Frost
He couldn’t look at Seth until he was driving away, and then he glanced in the rearview mirror. The lonely set of Seth’s shoulders caused an ache in his throat that crawled into his chest and lodged there.
He squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Instead of turning around, which would be a huge mistake, he punched the phone button near his fingertips.
“Yo, wazzup?” Roscoe drawled.
“You got time for a beer?” Frost said. “Or several beers?” It was only eleven o’clock on a Friday night, after all.
“Sure, I don’t have any plans.”
“I’ll stop at the store and meet you at my place.”
Not only beer, Frost bought a bottle of bourbon. The image of Karen with another man burned into his brain, overshadowing his date with Seth.
No, it hadn’t been a date. It was just food. Fucking eating, because all they had was sex. Seeing his father’s fiancé, he had wanted to introduce Seth. He had been in the action of lifting his hand to wave at her when Karen kissed the man on the lips. A lingering kiss with entwined fingers, a loving gesture and look.
And the man was not his dad. That fucking bitch! He stood there for a while, looking at the bottles of booze on the shelf, not really seeing the whiskey before he grabbed a bottle.
Karen was cheating on his father. This could break his dad.
His gut swirled and he took several shallow breaths. Someone bumped into him and said something, but he didn’t hear. It was his mother all over again.
“I thought you were getting beer?” Roscoe asked when Frost let him in.
“I was, but I needed something harder.”
Roscoe chuckled. “Isn’t that Seth’s job?”
“No, it fucking isn’t Seth’s job. I’m not in a committed relationship with the guy. He was just a casual fuck,” he snarled, and took another swig from the bottle. Jesus Christ, his chest fucking hurt like a motherfucker. “Anyway,” his voice sounded like gravel, “it’s over.” Taking another swig, he gasped at the burn.
“Does Seth know that?” Roscoe frowned.
Frost shrugged as he took another drink, trying to get Karen’s betrayal and Seth’s soft parting words out of his head.
Love was a lie. Words were traps. He didn’t need anybody.
“People always fucking cheat.” He knew his slurred words sounded ridiculous. Rationally, lumping everyone as cheaters was just plain absurd. Seth had never cheated on his boyfriend, a little voice said in his head. He rubbed at his eyes and then fought to keep a firm hold of the bottle Roscoe was tugging on, but he lost the battle and glared at his friend.
“Okay, buddy, what’s up?” Roscoe capped the bottle and headed toward the kitchen. “I’m making coffee. We are not drinking tonight.”
“Fuck you, Ro. I can drink if I want,” Frost muttered, knowing he sounded like a kid. The room was swirling when he tried to stand and his head thunked against the back of the couch. He didn’t even make it close to getting to his feet.
“This isn’t drinking. You called me less than an hour ago and this whiskey is half gone.”
Frost rolled his head to the side and looked at the agent in his kitchen doorway. “What if I said that was an already open bottle?”
“I’d call you a liar.”
Frost grunted. The coffee didn’t take long, it was the Keurig kind, so he had a hot cup in his hand before he knew it. Roscoe sat in the overstuffed chair across from him.
“Now, talk to me, and as your friend, I’ll try to be as brutally honest as possible.” Roscoe smirked.
“Fucking smartass,” he mumbled, taking a sip of the hot brew.
“That’s me,” Roscoe agreed. “So, what gives?”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I saw Karen with another man at the restaurant Seth and I were having dinner at.”
“Karen, as in your dad’s fiancé?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know it wasn’t just a friend?”
“They were kissing and holding hands.” He tiredly swallowed more of the coffee.
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. I’m just not sure how to tell my dad.” His head rested on the back of the couch and the room swayed.
“Did you talk to her? Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”
He grimaced at the ceiling. “Yeah, I confronted her right there. She didn’t deny it.”
He’d said some nasty and degrading shit to her. Fuck, he’d been angry. Right now, he couldn’t remember half of what he’d said, but he remembered the tears that had swam in her eyes. Her date looked like he wanted to punch him. Frost would have welcomed the joy of knocking the guy out.
“Ah shit, Frost,” Roscoe said. “Sorry, bro. When are you going to tell your dad?”
“I don’t know. I took a few days off work to try and wrap my head around it. Stefano assured me if he needs me, he’ll call me in, but since we haven’t got any solid leads on Yakov’s whereabouts, he’s letting me take some time.” At least he’d had the sense to call Stefano before he took that first swig of whiskey.
“Does Stefano know you found your dad’s fiancé cheating?”
“Fuck no. Only you know.”
“Wait, I thought you said you were with Seth.”
“I was.”
“And you didn’t at least share this with him?”
“Like I said, we aren’t anything but a casual fuck.” His chest tightened and he rubbed at it while taking another sip from his mug.
“That’s bullshit. At the very least, you’re friends. Or have you forgotten that?”
Roscoe was right. He did consider Seth a friend. “I guess that'll teach me never to fuck a friend.”
Roscoe shook his head and let the subject drop.
After a few minutes, Frost asked Roscoe something that was bothering him. “What was with you yesterday?”
“What?” Roscoe shifted in his chair, crossed one ankle over one knee, and took a sip of coffee before he looked over and out the darkened window.
“You had the perfect shot to take out Jagger Miller and you hesitated.”
“I didn’t hesitate,” Roscoe said, turning his head and meeting his gaze. The agent’s eyes burned in his face.
“Okay, then tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know. I was going to shoot, but then he tripped that thug.” Roscoe shook his head.
“You think it was on purpose?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“It was probably an accident.” He hadn’t seen the whole thing clearly because he had been sliding behind the wheel of the SUV, but Seth had filled him in at dinner.
“Shit happens in the middle of trying to kill people,” Frost said.
“Then why did Miller punch the guy and shoot over our heads?”
That was the million dollar question, one he couldn’t answer.
“Maybe he’s enthralled with your dashing good looks,” Frost said.
“You think?”
Frost snorted and took another sip of coffee. “I can just see it now. How the world turns. The FBI agent and the hardened criminal.”
“That’s fucked up.” Roscoe glared at him.
“Seriously,” he agreed.