For my amazing work family.

Water truly is sometimes thicker than blood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE
Tennyson

June…

With the Justin Wilson case in his rearview mirror, psychic Tennyson Grimm needed a little down time to relax and find his Zen. The Wilson case had brought up an issue or two that hit a little close to home for him and he needed some time away from the hustle and bustle of life in Salem, Massachusetts.

Brothers, Carson and Cole Craig would be manning West Side Magick, the psychic shop the three of them owned and managed together in the Witch City, while his Cold Case partner and lover, Boston Police Detective Ronan O’Mara, got back to work without him for the next two weeks.

Tennyson had been perfectly happy in his life as a medium, reading customers in the Salem shop, until six months ago when the most gorgeous man Ten had ever met in his entire life strolled in asking for his help on a cold kidnapping case. Ronan O’Mara wasn’t used to people saying no to him and Tennyson hadn’t been about to break that streak.

He’d agreed to partner with the surly, skeptical detective to help find Michael Frye, who’d been five years old when he’d gone missing from his South Boston front yard. During the course of the investigation, Ronan had become a believer in Tennyson’s gift and Ten had fallen head over heels in love with his grumpy partner.

Now that Tennyson had a few minutes to reflect back on things, his and Ronan’s trajectories had been lining up to intersect long before that day back in January when Ronan strode into the Magick shop looking for Tennyson’s help. He’d been getting visitations from a spirit who’d been unable to communicate with him using dead speak since November of last year.

When the young man, Justin Wilson, finally figured out how to talk through the use of images, it was to ask Tennyson to find the man who murdered him. That one spirit led to another, which led to another, and before Tennyson and Ronan had known what was happening, they were hip-deep investigating a serial killer who was targeting gay street kids.

One way or the other, it seemed he and Ronan O’Mara were destined to be a part of each other’s lives, which made it odd that Tennyson had chosen to come to Maine alone. Ronan had understood his need to be alone and find himself after the investigation that nearly cost his boss, Captain Fitzgibbon and his son, Greeley, their lives.

Great Diamond Island, off the coast of Portland, Maine, was everything the travel websites played it up to be, and then some.  The only people who were on the island were those who lived there or who rented cottages. There was one inn over on the other side of the island, but the non-residential side was fenced off from the private side.

The island was semi-private and unless you were renting a cottage or visiting the Inn at Diamond Cove you weren’t allowed to get off the ferry. For Tennyson, the quiet of the place was an absolute haven for him.

His little cottage was just off the beach. It was painted light pink and had one bedroom. It was the perfect size for a honeymooning couple or an exhausted psychic looking to come to terms with himself and his past.

Every morning that Tennyson had been here started with an egg white omelet and a piece of wheat toast. After the dishes were cleaned up, he’d head out to the beach for an hour of meditation. Usually, he’d only get in a few solitary minutes of deep breathing and a few simple poses before the voices and visitations would start. Ten knew there was no way he could truly take a vacation by himself; the spirits of the departed were everywhere.

The one thing he should have done before hopping on the ferry, was a bit more research on Fort McKinley. Built in the early 20th century, the fort was an active U.S. Army base until after the end of World War II. Over the course of the week he’d been here, dozens of the spirits that had visited him had been those of soldiers who’d been stationed at the fort before being shipped off to fight in Germany. Many of them had come back to the fort, the place they’d been the happiest in their lives, after they’d died.

Instead of having hours of uninterrupted time to spend on himself, he’d used it all up helping spirits cross over or come to terms with the fact they were actually dead. At the end of most days, Tennyson was more tired than he should have been, leaving him with no time to work on himself.

Not being able to work on his own issues only made him miss Ronan more. He’d gotten in the habit of sending his lover one email a day, right before he went to bed. He never mentioned the fact that he was spending more time working with the dead than on himself. His emails were instead filled with details about the island and always included a picture of the beach or of some bird or flower he found interesting.

Ronan, for his part, followed the unwritten rules Tennyson had set. He would respond to Ten’s email the next morning. He’d talk about the progress Fitzgibbon and Greeley were making, among other mundane things. He’d close with a picture of Boston, usually a sunrise shot from Carson Beach, which told Ten that Ronan had started running again.

Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon had been injured during the course of the Justin Wilson investigation and was continuing to recover from his injury. In his last email, Ronan had written that the captain would be cleared to go back to work within the next week. Ten knew how anxious the captain was for that day.

Greeley, the captain’s foster son, had a brief run-in with the killer and had managed to escape. The teenager had developed a drug habit after the violent encounter. He was now entered into a rehab program in Swampscott, Massachusetts. According to Ronan’s email from yesterday, Greeley had just been accepted into a GED program set to start in two weeks.

Tennyson had sent back his love and encouragement to both men and to Ronan in his return email.

Day nine on the island dawned rainy. There would be no meditation on the beach this morning. After breakfast, Ten set up his yoga mat on the living room floor in front of the cold, stone fireplace and started his deep breathing. He was about to move into the “greet the day” pose when he was interrupted by a stream of voices talking at once.

“That’s it!” Tennyson shouted. “I’ve been more than patient, but you all have to go!” His breath was ragged, his voice high-pitched. “I came here to relax and find myself, to heal! I haven’t had one damn second to myself since I arrived. Can you all just give me that? One damn minute? I wish I never had this damn gift! Now go!”

Tennyson fell back to his mat and let all of his emotions flow out of him. He cried for his childhood spent denying who he was, gay and psychic. He cried for the boys back home in Boston who’d lost their families and lives for being born gay. He cried for Ronan and the precious time they were missing together because he’d run away from his problems to this god-forsaken rock to find himself when he’d never really been lost in the first place. Ten cried and cried until the tears were gone and sleep took him.

When he woke, the cabin was dark. Ten sat up and all of his muscles screamed in protest. “That’s what I get for falling asleep on the hardwood floor,” he muttered to the empty room. He walked to the dining room table and grabbed his phone. Hitting the home button, he saw that it was 7pm. Christ, he’d slept for twelve straight hours on his yoga mat.

Guilt hit him like a boulder. Yes, he wanted a little time to himself to get his head on straight again after the Justin Wilson case, but he never should have yelled at those spirits like he’d done. Ten turned on the heat under the tea kettle and took a seat at the dining room table. Reaching out with his sixth sense he sent a message to all of the spirits around, welcoming them to speak to him. Oddly enough, none responded.

When the kettle started to boil, he got up and made his cup of green tea. Ten took it out onto the deck, where the moon was rising out of the ocean. He sat in one of the Adirondack chairs and let the rhythm of the tides soothe his troubled soul.

The first thing he was going to do when he got back to Massachusetts, after he kissed Ronan’s lips raw and begged for his forgiveness for not taking him on this trip, was to jump in feet first with Carson’s husband, Truman, on his We Are Family charity.

The charity would be geared toward gay youth who were homeless. Part of the proceeds would also go to fund the funerals of the boys who’d been murdered by the serial killer. Tennyson had been kicked out of his own home the day after he graduated from high school for being gay. If not for his gift, he could have ended up on the streets selling his body to survive, just like the killer’s victims had done. Giving back to the adopted hometown that had welcomed him with open arms was just what his aching soul needed to feel whole again.

After Ten told Truman about his intentions, he was going to book appointments with clients looking to have private readings with their loved ones, and then he was going to get back to work with Ronan solving cold cases for the Boston Police Department.

He knew damned well that not all cold cases were going to turn out like the Michael Frye and Justin Wilson cases, with violence and gunfire. For most of them, it would simply be a matter of speaking with the victims and hearing the stories of how they died. Ronan would be able to find evidence or get the suspects to confess from there and be able to wrap up those cases lickety-split.

Tennyson laughed into the twilight. There! All he’d needed was five uninterrupted minutes to figure out what was next for himself and his life. That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?

As for what was going on with his past colliding with his present, he needed to let his parents and their narrow-minded religious beliefs go. He wasn’t that scared seventeen-year-old boy anymore, twisting his hands together and telling his parents he was gay and psychic. He was a grown man with a career, two of them, in fact, and a man who loved him to the moon and back.

He hadn’t spoken a single word to his parents in thirteen years. After the notoriety of the Frye case, his parents surely knew how to reach him, but they hadn’t. If the book hadn’t been closed on that relationship before, it should be now. “No, fuck that!” Tennyson shouted to the sea. The book was closed. He was closing it now.

“You hear that, Bertha? Erin? I’m done with my parents and thinking that they’ll ever want to get back in touch with me.” Tennyson was all smiles as he waited for a response from Carson and Ronan’s mothers.

All he got in return was silence.

Tennyson stood up and walked to the edge of the deck and looked up at the stars. A million of them winked back at him. For the first time in his entire life, all he heard were the sounds his ears were picking up: a barking dog, the crash of the waves on the beach, a car horn, the sound of his breath getting faster with each passing second.

“Bertha? Erin? Anyone?” Tennyson shouted. Silence. It was dead silent.

Tennyson thought back to his tantrum from this morning. He’d wished his gift away. The most precious thing he’d ever been given in his life and he’d wished it away like a teenager telling his parents that he hated them. What had he done?

Were the spirits just obeying his command to leave him alone so he could selfishly enjoy his vacation? Or were they gone for good?

There was only one way to find out. He needed to get home. If anyone could help him figure this out, it was Carson and Cole.

And Ronan. The second worst thing he’d ever done in his life was to run away from the man who loved him.

The next ferry back to the mainland wasn’t until 6:30am tomorrow morning. It looked like Tennyson was going to get exactly what he asked for. Peace and quiet. Only that was the last thing he wanted right now.

He offered up a silent prayer that when he woke up in the morning his gift would be back.

 

 

 

1
Tennyson

The first thing Tennyson heard when he woke up the next morning were birds chirping. He cracked an eyeball open to peek at the digital readout on his alarm clock and couldn’t believe his eyes. It was 10:45am! He hadn’t slept this late in his entire life.

Sitting bolt upright, Tennyson tried to remember what time he’d gone to bed last night. It had been sometime after midnight. He’d sat in the Adirondack chair on the deck listening to the outgoing tide and hoping for a spirit to visit him.

He’d finally given up and came back inside around 11pm. He spent the next hour packing so that he’d be ready to leave on the 6:30am ferry back to Portland. Not only had he missed that ferry, but the next four after it.

Voices and spirit visitations had been waking him up since he was thirteen years old. Last night was the first uninterrupted night of sleep he’d gotten in seventeen years. Tennyson shook his head. Had it really been that long?

That didn’t matter now. What did matter was that his gift was still gone. It had been over twenty-four hours now since he’d last spoken with a spirit. Ten reached out with his sixth sense trying to pick up any kind of energy reading or inkling of future events and drew a complete blank.

Trying to push the frustration down, he hopped out of bed and hurried into the shower. If he hurried, he could make the 11:30 am ferry off the island. It was a two-hour ride to Salem once he was back in Portland. As much as he wanted to see Ronan, he needed to see Carson more.

It turned out Tennyson was at the dock in plenty of time to make the ferry. All of the early birds had taken an earlier trip back to the mainland which left Ten with a topside seat this time. On his way out to Great Diamond, he’d been stuck in the bowels of the ship sitting next to a window that wouldn’t open. 

Now, he had the sun on his face and a light breeze whipping his messy curls into knots. He tried to focus on the way the sun’s rays heated up his unshaven face and made his nose hot. This was the day he’d remember come January when the wind chill dipped into the negative degrees and the wind itself felt like it was going to scour the skin off his face. 

Ten tried again to reach out with his gift, which in itself was odd. He’d never had to reach out for someone to talk to, the voices had always been there. The only times in recent memory he’d found himself reaching out like this was when there was a specific person he’d been looking to connect with, like murder victim Michael Frye or Carson’s mother, Bertha Craig. 

Lately, he’d been spending a lot of time with Ronan’s mother. Not to get the skinny on his man, but because Erin was quickly becoming the mother Ten had never had.

After a minute or two, he stopped trying to reach out. It was quiet again inside his mind. Dead silent, more like. Ten could feel the panic start to rise up within him. This feeling reminded him of the way he’d felt when he’d first started hearing the voices when he was thirteen years old. 

He’d heard of schizophrenia and other mental disorders where people heard voices in their heads. Hell, some kids in his class even used the word “schizo” as another term for crazy. There were times during the early days of his gift when Tennyson had wondered if he was truly crazy. 

It wasn’t until he met a grandmotherly spirit named Madge who’d explained to him what was going on. She’d told him who she was and what she needed from him. In exchange, she’d been able to tell him a little bit about his gift and point him in a direction that would get him some answers but still keep his growing powers under wraps from his parents. 

Madge, as it turned out, had lived in Union Chapel, Kansas, out by the railroad tracks leading out of town. She’d been able to eke out a living with her gift, but she’d never been made to feel welcome by the townspeople. Her one request in exchange for serving as Tennyson’s mentor from the other side was for him to deliver a message to her granddaughter, Katie. 

Tennyson knew Katie. She was in his Sunday school class. It had taken him weeks to work up the courage to talk to her and even then, it had only been a hurried hello at the end of class. 

Madge wasn’t having any of that, she kept visiting Tennyson in the middle of the night, sitting on the edge of his bed and singing off-key hymns until he finally agreed to deliver Madge’s one-word message. 

The following Sunday, Tennyson steeled his courage and went up to Katie, asking her if the word “persnickety” meant anything to her.

Katie, to Tennyson’s great surprise, flung her arms around his middle and hugged him until his ribs ached. He found out later on that “persnickety” was the word Madge agreed to pass on to Katie in the afterlife to prove that she was okay in heaven. 

Ten sighed. Even after he was well on his way with understanding his gift and harnessing his powers, he still checked in with Madge from time to time. He’d been trying to reach her all morning and all he was getting in return was more silence. 

What scared him most at the moment was that he had no idea who he was without his gift. He’d been a psychic longer than he’d been anything else. It had been his gift that kept him from being homeless when his parents disowned him and kicked him out of their house for being gay. If not for his ability to do readings, he might have ended up on the street, selling his body for food and shelter, like Justin Wilson and those other boys who’d fallen victim to the serial killer. 

Ten shivered in the warm sunshine. He could end up in a similar situation now if his gift didn’t come back. If he couldn’t speak to the dead, how in hell was he going to do private readings at West Side Magick? Worse, how was he going to work cold cases with Ronan?

If he weren’t psychic, would his friends still be his friends? Would Ronan still love him?

Closing his eyes against a sun that was now too bright, a lone tear slipped down Tennyson’s cheek. 

 

 

 

2
Ronan

Cold Case Detective Ronan O’Mara picked up his Styrofoam coffee cup from the over-priced shop across the street from the precinct. Empty. Again. “Shit!” 

“Problem, Ronan?” Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon asked as he passed by Ronan’s desk.

“What the hell do they put in this stuff that makes it so damn addictive?” He dumped the cup into his trash can.

Fitzgibbon laughed. “Unicorn farts?”

“It’s good to have you back, cap!” Ronan was all smiles. It wasn’t that long ago that the captain had been injured during the investigation of the Justin Wilson case. Monday had been his first day back on the job. Between his time rehabbing his injury and his time spent visiting his foster son up at his drug rehab on the North Shore, Fitzgibbon wasn’t in the office from sunup to sundown like he used to be.

“It’s good to be back. I think. But how about you work on tamer cases for the next few months, huh? We’ve had enough excitement here in Cold Case to last us a lifetime.”

Ronan laughed. The last six months certainly hadn’t been boring, that was for sure. “I’ll see what I can do about that. How’s Greeley?”

Fitzgibbon’s face lit up. “He’s excited to start his online GED program. I got all of his books yesterday. I also got some catalogs from bedding stores. He can’t wait to decorate his room.”

Ronan nodded. Fitzgibbon’s foster son had been the serial killer’s first intended victim. Luckily, he’d been able to get away before the killer could make Greeley his first official victim. He’d turned to drugs to dull the pain and trauma of his attack. 

The teenager’s parents had kicked him out of their house when he’d come out to them and he’d been living on the streets of Boston for the last two years. Greeley would be moving in with Fitzgibbon when he graduated from rehab. “Any news on being able to officially adopt him?”

“Yeah, my attorney said that since Greeley has been on his own for two years, he’s considered a ward of the state. We started the paperwork as soon as my doctor cleared me to return to work. I’m gonna need some references, though.” The captain crossed his arms over his chest and shot Ronan an expectant look.

“You mean me?” Ronan couldn’t believe Fitzgibbon was asking this of him.

Fitzgibbon raised an eyebrow. “You think you can handle that without getting me or Tennyson shot or kidnapped?”

Ronan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s pretty harsh coming from a man who needs my help.”

“Just write something nice, will ya?” Fitzgibbon sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “You know, say something about my caring nature and happy disposition.”

“I’d like to meet that Kevin Fitzgibbon. If he shows up, send him my way.” Ronan bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Ronan...”

“Okay, okay!” Ronan laughed. “Consider it done. I got nothing but time on my hands with Tennyson out of town.”

Fitzgibbon’s hard look softened. “He’s still finding himself in the wilds of Maine?”

Ronan nodded. The icy fist squeezing his heart tightened again. He had half a mind to drive up there and get his man, but he promised Tennyson all the time and space he needed to sort himself out. It was killing him to stay here and shut up, but he was managing somehow. “He’s been gone for almost two weeks now.”

“It wasn’t an easy case for him to handle.” Kevin absently set his hand over the spot on his chest where the bullet struck him.

Pointing to the large bandage peeking out from the open buttons on the captain’s chest, Ronan shook his head. “It wasn’t an easy case for any of us, but I understand his need to get away and refresh himself.”

“You just wish he’d taken you with him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. I could have used some time on the beach to find my aura and scrub my Zen or whatever the fuck he’s doing up there. Plus, what if there are bears or wolves or otters with mean dispositions? Who’s going to protect him?”

Fitzgibbon started to laugh. He stood up and clapped a hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “We researched the island, remember? There are no bears or wolves. The worst thing he’s bound to run into is a squirrel or a crab. He’s fine, Ronan. I’m sure he’s missing your grumpy ass just as much as you’re missing him, though God only knows why.” He turned and headed back to his office. 

“No one likes you, you know!” Ronan called back.

The captain’s laughter echoed through the precinct. 

Ronan sighed. “Come home soon, Ten. This sleeping alone shit sucks the big one.” 

Shaking his head, Ronan turned back to his computer. He was looking through the file of cold cases assigned to him. There were twelve cases in his queue at the moment and his goal was to find the most boring one in the bunch. The one that was the least likely to result in anyone getting shot, kidnapped, assaulted, or bloodied. Hell, he wanted a case that wouldn’t even result in someone getting a fucking paper cut.  Simple. Boring. Run of the mill. That’s what Ronan was looking for. 

He opened a case file titled Owens and started to read. Harold Owens, 56, had been murdered on Christmas Day, 1997 in his Dorchester home. Manner of death was homicide. Cause of death was blunt force trauma. A bloody two-by-four was found near the body. There were no fingerprints on the weapon. At home that night with the victim were his wife, Maxine, and his daughter, Hope. Both had been through multiple rounds of interviews and questions, yet neither had ever been charged in the crime. 

“This one sounds pretty boring,” Ronan said, sounding positively giddy. All Tennyson needed to do was talk to the dearly departed Mr. Owens and find out who bashed his skull in with the lumber and then easy, peasy lemon squeezy: case closed. 

 

 

3
Tennyson

When Tennyson called Carson from the car he’d been as vague as possible about why he was on his way back from Maine and why he needed to see Carson and his brother, Cole. Both Carson and Truman had been surprised that Ten was ending his vacation early and each man had tried their hardest to get him to spill the beans about why.

To keep his mind off the quiet, Tennyson blasted the Original Cast recording of Hamilton the whole way back from The Pine Tree State. He couldn’t help thinking that George Washington had a point when he sang about not having any control over who lives or who dies. It was an apt theme in Ronan’s line of work especially.

He eased his three-year-old Chevy into an open space in front of Carson’s house and took a few deep breaths. He and the Craig brothers had been friends since the moment they met two years ago. He only hoped that wouldn’t change after what he was about to tell them.  Hopping out of the car, he jogged up the brick stairs and knocked on Truman’s front door, not wanting to risk waking the babies with the doorbell. He heard a sharp bark and knew Sadie was waiting on the other side of the door for him.

“Tennyson!” Carson fairly shouted, hauling Ten into his arms. “Welcome home!” While Carson hugged him, the tiny Yorkshire terrier danced around them.

Ten tried to relax into Carson’s embrace. His best friend smelled like baby formula and something else he didn’t want to inhale too deeply. He found himself not wanting to let go all the same, just in case this was the last time he ever got a chance to hug him.

“Jesus, what’s wrong? I can feel grief rolling off you. You said not to tell Ronan you were coming home. Are you breaking up with him?”

Tennyson shook his head. “Why don’t we sit down with everyone. I’d rather only tell this story once.” He bent down and scooped up the tiny dog who bathed his face in kisses. “Hello, Sadie. Uncle Tennyson missed you.”

“Hey, man.” Cole slapped his back.

“Where’s Truman?” Tennyson asked as he settled himself onto the couch with the dog.

“He’s settling the babies in for their naps. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

It has already been nearly thirty-six hours that Tennyson had been without his gift. Minutes felt like hours. He tried to smile and think of something else to say while they waited for Truman to come downstairs, but he had nothing. Usually, he spoke about spirits he met, funny or heartbreaking stories they told him, and how he got them to cross over. All he had in the well right now was a stupid joke about a used car salesman he’d overheard on the ferry.

“Here I am. All of the babies are asleep. What’d I miss?” Truman hugged Tennyson before settling himself in a high-backed chair.

“Nothing yet, babe. Ten was waiting for you.” Carson winked at his husband.

“Well, the gang’s all here now, Ten. What got you so riled up that you cancelled the last few days of your vacation in Maine and brought you back to us instead of to Ronan?” Truman sat forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees.

Ten sighed. He had no idea how to tell this story without sounding like a petulant child. “I wasn’t getting a lot of peace and quiet. There were so many spirits associated with the old army base and all they wanted to do was talk to me. Find peace. Go home.” Ten shrugged. “All I needed was some quiet time to figure out what I wanted to do next. I mean, before January when I started working with Ronan, I’d been so sheltered. I’d never been to a wake before and now I’m visiting morgues and going to crime scenes to see murder victims.”

“We know how hard it’s been on you, Ten. It was understandable for you to go on vacation by yourself to have some quiet time.” Carson offered Tennyson an encouraging a smile.

“Yesterday morning I sort of lost my mind,” Ten bowed his head, unable to face his friends while he told this part of the story. “It was pouring outside like the world was going to end, so I couldn’t take my yoga mat out to the beach. I was sitting on it in the living room and trying to calm my breath, when the voices started and I… I just…” Ten felt hot tears start to slip from his closed eyes. He felt powerless to stop them. Sadie hopped up, bracing her front paws on his chest, and started licking them from his face.

Carson got up from his seat and wrapped an arm his friend. “You just what, Ten? We’re all here for you. It’s okay, whatever it is.”

“It isn’t okay, Carson. It might never be okay again.” Tennyson looked up at him. “I started yelling at the spirits to go away. That I just needed some time to myself.”

Carson exchanged a wordless glance with his brother who got up from his seat to come over and join them on the couch. “Ten, you’re the one who’s been telling the two of us for over a year now that we had to learn how to tell the spirits no. Make bubbles of time that were our own for family or sexy time, or sleep.”

Cole nodded, hugging Tennyson. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been telling us to do those things, but not following that advice yourself?”

“I’ve never really wanted to do it. I was a lonely, weird kid growing up. Sometimes the spirits were all I had for company, you know? If I have them, I’m never truly alone.”

“Except for the times when you want to be alone,” Truman added. “What happened after you shouted at the spirits to go away?”

“I said that I wished I never had been given my gift.” Ten kept his eyes on Truman, figuring since he didn’t have a gift similar to his own, he’d be the least likely of the bunch to judge him.

All three men in the room gasped before they went silent. Dead silent. They exchanged looks with each other, but no one said a word.

As the seconds stretched into a minute and then two, Tennyson’s anxiety bloomed into full-fledged panic. “I shouldn’t have come here.” He tried to stand up, but strong arms held him in place.

“It’s okay, Ten.” Carson and Cole soothed at the same time.

“We’re not mad, just shocked.” Carson pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

“You always talk about how your gift is everything and how blessed you are to have it,” Cole added.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you sound like a preschooler throwing a tantrum.” Truman offered him a warm smile. “What I don’t understand is what sent you flying back to Massachusetts when you still have a few days left on your vacation.”

Ten took a deep breath. Their reaction wasn’t as bad as he feared it was going to be. “After I finished shouting at the spirits to get out, I cried myself to sleep. I must have slept on my yoga mat for twelve hours.”

“That’s great, Ten. I’m sure you needed the rest.” Carson hugged him close.

“I’m sure I did too, but that’s not the point. Since I got my gift when I was thirteen, I’ve never slept that long at one time. Usually some spirit or another wakes me up to talk.” Tennyson looked around the room and saw the confused looks on his friends faces that he was expecting to see. “When I woke up, the voices were still gone.”

“They were still giving you your space,” Cole suggested.

“No, guys. My gift is gone completely. It’s been thirty-six hours or so now since I’ve spoken to someone from the other side or picked up some information from the future. I’m not a psychic anymore.” Ten looked at Carson who wore a horrified look on his face. Not wanting to know what look he’d seen in Cole or Truman’s eyes, he buried his face in his hands and gave himself over to his tears again.

 

 

4
Ronan

Ronan was sitting at his desk with his unlocked iPhone in front of him. He hadn’t gotten his usual nightly email from Tennyson and he was worried. Should he email Ten? Text him? Dial his damn number? Ronan growled and picked up the phone.

Fuck the unspoken rules. Ten was his boyfriend. Ronan was just going to call him and if his stubborn man didn’t answer, he was going to get in his car and drive to Maine. He’d swim to Great Diamond Island if he got there between ferries.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine!” Fitzgibbon set a cup of high-priced coffee down on his desk with a cheeky grin. “Trouble in paradise?” He took the seat across from Ronan’s desk, the one Tennyson usually sat in.

“Ten didn’t send his nightly email and I haven’t heard from him this morning either. I’m worried.” Ronan popped the plastic piece out of the cup and grinned before he took a sip, noticing the name written on his cup was Grumpy Cat.

“Oh, yeah. I can see where that would make a man worry.” Fitzgibbon nodded sympathetically. “What’s your play?”

“I’m going to call Tennyson’s stubborn ass and if he doesn’t pick up I’m driving up to that god-forsaken rock. I’ll fucking swim out there or hitch a ride on a moose if that’s what it takes to find him.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m here. Moose are mean bastards,” Tennyson said from behind Ronan.

“Ten?” Ronan jumped out of his seat and pulled Tennyson into his arms.

“In the flesh,” Ten mumbled against Ronan’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing here? Why didn’t you call? I was worried sick about you. Fuck it! I don’t care!” Ronan kissed Ten hard to the sound of applause and catcalls all around the squad room.

“Jesus Christ, you two, get a room. This is a place of business, not the Moulin Rouge.” Fitzgibbon laughed and slapped Ronan on the back. “I’m glad you’re back, Ten. This one has been like a lion with a sore paw while you were gone and don’t let him tell you any different. Ronan, take off early. Go get lunch or whatever it is the two of you do when you’re not here.”

“How’s Greeley, Kevin?” Ten asked, pulling away from Ronan.

“He’s great. We’ll catch up later. I think Ronan wants to kiss you again.” He hooked a thumb at Ronan.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Ronan quietly said after Fitzgibbon shut the door to his office.

“It was time to come home. I’d had enough of crickets chirping and birds singing. Plus, I missed you.”

Ronan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Did you now?” He wondered if Ten would fall for him playing hard to get.

“Yes, you ridiculous man. Of course I missed you. My going away alone had nothing to do you. We talked about that. It had to do with me needing some quiet time to myself to reconcile the things I’d seen and if I could keep seeing things like that in order to keep helping people.”

“Did you find an answer to that question?” Ronan asked, nervously nibbling his bottom lip.

Ten nodded, looking shy. “I want to keep working with you. I want to keep solving cold cases, in addition to my regular work at West Side Magick.”

Relief like Ronan had never felt in his life flooded through his body. “Okay. I’m glad to hear you say that.” Glad was putting it mildly. Ronan was so happy, he could do an Irish jig. “You’ll be happy to know that the captain asked me to work boring cases for a while. Said we’ve had too much excitement around here lately.”

Ten laughed. “He’s right you know. There have been an awful lot of bullets and trips to the hospital for my liking.”

Ronan had to admit Tennyson had a point. It also hadn’t escaped his notice that Ten looked awfully relieved too. There was something else going on with him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There would be time to delve into that later. He assumed Ten was just missing him and all of their friends. He’d always worn his emotions on his sleeve and whatever this was must just be a manifestation of that. “In that case, I have just the thing.”

“You do?” Ten shook his head. A curious look replaced what Ronan would almost hesitate to call melancholy. 

“Yup!” Ronan waggled his eyebrows in a teasing fashion. “I’ve got the most boring murder case in the history of crime.”

“What?” Tennyson burst out laughing. “How can murder possibly be boring?”

Ronan grabbed a brown accordion folder from the corner of his desk. “Meet the Owens.” He waved his hand in front of the folder as if he were Vanna White revealing the next puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. 

Ten frowned. “Why don’t you tell me about this one, instead of me pulling it out of your head? I’m a little tired from all the driving.”

Nodding, Ronan pulled out the manila folder from inside that contained the most basic information about the case. “Harold Owens, fifty-six years old, was clubbed to death on Christmas night, 1997 with a two-by-four in his Dorchester living room.”

“Ouch!” Tennyson winced in sympathy as if he could feel the murderous blows. 

“The only people in the house with him that night were his wife, Maxine, and their daughter, Hope. Both were questioned repeatedly, but neither were ever charged with the crime.”

Tennyson shot Ronan a shocked look. “How is that possible? They were both in the house. One of them had to have been the one to kill him. How were neither of them charged?”

“From the case notes I read by the detectives who interviewed mother and daughter, there was never enough evidence against either of them to arrest one over the other.”

“I don’t get it.” Ten looked confused.

“It’s all about reasonable doubt, Mr. Law and Order, right? So, if they charged the daughter, then her defense would have been to blame it on the mother...” Ronan trailed off, knowing Ten would catch on to where he was leading.

“And if they’d charged the wife, her defense strategy would have been to blame the daughter,” Ten concluded. 

“Right, and because of double jeopardy, they’d only have one chance to get a conviction, so the DA declined to bring charges against either of them.” Ronan set the folder down on his desk.

“Wow, so they’ve gotten away with the crime for the last twenty years.” Ten shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. 

Ronan nodded. “Yup! Crazy, huh?” 

“So, I guess I must be more tired than I thought. I’m having a hard time figuring out what makes this case the most boring murder in the world?”

Ronan’s face brightened with a million-watt smile. “That’s where you come in, Nostradamus!”

Tennyson’s own smile briefly faltered. “It is?”

“All you need to do is read Harold. Ask him who killed him: Hope or Maxine. Once we have that information, we bring our murderess in for questioning and I use my stellar interview techniques and you use your gift to make her confess. Bada bing, bada boom! No gunshots, no kidnappings, no blood, no trips to the ER. What do you think?”

Tennyson tilted his head to the side as if he were weighing what Ronan had said carefully. “Sounds like a good plan. Do you know where the mother and daughter are now? I mean if the wife was fifty-seven years old twenty years ago, then she’s seventy-seven years old now. She could be dead.”

“Way ahead of you, babe. Maxine and Hope are both still among the living and have a charming house on the beach in Hyannis.”

“Beachfront property in Hyannis?” Ten’s mouth dropped open. “That must have cost a fortune!”

“Oh, it did. Trust me! Wanna guess how much?” Ronan bounced his eyebrows up and down. “No fair using your gift. Just guess.”

Ten rolled his eyes. “Nine hundred thousand?”

“Try 1.2 million.” Ronan bounced his eyebrows up and down.

“Makes you wonder where the widow and bereaved daughter got that kind of cash.”

“I don’t have to wonder.” Ronan tapped the folder. “I already know. Let’s just say that Nationwide was on their side. Along with MetLife and a few others.”

“Old Harold was insured to the gills?” Tennyson snickered.

“And then some,” Ronan agreed.

Ten’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Wait, so why didn’t that raise red warning flags for the detectives?”

“Every policy taken out on Harold was also taken out on Maxine.” Ronan grinned broadly at Tennyson.

“Smart.” Ten shook his head. 

“It was almost the perfect crime. I’d say.”

“Almost?” Ten asked.

Ronan pointed his finger at his lover. “Yeah, the Owens’ didn’t know I’d have an ace in the hole.”

 

 

 

5
Tennyson

 

Tennyson was so wracked with guilt he thought he was going to throw up. He’d lied to Ronan more in the course of two hours than he’d lied, in total, over his entire life. 

After Ronan had finished laying out the Owens case, Tennyson had told his lover he was tired. Ronan, being the sweetest, most caring boyfriend on the planet had insisted he go home and rest. Telling Ronan he was tired was one of the few things he hadn’t lied to him about today. 

Ronan’s excitement about how easy it would be to solve Harold Owens murder had almost been contagious. It was obvious he’d spent the last few days doing his homework on Maxine and Hope and getting his ducks in a row. If Tennyson’s gift had been working, he probably would have been able to talk to Harold right then and there. He didn’t know how long he was going to be able to plead fatigue to hold Ronan off. 

He had gone to the precinct this morning fully intending to tell Ronan everything that happened that last, cursed day in Maine. After he’d left Carson’s house yesterday, he’d gone back to his apartment and unpacked. He’d done laundry and tried to settle back into his old life, even though there was one big part of his life that was missing. 

Once he was settled back in, he’d try to figure out what to do about Ronan. He’d thought about calling or texting his lover to set up a date, but in the end, he’d chickened out, resolving to drive into Boston first thing in the morning and spill his guts.

It was his plan to tell Ronan everything and see if the veteran detective had any suggestions on how to jumpstart his gift. Needless to say, things hadn’t gone as planned this morning. 

When Ronan grabbed him and hugged the life out of him like he’d never expected to see Tennyson again, Ten lost his nerve and chickened out for the second time in twelve hours.

He’d gotten lucky, in his mind, that none of his friends abandoned him for losing his gift. He wasn’t so sure he’d get lucky a second time with Ronan. 

Both Ronan and Captain Fitzgibbon were counting on him to help solve Cold Case murders. Neither one of them were going to want him around the station house if he couldn’t pull his weight and be a fully functioning member of the team.

To add insult to injury, Ronan had promised to make Tennyson dinner tonight. Ten had been more shocked than anything else when Ronan said he’d be over later and would cook for them. So far as Ten knew, the only thing Ronan knew how to do in the kitchen was have sex on the counter. Detective Ronan O’Mara was the king of take-out. Bobby Flay, he wasn’t.

Ten had accepted Ronan’s date night suggestion the minute he made it, since it also came with Ronan saying he was going to sleep over.

The thing Tennyson had missed the most during his time in Maine was falling asleep on Ronan’s shoulder. 

Ten resolved that sometime after they ate, but before Ronan carried him off to bed like the caveman he was, Ten was going to tell him about losing his gift. He held his pinkie up in his empty apartment, swearing in front of any spirit who was there, but who he could no longer see or hear. 

 

Since there was no active case pending, Ronan showed up at 5pm on the nose. Instead of carrying a pizza box or brown handled bag filled with Chinese or Thai food, Ronan was carrying bags of groceries from the local supermarket. He also had a bouquet of bright pink Gerbera daisies in his hand. 

“Ronan! These are gorgeous!” Ten took the flowers and brought them into the kitchen to find a vase for them. No one had ever brought him flowers before.

“So are you! I missed you so much, babe.” Ronan set the groceries down on the kitchen counter and pulled Tennyson into his arms. “Wait until you see what I’ve got in store for you tonight.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my Ronan?” Ten laughed.

“What do you mean? I am your Ronan.” Ronan looked offended.

Ten shook his head. “No, my Ronan doesn’t even know how to turn his stove on. My Ronan is the master of the menu, the king of take out.” He pointed to the reusable shopping bags. “You’re going to have to explain all this to me.”

Ronan grinned and picked up Ten’s hands. He pressed kisses to the backs of both of them. “I did a lot of thinking while you were gone. I love our relationship, but I wondered if there were things I could do better. I wondered if I could be a better boyfriend to you, so I called Carson and Truman for help. They invited me over to dinner. Of course, Fitzgibbon was there too. It’s like he’s their new bestie or something.” Ronan rolled his eyes as if the idea that his boss was now part of his circle of friends was annoying.

Ten started to laugh. When he first met Kevin Fitzgibbon he’d thought the man was cold and abrasive, but now that he knew the captain better, the opposite was true. Ten knew Ronan was only kidding about having his boss around. “What did they all have to say about you?”

“None of them seem to think I’m very domestic. Now, I wonder where they all got that idea, Ten?” Ronan’s grin was full-on.

Ten had a “who me?” look on his face. “Well, I may have mentioned a time or two that I didn’t think you even knew how to boil water and that I wasn’t sure you owned a pot.”

“I own pots. I think.” Ronan snorted.

“How did Carson and Truman help you?”

“They invited me for dinner.” Ronan pressed a kiss to Ten’s cheek and moved over to the grocery bags. “Turns out the meal Truman made is your favorite.” Ronan pulled out a package of instant grits, followed by a jar of minced garlic, a lemon, a jar of cayenne powder and lastly, raw shrimp.

“These are the ingredients for lemon-garlic shrimp and grits.” Tennyson sounded intrigued.

“Well,” Ronan said, pulling Tennyson into his arms. “Not only did Truman invite me to dinner that night, he showed me how to make this meal for you.”

Tennyson was stunned. While he was off being selfish, Ronan was learning how to do this incredible thing for him. “I don’t know what to say. Ronan, this is amazing.”

Ronan laughed. “How about you hold that thought until after you try the first bite, okay? If this goes belly up, we might still have to call out for pizza.”

If there was one thing Ten knew about his boyfriend it was that he was as brilliant as he was stubborn. Knowing Ronan, he’d probably gone home and made this meal several times since the first night Truman showed him how to do it. “What can I do to help?”

“Have a seat at the bar and tell me about your trip. I want to hear all about the wilds of Maine.” Ronan grinned while he washed his hands.

Tennyson took a seat on one of the barstools on the other side of the kitchen counter and watched while Ronan pulled out the pots and pans he’d need to put their dinner together. Now would of course be the perfect time to tell him the entire story of what happened in Maine. He just wasn’t sure that he had the nerve to do it.

“The island itself was gorgeous. My cabin was right on the beach. I could hear the waves breaking on the sand as I fell asleep every night.”

Ronan sighed. “Sounds pretty romantic. You think you’d ever like to go back there again? I know a cop who hasn’t had a real vacation in a few years who might like to sit still in a place like that.” He tipped Ten a sexy wink.

As far as Tennyson was concerned, he never wanted to step foot in the state of Maine ever again. “I’m not sure the island is quite your thing. There’s literally nothing to do there except watch the sun rise and set.”

“You’d be there, Ten. That’s all I need.” Ronan washed all of the shelled and deveined shrimp and set them on a clean plate.

Ten watched in awe as Ronan measured out water for the grits and put together garlic and cayenne for the shrimp in a Ziploc bag. His lover was moving around the tiny kitchen like he cooked all the time. A few minutes later, Ronan added the shrimp to the bag before shaking it all together and then adding the grits to the boiling water. It all seemed like a perfectly orchestrated dance. Ronan wasn’t even referring to a recipe.

“Can I at least set the table?” Ten asked as Ronan flipped over the perfectly pink shrimp.

“Sure. How about some candles too? I’m thinking that will get us in the mood for dessert.”

“Oh, what are we having for dessert?” If dinner looked this good, Tennyson couldn’t wait to see what was for dessert.

“Each other.” Ronan licked his lips as if he were already anticipating how good Ten was going to taste.

Oh yeah, telling Ronan about how the rest of his trip to Maine went was going to have to wait. He’d tell his lover all about it tomorrow.

 

 

6
Ronan

Ronan’s fourth try at making shrimp and grits was his best effort yet. Of course the way Tennyson moaned over nearly every candlelit mouthful was an extra bonus he’d never gotten when he’d made the recipe by himself and twice for Fitzgibbon.

“I still can’t believe you did all of this for me,” Ten said as he set the last washed dish into the drainboard to dry.

“It was totally worth it to see the look on your face when you tried that first bite, babe.” Ronan wished he’d thought to grab his iPhone to snap a picture of that moment.

“I loved that you did this for me.”

“Up next is spaghetti and meatballs. Truman’s gonna teach me his mother’s tomato sauce recipe and how to make meatballs on Sunday. Turns out I like cooking. What does my mother think of that?”

“She’s not here right now,” Ten said quickly. “Remember what I told you about how spirits make themselves scarce when the living are about to have private moments?” Ten waggled his eyebrows and pulled Ronan close, brushing their lips together.

“Damn, Ten,” Ronan grinned against his lips.

“You know what I was thinking earlier?” Ten went for the button of Ronan’s jeans before unzipping them and sliding his hand inside to cup his lover’s hard flesh.

“That you were going to kill me in your kitchen?”

Ten snorted. “No. I was thinking that the only thing I thought you knew how to do in the kitchen was fuck me against the counter.” Ten squeezed Ronan’s dick gently.

Ronan hissed at the skin on skin contact. “Up until last week that was the only thing I knew how to do in the kitchen.”

“Maybe I want to return the favor.” Pulling his hand out of Ronan’s pants, Ten pushed the soft denim, along with Ronan’s boxers, down to the tops of his sneakers and hit his knees.

Ronan hadn’t been kidding when he said that he wanted them to have each other for dessert, but he had no idea Tennyson would take him so literally. Not that he was complaining.

Tennyson looked up at Ronan, desire darkening his brown eyes to almost black. He licked out at the gathering drop of pre-come at the tip of Ronan’s slit. “Delicious.”

“Better than the shrimp?” Ronan teased. Now this is what he wished he had his camera to snap a shot of: Ten’s eyes glowing with need and hunger for him. The way his tongue was licking over his lips again and again in case he missed a taste of Ronan.

Ten nodded and licked a wet stripe down the length of Ronan’s erection. Dancing his tongue over his lover’s balls, Tennyson’s dark eyes looked up at Ronan.

Jesus Christ! If Ten kept this up he wasn’t going to last long. Being apart for two weeks on top of Ten gazing up at him like he was a bronzed god was going to have him coming, cock practically untouched. “Ten, please,” Ronan begged.

Running his tongue up the underside of Ronan’s cock in response, Ten flicked his tongue up and over the head as if it were an ice cream cone. He dropped Ronan a sexy wink before taking the spongy head into his mouth and sucking gently.

“More, Ten. We’ve been apart for nearly two weeks. I don’t need slow and sweet. I need hard and fast. I need you, damn it!” Ronan hitched his hips forward, at the same time grabbing onto Tennyson’s head with both hands, forcing several inches of his erection deeper into Tennyson’s mouth.

Tennyson gagged in response.

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Ronan moaned. His eyes were glued to Tennyson’s lips gliding up and down his shaft. He loved the way his dick glistened with Ten’s spit. He wasn’t going to be able to take much more of this sweet torture before he’d be coming down Tennyson’s throat.

Just as Ronan was about to warn Tennyson of that very thing, Ten pulled off his wet dick with a pop.

“Ten, what?”

Before Ronan could get another word out, Ten went for his pants, quickly undoing the button and zipper. He yanked them down to his feet and turned around, bracing his arms on the counter. Looking over his shoulder, Ten gave Ronan an enticing come hither smile and wiggled his ass.

“Are you serious?” Ronan grinned and kicked out of his sneakers and pants.

Ten nodded, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I thought all you could do was fuck me against the counter. So that’s exactly what I want you to do, detective. Fuck me against the counter.”

Not wanting to waste another second, Ronan grabbed his still soaking wet dick and rubbed it against Tennyson’s hole, which was strangely loosened and lubed. He snickered. “You prepped yourself ahead of time for me?”

“You weren’t the only one who missed this.” Ten winked at him.

“Christ, you really are trying to kill me.” Ronan lined himself up with Ten’s hole and slid himself inside.

“I’m not a china doll, Ronan. Fuck me. Now!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ten.” Ronan pressed a kiss against the back of his neck.

“You’re not going to hurt me. Treat me like I’m your bad boy, detective.” Ten pushed his ass back against Ronan.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” Ronan dug his left hand into Ten’s hip and set his right hand in the center of Ten’s back shoving his chest down against the cool marble of the counter.

Tennyson gasped out loud.

“So, you’ve been a bad boy?” Ronan growled in Ten’s ear. He angled his hips away from Ten’s prostate, wanting Ten to work for this. If he said he was a bad boy, Ronan was going to treat him like one. Although just what Ten could have done wrong, Ronan had no earthly idea.

Ten squeaked in response.

“You know what happens to bad boys don’t you?” Ronan rasped against Ten’s ear before tugging on the lobe with his teeth. “They don’t get to come.”

Ten moaned, whether in excitement or in frustration, Ronan couldn’t tell.

“What did you do that was so bad, hmm?” Ronan increased the force of his thrusts. The only way he was going to keep himself from coming was to keep talking. “You flirt with a chipmunk on that island of yours? Maybe have a secret rendezvous with a raccoon?”

“Ronan, please!” Tennyson panted, lifting his chest off the counter.

Not wanting to let up the act, Ronan pressed Ten’s chest back down. “Oh no, princess. You started this. You’re the one who said you were my bad boy.” What Ronan wasn’t telling Ten was that this little scenario was hot as fuck. Not just doing his lover up against the counter but this whole act with Ten playing the role of bad boy. “If my hands weren’t full right now, I’d spank your ass red.”

“Yes, Ronan. That’s what I deserve.” Ten whimpered. 

“That’s right you do.” Ronan hitched his hips harder. He wasn’t going to last much longer like this, talking or not. “You’d better figure out a way to come, Ten.”

“Harder, Daddy!” Ten shouted.

That did it. Ronan bellowed his name and felt his cock jerk deep inside Tennyson’s body. His left hand dug in deeper to the tender flesh of Tennyson’s hip while his right hand pressed harder against his back. He was coming so hard and so fast that he was afraid he was going pass out. “God, fuck, Ten!”

In the back of his mind, Ronan thought he could hear Tennyson crying out in concert with him. Right now, he was running on instinct. His hips kept bucking against Ten while his cock kept jerking.

When Ronan was finally spent, he rested his head against Ten’s back. “Holy fucking shit, Ten!” Ronan said, his voice sounded hoarse in his own ears.

“You’re telling me.” Tennyson laughed.

“Shit, Ten. Did you come? I mean… I just…” Ronan pulled his softening cock out of Tennyson’s ass and turned him around. “It was just pure instinct after you called me Daddy.”

Tennyson laughed harder.

“What’s so funny? And where the hell did Daddy come from anyway?”

Ten managed to point to the cabinet door.

“Oh,” Ronan grinned when he saw Tennyson’s sticky release all over the honey-colored wood. That answered that question. “Seriously though, why did you call me Daddy?” He wasn’t going to tell Ten how fucking turned on it made him until Tennyson told him how he knew that’s exactly what would happen when he said it.

“Psychic, remember?” Ten grabbed Ronan’s hand and pulled his lover close. “I missed you so much, Ronan. I don’t ever want to be away from you like that again.” He wrapped his arms around Ronan like he never wanted to let him go.

Ronan seconded that motion. The Daddy question forgotten for the moment, he held on to Tennyson just as tightly.

 

 

 

7
Tennyson

Tennyson barely slept a wink all night and it wasn’t because Ronan was insatiable. It was because he was guilty. Over the course of his thirty years on this planet, Ten hadn’t had a lot of experience with lying, but over the last forty-eight hours, he’d made up for lost time, and then some.

Today was going to be the day though. Right after Ronan woke up, Tennyson was going to spill his guts and tell him everything. It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell him last night just before they’d fallen asleep, but then Ten had this crazy idea that maybe his gift would be back working this morning since he and Ronan had made love last night.

Nope. That hadn’t been the case. Not that Ten hadn’t been reaching out with his sixth sense from the moment his eyes had popped open at 1:54am until this very second. His gift was still gone. As days passed, Tennyson was beginning to give up hope that it was ever coming back.

When Ronan had woken up, ready to greet the day and get to work on the boring and super easy Owens case, Ten had chickened out yet again. He’d gone with the flow, hurrying to get ready for work, racing through a shower while Ronan made them breakfast sandwiches in the kitchen. Who the hell was this new Bobby Flay version of his man anyway?

It seemed they’d both changed while Tennyson had been finding himself in the woods of Maine, but only one of them had changed for the better.

“Are you ready to try to channel Harold Owens?” Ronan asked, once they were settled at his desk back at the precinct with their iced coffees.

Tennyson felt his stomach drop like he’d just gone down the tallest hill of a roller coaster. His perfectly prepared breakfast sandwich did a backflip in his stomach. “Yeah, let’s give it a try.” He made a big show of straightening his spine and closing his eyes. He slowly counted to one hundred and then, sighing heavily, opened his eyes. “He’s not here, Ronan. Like I said, it’s a long shot to contact someone from the other side when I don’t have a connection to them personally or don’t have an object that the spirit connects with.”

“You need an object? I think I can help you there!” Ronan bounced out of his seat like a kangaroo and ran off before Ten could stop him. 

Jesus Christ, what the hell excuse was he going to use when Ronan came back with his object and Harold fucking Owens still wasn’t speaking to him from the great beyond. What the hell else could possibly go wrong?

“Hey, Ten! Look who I found!” Captain Fitzgibbon’s way too chipper voice called from behind him. 

Pasting a fake smile on his face, Ten turned around to see the captain standing behind him with his arm around Greeley’s shoulder. “Hey guys!” Ten’s fake smile morphed into a genuine one. “It’s good to see you, Greeley. How’d you end up getting sprung from rehab?” From what Tennyson remembered, the teen still had about sixty days or so to go on his ninety-day stint at Hope by the Sea.

“Court appearance for my adoption hearing. Can you believe this big lug is actually going to be my real dad?” Greeley looked up at Fitzgibbon like the captain hung the moon. 

“It’s pretty awesome, man.” What was also awesome was Greeley’s transformation. When Tennyson first met the teenager, he was strung out on meth and about twenty pounds underweight. Saying the teen was skin and bones was a gross understatement. His ratty clothes had hung off his gaunt frame and his face had looked skeletal. He’d survived his first encounter with the serial killer but the aftermath had been what had nearly killed him. 

“Here it is!” Ronan crowed triumphantly as he jogged back into the room. He was carrying a large document box sealed up with red evidence tape. Setting the box down on his desk he reached for scissors and opened them up before he started cutting the tape.

“Uh, should he be using scissors by himself?” Greeley asked. 

Ronan snorted and looked up from the box. “He’s one of us already. You should be proud, cap. And yes, smarty pants, I’m fine using scissors by myself. It’s Ten who needs a note to use them.” Ronan rolled his eyes and pulled the top off the evidence box. He dove in, sorting through various tagged items, obviously looking for something specific. “Ah ha! Here it is.” He pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to Tennyson.

“What’s this?” Tennyson flipped the envelope over, but couldn’t read the chicken-scratch handwriting on the evidence label.

“Harold Owens’ wallet. From what I’ve read, all that mattered to him in life was money, so this should bring his soul to you like blood in the water to a shark.” Ronan sat down in his desk chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore an expectant look on his face. 

Ten sighed. He took his seat again and held the useless wallet in his useless hands. He knew nothing he tried was going to get Harold Owens’ spirit to talk to him. It was tiring faking his gift. He had no idea how charlatan psychics did this all day long. He needed a nap and it was barely 9am. 

Shutting his eyes, Tennyson started counting backward from one hundred, just like he’d done before. He couldn’t help wondering just how disappointed on a scale of one to never wanting to speak to him again Ronan was going to be when Ten finally fessed up.

“Jesus, Ten, you still awake? Did you get anything yet?”

Ten’s dark eyes popped open. Ronan’s voice startled him and his heart started pounding. “Yes! And no!” He said a bit more harshly than he’d intended. 

“Okay, okay.” Ronan held both hands up. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Why don’t you stop ordering me around. You’re not the boss of me!” Ten meant to yell that time.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ronan asked quietly as he looked around the squad room. 

Ten knew his little tantrum was attracting attention.  He didn’t give a fuck. Actually, at this point in time, he had exactly zero fucks left to give.  “I lost my gift, Ronan.”

“Oh, come on. Stop bullshiting me. If Harold Owens isn’t in the mood to chat, we’ll try again another time. Why don’t we have a look at the rest of the evidence in the box and see if you get any psychic impressions on that stuff?” Ronan turned from Ten to start digging through the box. 

“Are you fucking deaf, O’Mara? I said I lost my gift!” Tennyson could feel the heat in his face, saw the spittle fly out of his mouth as he raged at Ronan. 

Ronan looked up from the box. The look on his face was a mix of anger and thinking Tennyson had lost his mind. “Dial it back, Nostradamus, and explain what you’re saying. I can’t read your mind.”

“Ten, why don’t we go into my office?” Fitzgibbon offered in a near-whisper. 

“It’s all out in the open now! I wished my gift away and now it’s gone. God or fucking fate or karma listened to me and took it away. There are no more voices from spirits, no more psychic urges, no more lottery numbers in my head. No more knowing when Ronan wants to fuck me or kiss me or break the fuck up with me. It’s gone! All gone. I’m not special anymore. I’m just ordinary.” Ten sucked in a harsh breath. “Now my friends will kick me out of our partnership at the Magick shop. You sure as hell won’t want a useless, broken psychic consulting on cases. And you,” Tennyson turned back to Ronan, who was standing stone-still with his mouth hanging open, “aren’t going to want to date a liar.” Tennyson sagged, his knees giving out. At this point, he didn’t care if anyone caught him or if he slammed face first into Ronan’s desk. To be honest, he welcomed the blackness rushing up to meet him. 

 

 

 

8
Ronan

In all of his life, Ronan had never seen anything like Tennyson’s performance back in the squad room. Hell, it could have won an EGOT: Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony Award, all in one go. He probably could have thrown in a gold fucking medal for the gracefulness of his swoon at the end. Thankfully, Greeley, with his swiftness of youth, had been fast enough to catch the fainting man before he’d hit the squad room floor. 

Now, Ronan was speeding toward Salem with a still passed out Tennyson in his backseat. Jesus Christ on the cross, what the hell had happened to Tennyson in Maine? 

Whatever strange story Ten had been shouting back at the precinct had made absolutely no sense at all. If Ronan hadn’t spent the entire night with him last night, he would have wondered if Ten had been drunk or high on some kind of drug. Not that Tennyson was the type to do that, but on the other hand, he’d never seen Ten act like that in the six months they’d known each other. 

Before he’d started the forty-minute drive north, Ronan had sent Carson a vague text about Ten being sick and needing them to meet him at Carson and Truman’s house. He knew Truman or their sitter would be at the house with the triplets, but Carson and Cole at the very least needed to be there. He prayed that they would be able to explain what the hell was going on. 

Was it really possible for Ten to wish his gift away and have it work? Was it really that simple? Ronan had no idea if it was possible, but he hoped to Christ Ten’s friends did. 

“Ronan?” Ten asked groggily from the backseat.

“Yeah.” Ronan asked testily. He had no idea which Tennyson had just woken up, his normal, lovable boyfriend or the Wicked Witch of the West. 

“What happened?” Ten was holding on to his head with both hands.

“You lost your fucking mind in the precinct.” Ronan’s voice sounded bitchy in his own ears.

“Shit, that was real?” Ten sounded confused. 

“Real as a heart attack.” Ronan regretted his harsh tone, but there was nothing to be done for it now. 

“Are you dropping me off at Carson’s house?” Ten’s voice sounded small and scared. 

“Let’s just get there and we’ll talk, okay?”

Ten didn’t answer. He turned his head to stare out the window.

Great... Now he was the bad guy. Could this fucking day get any worse?

Ronan pulled the Mustang into an empty parking space in front of Truman’s house and hopped out of the car. He hurried around to the passenger side to open the door and pulled the front seat forward to help Tennyson out. Ten didn’t look at him. 

Truman was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Sadie was in his arms and wasn’t barking in her usual exuberant way. “Enter at your own risk. All three babies are sick.”

Apparently, this day could get worse, Ronan thought viciously. 

Carson and Cole were waiting inside the darkened house where the three infants were sleeping in their swings. 

“What happened?” Carson asked as he pulled Tennyson into his arms.

“Why don’t you all tell me, since I’m obviously the one behind the eight-ball here.” Ronan said quietly. He felt like he’d aged ten years since this morning. 

Ten said something to Carson too softly for Ronan to overhear. Carson nodded. 

“On Ten’s last day in Maine, he was trying to meditate and the voices of local spirits were just too much for him. He had a bit of a tantrum and told them to go away. Then he said he wished his gift would go away too.”

Ronan sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t expecting that part of the story to actually be real. In all honesty, he thought that was just Tennyson being dramatic. He nodded briefly at Carson. 

“He cried himself to sleep and when he woke up, he couldn’t hear any voices. His gift was actually gone. So, he got the first ferry off the island the next day and came straight here to us, thinking there was something we could do to help.”

“You didn’t come to me?” Ronan knew he sounded like a dick. There was nothing he could have done to bring Ten’s gift back, but he could have supported him. He could have been there and held his hand.

Carson shot Ronan a warning look. “There was nothing Cole or I could do to bring his gift back. We told him to give it time and to tell you what was going on. I’m guessing he didn’t listen to that advice.”

Ronan shook his head. “He stopped by the precinct yesterday, seemed interested in working on a case with me. Fitzgibbon made me promise to work on cases for a while that won’t get anyone shot or kidnapped. I picked a case that would be simple enough to solve. All Ten would have to do is ask the victim who killed him, his wife or his daughter, and he seemed to indicate it wouldn’t be a problem.” Ronan sighed, realizing now that Ten had lied to him yesterday. “Then I made him shrimp last night and we made love. No wonder you kept telling me you were a bad boy...” Ronan trailed off, feeling anger rising in him.

Carson opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but shut his mouth just as quickly. 

“What happened today?” Truman asked gently.

“I asked Ten to try to talk to this murder victim and when he told me he would need an object that belonged to the victim in order to channel him, I ran to the evidence room to get the box of his things. I handed Ten his wallet and Ten said he couldn’t read him. Long story short, I pushed Ten to try again and he lost his mind. Totally melted down in the middle of the squad room.”

“It wasn’t my finest moment,” Ten said quietly, pulling his head up from Carson’s shoulder and wiping his tears away. 

“Then he passed out. Thank God Greeley caught him, otherwise we would have ended up at the ER instead of driving here,” Ronan finished. “So it’s true, Ten’s powers are gone?” What the hell did that mean for Tennyson’s future?

“I’m choosing to say they’re just absent,” Carson said.

“Absent?” Ronan narrowed his eyes. “What, like a kid missing a day of school?” That didn’t sound so bad, but Ronan got the feeling Carson wasn’t taking this whole situation as seriously as Tennyson was.

Bertha chirped in her swing, her tiny arms started to shift out of her swaddle.

Ronan was out of his seat faster than anyone else, plucking the baby out of her swing and cuddling her against her chest. “It’s okay, honey. Uncle Ronan’s got you.”

Truman and Carson exchanged a smile, as if Ronan was confirming something they both already knew about his paternal instincts.

“I don’t know, Ronan. None of us have ever dealt with anything like this before.” Carson shrugged his shoulders with a helpless look on his face.

“Who would know?” Ronan asked with a lilt in his voice. Thank Christ for the baby in his arms because he was ready to go nuclear. Someone had to know how to treat Tennyson. Was there a doctor for psychics?

Cole snorted and started to laugh. “No, Ronan. There are no doctors for psychics.”

“Oh, so this is funny now. Some kind of joke, Cole. What if Ten can never work again? Huh? Do you know he’s scared to death that you’re going to fire him from the Magick shop and kick him out of your partnership?” Ronan looked angrily between the brothers. “Not to mention him thinking that Fitzgibbon and I are going to kick him off the Owens case and the Boston Police force.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Ten asked.

Ronan shot him a wounded look. “Are you kidding me? Do you really think we’re that shallow? That I’m that shallow that I’d fire you or stop loving you because your gift is on the blink? Christ, Ten!” He took a deep breath and looked down at the tiny baby in his arms. Bertha was wide awake now and reaching up toward his face with her hand. “You tell him, Bertha. He sure as sugar won’t listen to me.”

“Holy God, Ronan. Maybe we need to start calling you the ghost whisperer.” Carson started to laugh.

“What are you talking about?” Ronan looked up at the Craig brothers who were laughing and waving at something, someone, behind him.

“Hi, Mom!” Carson said.

Ronan turned around. “Oh, so you were reaching out for your Mimi, baby girl. Is that it?”

Bertha squealed holding out both arms. Neither of her siblings flinched.

“Hello Big Bertha,” Ronan grinned at the empty space next to him.

“Christ Ronan, going with a swing then.” Cole rolled his eyes.

“This is little Bertha.” Ronan pointed to the baby. “And that’s-”

“Yeah, we get it.” Carson rolled his eyes. “Mom gets it too. It’s a good thing she likes you, Ronan.”

“What matters now isn’t if she likes me, but if she can help Tennyson.”

Ten offered up a grateful look.

The two of them were going to have a long discussion later on about why Ten thought everyone who loved him was all of a sudden going to abandon him just because he wasn’t psychic at the moment. Ronan had to believe that his gift wasn’t gone permanently, that it was like a sock that went missing in the dryer. It was bound to turn up, sooner or later, and in the place where you were least likely to find it.

“You really don’t have any of your gift, do you?” Cole shook his head. “Mom’s saying all kinds of things about Ronan’s ass and you’re not batting an eye.”

“Nice things about my ass?” Ronan found his first smile in what felt like hours.

“Christ, Ronan, you’ve got an ass like Michelangelo’s David.” Carson rolled his eyes and turned back to Tennyson. “Mom says chin up, buttercup.”

“That’s easy for her to say. She isn’t the one dealing with this mess.” Ten shook his head. “Is she mad at me, Carson?”

“Why on earth would she be mad? She loves you like a son.” Cole exchanged a surprised look with his brother.

Ten set a hand over his heart. “Because I did this. I wished my gift away.”

“Mom says that yes, you did this to yourself, but you’re also the one who can fix it.” Carson was wearing a hopeful smile.

Tennyson gave Ronan a stunned look. “How, Bertha?” Hope filled his voice.

“Are you sure you even want to turn it back on? After all, you were the one who wished it away,” Carson recited. “That’s not nice, Mom.” His smile turned into a grimace.

“Yes, I want to turn it back on. It’s been three days and I’m going crazy without it.”

“I’m only playing devil’s advocate, Ten, but it seemed to me like there were times when you were going crazy with it too.” Ronan offered a smile. Playing a silent version of devil’s advocate, there were times when it drove him a little bit crazy too.

“Mom’s nodding,” Cole chimed in. “She says you never learned how to say no, Ten. Or ‘not now’ to spirits demanding your time and energy.”

“You have a point, Bertha,” Tennyson agreed.

“Of course I do, honey.” Carson laughed. “You have to learn how to balance your personal life and your gift especially since you’ve got Ronan and a family on the way.”

“A family?” Ten looked shocked.

“Look at the way Ronan is with Bertha, Ten. I’m not psychic and I can see there’s a family in your not too distant future,” Truman chimed in.

Ronan pressed a tender kiss to the infant’s forehead. The baby, for her part was still enamored with the spirit of her grandmother. She was cooing and reaching out her tiny hands. “Is she going to have your talents, Bertha? Or is this just the gift all babies are born with?” Ronan asked with awe in his voice.

“Damn if that boy doesn’t listen to you, Tennyson,” Cole recited. “I’m not sure if Carson and Truman want to know the truth or be surprised.” Cole laughed. “I don’t remember Mom being this cheeky with us.”

“Saucy, more like,” Carson agreed. “What do you think, Tru? Do you want to know or be surprised?”

Truman tilted his head and studied his infant daughter. “If we’d been blessed with just one little angel, then I’d say let’s be surprised, but since we’ve got three, I’d say there are going to be enough surprises in our future. Let’s hear this one.”

“Oh, Christ,” Carson buried his face in his hands.

“What? All three have the gift, don’t they?” Truman asked. “I knew it.”

Carson looked up from his hands and nodded. “Brian and Stephanie will only have a touch of it, but Bertha will be the true talent.”

“Like grandmother like granddaughter, huh beautiful?” Ronan cooed.

“As fascinating as this is,” Tennyson shot Ronan a stunned look at the way he was loving on the baby. “Can we please get back to me?” His voice had taken on a higher pitch again.

“Oh, honey, your gift isn’t gone. It’s just blocked. You missed out on so much of your own life by helping others. Now it’s time to help yourself. You get to come first. So does Ronan and your relationship,” Carson repeated.

Tennyson took a deep breath. “How do I unblock it?”

“Jesus Christ, Mom. Seriously?” Carson grimaced.

“What, seriously?” Ten sounded alarmed. “What did she say?”

Carson wore a guilty look. “Ah, she said, ‘let’s talk about that another time…’ Then she mentioned that you need to have your kundalini re-aligned.”

“Oh! My! God!” Truman burst out laughing.

“Does he need his aura scrubbed too?” Ronan was laughing now. “Shit, isn’t there a colorful rock to fix this?” Ronan couldn’t help remembering the rainbow-colored fluorite crystals Tennyson kept handing him when they first met to help control his anxiety and stress when they were working on the Michael Frye case together.

“Not funny, O’Mara,” Ten hissed.

“The point Mom is trying to make is,” Cole said, “do something kind for yourself. Get a massage or a facial.” Cole snorted. “Not that kind of facial, Ronan.”

Tennyson got up from the couch, his hands shaking. “Okay, so Bertha says my gift isn’t gone, just blocked and her only advice for unblocking it is a fucking massage?” Ten’s voice was bordering on hysteria.

Ronan quickly handed Bertha to Truman and grabbed Ten’s shoulders in his hands. “Look at me, Ten.” When Tennyson’s scared, dark eyes met his own, Ronan smiled at him. “I think what Bertha is saying is that you need to slow down a bit and relax.”

Tennyson opened his mouth, but Ronan kissed him to keep him quiet.

“You’re not going to lose your job at the Magick shop. You’re not going to lose your job with the BPD and you’re sure as fuck not going to lose me. Understood?” As Ronan spoke, he could see the fear slowly receding from Ten’s eyes. Everything was going to be okay, but fuck if he knew just how yet.

Ten nodded.

“Good. Now, how about we call out for lunch? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Ronan pressed a gentle kiss to Tennyson’s lips.

“Sounds great,” Carson agreed. “And thanks for paying.”

“What? Why the hell am I paying?” Ronan looked around the room.

“Swear jar, my friend.” Truman laughed.  “You wracked up enough today to buy prime rib and lobster tails, but I’ll settle for a chicken kabob salad with pita bread.”

“Fine,” Ronan agreed. It was the least he could do for his friends offering Tennyson a little bit of hope.

 

 

 

9
Tennyson

Tennyson was waiting in the lobby of the Driftwood Day Spa in downtown Swampscott, Massachusetts for his massage appointment to begin. He still thought this idea was bordering on ridiculous, but he was willing to try anything to get his gift back.

Ordinarily, he would have gone to a local Salem business, but didn’t want to risk anyone recognizing him and asking if their grandmother was proud of them or where their long-dead father hid his gold pocket watch.

After spending the rest of the day with Carson and Truman’s cranky babies, Tennyson had decided a relaxing massage might just be the thing he needed. He and Ronan had spent an hour online researching reputable massage parlors and the kinds of services they offered. Ronan had been afraid Ten would wind up with a happy ending if they picked a less than reputable establishment.

All Ten cared about was getting his gift back. It was obvious by now, with all the sex he and Ronan had been having, that a happy ending wasn’t going to bring his psychic powers back to him.

Once his 10am appointment was booked for the next morning, he and Ronan had spent the rest of the night relaxing with Mindhunter on Netflix. Ronan had loved every second of the drama chronicling the infancy of the FBI’s profiler program, while Tennyson couldn’t help wondering what happened to the less crazy, singing versions Jonathan Groff from Glee and Hamilton.

“Tennyson Grimm?” an Amazonian, blond woman asked.

“Hi, that’s me,” Ten answered, standing up from his seat in the waiting room. Christ, this girl could snap him in two like a twig.

“I’m Gretchen von Muller. I’ll be you massage therapist today. I have it down that we’re doing a deep tissue massage, followed by some hot stone work.”

If he survived… “Yes,” Ten agreed. He found himself wishing now that he’d agreed to let Ronan come with him. Instead, he was over at Hope by the Sea, spending time with Fitzgibbon’s son, Greeley.

Gretchen led Tennyson into a small room with a massage table which was dimly lit and scented with what Ten thought was lavender and vanilla. He’d been asked in his intake form what his favorite essential oils were and he’d written down lavender, orange, rose, and sandalwood. Soft music with chimes played.

“Undress to your shorts and lay facedown on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes and we’ll get started. Do you have any questions, Tennyson?”

Is it too late to back out? “No, thank you. I’m all set.” At least his voice wasn’t shaking.

Gretchen nodded and shut the door behind her.

Ten quickly stripped down to his black boxer briefs and folded his clothes, setting them on a green floral chair in the corner. Taking a few deep breaths, he hopped up on the massage table and arranged himself with his face in the padded cut out. “Okay, Bertha. If you can hear me, here I am. I’m sure that if I could hear you, you’d tell me to just relax and enjoy this, right? Take this hour for myself and let go of everything I’m worrying about like the shop, and the Owens case, and Ronan.” Tennyson let out a rushed breath. “If that’s what I’m supposed to be letting go of, then how come it’s all I can think about?”

A light knock on the door interrupted Tennyson running monologue between himself and Bertha. “Come in,” he said in a voice that he hoped didn’t sound too distracted.

“You are ready to begin. Good.” Gretchen cracked her knuckles.

Ten bit his lip so he wouldn’t burst out laughing. Christ, he bet she could crack walnuts open with her bare hands.

“I am using a nice rose-scented oil for you. If you are uncomfortable or there is an area you want me to keep working on, let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” Ten agreed. He liked the way the warm oil felt when it touched his skin. The light scent reached his nose a second later. He took a deep breath and actually felt himself start to relax. Gretchen’s hands were gentle as they started to rub the oil into his back and neck. He could almost fall asleep if this pace kept up.

Maybe he’d mention this to Ronan. Massaging each other might be a nice way for the two of them to connect without the bone-jarring, up against the counter sex of the other night. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

While Gretchen worked his muscles, Tennyson worked on slowing his mind down. At first, he’d been upset at Bertha’s tone yesterday, but after a bit of thought, he realized she was making sense. In all of the years Ten had been working with his gift and the dead, he’d never once taken time out for himself. Before his little tantrum in Maine, he’d never asked any spirit to leave him in peace for a while so that he could live his own life.

Granted, the way that he’d gone about asking for his own space was a bit harsh, to say the least, but he could be more gracious about doing that in the future if he could figure out how to get his gift back.

“You are very tense, Tennyson. What do you do for work?” Gretchen asked.

Ten winced, both from the question and from the way she was digging into his left shoulder. “I work with the public,” he said vaguely, hoping that would be enough to satisfy her.

“Oh, I hear you. People with their different personalities can certainly be a handful at times. Maybe you could try a visualization exercise?” Gretchen suggested as she dug her fingers into Ten’s neck.

“What’s that?” The only thing Ten could visualize right now was being able to get up and walking out of this torture chamber alive.

“Okay, well, picture your favorite place, like a tropical beach or a snowed-in cabin. My favorite thing to picture is this beach I visited in Maui a few years ago. There were palm trees all over the beach and hammocks strung up between them.”

Oddly enough, Tennyson could see the beach in his mind. He could even imagine himself lying in one of the hammocks. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“I had gotten a Pina colada from the bar. It was in one of those tiki idol cups with a lid and straw that was kept in the freezer, so it was icy cold in my hand. I had one arm behind my head and the cup in my free hand. The warm breezes off the Pacific danced over my skin and helped the hammock sway a bit. I could feel the sun’s warm rays on parts of my skin where it filtered through the palm fronds, which were swishing in the breeze, while the waves crashed against the whitish-pink sands, and gulls cried from far off.”

Damn, Ten would swear he could see and feel all of those things. It was as if the tension and stress melted away, like a snow drift on an eighty-degree day. He could almost taste the tangy sweetness of the Pina colada.

“I’m going to start placing the stones in a few minutes. You just relax.” Gretchen’s voice was soothing.

Ten mumbled something. He was so focused on that beach in Maui, he was barely aware of what she said. Aside from the little trip to Maine, he hadn’t ever been on vacation. His parents used to send him to vacation bible study when he was a kid, but that could never really qualify as being on vacation. It was held at the Union Chapel Baptist Church and his mom picked him up every day at 3:30pm. The only exception was jamboree weekend when there was a slumber party with a bonfire out behind the church.

His mind expanded the visualization to being able to see other happy tourists walking hand in hand on the pink sand. There were kids splashing around in the waves and beachcombers picking up shells. Why hadn’t Tennyson ever done this before in real life? New England winters were brutal. There were mountains of snow, slick ice, and wind chills that felt like they would steal the very breath from your lungs and flay the flesh from your face.

“Here are the stones,” Gretchen half-whispered.

Tennyson sighed happily as the warm rocks were placed on his spine. He almost laughed out loud when he remembered Ronan’s asking if there was a rock that could fix him. As he sank further into a state of pure relaxation, he’d say the answer to the question was yes.

 

 

10
Ronan

The windows of the Mustang were rolled down and Tennyson was singing Like A Virgin at the top of his lungs. He was surprisingly on key and Ronan’s dick was so damn hard, he was expecting it to burst through the zipper of his dress pants at any second.

The were driving over the Sagamore Bridge on Route 3 South. The bridge was the official entry onto Cape Cod. The Cape Cod Canal was beneath them and the picturesque town of Sandwich, Massachusetts lay ahead.

Tennyson had been in high spirits since he’d gotten back from his massage appointment yesterday. His mood had been further buoyed when Ronan had told him they were off to the Cape in the morning to speak with Maxine and Hope Owens. Ten had never been to the Cape before and he insisted they pack a bag and spend the night.

Ronan had to admit he’d never been to the Cape either, which was odd considering he was a life-long Massachusetts resident. Money had been tight growing up. The closest he and his mother ever got to taking a vacation was their annual visit to the Hyde Park Zoo when it had a free admission day on the Fourth of July.

“Are we almost there?” Ten asked, turning down the radio.

“It’s another half an hour or so to Hyannis.” Ronan couldn’t help grinning at Tennyson. His curly hair was pulled back into a pom-pom of sorts and Ten was smiling. After his meltdown a few days back, Ronan had wondered if Tennyson would ever smile again.

“I know we’re here to work, but I can’t wait for you to see our hotel and meet the guys who run it.” Tennyson rubbed his hands together with obvious glee.

Ten had been secretive about where they were staying. If it were up to him, he would have booked some cheap budget inn and that would have been the end of it. “What’s so special about this place?”

Reaching over, Ten set his hand high up on Ronan’s thigh and pressed a kiss against his neck. “It’s run by four gay friends who’ve known each other since high school. Carson and Truman got married there.”

Christ, Ronan knew Tennyson said something, but all he and his rock-hard dick could concentrate on was the way his lover’s hand was slowly sliding higher up his leg. “Four gay friends?” Yeah, that’s what Ten was saying.

“The rooms are named after famous pirates. I booked us the Captain Kidd Room. It faces out over the ocean.” Ten started nibbling on his ear.

“Keep it up and I’m gonna come in my pants, Ten,” Ronan gritted out between clenched teeth.

Ten sighed and pulled back. “That would be awful, having dried come on your stomach while we interview those two old hags.”

Ronan snorted. “Yeah, if it were dark out you could finish your Daddy off with those sinful lips of yours, you bad boy.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Ten buried his face in his hands.

“Thought I was going to forget about that, huh?” Ronan bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. Days later he was still turned on as all fuck when he replayed Tennyson calling him Daddy while they were getting it on in the kitchen.

“You’re just so dominant at work. I thought maybe you’d like hearing it,” Ten admitted sheepishly.

“And since you actually had been a bad boy, lying to me about your gift…” Ronan trailed off. He’d wanted to ask Tennyson about why he’d lied about losing his gift and now, with another thirty minutes to go in the car together, it seemed like as good a time as any to ask about it.

“I never meant to keep the truth from you.” Guilt laced Tennyson’s voice. “I kept working up the courage to tell you and every time the moment came to spill my guts, I just lost my nerve.”

Ronan could understand that, to a point. “What did you think my reaction would be?” This was the actual heart of the matter. Did Ten think he was a monster who’d kick him to the curb because, as he’d said during his meltdown, he wasn’t “special” anymore?

“I don’t know, Ronan. I was scared. My gift has always set me apart from other people. I used to tell myself that it made me special. Now that it’s gone, I’m just ordinary.” Ten sighed.

“That couldn’t be further from the truth. Even without your powers, you are extraordinary. You really have no idea what an amazing man you are, Ten. None of the things about you that I fell in love with have anything to do with you being psychic and being able to speak to dead people.”

Ten turned to him with a look of shock on his face. “Do you really mean that?”

“Cross my heart, babe.” It was true. “I mean I’m not gonna lie, there have been a few times when your gift has been a pain in the ass, but it sure as hell wasn’t the reason I fell in love with you. You are caring and sweet, and you’ve been there for me through all of the shit we’ve been through with the Michael Frye and Justin Wilson cases. Ten, no other man would have stood by my side like you did with bullets flying or after they’d been kidnapped.” Ten had valid reasons to walk away from him and their relationship twice now, and he’d stayed.

“I’m sorry I lied by not telling you what happened in Maine, but I’m more sorry that I thought you’d abandon me when I need you the most.” Ten set his hand on top of Ronan’s on the Mustang’s steering wheel.

Ronan linked their fingers together. “You’re forgiven. Now, I know the massage did wonders for your tired body and your attitude, but have you tried using your gift since yesterday?” Ronan was almost hesitant to ask.

Ten shook his head. “I haven’t even tried to use it. Bertha said that I needed a break, so I’m taking one.”

Ronan frowned, but stayed silent. They were almost to Maxine and Hope Owens’ house. The whole point in coming out here today was to interview the women to figure out which one of them killed Harold. Without Tennyson’s gift, that was going to be a lot harder.

“I don’t need to be psychic to see that you’re disappointed that I won’t be able to talk to Harold or use my psychic abilities to figure out which one of the women actually did it.” Ten gave Ronan’s hand a squeeze.  “You’ve said a hundred times before that cold cases get solved because of the passage of time. Witnesses sometimes get sick of keeping their secrets. Maybe that’s what will happen with one or both of these women. I may not have my sixth sense, but my other five are working just fine.”

“So we’re doing this the old-fashioned way?” Ronan asked with a grin.

“Just like Starsky and Hutch.” Ten grinned back.

“You’ve sure got the hair to be Starsky!” Ronan laughed.

“Guess that makes you Hutch by default.” Ten pressed a kiss to Ronan’s neck.

“Thank Christ we’re not solving crimes in bell bottoms.”

“I don’t know, you’d look pretty hot in bell bottoms and a fur vest.” Ten laughed.

“I’d look hotter out of them.” Ronan pressed a kiss to the back of their joined hands. Truth be told, so long as Tennyson kept laughing like he was now, he’d wear anything.

 

 

 

 

11
Tennyson

When Ronan pulled up in front of the modest-looking two-story Cape Cod-style house, it was on the tip of Tennyson’s tongue to ask if Ronan was at the right address. He guessed 1.2 million dollars didn’t buy a whole lot of house on the Cape these days. “Seriously, this it?”

Ronan frowned. “I was thinking the same thing. Looks pretty small for the hefty price tag and it’s not even on the beach. There’s another street full of houses between here and the ocean.”

“I bet you can see the water from the second story balconies.” Ten pointed up. “It’s only a two-minute walk and you’re on the sand, but still. I wouldn’t pay all that money for this view.”

“You ready to do this?” Ronan reached out for Ten’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

Ten was ready. He could do this. He’d spent most of the ride down making a list of questions. Last night, he’d read through one of Ronan’s old police academy handbooks about interrogation procedures. He was as ready as he was going to get without his gift, anyway.

Walking beside Ronan, Ten caught a whiff of the salt air. Living here, steps from the beach in a house bought with insurance money, must be like being on permanent summer vacation. Ten couldn’t help wondering if that kind of guilt ate away at a person over time. Before he could ask Ronan about it, he was ringing the doorbell.

“Coming!” a voice sing-songed from inside the house. An older woman came to the screen door and stopped short when she saw Tennyson and Ronan. “I’m sorry, boys, I already know Jesus. I’m not interested in hearing about becoming a Mormon or a Jehovah or whatever else you’re selling.”

Maxine Owens looked much younger than her seventy-seven years. Her brunette hair was obviously courtesy of a bottle, while her face was virtually wrinkle-free. Ten would hazard a guess that the woman didn’t smoke or drink. She was dressed in a cute aqua capri pant set with matching top. Her only vice seemed to be that she’d possibly bashed her husband’s skull in with a piece of lumber.

Ronan flashed his badge. “We’re not selling anything, Mrs. Owens. I’m Detective Ronan O’Mara from the Cold Case Unit of the Boston Police Department. This is my partner, Tennyson Grimm.”

“Ma’am.” Tennyson nodded his head. “We’re here to speak with you about your husband’s murder.”

Maxine Owens shrugged. “Well, with all the new-fangled DNA technology and television shows about Cold Case Squads, I should have known this day would come.” She rolled her sharp, dark eyes. “Come on in.”

Tennyson was impressed by the great room he stepped into, which was painted in a soothing shade of yellow. Bright Caribbean paintings adorned the walls. It seemed that in addition to moving on up in terms of neighborhoods, the Owens’ women had also done a spot of traveling.

“Is your daughter, Hope, home? We’d like to speak with her as well.” Ronan’s eyes never left Maxine Owens.  Ten couldn’t help but wonder if he was on guard for another hidden two-by-four.

“I’ll let her know you’re here. Would either of you like some lemonade?” Maxine was on her way out of the room before either of them could respond.

“This is quite a house,” Ten whispered.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Ronan agreed. “Furniture is expensive and the art on the walls is the kind of thing you’d pick up in a cruise port of call, rather than online or at some art show in a hotel ballroom.”

“This house was built in 1994, but look at the kitchen. Those are quartz countertops and the cabinet doors are glass. There’s no way those are original to the house,” Ten added.

“Look at you.” Ronan grinned. “Guess you were paying attention to more than Nate Berkus’ ass when we were marathoning his show last month.”

Ten rolled his eyes. Oh, he’d been staring at Nate’s ass all right, at his cute husband’s ass too, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pay attention to the cool design elements at the same time. He loved the way Nate and Jeremiah worked together. It reminded him of his and Ronan’s working relationship. Only neither one of them was pulling down six-figure salaries.

“Here we go,” Maxine Owens announced. She was carrying a with a lemonade pitcher and matching glasses. Her daughter, Hope, was trailing behind her, looking none too happy to see them.

Hope was in her mid-fifties and didn’t look to be aging as well as her mother. She was about fifty pounds overweight and looked like she was long overdue to have her grey roots touched up. She was openly scowling at Tennyson and Ronan.

They all settled around the dining room table with Maxine pouring lemonade for everyone. Ronan went to go take a sip from his cup patterned with lemons when Ten kicked him under the table.

“What do you want?” Hope asked. “We answered all the questions Boston’s finest put to us twenty years ago. Why are you dragging this all up again now? My father is dead. Why can’t you let him rest in peace?”

Maxine made the sign of the cross.

It would have been laughable if her husband’s skull hadn’t been caved in too badly for there to have been an open casket at the funeral. 

“We’re dragging this all up again, Hope, because no one ever paid the price for killing your father. Doesn’t that make you mad? Like you said, it’s been twenty years and whoever did this has been walking around free. He or she has spent twenty Christmases with their family, added twenty more candles to their birthday cake while you father spent those years cold in his grave.”

Hope shrugged. “My father was an asshole. He was a dick to me and my mother for as long as I can remember. The person that killed my father did both of us a favor.”

Jesus Christ, Ten hoped he didn’t go into cardiac arrest during their time here. This bitch would step over him on her way to the freezer to get another Klondike bar instead of calling 9-1-1 for an ambulance. “Maybe you did yourself a favor, Hope,” Ten suggested casually.

“Me?” Hope rolled her eyes. “Please. We lived in a shitty row house in Dorchester. Where the hell would I have gotten a piece of wood?”

“There was construction going on around the corner,” Ronan said. “They were refurbishing an apartment building. Place like that has a lot of old two-by-fours just hanging around.”

“Jesus Christ!” Hope burst out laughing. “That construction site was surrounded by like a ten-foot-high chain link fence. Do I look like the kind of girl who goes around climbing fences in my spare time? Come on, look at me. I’m not Spiderman.”