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I’d spent time giving interviews in police stations. Spent time under the stony and cold glare of a police captain as I cried about losing my boyfriend in my own arms. Talking to detectives who could be overhead chatting nonchalantly about the pussy they were bagging later in the night.
It was gross and demeaning, and a lot of times, I didn’t feel like many in that station had my back or the back of my murdered boyfriend. Some officers did, and some were overly kind with me, and those few left their marks. But some were openly hostile toward me during a time when I needed help the most.
I didn’t want to play Russian roulette with finding help. I knew everyone at Stonewall Investigations would be open and willing to help me, and so I felt quite assured and safe walking into the main waiting area, immediately being greeted by a curly-haired girl sitting behind a long desk, her smile as bright as all the natural sunlight that filled the warm space. Her white blouse dotted with tiny flowers made her teeth seem almost reflective with how white they were.
“Hi, welcome to Stonewall Investigations! I’m Holly. How can we help you today?”
Her positivity was nice. It helped relieve pressure from my shoulders. I was definitely feeling anxious about this entire thing, and second thoughts did occur on the drive over, but for some reason I couldn’t quite place, stepping into Stonewall felt like the exact right thing to do.
“I’m actually looking to speak with a detective. I’ve got some questions that need answering… wow, does that sound like I’m a mob boss or what?”
Holly laughed at that, snorting toward the end of her laugh fit. “You know, you kinda look like—”
“Jonah Brightly? Yeah, he’s my older brother.”
“I was actually going to say a younger Neil Patrick Harris, but yeah, now that you mention it, I can see you and Jonah have the same nose.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Well, I’ll take the NPH compliment.”
“I’m glad to meet you…”
“Oliver. Olly.”
“Good to meet you, Olly. Let me check the schedules and see who can help you out. Just grab a seat and I’ll get you all set up. I think Jonah’s all booked up, but I’ve got a couple other detectives opening up.”
“That’s okay, I’d prefer someone that wasn’t my brother.” I smiled, feeling a sense of surety. The comfortable couch dipped under my weight when I sat. I reached over and grabbed one of the magazines on the table. I could mindlessly scroll through my phone, but that only reminded me of the missed connection my heart was unreasonably yearning for. Seriously, I had to stop watching sappy rom-coms on my iPad before going to sleep. It was turning me into a fawning kid chasing after something they’d never get.
I have to stop watching The Proposal and start watching Child’s Play.
Because nothing says anti-lovey-dovey than a possessed and uber-creepy doll intent on murdering people.
“All right, Olly, if you’ll just come with me, I can take you to Detective Noble’s office.”
Holly led me past the desk and down a hallway to the left. I spotted an outdoor courtyard area and plenty of space to relax and think about cases or do whatever else detectives did on their free time.
We stopped in front of a closed door. The glass was frosted over, and a name was written across it in a golden script, the letters bold.
Hah. Funny trick, universe. But I’m not falling for it.
Beckham Noble. There could be no way this was the same Beckham I had met a thousand miles away from this exact spot. This was just a dumb coincidence, that’s all it was.
So why did my hands get clammy all of a sudden? And those butterflies in my stomach? Where did they just come from? What the hell? Why was there basically an entire pride parade marching around in my gut right now?
Then Holly opened the door and—
“Holy shit.”
“Bloody hell.”
Holly, with her big brown eyes, looked between me and an equally shocked Beckham, who was standing behind his desk and staring at me with an ever-growing smile.
“You two, uh, know each other?”
7 Beckham Noble
“Thank you, Beckham. Really, thank you.” Piper beamed at me, the sunlight from my office window shining through her cherry-red hair. She was holding her wife’s hand, Huma, who was also grinning wide and crinkling her light brown eyes.
“Of course,” I said, letting the relief of a closed case wash over me. This was my favorite part of the job. The end result, when the clients are smiling through happy tears. “You won’t be needing to look over your shoulders anymore.”
“Thank you.” Huma was wiping away tears. They both stood up and came around my desk for a hug.
The two walked out of the office, all smiles, both exuding positivity. It made me one happy bloke.
