Page 217 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Somewhere warm.”

“You hate beaches.”

“I hate sand.”

“That is beaches.”

“Hotels have pools.”

Ronan laughed. Elliot took another cracker. For several minutes, they talked. Actually talked. Nothing about Mason. Nothing about Lucas. Nothing about Dylan. Ronan remembered how easy Elliot had been before all this. No. That wasn’t right. Elliot had never been easy. But he had been familiar. Ronan wanted familiar back so badly it hurt. Then Elliot asked: “Do you still think I killed Mason?” The question destroyed everything. Ronan stared. Elliot did not look away. “You said we weren’t talking about murder.” “I changed my mind.” “Why?” “Because I need to know.” Ronan exhaled. “No.” “Immediately.” “Yes.” “Lucas?” “No.” “Dylan?” “He isn't confirmed dead.” Elliot’s mouth tightened. Ronan heard himself. Same correction Elliot would make. Fuck. “No,” he said again. “I don't think you hurt Dylan.” “Why?” Ronan laughed once. “What do you mean why?” “You keep asking me for proof. Give me yours.” “That’s not how this works.” “Why not?” “Because proving someone didn’t do something is impossible.” Elliot smiled faintly. “Exactly.” Ronan stared. There was something unsettlingly intelligent about the answer. Not because Elliot was wrong. Because he sounded prepared. He always sounded prepared now. “I know you,” Ronan said. Elliot’s smile disappeared. “Do you?” The question came quietly. Ronan felt the weight. “Yes.” “What’s my favorite movie?” Ronan blinked. “What?” “Favorite movie.” “Fight Club.” Elliot laughed. “Absolutely not.” “You own it.” “You own it.” “Fuck.” “Arrival.” Ronan nodded. “Right.” “Favorite food?” “Thai.” “Specific.” “Pad kee mao.” “Favorite color?” “Green.” “Song?” “That changes every fucking week.” Elliot smiled. “Fair.” “Point?” “You know facts.” Ronan’s amusement faded. Elliot continued. “You know what I order. What I watch. How I sleep. Which side of the couch I like.” “Yeah.” “But knowing facts isn't the same as knowing what someone is capable of.” Cold moved through Ronan. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Elliot looked down. “I don't know.” Ronan stood. “No.” Elliot sighed. “Ronan.” “No. You don’t get to throw that into the room and then say you don’t know.” Elliot looked up. His expression had become unreadable again. “Everyone is capable of things.” “Like what?” “Hurting people.” “You?” “Yes.” Immediate. Ronan stared. Elliot continued. “You already know that.” “A fight isn't murder.” “I didn’t say murder.” “You didn't have to.” “There you go again.” “Because you keep talking around it.” Elliot stood. “Fine.” He stepped closer. Ronan’s pulse increased. “What do you want?” “The truth.” “No. You want certainty.” Ronan stopped. Elliot looked directly at him. “And I don't think anything I say can give you that anymore.” That hurt because it was true. Ronan looked away. “I want to believe you.” “I know.” “That sounded pathetic.” “It did.” Ronan laughed despite himself. Elliot smiled. Small. Then Ronan looked back. “Where were you today between two and three?” The smile vanished. There. The chapter title. The question he had been avoiding. Elliot stared. Ronan continued. “Dylan left his apartment at two eleven.” “I was at Bellweather.” “Until?” “Two forty.” “Then?” “Met you.” “At three.” “Yes.” “Twenty minutes.” Elliot’s face changed. Ronan saw it. “What?” “Nothing.” “Where were you?” “Driving.” “From Bellweather.” “Yes.” “To where we met.” “Yes.” “That takes twelve minutes.” “Traffic.” “Was there traffic?” “Yes.” Ronan stared. Elliot stared back. “Prove it.” Silence. The words felt disgusting the second they left him. Elliot looked like Ronan had hit him. Ronan immediately hated himself. “Fuck. Forget I said that.” “No.” “Elliot.” “No.” He pulled out his phone. Ronan’s chest tightened. “What are you doing?” “Proving it.” “You don’t have to.” “You asked.” “I was angry.” “So?” Elliot opened something. Map history. Ronan froze. “Here.” He turned the screen. Bellweather campus. Departure approximately 2:43. Traffic delay downtown. Arrival at 2:59. Exactly where Ronan had been waiting. Ronan stared. A perfect line. Clean. Simple. Elliot looked at him. “Anything else, Detective?” The title landed in Ronan’s chest. “Don’t.” “No, please.” He held out the phone. “Search the rest.” “I said don't.” “You wanted proof.” “I was wrong.” “Were you?” “Yes.” Elliot laughed bitterly. “You didn't think that two minutes ago.” “I was scared.” “So am I.” Ronan stopped. Elliot’s eyes had gone wet. Barely. Enough. “I am fucking terrified, Ronan.” The words came low and controlled.

“That someone knows what I do. Where I go. Who I care about. Someone is sending me pictures, leaving shit at our house, sending you messages about me, and instead of having one person I can actually fucking trust, I have you checking my whereabouts every time somebody disappears.”

Ronan’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“No. Listen.”

He stepped closer. Elliot didn’t move away.

“I am sorry.”

Ronan touched his face. Carefully. Elliot closed his eyes.

“I don’t want to be suspicious of you.”

“Then don’t.”

“I’m trying.”

“That isn't good enough.”

“I know.”

Elliot opened his eyes. Ronan swallowed.

“I love you.”

There. The weapon. The truth. Everything. Elliot laughed once through whatever emotion he was fighting.

“That's not an apology.”

“No.”

“It’s manipulative.”

“Probably.”

Elliot’s mouth twitched. Ronan leaned his forehead against his.

“I love you anyway.”

Silence. Then Elliot whispered:

“I love you too.”