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He’d been assured time and time again that it was just standard procedure, protocol, that what happened tonight seemed fairly straightforward and he shouldn’t worry. But the longer Bailey was left to think on his own, the more he kept coming back to: Fairly straightforward…?
Was that how he was supposed to view taking someone’s life? Because it didn’t feel straightforward at all.
“Hello?”
Henri’s greeting was the first thing that seemed to cut through the fog that had enveloped Bailey’s brain since he’d handed over his gun and been ushered to a patrol car. And as Bailey startled and blinked at the speaker in front of him, he couldn’t even remember pushing the button.
“Hello?” Henri said again, and Bailey quickly leaned forward to talk into the speaker.
“Uh, hi… Henri?”
“Bailey?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I know I said I wasn’t coming over and, well, it’s early, but—”
Before Bailey even finished his sentence, there was a click from the door. “Come up here to me.”
Wow. Simple as that.
Henri asked no questions, wanted no explanations. He merely unlocked his door and ordered Bailey up, and that—among a whole slew of much more complicated reasons—was why Bailey had ended up on this doorstep in the first place.
Out of all the people in his life at this point, Bailey had known that Henri was the least likely to pass judgment and offer up some feel-good platitudes. He struck Bailey more as being the no-bullshit type, which was exactly what he needed right now.
As Bailey got off the elevator on the third floor—the top—he realized if this had been any other day or time, he might’ve wondered just how much a place like this cost to rent. Or own. He wasn’t sure which Henri did, but it had to be a lot.
There were two residences on this floor. A duplex penthouse, for all intents and purposes, and after double-checking the number Henri had given him the other day, Bailey made his way down to the one on the far left.
He was just coming up to the door when it opened up and Henri moved into the doorway to lean against the frame. As Bailey’s eyes landed on Henri, the suffocating haze that had been surrounding him instantly began to shift.
In faded blue jeans and a white cable-knit V-neck, Henri looked comfortable, relaxed, and the best ending that Bailey’s shitty day could possibly have. His feet were bare and he was sporting a couple days’ stubble, and when Bailey stopped in front of him, Henri moved aside and let him in.
It was that moment, as Bailey stepped over the threshold and let go of any vestiges of caution he might have had left, that he handed his heart over to Henri Boudreaux, to do with it what he would.
BAILEY LOOKED LIKE he’d been to hell and back. His light blue eyes were bloodshot and his color pale. His shoulders looked heavy, weighted down with the burden he’d been carrying around for the past however many hours. The smile that Henri had kissed goodbye the last time they’d been with one another had been replaced with a tight, thin line.
After receiving Bailey’s text saying he would be canceling their date together because of work, Henri had debated whether to go check on Bailey later today just to make sure he was doing okay.
Dick had told Henri little to nothing in the way of details surrounding the shooting. But it didn’t take a genius to work out that Bailey was not doing okay.
Not that he’d really expected him to be. From everything Henri had observed of Bailey during their time together, he’d come to realize that Bailey had this relentless optimism for humanity in spite of the career path he had chosen.
Here was someone who no doubt saw the very worst society had to offer on a frequent basis, and yet Bailey was this sweet, shy guy who reminded Henri of summertime and sunshine whenever they were together. It was Bailey’s warm smile and quick-to-flush cheeks, always ready to light up his handsome face. Something Henri sorely missed now.
Henri quietly closed the door and moved into the room. Bailey was now standing between the dining table and the kitchen island. He’d just stopped, and Henri wondered what exactly was running through his head.
He knew firsthand what it was like to pull the trigger and end someone’s life, and whether or not they deserved it, the visual imprint from that moment changed you. It was something you could never go back from, was something you could never un-see—something Henri had learned just recently.
Not that he could tell Bailey any of that, but at least Henri understood, and maybe, just maybe, he could offer some kind of solace to a man who looked seconds away from crumbling.
Knowing the last thing Bailey probably wanted to do was talk more about what had happened, Henri walked by him and into the kitchen, where he decided to try for a little normalcy. To try to get Bailey thinking about something other than the shit-ton of questions he’d no doubt been bombarded with at the station.
