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But Bailey wasn’t just a cop. He was the man Henri had fallen in love with, had held when Bailey had been too broken, too weak to stand on his own, and though every voice inside Henri’s head told him no, what came out of his mouth next was: “They aren’t just my secrets to tell.”
Bailey swallowed, but the determined look that flashed in his eyes was one that Henri had seen before. He wasn’t about to let this go.
“Trust me, Henri. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Henri looked down to their joined hands and memorized the way their fingers fit together, because after this, after tonight, he knew that Bailey would never want to touch him again.
Chapter Twenty
CONFESSION
The devil is in the details.
How I wish that wasn’t the case tonight.
“IF I’M GOING to try to explain this, then I need to start at the beginning. Back in New Orleans.”
Bailey nodded as Henri slipped his hand free and moved to the edge of the bed. He pushed aside the netting and climbed out, then picked up his shorts and pulled them on.
Bailey shifted on the bed, his eyes locked on Henri, who walked over to stand by the sliding door. The breeze had died down now, and the night felt still, as Bailey waited in silence, not daring to breathe…not daring to move.
He was equal parts concerned and anxious for what was about to happen here, because something in his gut—the gut his father had always told him to listen to—was currently screaming that whatever Henri was about to say was going to change everything.
Not his feelings, of that Bailey was certain. He loved Henri, and nothing said here would change that. But there was still a niggling inside him that what was about to be revealed was something he wasn’t quite prepared for.
“That’s where I grew up,” Henri finally said, breaking the silence in the room. “Was born, raised, used, and abused in good old New Orleans. It occupies a fucked-up place in my heart. A part I don’t look at or think about if I can help it. But ever since that night in Oshkosh, it’s been harder to ignore. Ever since you.”
And there it was, the first piece of the puzzle that had been so confusing to Bailey—the why behind these nightmares and the reason they had started. Here he had been under the misconception it was because of Priest and residual feelings. But the truth was that it was actually because of Bailey, and new feelings.
Henri had been the first to admit he wasn’t looking for a relationship when they met. One and done was all he’d been after, a warm body to help him forget his ex was getting married again—something Bailey had been more than fine with.
But now that one and done had been replaced with “I love you” and “I’ll take care of you when you break.” What did that mean for a man who was an expert at erecting walls and building bridges to keep the “good people” away? And what could he possibly be hiding that made him think he was so…bad?
“I already told you that Joel and I grew up together,” Henri said as he glanced back to Bailey, and just like that, Bailey understood that these secrets weren’t just Henri’s. They were Priest’s also, which was why they were so important, and maybe the reason Priest had been so apprehensive about them getting closer.
“We came from the same shitty place and the same shitty situation. The wrong side of the swamp, so to say. But our fathers didn’t let that hold them back; they made the most out of the hand they were dealt, or more likely stole. They were the very best at being the very worst men in town. And I’m not talking about ‘slappin’ around their ladies and their kids’ kind of bad. I’m talking about providing the less-than-upstanding citizens of New Orleans with any kind of drugs they wanted, guns they wanted, murder for hire they needed.” Henri turned to face Bailey head-on. “Joel’s piece-of-shit father was numero uno, and my dear old dad was his right-hand man. Their men were terrified of them, and so were their sons, even after they wound up in prison.”
The flat expression in Henri’s dark eyes made the hair on the back of Bailey’s neck stand. It was cold, detached, and far removed from the Henri that Bailey knew.
Then again, what Henri was describing sounded truly terrifying, much more organized than the local dealers and everyday, run-of-the-mill criminals Bailey had come across on patrol. It sounded more like the kind of stuff that the guns and gangs units dealt with, the ruthless assholes that Sean hunted down. Bailey wondered what exactly Henri would’ve had to do in order to walk away—especially alive.
