Page 20 of What We May Be

Chapter Six

Sean made another circle around the dining table covered in crime scene photos, and when no great insights revealed themselves to him, he walked right on past to the bottle of Ardbeg on the coffee table.

He was an assistant legal attaché for fuck’s sake, not a profiler. He’d been assigned to one serial case his entire time abroad as a legat, and his responsibility on that case had been to broker information sharing between agencies. Serial Killers 101 had been a long time ago in Academy, and most of what he remembered from that class was the fuck-hot professor. And all that conjecture assumed this was a serial case at all. Yes, he’d raised the possibility at the station today, but that may have been premature. There was only one victim so far and a cryptic numbered clue. At this point, based on statistics, it was still as likely a suicide as a murder and an even slimmer chance it was a serial.

Why had Marsh thought he could help? Yes, he could assist with the estate matters—he’d handled enough of that himself lately—and he could be a friend, which was the least Marsh deserved, but the case itself… Marsh could probably hack more clues than Sean could find. Another mystery, why had Sean practically leapt at the chance to intercede? Especially knowing one, this wasn’t his area of expertise, and two, the pain and heartache it would stir up.

No mystery, not really. He couldn’t resist seeing Charlie and Trevor again, despite all his better instincts, despite his promise to Trevor, despite the fact he was due to turn in his badge next month, despite the fact he was expected at Paxton Industries after that, and despite the fact he’d made a different promise to a dead man a decade ago. If it had been a bad time to bring attention to the Henby family then, it was an even worse one now, and yet, here he was. Again. But he had convinced himself he needed to know Trevor and Charlie were happy in order to move on. Selfish Bastard 101. He could teach that course.

Scotch in hand, he opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the small cement patio. He dragged one of the plastic chairs to the edge, dropped into it, and dug his toes into the sand. It wasn’t home—home was five miles down the road with a For Sale sign still in the yard—but the sand between his toes and the salty sea breeze reminded him of the comfortable years he’d spent here, the most comfortable he’d spent anywhere.

He lifted a hand to the charms on the necklaces around his neck—both of them—and let the memories crash into him like waves on the shore.

Falling into Charlie, literally, his first day on campus as he barged into his, Trevor’s, and Cal’s dorm room carrying an unwieldy stack of boxes.

Being hauled up and off the stunning girl in jean shorts, a tank top, and an oversized baseball jersey by an equally stunning boy, his skin tan, his hair long, and his hazel eyes sparkling with interest. The owner of the jersey.

Stripping Trevor out of that jersey after a game one early spring night when Cal had been off campus and the tension between him and Trevor had finally boiled over.

Admitting to Trevor later that spring that he was attracted to Charlie too, and for the first time in his life, someone fucking getting it. Not judging him for it.

Watching the friendship between Trevor and Charlie bloom into something more over that summer. Being there for their first kiss that began with a tentative brush of the lips and exploded into a moment of such hunger and relief that Sean considered himself the luckiest man alive to witness it.

Lying sweaty, panting, and tangled in the bedsheets with them after they’d made love, then… and a mere month ago.

He took another swig of the scotch, the alcohol nowhere near as searing as the memories. And nowhere near enough to numb the burn.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he was grateful for the distraction, until he saw the name onscreen. He owed her a call. It was Sunday night, and the number of Sunday night calls were ticking down, but fuck, the last thing he wanted to do was think about what was next, about what had drawn him away from Hanover in the first place. The ringing stopped, then started right back up. Not a good sign, and not a call he could risk putting off.

He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Aunt Marie.”

She wasn’t really—both of his parents had been only children—but Marie and Saul Paxton had been their best friends, and when Sean’s parents had died in a plane crash, Saul and Marie hadn’t hesitated to take in their ten-year-old son, even though they were forty-two and had never planned on having kids. And even though Saul had just started his own company. A company that had thrived beyond their wildest dreams. Dreams that took a nightmarish turn when strapping and seemingly healthy Saul was diagnosed with cancer at fifty-five. He’d beaten it twice, prolonging Sean’s stint with the feds, but this latest bout had been too much for his worn-out body to beat. “How is he?”

Marie sniffled. “The doctors say any day now.”

“Do you need me to—”

“No, dear,” she said. “You saw him last week, thankfully. He’s so pumped full of drugs now, he’s no longer lucid.”

“Better than the pain.” The cancer had gotten into his bones, and despite Saul’s effort to hide it, Sean had seen the grimace every time his adoptive father moved. Just squeezing Sean’s hand had made him nauseous and dizzy.

“Stay and finish your work,” Marie said. “I’ll need you more after.”

“If that changes—”

“I’ll let you know. You should get to enjoy the last few weeks of the job you love before you have to give it up.”

And wasn’t that just the kicker. When Marie had called him that day ten years ago and explained why she and Saul had missed his police academy graduation—that Saul was in the hospital fighting for his life—she’d told him not to come. But someone had overheard the conversation and urged him to go. Had promised to tell Charlie and Trevor why he’d left. And that he’d be back.

When Saul had recovered, Marie had urged him to return to Hanover and law enforcement—they didn’t need him to take over the family business yet—but that yet was always there. Waiting and threatening. At the time, he couldn’t imagine Charlie and Trevor ever leaving Hanover. He wouldn’t ask that of them. But maybe he could steal a few more years with them.

He was intercepted at the airport. Someone had never told Trevor and Charlie why he’d left. Someone had intercepted his other attempts to make contact. The two people he loved the most thought he’d abandoned them. And once the same someone explained why extra attention was the last thing the Henbys needed, twenty-three-year-old Sean had been swayed by the duty he felt to the Paxtons and the Henbys. By the words of someone he considered a friend. Family.

He’d joined the FBI instead, and as soon as he was qualified, he’d requested an overseas assignment, putting himself as far away from Hanover as possible. But he’d also lost valuable time with Saul and Marie.

“You are my family,” Sean said. “You need me, you call me.”

She hemmed and hawed but eventually agreed, just as the line beeped with another incoming call. Marsh, the screen read. “Marie,” he said, “I need to take this other call. It’s about the case. Keep me posted on Saul.”

“I will, dear. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He ended one call and answered the other. “Hey, sorry,” he said to Marsh. “I was on the other line with Marie.”

“How much longer?” Marsh asked, cutting straight to the point as was his way. His Texas drawl soothed the slice a bit but not as much as having a friend there with him would. A friend who knew all his secrets.

“How fast can you get here?”

“Shit, Hale, I’m sorry.”

He took another gulp of the scotch. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, lowering the bottle. “Just fucking get here.”

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