Page 6 of The Guilty One

I sigh, feeling the agony of the lack of answers in my bones. “I don’t know. I brought that up too, suggested that maybe he’d been robbed, but there are…other things that make that less likely.”

Every set of worried eyes lands on me.

“Other things?” Dad asks. “Like what?”

“Tate took the week off of work.” I pick at the skin around my thumbnail. “He’s been telling me he’s going into the office all week, but he told his boss he was on vacation.”

“Why would he do that?” Daphne asks, shaking her head with concern. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I checked his phone and went back as far as it would let me on the location app, and it looks like he was there every day.”

“Sounds like a coverup,” Lane says, staring into space. “The police need to speak to his boss. He has to be lying.”

“They did speak to him. The company has given them security footage to comb through, but his coworkers are good people. I don’t believe any of them would lie about this. I don’t see any reason they’d have to do this.”

“What about the man who was driving Tate’s car? Was he a coworker?”

I press my lips together. “I don’t think so. I knew all of the other agents at the firm. It could’ve been an assistant, but…the other weird thing is that they had matching tattoos.”

Daphne’s head tilts to the side. “What do you mean?”

I tap my shoulder, running a finger across the skin. “The lion on his shoulder. He…the man who died, he had a similar one.”

“Well, that can’t be a coincidence, can it? They must’ve known each other. What else could that mean?” Dad asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “The police are supposed to look into his clients and search his phone for any leads, but?—”

“Mom!” Ryker rushes toward me, leaping off the porch. “Did you bring us anything?”

“What?” I gather him in my arms, hugging him against my chest. It always takes me by surprise that he’s nearly as tall as I am at just ten years old.

“Grandma said you were shopping,” he says, pulling back just in time for Finley to launch himself against me next. At seven, he’s just a few inches shorter than his brother.

“Why don’t we go inside, kids?” Mom says, holding out her arms. “All of us. I think we should give your mom a chance to get off her feet.”

Really, she’s giving me time to prepare what I’ll say to them next, but no amount of time could ever be enough. Daphne takes my hand, and Lane takes hers, and we follow my parents and the boys up the walk and back into the house.

* * *

No one prepares you for this. There is no ‘How to Tell Your Young Sons Their Father is Missing and Possibly Dead’ manual out there on shelves, ready to walk you through the moment, step by step. Bit of a niche market, I suppose, but I’d buy up every copy in existence if it meant I had help doing this.

They know something is wrong. Everyone is crying and holding hands as we stare down at them, trying to work out our next steps. I have to tell them something, even if it’s not the entire truth just yet.

Especially when I don’t know what that truth might be.

Finley sits on my lap while Ryker is next to me, tucked up under my arm. It’s been a long time since he let me hold him like this—at ten, he’s getting too old for snuggles with Mommy, though it breaks my heart. Still, something in this moment seems to tell him it’s needed.

I kiss both of their heads, offering the most reassuring smile I can muster. They know nothing of death yet—all of their grandparents are alive and sitting here. The family dog, a brown-and-black cocker spaniel, is beginning to gray, but with any luck, he’s still years away from the end of his life. I need Tate to be okay. They can’t lose their dad first. I have to believe that he’s alive out there somewhere, that he’s okay, and that he’s coming back to us. I have to believe we’re going to find him because I’m not sure I could ever stop looking.

“So…” I puff out a breath of air. “I have some kind of confusing news, babies, but what I want to make sure you know first is that, no matter what, we’re going to make it through this. We’re going to be together, and we’re going to be alright. And”—I look up, blinking away fresh tears to keep them from falling—“and you are so, so loved, okay? We all love you boys so very much.”

They’re just staring at me. Not saying or doing anything other than blinking and growing more confused by the moment. My mom’s hand finds my back, and she rubs it just as she did when I was a child—an act that gives me more comfort than I’ve felt all day.

“So…there’s a chance Daddy isn’t, um, Daddy might not be coming home tonight, okay?” I pinch my lips together, my eyes stinging as I fight against the tears.

“What do you mean?” Ryker asks.

“Well, he’s…he might be going away for a few days, or maybe longer.” I sigh, scratching my forehead. “The truth is we don’t know when he’s coming back.”

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