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Jem opened his mouth, but Tean planted a hand in his chest and said, “We’re done here.”
“But what about the investigation?” Auggie asked. “What about your friend?”
“That’s over,” John-Henry said. “We’re finished. It’s one thing to ask some questions, to follow the Rangel brothers around, to lean on them because things seem hinky. It’s another thing entirely to walk into a firefight and to have my husband starting World War III with a neighboring police chief just because he—” He cut off. The strain of it showed in his jaw.
Emery pivoted. He put his hands on his hips. His dark hair had fallen over his forehead, and he stared out from behind the fringe. “Do you want to finish that sentence?”
“No.”
“Do you have something to say about me?”
John-Henry met him with a glare. Then, in a low voice, he said, “Cut it out.”
“If you believe my judgment has been compromised, it’s your duty as a husband to—”
John-Henry held up a hand. Emery stopped, although it looked like it cost him.
“We’re going,” John-Henry said to nobody in particular. “We’ll see you all…later.”
He turned and stalked off, and Emery went after him.
“Fucking asshole,” North said. Taking Shaw by the chlamys, he towed him up the street. “We’re out of here.”
“But we have other leads,” Auggie was protesting. “We’ve got the vet angle. You’re a vet. You can think like a vet, tell us how the killer thinks, what they might do next.”
“That’s enough,” Theo said.
“But she’s innocent. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Theo gave him a look—a mixture of love and secondhand pain—and in that moment, Tean could see the age gap between the two men. Then Theo said, “We’ll give you a ride back to the resort.”
The street had emptied, Tean realized. They were the only ones left.
He nodded, and they got in the car.
19
Tean didn’t drink—not much, anyway, and not in a way that could be considered recreational. Certainly not in a way that would render him unconscious. And he didn’t use cannabis, in spite of the pamphlets that found their way onto his desk, and the articles that appeared in his inbox, and the links sent by text message with titles like “Fifteen Reasons to Start Taking Edibles.” He was an old dog, in his own way, and although he didn’t have any particular objections to alcohol or cannabis when used responsibly, he hadn’t grown up that way, and the changes in his life were always going to be incremental.
But in their hotel room, trying to sleep as daylight cut through the blinds, he really wanted to get hammered.
Next to him, Jem’s breathing was soft and even. Jem, of course, had passed out immediately. He slept the sleep of the innocent, of dogs and babies. He even dreamed a little like that, sometimes, the murmurs and tiny kicks. Not right now, of course. Not when he was totally exhausted.
A part of Tean circled the events of the previous night: watching Jem work, seeing again, firsthand, how easily Jem lied and faked and manipulated. They’d been together for a few years now. Tean knew all of it firsthand, to various degrees. But seeing it again—
He got out of bed. He showered and kept the water cool, even though the AC was on full blast, because it wasn’t worth trying to figure out the secret combination for the faucets again. When he stepped out of the shower, his skin pebbled with the cold. He dried himself, and his hair immediately turned into a bushy mess that defied his every attempt to fix it—even though he was using the same serum that Jem used, the same comb that Jem used, even though he was doing everything the way Jem had showed him how to do it. He dressed in a pair of khakis and one of his DWR polos because he liked those clothes, because they were familiar, because that was how he’d dressed before he’d met Jem and because, most importantly, Jem was still asleep and what he didn’t know would never hurt him. Then he let himself out of the hotel room and went downstairs.
The conference was wrapping up. The keynote speaker was presenting, and then there would be one final poster session, and everyone would go home. Presumably, that included Jem and Tean. The hallways and lobby of Santaland were empty. Plastic Santas and plastic elves and plastic reindeer peeked out at Tean from behind plastic Christmas trees and plastic snow and plastic lampposts. Yearly plastic waste could encircle the planet four times—and that was every year. It was hard not to feel like plastic Rudolph was a noose around the neck of the environment, drawing tighter with every passing second.
Tean found himself in one of the resort bars, this one themed like Santa’s Workshop. It was empty except for a pair of middle-aged women who wore conference badges but were clearly skipping the last sessions. One of them wore a sun visor that said IN WINE, WE TRUST. The other one had on a t-shirt that said CALHOUN FAMILY VACATION—FAMILIES THAT VACATION TOGETHER, STAY TOGETHER. Although Tean had his doubts about the statistical probability of that statement.
He ordered a hard cider, and he felt a bit like a rebel because it was only eleven, and then he took it to the back of the bar and sat. After a couple of swallows, though, he pushed it away. His head was throbbing, and the world had that grainy texture that came from too little sleep.
Still sitting there—and contemplating how many years a plate of cheesy tots would take off his life—Tean didn’t notice at first when Emery came in. One minute, he was alone at the back of the bar. The next, Emery sat on the other side of the room, phone pressed to his ear. He looked freshly showered, his hair dark and wet and combed, and he’d changed into a fresh t-shirt and jeans. If Tean wasn’t mistaken, the t-shirt was Death Cab for Cutie, and it looked a little too small for Emery and washed to the point of translucency. Emery sat bent over the table, head in one hand, but his voice was even, almost upbeat.
“Everything’s fine, Colt. Yes, we’re having a wonderful time.” He listened. He ran his hand through his hair, and frustration or discontent or something made his shoulders rise and fall once. “No. No, everything’s ok. We just had a disagreement. Yes, I apologized. Yes, I told him I was sorry.” A soft noise, almost like a laugh, escaped him. “Yes, I used those exact words. How was practice? And how’s Evie? What are five things Ashley has done that you don’t want me to know about?” This time, the sound was definitely a laugh. “It was worth a try.” He listened again. “It’s been excellent. Highly educational. It was the perfect gift, Colt. Thank you again.” His hand moved, and for a moment, Tean could see his face: the smile that seemed surreally gentle, the openness, the vulnerability. Gone were the anger and the condescension and the cold, implacable argumentation. “Yes, I’ll apologize again if I need to. Tell Aileen hello.” He didn’t quite roll his eyes, but the expression was there in his voice. “She already knows I love her. Yes, fine, tell her anyway. I love you. Yes, I understand the double standard.” And then, in a rush, “Ashley is not allowed in your room with the door closed.”
The call must have disconnected, because Emery sat up and pocketed his phone. He sat there for another moment, running fingers through his hair, looking at nothing. And then he glanced over, and eyes the color of straw fixed on Tean.
