, travel mug in hand.

“Jim’s acting weird,” Daisy murmured, a hitch in her voice. She absently stroked Sadie’s hair as the little girl sucked on a piece of toast.

Matt couldn’t shake his head fast enough. He knew what she was thinking. “It’s not like that.”

Daisy looked at him over Sadie’s head with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s a work thing.” Matt swallowed back the full truth; that was as close as he could get without breaking a friend’s confidence. “That’s all.”

Daisy nodded, twisting her daughter’s hair around her fingers as the little girl made a giant mess of her toast.

They sat quietly, listening to Sadie babble, each locked in their own little world.

G
RIFFIN
FOUND
Jim asleep in the easy chair, tucked under a heavy throw. The knocking, the door opening—Jim had slept through both, and Griffin was grateful. Grateful that Jim didn’t hear his gasp or his string of curse words as he looked at what was spread across the desk.

The case against Tripp Ingersoll in all its god-awful glory.

He drank Jim’s coffee as he rearranged the files and photos. It was clear what Jim’s organization plan was—you lived with a man this long, you got his systems into your head, and it no longer looked slightly insane once you understood it.

The story laid out was sad and disgusting. Five girls, all away from home for the first time, all unaware that some asshole with no soul and no respect was going to end their young lives.

Griffin hated Tripp Ingersoll with an unholy passion.

And in the middle of this horrible story, he remembered how upset he was with Jim and how ugly this was going to be when he finally woke up. Because a secret like this…. Suddenly so much made sense.

Suddenly so much made him sick to his stomach.

He heard Jim stirring behind him, but he didn’t turn. Griffin focused on the task at hand, didn’t acknowledge the soft cursing, or his name, or Jim’s presence in the chair by his side.

“It’s chronological,” he said finally. “Then each file is organized by evidence. I put Tracey’s statement on top.” Griffin patted the top of the stack. “What happens now?”

Jim cleared his throat. “I send it to the Homicide Department of the Ashland Police Department.”

“Where the first girl died?”

“Yes. That’s where Tracey went to school.”

“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.

M
ATT
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.

E
VAN
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
.

A
T
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.

E
VAN
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.

H
E
DREAMED
of Sherri and Matt, cold and fierce, refusing to speak to him as he pleaded and begged for a second chance.

A
T
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 pocket, 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.”

E
VAN
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.