Page 75 of Oddly Fine

“It’s how you feel,” he said, shrugging.

Beckett found Hayes to be unbearably adorable whenever he jumped to his defense, which was especially true in this instance.

“Still—it was a dick move.” Beckett frowned and looked sheepish.

“Franklin would probably say you are a dick.” Hayes patted him on the shoulder and smiled crookedly.

Beckett wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at that.

“I should have lied. He’s dead. I should have just gotten some flowers.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. From what I know about Franklin, he was more of the cactus type,” Hayes replied, shaking his head.

Beckett’s bark of a laugh turned into a harsh sob.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” Beckett admitted, finding that saying the words made them a helluva lot more dramatic than just thinking them. He glanced over at Hayes with desperation in his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because—” Beckett began, swallowing hard as the words stuck in his throat. “’Cause I don’t believe it.” He met Hayes’ warm gaze, wanting him to see and understand his inner turmoil.

“Don’t believe what?”

“That he’s dead. I know we saw the tape—and I know—” Beckett shook his head, his anger and grief creating a maelstrom of internal confusion. “But something doesn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain this exactly, but I just can’t—I can’t fathom that the fucker would do this!”

Hayes took his time mulling this over.

So many expressions crossed his face that Beckett couldn’t read them all. Amazing really—this visible proof that Hayes had come a long way from the buttoned-up, stoic puzzle he’d once been. Beckett decided he’d be better off keeping that to himself.

“You don’t think he’s dead?” Hayes asked, seeking confirmation.

In response, Beckett simply shook his head.

“Okay—so, what do you want to do?”

Hayes’ ready acceptance took Beckett by surprise. He thought it would be harder than this to persuade his logic-based partner that something was hinky. Beckett took a second or two to recalibrate.

“You—I mean, you think I’m right? You don’t think I’m insane?”

Hayes responded with a warm, understanding smile that made Beckett want to tackle him to the floor and lick him all over.

“Oh, sweetheart, I figured out you were insane the day I met you—doesn’t mean I don’t believe or trust you.” Hayes accent was much more pronounced whenever he expressed strong emotions, which was irrefutable proof of genuine sincerity. “I also know your gut is rarely wrong—so—what’s the plan?” Hayes rubbed his hands together briskly, signifying his readiness to get down and dirty for whatever Beckett had in mind.

Beckett’s heart lifted with renewed faith and hope. He knew Hayes loved him. They’d been saying as much to each other for several months now, but Hayes’ immediate acceptance and support of anything and everything he needed meant more than he could possibly express. Beckett had always been a few miles east of alright. He knew he had a tendency to sound insane to most people. It just hadn’t occurred to Beckett that above all else, having someone to back him up, no questions asked, would be his kryptonite.

He chuckled at the level of insanity they shared, deciding it should be embraced shamelessly and enthusiastically. More convinced than ever that Hayes would be there, right along with him, no matter what he said or did, made him feel invincible.

“We’re going to dig him up,” Beckett declared, absolute certainty in his green eyes.

“What?” Hayes looked horrified.

“Franklin. We’re going to let them put him in the ground and then—we’re going to dig him up.”

There’s nothing like digging up a grave in the wee hours to make you reconsider all of your life choices. First, it should be noted that Hayes didn’t regret anything. Second, he loved Beckett, and he’d follow this man to the inner and deepest circles of hell if he asked, but this—this felt like an “Aha!” moment. The moment when realization hits that the price of love is directly linked to the loss of brain cells every step of the way down that road.

“You have to account for the dirt that will roll back in,” Hayes told Beckett as he watched yet another avalanche of dirt fall back into the hole his partner was digging so industriously. His futile efforts to get anywhere fast with this project were almost laughable. Hayes turned away for a moment to compose himself.

“Keep your eyes on your side of the grave, you kinky motherfucker,” Beckett muttered, grunting with effort between shovelfuls. He sounded exhausted—rightfully so, since he was working twice as hard as Hayes, doggedly plugging away.