Page 23 of What We May Be

“Go,” Trevor said, then mouthed, It’ll be okay, I promise.

Holding on to the comfort of that promise—if there was anyone she trusted, it was Trevor—she grabbed her keys and hustled out the door, dialing Abel on the way. “What’ve you got?” she asked as soon as he picked up.

“Someone drunk at the cemetery.”

She halted midstride. “Why can’t the duty officer handle that?”

Abel sighed. “It’s Sean.”

Shit.

* * *

The cantankerous old groundskeeper was waiting for her at the gate to the cemetery. “Where is he?” she asked.

He slapped the picked padlock into her palm. “Your mama’s grave.” No kind words, no steadying hand. Just the blunt truth and the padlock that half of Hanover had picked at least once in their lives. She’d picked it more times than she could count, including Halloween night her sophomore year with Trevor and Sean by her side. The pick sticking out of the lock tonight, however, was professional grade, a far cry from a sparkly purple bobby pin.

She stood there remembering that night. How what had started as a dare, Sean worked up by town ghost stories Trevor had goaded him with, had turned into a conversation with her mother. Albeit one-sided, she frequently visited and updated Alice about what was going on with her, the family, and Hanover. She’d introduced her to Sean that night and told her how she and Trevor had finally become more than friends. Something Alice had always teased her about, something Charlie knew Alice had always wanted for them. Trevor and Sean’s back-and-forth as they’d filled Alice in on baseball and Charlie’s terrible cooking had had her rolling with laughter, then later that night, rolling between the two of them, never having felt closer.

“Your mama’s grave.”

What was Sean doing there now? Like he’d promised, he’d stayed out of her way at the station that afternoon, working with Jaylen and Diego. But now he was directly in her path again. What did he have to say to Alice?

She walked her usual path through the cemetery, no need for a light despite the darkness of the hour. She stumbled to a stop at the edge of the Henby and Champion plots, brought up short by the heart-crushing sight of Sean slumped against the base of the stone angel atop her mother’s grave. His head was tipped back, his eyes closed and lips moving, his hands hanging loose around an empty bottle of scotch between his legs. She laid a trembling hand on a nearby gravestone, struggling to center herself in the hurricane of emotions.

Surprise that Sean was there, in her family’s final resting place.

Anger that he was back in Hanover after he’d left twice before.

Fear that he would one day learn all her secrets, including about her mother’s death, and that it would paint any of the good memories he had of the Henbys, memories that had led him there tonight, in a different, darker light.

And above all else, a desperate longing to run to him, to comfort him, to beg him to stay and try again with her and Trevor.

But how could she ask him to stay when she and Trevor were leaving? How could she ask either of them to go back when they were supposed to be moving forward? Annie’s earlier words rang in her ears. “How could you be so selfish?”

Her sister was right. About more than just the job. No matter where things were headed with the FBI, Charlie had to leave the past behind, for everyone’s sake. Turning the way she’d come, her feet and mind propelled her away from the past, logic and reality moving her toward the future. Three steps later, a branch cracked beneath her foot and her past called out.

“Charlie, ’s ’at you?”

Halting, she closed her eyes and breathed deep, grasping at her quickly fading resolve. “Yeah, Sean, it’s me.”

“Did that old asshole call the cops on me? How is he even still alive?” Groaning, he shuffled to his feet. “I told him I was a fucking cop. Oof!”

She spun in time to see Sean tumble headfirst toward Mitch’s gravestone, arms flailing, destined to miss and break something. She lunged, catching him by the arm and wrestling his tall, muscled frame against hers. She wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him back to the ground in front of the angel. “Maybe stay there.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, don’t mind me.” He slouched against the stone base and closed his eyes again. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

She hesitated, caught between what Charlie the ex and Charlie the cop should do. In his present condition, she doubted he’d make it back to the motel on his own. He’d probably fall asleep here, and the station would receive another complaint in the morning. But what if he did try to get back on his own? She shivered at what might befall him in his current state—stumbling in front of a moving car, another altercation with Trevor, an unannounced visit to God only knew where. Caution winning, she lowered herself to the ground next to him, taking up another side of the angel’s base. “What were you talking to them about?” she asked.

“Scandalizing your dad with stories about the red-light district in Amsterdam,” he answered with a roguish grin.

She laughed at her father’s imagined affront. Despite all he’d seen as a cop, Mitch Henby was easily embarrassed when it came to such matters, perhaps because Alice was the only person he’d ever been with. Childhood sweethearts, married right out of high school, devoted to each other and their family, inseparable until the day—

Charlie cut off the thought and covered by flashing Sean a sideways grin. “Visit it often, did you?”

“Once. For a case.”

“Only once? Cal would be so disappointed in you.”

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