Page 68 of What We May Be

Charlie’s trembling took on a different tenor, morphing into anger. “He did what?”

“That’s when he told you about Alice?” Trevor asked. He shared Charlie’s mounting anger, but Sean needed to get this out and they needed to hear the full story, once and for all.

“He said I shouldn’t come back and cause another scene,” Sean continued. “That you both were furious I’d left, that if I came back it would be worse, that our unconventional relationship would draw more unwanted attention, and that others would use our drama to their advantage against the Henbys and against you with HU. They’d dig and find out the truth.”

“Others like the Rowans.” Trevor propped his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Craig was just back in town. He came at me at Pearl’s about a week before your police academy graduation, saying the reign of the Henbys was over, and I wouldn’t be protected anymore. That he’d use his pull with HU to get me kicked out of the doctoral program. Cal was with me.”

“Dad, Cal, and Abel would all have been kicked out of the department too,” Charlie said. “For covering up the accident.” Her gaze shot to his. “And Craig was still pissed at you for breaking his nose at that party the night of the accident.”

“And you”—Sean reached for her hand with one of his—“would blame yourself, for all of it. Cal feared that more than anything, and so did I.” He took Trevor’s hand in the other. “I didn’t want to risk your futures. I didn’t want to do anything that might bring harm to you or your family. And I was likely going to have to take over Paxton sooner than expected. I couldn’t ask you to leave your family and your futures here in Hanover. Not when they were just beginning.”

Trevor closed his eyes, mentally rewinding to that day that had begun so beautifully and ended so tragically. A proposal, a graduation, an abandonment. Except that last one wasn’t true. Cal had intervened, again prompted by fucking Craig Rowan. The course of their lives had been irrevocably altered a second time. But even if it was about protecting them, how could Cal do that, to Charlie, to him, to Sean? How could he live—Trevor’s mental film reel fast forwarded to the answer. Cal hadn’t been able to live with himself. “The overdose,” he mumbled.

Sean’s gaze darted between them. “What overdose?”

“About a year after you left, Cal almost OD’ed. A friend called me from a bar over in Southport. Cal was strung out on pills and halfway through his second bottle of vodka. I found him at a nearby motel, unconscious.”

“He barely made it,” Charlie said, voice a mere whisper, some of the anger leeching out as realization dawned for her too. Pieces coming together.

Trevor stood, circled the coffee table, and sat on the arm of Charlie’s chair. Needing to be near her as he finished telling Sean this part of the story. One of the other worst times of their lives. “I sat by his hospital bed for the next forty-eight hours, convincing him to live.”

Charlie laid a hand on his thigh and leaned against his side. “We never knew what set him off. Took him a lot of therapy and a new partner to train to recover and refocus, but he never completely shook the sadness.”

The guilt. On multiple levels.

“We talked to Abel,” Trevor said. “After Mitch and Cal died and after we got Cal’s letter. Cal didn’t remember anything after the accident that night.” Charlie shivered and Trevor wrapped an arm around her shoulders, offering and taking comfort as the memories crept even closer. “He woke up at home the next morning, barely a scratch on him, the previous twelve hours a blank. Abel told him he’d hydroplaned and run off the road several miles short of the bridge. Mitch made sure the police reports said Alice’s accident was a hit-and-run.”

“We were eighteen.” Charlie sniffled and wiped at her eyes, stopping the tears before they fell. “Abel told us he and Dad thought the guilt would crush him, that it would crush me.”

Trevor hugged her tighter. “Not an unfounded concern.”

“When did Cal learn the truth?” Sean asked. “He never let on while we were at HU.”

“It didn’t come back to him until police academy,” Charlie said. “In bits and pieces.”

None of them had seen it, but Cal’s life had been spinning out of control, and Sean had unwittingly been caught in the storm. Trevor reached out, drawing him to them, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him close too. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Sean wove his fingers into his hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you both.”

Charlie cut off his lament, reaching three fingers up to his lips. “You felt a duty to Marie and Saul. You love them, Sean. We’re not going to hold rushing to their side against you.”

“I know what it’s like.” Trevor rested his head on Sean’s chest and nuzzled into the heat. “When good people take you into their family and ask nothing in return. You want to give them everything back.”

Sean kissed his head. “But you were my family too.”

“And you were still trying to protect us,” Charlie said. “Even though Cal told you we didn’t want you here anymore.”

“We should have come looking for you,” Trevor said. “Fuck, I debated it half a dozen times. I was so fucking angry and hurt, but Cal talked me down every time.”

“Me too,” Charlie whispered. “I can’t believe he…” Her words drifted off again in the same sea of anger and regret that Trevor was wading through.

“We were twenty-three-year-old kids, including Cal.” Sean curled his fingers around Charlie’s, holding them to his chest, and Trevor kissed her knuckles. “He was just trying to keep his family safe and close. Hanover too, I imagine, from the Rowans. I can’t hold that against him, especially now that I’ve met Craig. And after what Cal told you, together with the badge, ring, and necklace, and with me joining the FBI, you tried to move on because you thought that’s what I was doing too. I can’t hold that against you either.”

* * *

They stayed curled together for several long minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms, grieving the time they’d lost, mourning good intentions that had resulted in pain and anguish, and yet acclimating to a fresh sort of peace that was settling now that the truth was out there. Reality, however, eventually intruded, Charlie’s phone ringing insistently. Trevor told her to ignore it, but after it rang a third time, she rose, kissed each of them firmly but briefly, and retrieved the device off the dining table.

“What’ve you got?” she answered. A quick conversation later, she hung up, left the phone on the table, and returned to them. “Marshals will be en route with Martin tomorrow morning. She should be here by two. I still don’t know—”

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