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The things that asshole had done over the years, the people he and Henri’s father had tortured and murdered, were the stuff nightmares were made of, and the last one—Paul Stevens—had been done with Priest right there.
God. Thinking about what those two boys had gone through made Bailey sick. What Henri must’ve had to deal with as a boy, a teenager, an adult who was sucked into a world he was too frightened to leave.
Bailey took another swing at the bag and cursed as he made impact. His next few jabs were harder, faster, angrier. His outrage over the injustice those kids had faced rose inside of him with an outrage that left him sweaty and sore, until his arms gave way and he was holding on to the bag.
Bailey squeezed his eyes shut as they began to blur, his frustration over the situation escaping him the only way it could. Tears down his cheeks, shouting out his lungs, and wanting to collapse in his bed—the same bed that now felt too big and empty without Henri in it.
He needed to make a decision. But the choice laid out in front of him seemed like some kind of cruel test.
He’d always been taught to follow the law. That those who committed a crime should be held accountable. But what happened when you understood the reason for the crime? And what if you had committed a similar one but were exempt because you wore a badge and uniform?
Those were the questions that haunted him, and the reason for his indecision.
When Bailey felt his legs weren’t about to collapse on him anymore, he let go of the bag and tore off his gloves. He tossed them onto the workbench, then wiped a hand over his brow and headed inside. He was just about to make his way to his bedroom when there was a loud knock at the door.
He thought about ignoring it, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t stop the voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, it was Henri.
When Bailey pulled open the door, he was glad he was hanging on to the handle, because standing in front of him was the last person he’d expected to see—Joel Priestley, or as Bailey now also knew, Joel Donovan.
Dressed for work, Priest appeared as put together as ever in a navy wool coat over a blue suit, and when he took in Bailey’s black sweats and sweaty white tank, he raised a brow. “Hi. I’m sorry to just drop by like this. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
Bailey wondered what Priest would say if he said this was interrupting him crawling back in bed to pine over Henri. He shook his head and stepped aside to let Priest in. “No, you’re not. It’s fine. I just got through working out, that’s all.”
Priest raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t quite believe that, which probably had a lot to do with the fact that Bailey was looking a little pale, a little unshaven, and a whole lot worse than Priest had ever seen him before.
Bailey shut the door as Priest wandered toward the living room and looked around. It was strange that the two of them had been friends for quite a while now and yet Priest had never been in this house.
Huh, maybe Bailey would invite him, Julien, and Robbie over one day, providing they were still all friends after this.
“Should I be worried talking to you right now?” Priest asked.
Bailey took a deep breath and walked past Priest and into the living room. He’d wondered how this was going to go, what Priest would think and feel when he found out what Henri had confessed. “No.” He looked over his shoulder to Priest. “I would never betray your trust that way.”
Priest slipped his hands into his pockets. “And that’s what’s most important to you? Trust?”
While Bailey heard Priest’s question, he also heard the hidden one beneath the surface, and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
All he’d done for the past week was sit around and think about what Henri had told him, about what Henri had done. And no matter how many times the words replayed in Bailey’s head, they couldn’t replace the I love you.
He missed Henri. His voice, his laugh, that sexy smirk when he was up to no good, and Bailey had wrestled with himself over and over about the right thing to do in this situation.
What could he live with? What could he live without? And as he agonized over that answer, he realized that he was the only one that would ever know. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation on what was, or wasn’t, most important to him.
“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask, Priest?”
“Okay. Is your loyalty to the police force going to put me and my family in a prison cell?”
