Alex spoke to the detective who showed up at his apartment. While Stuart’s words to Sol didn’t count for much, on the grounds that they were “hearsay,” Mom’s last words to Alex counted as a dying declaration which had a different kind of legal standing. Alex didn’t understand it, he didn’t care to learn the nuances, he just wanted to get these wretched people away from him and his daughter.

“Have they directly threatened you in any way?” Detective Staley asked him, leaning forward. They’d moved the meeting down to Buddy’s, because there wasn’t any place in Alex’s apartment to have a meeting and because Alex didn’t want Jimmy Senior to get nervous. He wanted everything out in the open.

Alex snorted. “You mean besides that whack job of a mother of his who decided to come at me with a knife?” He wiped at his mouth. “Sorry. That’s not a good phrase to use. I get that. I should be more sensitive or something. I’m just having a hard time caring right now. I just—well. I just.” He sighed. He’d be less numb soon, right? “I guess what Lena Fletcher did wasn’t technically personal. She just wanted to get at her grandson, and I put myself in the way. She didn’t reach out, she didn’t threaten, I didn’t hear from anyone. No one came up to me and said anything stupid like, If you don’t stop cooking for my ex son-in-law, I’m going to murder your mother in her jail cell. Nothing like that.”

The detective chuckled. “It does sound stupid, but you’d be surprised how often that happens.”

“I guess you don’t generally meet the smart criminals.” He bounced Maya up and down on his lap as she started fussing. “I honestly…This is just beyond anything I understand, you know? I get jealousy. I get violence. I don’t get coming after the guy’s cook. Or the guy’s cook’s mom. She’s not—she wasn’t a threat to anyone.”

The detective must have known what kind of place Shank Hall was. He could see the guys sitting around, and it wasn’t like the place didn’t have a reputation. Detective Staley glanced around before putting a hand on Alex’s arm. “Look, Alex, I’ve done this for a little while now, and I don’t mind telling you not too many of these murders make sense. The one your mom went up for? That one made sense. If she’d done it now, she might not have done a minute of time for it.”

Alex managed a smile for that. Some juries were sympathetic, some weren’t. He’d done enough work with survivors to know that much. At the same time, it was kind of the detective to say it. “Most of the ones you see don’t make sense, though?”

“Not even a little bit. We wind up having to stretch our brains an awful lot to figure out motive. It takes a lot to get from ‘I’m annoyed with this guy’ to ‘Taking this guy out seems like a reasonable solution,’ you know? But with that kind of dying declaration, we have evidence. Did anyone else hear your mother say who did it?”

Alex nodded. “There was a nurse right there. I didn’t see her name, but hospitals keep records of that stuff.”

“All we need now is to know where these jerks are staying and we’re all set.”

Alex picked his head up. “Oh, that’s easy. They’ve been staying with my client’s father, in Greenwich. A friend of a friend does some work in the area and happened to see them there.” He chuckled. “No one up there ever notices the guys who pave their streets or fix the cable, right?”

“Easiest undercover job in the world,” Staley told him with half a grin. “We’re going to bring them to justice, Alex. Hopefully that will give you some closure.”

Alex faked a smile and shook Detective Staley’s hand. Closure was just a word right now. Maybe he’d understand it sometime down the line when they caught Lena and Stuart. Right now, all he could understand was that he’d brought this awful fate onto his mother. He had, because of his own relationship with a guy who couldn’t love him.

Buddy took Maya out of his arms and passed him a martini. “You’re going to be okay, Alex,” he murmured. “It doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re going to be okay.”

“I got my own mother killed.” Alex buried his face in his arms. “All because of Sol. She sacrificed her freedom to protect me, and I got her killed. What kind of a crap human being am I?”

Buddy seemed to consider this. “Last time I heard, it was Lena who hired the one who killed Denise, right?”

“Because of me.”

“No. Because of her. And because of Stuart.” Buddy rubbed little circles into Alex’s back. “You govern your own actions, she’s responsible for hers. You aren’t obligated to hold back because she and her brat don’t know how to behave. She forced her son on Sol, who didn’t want him. When her son couldn’t keep Sol in the marriage, she decided to try to attack the people around Sol rather than get help for her son. It’s nothing to do with you, okay? You’re innocent in all this.”

“If I’d been stronger, if I’d walked away when I saw the client was Sol, this would never have happened.” Alex understood what Buddy was saying, but Alex still bore the blame. He’d known Sol was trouble. He hadn’t known Sol was this kind of trouble, but he’d known Sol wouldn’t exactly bring sunshine and rainbows with him.

“And a nice woman would be dead, and maybe a sweet little boy too. You’re right where you should be, Alex. I don’t necessarily think you should have slept with Sol, but you only did that one time. And it’s still nothing to do with Lena or her choices. She’s responsible for the things she does, you’re responsible for the things you do, and that’s all there is to it.”

Alex managed a little grin, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew, deep down in his soul, that he was the reason his mother was dead.

The prison had his mother cremated as soon as the autopsy was finished. Alex was kind of pissed about that. What if they needed more evidence or something? Detective Staley promised they wouldn’t. “The autopsy report and the photos speak for themselves, and it’s not exactly a complicated CoD. The hospital morgue can’t store her, and honestly the city morgue needs the space too. Don’t worry, Alex. This seems impersonal, and it’s prison so it is impersonal, but it’s still for the best.”

Alex got her ashes back the next week. He’d gotten back to work right away, in the hopes that the routine of work would help with the persistent numb feeling he was suffering. It did move him along, just a little bit. The sense of normalcy did more for him than any offers of sympathy or warm hugs.

Of course going back to work meant seeing Sol every day, or at least most days. Alex had figured Sol for the kind of guy who liked to stay at the office until ten or eleven, but he made a point of having dinner with Carsten every night. That meant being home by five thirty or six, which was when Alex showed up. At first, Sol tried to avoid Alex, and Alex could understand that.

After a little while, though, Sol stuck his head out. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

It was a phrase Alex was getting so sick of he thought he might go completely insane.

“I’m surviving. I got Mom’s ashes yesterday. They delivered them in a regular package, you know? Like left in the vestibule, on the floor in a box.” He covered his mouth to contain his anger, just for a moment.

“Are you going to bury her somewhere?” Sol couldn’t meet his eyes. It made Alex feel oddly good. That didn’t make sense, of course. It wasn’t Sol’s fault his ex and his ex mother-in-law were violent killers. Alex’s grief was still raw enough that he didn’t care if it was rational or not.

“I’m not. I figure I had to spend this long without her. I can keep her with me for a while. I’ve got a spot that’s out of reach of little hands. I’ll keep the urn there until I find a new place. Then I’ll find a new spot for her.” A fresh wave of grief washed over him. “It’s weird, you know? She hasn’t been a direct part of my life for over ten years, close to twenty. But I miss her.”

“That’s got to be difficult.”

“It’s impossible. I can’t even explain how impossible it is.” Alex had no idea why he was telling Sol all of this. He and Sol weren’t together. Sol didn’t care. They weren’t friends. He should be disengaging from Sol, for crying out loud. “I had this fantasy, you know? Someday I was going to make enough money to afford a good lawyer, one who could get her out of jail. Now that I’ve just signed a contract that might let me do that someday, she’s gone.”

Sol put a hand on Alex’s arm. “I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could have prevented this somehow.”

Alex shook his head. “I wish I could be mad at you, you know? It would give me a good target right now. But you can’t control their actions. I know you didn’t encourage them. If it’s not my fault that these people did this thing, then it’s sure as hell not yours. All you did was focus on your son—which is what a good parent is supposed to do, by the way. He doesn’t have anyone else advocating for him.”

“I know.” Sol looked away. “I still feel like it’s my fault.”

“It isn’t. It’s Lena’s fault, and Stuart’s. That’s it.” Alex stepped back. The urge to kiss Sol was getting too strong, and this wasn’t the right time. There wasn’t a good time to kiss your ex, but this was especially the wrong time.

He grabbed Maya and went home again. Once there, he started looking at homes. He’d put it off until now, because he didn’t want to think about it. He still couldn’t make himself believe this whole TV show thing was real.

But now he just wanted a change. Everything seemed so hopeless and so helpless, maybe if he changed just one thing around he could find something to smile about again. He restricted his search to the Bronx, which of course yielded results in New Jersey because the stupid search engine never freaking listened. He looked for apartments with at least two bedrooms and one bathroom, and then he sat back to see what happened.

Mom would be proud of him. At least he hoped so. When he’d been nine, her hopes and dreams for him had been a little more limited in scope. Finding a house to own had been a little less of a priority than not breaking an arm or bringing his English grades up. Buying a house was a big accomplishment, though. Right?

He clicked his way through a few apartments and even set up appointments with realtors to go and look at a few. He’d have to bring Maya, but that wasn’t the end of the world. She’d be a good barometer of quality. If she didn’t like the house, it wasn’t for them.

Before Mama had died, Alex hadn’t thought much about what would make her proud. He’d gotten used to pushing those thoughts to the side. At first it had been a survival mechanism. Then it became a habit. Now he couldn’t stop. What would she think of the arrangement with Maya? What would she think of his youthful engagement to Sol? Of his current relationship with Sol, such as it was?

Sol had been so gentle with him today. Alex had wanted nothing more than to climb into Sol’s lap and be wrapped up in his arms. He needed the physical affection, and he needed the comfort. It had been a long time since anyone had even tried to offer it to him. Why couldn’t he have it?

He hadn’t dared to ask. He might understand, intellectually, that it wasn’t his fault Mama was dead but he couldn’t feel it in his heart. He couldn’t go rubbing himself all over the man who’d been at the heart of it, even unwittingly. And he couldn’t make himself reach out, not to anyone. He’d fallen out of the habit, and he didn’t know how to fall back in.

If only Sol could love him again…

He shoved the thought aside. Alex had become very used to doing things for himself. He would grieve for his mother by himself too, damn it.

* * *

Sol watched as Alex struggled to process his grief. He couldn’t imagine what Alex was going through, and he couldn’t begin to understand how to be there for him. Sol hadn’t known Denise. He’d barely known Denise by reputation. He wouldn’t have that opportunity now. He tried to listen, when Alex felt like talking, and he tried to keep his door open when he needed it.

The only problem, of course, was that Alex was absolute crap at taking comfort. It wasn’t his fault, exactly. He hadn’t had anyone to take comfort from in ten years, and before that he hadn’t been in a nurturing environment. Alex was used to having to fend for himself, and that left him incapable of being helped now.

Sol tried not to seek out information about the case, and he spoke to Inge and to Carsten’s school about not exposing him to the details. Some facts trickled through to Sol, though. He learned that the police went up to Greenwich to arrest Lena and Stuart. The court set Lena’s bail fairly high, but she made it right away and only spent a night or two in jail. Sol should have figured.

He got a visit from his father about a week after the murder, just after dinner. Dad hadn’t been by to see the new house yet. Sol hadn’t invited him, and Dad hadn’t asked. Sol had been perfectly happy for that state of affairs to continue, but apparently his father had other ideas. He demanded that the doorman let him up to the penthouse, and refused to leave until Sol permitted him upstairs.

Sol decided it would be better to let him up than to deal with his father’s demands. Maybe Dad was here to be rational about the Fletchers and apologize for his role in forcing Sol and Stuart together. Sol should give him a chance, at least.

Sol could see, as soon as Dad got out of the elevator, that he’d made a mistake. Dad’s shoulders were thrown back, and his nose already faintly wrinkled. His pale eyes were narrow as he cast his gaze around the vestibule. “I see you didn’t waste much money on decor.”

Sol rolled his eyes. “I’m going for a minimalist look. It makes for less work when your former mother-in-law goes on a stabbing rampage in your house.” He turned on his heel and headed back into the house.

Dad scoffed. “That was your own fault, Solomon. You know damn well if you’d listened and done what you were told, she wouldn’t have had to take matters into her own hands. You’re getting back together with Stuart, and you’re dropping these ridiculous charges against both of them, right now. I won’t tolerate any more messing around, Sol.”

Sol dropped into his favorite chair in the living room. “You are aware, of course, that I’m not the one pressing charges for conspiracy to commit murder. That would be the State of New York. Maybe you’d have a bit more luck if you paid them a visit. Just a suggestion.”

“You could make that all go away if you wanted it to. One word to that skank of an omega you’ve got hanging around could make those charges disappear. Offer him cash and he’ll forget all about anything he told those bumbling fools.”

Sol blinked at his father. Maybe if he stared long enough, he could figure out exactly what his dad was thinking. “Dad, you get that Lena conspired to commit murder, right? This isn’t coming from nowhere. Stuart confessed it to me.”

“And he wouldn’t have been driven to it if you’d just done what you were told! It’s not like they killed someone who was doing any good to society. They got a junkie to kill a stupid bitch who wasted her husband and wasn’t ever getting out. They were both wastes of space.”

Sol pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Even if I believed that you were right to want your son to be stuck with those types of people for the rest of his life—and I don’t, for the record—it’s not appropriate to have them around Carsten. And even people in prison aren’t there to be fodder for whatever delusional fantasy you have in your head about me and Stuart getting back together! You’re nuts.”

“I’m your father, and you’ll do whatever the hell I tell you to do. If I tell you to take your husband back, you’ll take him back.”

Sol stood up. “Dad, since when did you become Mr. Till Death Do Us Part? You’re on marriage number seven. That’s more than Henry the Eighth.”

“It’s different. In this case, it’s different. You’re part of my family, which means you’ve got to play by my rules. And you’ve got to think beyond your needs. I need the Fletchers, so you need to stay with their son. It’s as simple as that. I don’t give a crap that he’s so addled that he doesn’t know his own name. I don’t care that he wrapped the car around a tree. I just care that he stays your legal husband. If you never want to touch him again, that’s your business. Go to the Hellion Club and have your fun with the omegas there. If you think Carsten’s unsafe, send him off to boarding school. It’s where he should be anyway, for Christ’s sake. No one with any class keeps their kids in the house. It’s unsanitary.”

Sol mouthed his father’s words. He couldn’t bring himself to put his voice to them. “Wow. That’s…that’s impressive. I’m surprised you managed to get the words out, you know? That was a trip and a half. But hey, what do I know? Maybe I too can harbor murderers under my roof someday.

“Today is not that day, though. For now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. And by ask, I mean order.” Sol folded his arms over his chest. “Now.”

Dad scoffed. “You don’t get to kick me out of the house. I’m your father.”

“You’re keeping someone under your roof who you know conspired to murder a woman for no reason other than the fact that she was the mother of someone I dated ten years ago. I don’t need to keep you in my life. I need to get you out of it. If you get to a point when you realize you’ve hit rock bottom and you’re ready to pull yourself up, give me a call. Until then, I don’t want to see or hear from you again. Am I clear?”

Dad went white and then red, but he didn’t open his mouth again. He turned on his heel and left.

Sol hadn’t realized Carsten was listening until he turned around and saw his little boy in the doorway. Carsten had turned white as a sheet. Tears poured down his face, but no sound came out. Sol hadn’t wanted him to find out about all of this at all. He definitely hadn’t wanted him to find out like this.

He crouched down on the hardwood floor just like he’d seen Alex do, and put a hand on Carsten’s shoulder. He hadn’t wanted Carsten to hear about his family’s behavior at all, never mind in that way. “How much of that did you hear, buddy?”

Carsten’s chin wobbled.

“Enough, I guess.”

“My dad—he killed someone?” Carsten wiped his nose on his sleeve. “And it was Alex’s mom?”

“It’s kind of complicated. They’re jealous. They’re super jealous. And what they did was bad. The police are going to deal with them.” Sol’s head spun as he tried to come up with a way to deal with his son’s grief and fear.

“Is it because I love Mr. Alex more than my dad? Because I’ll try to love Dad more if it keeps Mr. Alex safe.”

Sol caught his son up in a massive hug. “Honey, you can love Mr. Alex just as much as you want, okay? You should try not to let someone else’s behavior scare you into loving them, or pretending to. Mr. Alex would be the first one to tell you that.” He petted Carsten’s hair. How could it be that so many other people in Carsten’s life were willing to put this innocent little boy in fear?

“Can I call Mr. Alex?”

Sol pulled back for a second. He should be insulted or offended. Alex wasn’t Carsten’s father. But he did have a special bond with Carsten, and it wasn’t fair to deny him. “You know what, little buddy? Why don’t I call him? I bet he’d be willing enough to come back down here.”

Carsten huddled in the couch in a fetal position, and Sol rushed to call Alex. Alex sounded half asleep, until Sol explained what had happened. “Ah, geez. That poor kid. I’ll be there as soon as a cab can get me there. Just get a blanket around him or something, okay?”

Sol bristled. He didn’t need Alex to tell him how to raise his own son, and his thermostat was set at the perfect temperature thank you very much. Then he saw Carsten shivering. “How did you know?”

“It’s the shock, and the fear. The blanket will feel a little heavy, and it will give him a little comfort. I’ve been there. Maya and I will see you in a few.”

Alex got there half an hour later. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, but he showed all of his usual energy as he strode right into the house. “Hey,” he said, as he seated himself beside Carsten. Inge appeared from out of nowhere, and she took Maya from Alex so Alex could focus on Carsten. “I hear you heard some kind of tough stuff today.”

Carsten flung himself into Alex’s arms and sobbed. He hadn’t let it all out when he’d been alone with Sol, but now he turned the waterworks on as high as they would go. He howled as he cried into Alex’s chest, and Alex held him and let it happen.

Carsten took half an hour to cry all of his tears out. Then he picked his head up and sniffed, wetly. “I don’t want my dad and my grandma to hurt you.”

“I don’t want them to hurt me either, Carsten. And you know what? I’m pretty mad at them.”

Carsten’s eyes got wide. In his world, grownups didn’t admit to getting mad. “You are? Are you mad at me?”

Alex hugged him again. “Never.”

“But I’m one of them! I’m part of them! How can you not be mad at me too?”

Alex wiped Carsten’s tears away. “Has anyone explained the idea of choice to you, Carsten? See, sometimes people have an illness. They’re sick, up here in their brains. And that’s sad, because sometimes they have a kind of sickness that takes away some of their choices. Or sometimes someone will do something that limits the choices someone else can make.”

“But for the most part, people make their own choices. Your grandma and your dad didn’t do what they did because they had to. They made a choice, to do something that wasn’t good, and they made it for their own reasons. You, Carsten, aren’t going to make those same choices. I’ve spent enough time around you that I know the kind of choices you make. You make pretty good choices, or at least harmless choices.” He grinned that beautiful grin of his, the one that would launch a thousand ships if he would just let it.

“But I still come from them. Don’t you hate me because of that?” Carsten leaned into Alex’s chest and held on tight, belying his words.

“No. I don’t hate you. I’m never going to hate you. You’re the most amazing little person. And I can’t wait to see you grow into a big person who I’ll still love. And you know what? I’ll let you in on a secret.” He dropped his voice, so he sounded like his words were for them only. “It’s okay if you don’t hate them.”

Carsten’s jaw dropped open, like he’d been hit on the head. “But Mr. Alex—how did you know?”

Alex grinned and blushed. “A long time ago, my dad did a lot of stuff that was bad. He used to hurt me, and he used to hurt my mom. He’s dead now, and I’m still mad at him for the things he used to do. But I don’t hate him, Carsten.

“Even though my dad used to do a lot of things to me that weren’t very nice, we sometimes had fun. We used to go out and play soccer sometimes. Do you like soccer?” When Carsten nodded, Alex continued. “My dad used to play soccer with me. He was a chef himself, you know. He first taught me how to cook. So, I’m still mad at him, and I choose to not be like him, but I don’t hate him. And I don’t hate your other dad, either.”

“But he killed someone!”

“Well, he had someone killed. Which is basically the same thing, but it’s a little bit different too. But Carsten, I’m pretty sure your dad is one of those people who has some problems up here, right?” He tapped his head. “He’s got a disease, called addiction, and that does limit some of the choices he makes. He needs to get some help, and until he deals with that, he’s going to keep making some not so awesome choices. It’s pretty easy to get sick that way, and while we still need him to face consequences for his actions, we have to have some sympathy because he’s dealing with something none of the rest of us are. Right?”

Carsten nodded slowly. “I guess.”

“Plus,” Alex said, resting his arm around Carsten’s shoulders, “Stuart did one thing I’ll always be grateful to him for.”

“What’s that?” Carsten spoke the words, although they were on the tip of Sol’s tongue too.

“He brought you into the world,” Alex told him, and kissed Carsten’s forehead. “You’re such an amazing person, Carsten. You’re sweet, and you’re smart. You’re compassionate, and you’re strong. He made the world a better place when he brought you into the world, and he made my life better when he brought you into the world.” Alex winked at Carsten, who blushed. “I didn’t know it at the time, of course. You were in California, and I was here. But he really did me a pretty big favor. So even though I’m mad at him, and I’ll probably always be kind of mad at him for this, I’ll always have to thank him because you exist.”

Carsten threw his arms around Alex again. “I love you, Mr. Alex.”

“I love you too, Carsten. But you don’t have to call me Mr. Alex. You’re family. You can just call me Alex if you want.”

Carsten’s little face shone with adoration. Alex took him back to bed and read him his story, tucking him in for the night while Inge waited with Sol.

“I know it’s not my place, sir.” Inge adjusted Maya’s position on her lap. “But Alex and Carsten work so well together. It seems a shame to keep them apart.”

Sol grimaced. “It does, doesn’t it?” He sighed and looked out the window. “I wonder if he sees it that way.”