AllFreeNovel
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I walk back into the house to find Maison standing in the foyer. He freezes like a deer in headlights, his coat only zipped halfway. I frown at him, wondering if he was planning on doing the garbage. “I already brought the cans out."
"Oh, no. I'm not - I'm going out, actually."
"At this time of night? To where?"
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not that late, old man. It’s not even 8 yet."
“In a small as shit town,” I point out. "Where is there to go at 8 on a Thursday night in this place?"
Before he can answer that, Nolan comes rushing in wearing a different outfit than earlier today, his jacket in his hands. He stops short when he sees me, his breath catching. I catch a whiff of shampoo and body lotion. Did he shower?
"Hot date?" I tease. It’s no secret the two of them are together now. They never came out and said anything official, as if we wouldn’t notice, but it’s pretty fucking obvious. They share a bedroom, not even bothering to sneak Nolan out in the mornings anymore. And they cuddle and hold hands and whisper and giggle together all the damn time.
“Something like that,” Maison says a little too nonchalantly. Then he grabs Nolan’s hat from one of the hooks by the door and tugs it over the young man's damp hair. He steps closer to him as he does, lowering his voice. The words are clearly not meant for my ears, but I hear them anyway. “He’ll be mad if you show up without a hat."
I frown, wondering who they could be referring to. Especially when Nolan laughs breathlessly and says, “He cares about you too. Grab your scarf.”
Something complicated passes over Maison's face before he grabs his blue scarf from the hook beside Nolan's.
“Alright, we’ll be back…” Maison trails off, exchanging a strange look with Nolan before finishing. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I eye them, now a little concerned. “What in the world are you two up to?”
“Nothing!” Nolan says in a squeaky voice.
I snort. “Yeah, that was believable.”
“It’s safe,” Maison says, taking a step to the side so he’s partially blocking Nolan from me. It seems to be a subconscious move, but it’s telling. They don’t want questions about whatever this is. It’s not open for the usual shit-giving we all do as a family. This is different. “We’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Okay. Of course.” I remove my jacket, hanging it on a hook and stepping away as if to physically show them I'm moving on. “Have a good night, guys.”
With a nod, Maison turns back to Nolan and ushers him toward the door. I tear my gaze away and head to the sink where the more stubborn dishes have been soaking, the rest already in the dishwasher. I try not to let myself worry about the two men, but I don't do that great of a job. Even though I'm Casey's daddy, I still have daddy tendencies toward all the guys here. It's my way of loving them, I guess.
I only manage to clean one pot before I'm interrupted. “Jake?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Keats standing by the breakfast island with a startlingly serious expression. I quickly turn the water off and head toward him, worry turning in my gut. First Maison and Nolan, now Keats? “Hey, what's up?"
He places a piece of paper on the breakfast island. His fingertips linger on it as he slowly lifts his gaze to me. “Jeff St. James is dead as of 8 this morning.”
My knees buckle at the information. Casey’s father - dead. I stumble forward, my eyes falling to the printout of the newspaper article. No, no, no.
“Robert Sharpe will be here in 20 minutes," Keats says, as if that should mean something to me. As if I should fucking care about some guy at a time like this.
“Who?” I ask, my wet hands shaking as I pick the article up.
Suicide.
He fucking killed himself.
Casey will never-
“Robert Sharpe," he repeats. He tugs the paper from me, ignoring my growl of anger, and hands me a new one. It's a photocopy of a state ID and a passport. I nearly crush the paper in my hand, frustrated, but stop when I see the person’s picture. That’s Jeff St. James. That’s his fucking face next to Robert Sharpe's name.
Keats continues. “We gave him a military background to make his demeanor understandable, but under no circumstances can he or anyone else ever say he has law enforcement experience. He’s from a small mining town in California, spent 30 years in the military, and has come here to retire. Threw a dart at a map and moved where it landed. And he’s not related to a single fucking person in this house. He’s renting the house next door and will befriend you all as a neighbor. Including Casey. Understood?”
I slowly lift my gaze to meet his. “Who are you?”
The hinge of his jaw twitches. “Understood?”
