Page 84 of The Evening Wolves

“I thought you were going to delete those apps.”

“They’re talking about me. Why shouldn’t I know what they’re saying?”

“Because it’s fucking toxic. Because they have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, and because they’re an internet mob, and because they don’t deserve to occupy so much as a single brain cell’s worth of attention. Because it’s fucking hurting you. Should I go on?”

A tiny smile creased John’s cheek. He laid the freshly folded shirt on top of the stack.

“Will you stop that and talk to me?”

John hesitated, another shirt hanging from his hand. He let it fall back onto the pile and turned to face Emery. His expression wasn’t cool; it was disconnected, like someone else was behind the mask. He said nothing, and he said nothing, and all that saying nothing felt like a hand closing around Emery’s throat.

Finally he managed, “What do you mean you’re out of a job?”

John crooked a smile at him over one shoulder as he went back to the shirts. “Is there another meaning?”

Emery stood. He crossed the space to where John stood and reached out to draw him into an embrace. Before he could, though, John bent, picked up the pile of shirts, and moved them to the dresser.

“It’s not a big deal,” John said, straightening the edges of the shirts without looking up. “I don’t want to make a whole thing out of it.”

“In what way is it not a big deal?”

John didn’t look up, but he was wearing that crooked smile again. His phone dinged, and he picked it up to glance at it.

“What did your father say exactly?”

“That either I resign, or he’ll fire me because I’m too much of a liability. Sounds like my dad, doesn’t it? I guess I can’t really blame him. Everybody’s got their priorities.”

“What do you mean you can’t blame him?” John opened a drawer and began rooting around in it. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Will you look at me?”

“In case you missed it, I’m in the middle of something.”

“John, what is—” He wanted to ask, again, What’s going on? But it was like smacking his head against a wall. He tried to think. Tried to work his way through the maze of his own thoughts. “You’re not going to resign, are you?”

“Well, that’s going to look better than getting fired, don’t you think?”

“Who cares how it looks? You didn’t do anything wrong. And on top of that, you’re the best fucking chief of police this town has had—ever. Period. What the fuck does it matter how it looks?”

John shut the drawer hard. He turned and leaned hipshot against the dresser, the defined musculature of his torso in a sinuous curve. “It matters, Ree, because, depending on if I go to prison, I’m going to have to find another job sooner or later, and if I have to explain why my own father fired me, it’s going to be a lot more difficult.”

“He’s not going to fire you.”

“Of course he is. Naomi practically took out ad space in the Courier telling everyone what a disgrace I am—did you read that article, by the way? Just about every other sentence includes the phrase ‘history of operating outside the law.’ She blames me for the sheriff’s death, just so you know. I mean, she’s got me teed up for interference charges, witness tampering, everything you can imagine. Hell, Ree, I’d fire me at this point. So don’t give me your moral high ground bullshit when I could use a little support!”

His voice rose into a shout, and when he cut off, the echo ran through their bedroom. Emery stared at him, at how his chest rose and fell, at ink gliding over muscle, bruises muddying the ink. The tape made a white blaze across his ribs. His heart must be racing, Emery thought. He’s hurt. He’s worn out.

Somehow, he managed to say, “I’m sorry.”

John made a cutting motion with one hand. His phone dinged again, and he glanced at it. It was hard to read anything in his face. Like when Emery had first come back to this town. When every expression that crossed his features was a puzzle.

And because John was John, because even when he was hurting, he was so aware of other people, so tuned in, he must have known that Emery was struggling. He spoke again, his voice neutral now. “I know this isn’t what we planned, Ree, but I think it’s an opportunity. This could be a good thing.”

A good thing, Emery thought. He didn’t remember where he was standing, not really. He sat and, from some remote part of his brain, was grateful the bed was there to catch him. He caught himself nodding like this was all making sense.

“You know, I always thought about law school.” John opened the next drawer, his back to Emery again. “I almost did it. I think now might be a good time.”

“Law school.”

“Lots of police officers go to law school.”

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