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“God help the person who comes up against the two of you. You’re like two sides of the same coin,” she says, her voice full of marvel.

“That’s right,” I affirm, glad that she finally sees it. “God help them.”

I open the car door, turn around to give her one last reassuring smile and say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I decide to knock first. But after three knocks, with two minutes between each, there is still no answer. So I use the key and let myself in.

The house is quiet. The ticking of a wall clock, the hum of subzero fridge, the whir and click o

f the air conditioning coming on and the chirp of what sounds like hundreds of cicadas fill the otherwise still, dark house.

“Hayes,” I call. There’s no resounding echo, none of the certainty that comes knowing that you’re heard, even if you’re not seen. I feel my first real prick of worry for him. I should have come sooner.

“Hayes,” I call out again and start up the stairs. The carpeted runner silences my footfalls, but the wooden steps still creak every other step. It’s silent upstairs, too. There’s a light peeking around the frame of the door that leads to his master bedroom. As I get closer, I hear his snores. I push the door open and my anger spikes.

Lined up along the foot of the bed are four empty bottles of Jack Daniels. I watch him. Even in his sleep, he’s strong and powerful.

His brows are relaxed, his stubble-covered jaw is still strong, but not so rigid. His lips are parted and soft. For the first time, I see the little boy who grew up without his mother in a house that was managed like a chessboard. Manipulations, lies, and death blows.

I spend a few minutes watching him and then pick up the glass of water by his bed and throw it at him. His eyes pop open in surprise. I step back when he starts to shake his head back and forth to get the water off and wipes the water out of his eyes before he looks up at me. His eyes are murderous.

“What the hell?” he yells at me.

“You tell me!” I give him the full force of my anger, too. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” I seethe.

“I told you I needed a few days,” he grumbled.

“I knew you needed some time to think. And I walk in here to find you living like you’re a frat boy on spring break.” I point at the bottles lined up on the floor.

“Stop screaming,” he moans and cradles his head.

“I’m not screaming. Even though I should be. You fucking abandoned me, Hayes!” Now, I raise my voice.

“I didn’t,” he groans.

“And you abandoned yourself. We have shit to do. Shit to discuss.”

He covers his face and groans into his hands.

“You threw water at me, Tesoro,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I know. Because I’m the one who did it,” I say with dry sarcasm. He scowls, completely unamused.

“I just needed a couple of days,” he says miserably.

“Hayes, what the hell have you been doing in here? Are you high?” I ask him.

He sits up straight and shakes his head. “I don’t know where my phone is. I haven’t seen it since the …” He winces as if he’s in pain and says, “since the fight.”

“How did Amelia reach you then?” I ask

“The house line, like she always does. It’s an encrypted line and she’s unduly paranoid, so she always uses it to talk to me when it’s urgent,” he says. And then he shakes his head and looks at me with real confusion in his eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with my family?” His voice is etched with pain and my heart aches for him because I don’t have any answers to that question.

“I don’t know. But, we need to talk.”

He sighs.

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