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“Are you hungry?”
Bailey turned toward where Henri now stood by the oven.
The kitchen wasn’t overly large, nor the distance between it and the dining table, but as they stared at one another across the space, Henri suddenly felt as though it were a giant chasm where he stood on one side, and Bailey was a million miles away.
Henri picked up the frying pan he’d gotten out before his intercom had buzzed and held it up. “I was about to make breakfast, an omelet. Have you eaten?”
Bailey shook his head.
“Would you like one?” Bailey nodded, and Henri gestured to the island. “Why don’t you sit down, keep me company?”
Bailey’s eyes flicked to the two barstools, and Henri turned away to make him feel less self-conscious about actually being able to move his legs to walk from one side of the room to the other.
Bailey looked rough, like a gentle breeze might knock him down, and Henri couldn’t help but worry that shock was setting in.
Henri put the pan on the gas range and went to the fridge to grab out the carton of eggs, some ham, and cheese, and as he placed them all on the counter by the stove, he heard the stool pull out and looked over his shoulder to see Bailey settling down onto it. Good—that was a much better outcome than him passing out cold on the hardwood floor.
Henri shut the fridge and moved all the ingredients over to the small workspace on the other side of the stove, and as he cracked the first egg on the side of the glass bowl and watched it fall inside, Bailey finally spoke.
“I killed a man today.”
Henri put the broken shell back in the carton and turned to find Bailey’s eyes locked on him. The complete and utter devastation in those usually carefree depths gutted Henri to his core.
“I wanted some candy, so I stopped at a Quick Mart. Then I killed someone.” Bailey’s tone was flat, devoid of all emotion, and so far removed from the man Henri knew that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand.
“Bailey—” Henri started as he walked to the opposite side of the island, but Bailey cut him off. Then a barrage of words spilled out of his mouth as though he was finally done holding them back.
“I mean, he had a gun and a hostage, and I told him twice to put it down, but he didn’t listen.” Bailey shook his head. “He didn’t listen, and then his fingers moved. They moved, Henri. He was going to shoot. So I fired first.”
Bailey’s eyes were wide and his hands trembled, and when he seemed to realize what they were doing, he brought them up to his face and scrubbed them over it, muttering, “I killed a man today…”
Henri stepped around the island and wrapped his hands around Bailey’s wrists.
“I killed a man. But it was all ‘straightforward,’ so that makes it okay.”
Nothing about Bailey’s expression said he thought that this was okay. He had the look of someone who was stricken with guilt. There was a lot of self-condemnation behind those glistening eyes as they began to fill. Henri drew him forward and wrapped his arms around Bailey’s shoulders, and Bailey began to shake.
Desperate fingers clutched at the back of Henri’s shirt, and as Bailey pressed his forehead to Henri’s chest to hide his shame, Henri wanted to tell him there was no need.
But Henri said nothing, knowing there were no words that could make any of this easier or better. There was no magic eraser to remove the images that would forever be in Bailey’s mind.
So, Henri stood there. Silent and steady, the rock in the center of someone else’s storm, the promise of stability for once in his life. And as Bailey fell apart in his arms, Henri was right there to catch him.
Chapter Ten
CONFESSION
He’s wonderful.
My kind of wonderful.
BAILEY SPLASHED A handful of cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror of the washroom. He looked like hell. There was no other word for it.
With red-rimmed eyes above bags heavier than the ones he’d taken on his last vacation, there was nothing attractive or appealing about the man staring back at him. And as Bailey thought about Henri, who was standing out in his kitchen waiting, he did a quick scan of the small space to see if there was a window he could climb out of so he wouldn’t have to show his face again this morning.
Unfortunately, there was nothing.
God, what must he think of me? Crying all over him like some kind of basket case. I should’ve just gone home and crawled into bed.
But when a soft knock on the bathroom door sounded and Henri said, “You okay in there?” Bailey’s panic instantly faded, and he knew exactly why he had come there.
