Page 135 of Skeletons in the Closet

“If I want?”

“I can… let you know what happens.”

“I’d like that.” Even though I would probably have the answers within the next few days, I took every excuse he offered to stay in contact.

Diem nodded.

A breath of silence filled the car before Diem exhaled and reached for the door handle.

“D?”

He stilled.

I touched his arm and encouraged him to face me. In the deep shadows of the car, his scars were hidden.

I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but Diem reached out a hand before I figured it out. The touch was feather soft. He traced a finger along the underside of the stitches in my forehead. In the chaos, I’d forgotten how beat up I looked.

“I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I shouldn’t have gotten you tangled in my mess.”

I smirked. “Maybe I like being tangled in your mess.”

The faintest hint of a real smile touched the corner of his lips, stealing the oxygen from the air. It was gone as fast as it appeared, so fast, I was convinced I’d imagined it.

“Take care, Tallus.”

I frowned. It felt like a goodbye, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to close this chapter with Diem.

But before I could find words to express the confusing thoughts swirling around my head, he got out of the car and walked away without looking back, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.

***

It took until the following week before the case against Faye Willard was officially closed. Detective Doyle personally delivered the file to the records room, slapping it down on the counter with a cocksure grin.

I perked up, eyeing it. “Is that the Willard case?”

“It is.”

I wanted nothing more than to get my greedy hands on it. Diem hadn’t called. In fact, I hadn’t heard from him in five days. Instead of pestering, I left him alone.

Doyle motioned to his face, then to mine. “Bruising is gone.”

“Mostly. I used some coverup this morning.”

“Just need to get those stitches out.”

“A few more days. Not soon enough. They itch like a motherfucker.” I tapped the folder. “So?”

“Do you want to read it, or do you want me to summarize it?”

“Both.”

Doyle chuckled. “Eager beaver.”

“Shut up and talk.”

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