Chapter 17

I just want to lay in a pile of warm laundry and eat bread.

-Text from Naomi to Sean

Sean

“Sean.”

“Yeah, babe?” I asked, sitting back on my bike and holding it steady with just the power of my legs.

“Have you gotten to the store yet?”

I shook my head. “No. I met a buddy in the parking lot, and we got to BS-ing. What’s up?”

I waved my friend off, someone I’d known since high school, and he gave me a two-finger salute before heading inside the grocery store to do his own shopping.

Her voice tremored. “Brady’s not here. He’s never not here.”

My brows rose.

“That’s surprising,” I admitted. The man was always on time. In fact, he was always early. “Did you call him?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “I called him about ten times. He’s not answering. And I know he didn’t forget. He has impeccable timing and remembers everything that I ever say, most of the time using it against me at a later date.”

I snorted.

“I’ll go check on him, babe,” I murmured. “Start your walk. If I find him, I’ll send him your way.”

“Okay, but if you need to get inside his house, he said there’s a key right inside the garage underneath an old golf bag.” She blew out a breath. “I don’t even know what to do with myself. I feel lost.”

“Go walk,” I repeated. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “I love you.”

Then she was gone.

I, on the other hand, was finding it hard to breathe.

I love you.

Holy shit.

She’d never once said that to me. Not when I’d just made love to her. Not when I held her in my arms and pressed my lips against her head. Not when we were saying goodbye.

Never.

Then bam.

The words hit me like a sledgehammer, and it took me a few long seconds to get my head unscrambled.

I love you.

Stupidly, I’d been waiting to say those same words to her, unsure if they’d be welcome at this point.

Now that she’d said them, I felt like an asshole for not telling her before now.

As I rode to Brady’s place, I realized that I needed to apologize again. She wouldn’t think that I needed to, but I did. I’d been holding myself back, even now, because I was too worried that she’d throw the words back in my face.

But she hadn’t done that and I should’ve realized that she wouldn’t.

Five minutes later, I pulled into the driveway behind Brady’s truck, and turned off the engine.

Everything looked okay from here, even the blinds were open, meaning he was up.

Brows furrowing, I got off the bike, hung my helmet up, and started toward the door that would lead inside from the garage.

I knocked, and waited.

Nothing.

Thirty seconds later, I knocked again.

Nothing.

Worry starting to tighten in my gut, I turned around and walked toward the golf bag, finding the key exactly where she said I’d find it.

Holding the key at the ready, I walked back to the door and tried the knob to find it unlocked and turning in my hand.

Shoving the key into my pocket instead of returning it, I turned the knob fully and pushed the door open.

The minute the door was open, I could hear Butterfinger barking somewhere beyond, and I knocked again, impatient to collect my charge. “Brady! You’re late, old man!”

That’s when I heard a car pull up.

I backed back out of the house and looked, to find myself unsurprised to see Naomi idling at the curb.

She waved at me apologetically.

I rolled my eyes, turned back to look inside, and called his name again.

I didn’t go in yet, though.

Though Brady may be old, he was still likely a good shot, and I didn’t want to find my belly full of buckshot.

“Brady!” I shouted. “Yo! My woman is about to lose her shit!”

Still no answer. Butterfinger was going crazy somewhere beyond the kitchen that I could see.

I looked over my shoulder at Naomi who was staring at me through her rolled up window, and shrugged.

She grinned, then mouthed ‘go!’ to me.

I rolled my eyes, and waited for the shuffle of the man’s footsteps, but they never came.

Only the barking, which was getting more and more insistent.

Realizing that something might really be wrong, I stepped over the threshold and stopped in the large, open kitchen area that led straight to the living room.

Although the house was older, it had a ton of potential, and could really become a great place to raise a family. Or had been, according to Brady. He’d raised five kids here, and I could see all the love displayed on the walls, shelves, and hearth.

The kitchen was painted a warm chestnut brown, and the décor obviously leaned more toward old country, which I happened to like.

The living room blended in seamlessly, sporting the same warm brown, and transitioned to a lighter beige about halfway across the room.

The walls were decorated with picture after picture, and in the middle of the fireplace was a large family portrait with seven people, five kids, all very young, and a smiling Brady with his arms around his wife and as many of his kids as he could reach.

He had a smile on a mile wide, and I grinned in reaction to his happiness.

“Brady!” I called again. “You in here?”

It was when I first stepped into the hallway that I got my first hint of something terrible.

I could smell waste, and I worried I was about to walk in on the dog having shit himself because Brady had accidentally left him locked up.

As I started pushing open doors, and looking inside, I quickly realized that this part of the house was empty.

There was one last door to try, and I could practically hear Butterfinger losing it.

“Shit,” I sighed.

The dog really did hate me, and I didn’t want to open that door.

But I did, and found myself staring down a very angry dog. A dog that was standing over her master with a ferocious snarl on her face.

“Shit,” I snapped.

When I tried to step forward though, it was to find Butterfinger getting even more angry.

“Shit!”

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 even as I was running back outside to Naomi, the only person I knew who Butterfinger actually liked.

“Naomi! Get in here now!” I bellowed at the garage door.

She fell out of her car, and started running toward me even as I got on the phone with EMS.

“I need a medic to 511 Pottersview Road. I have an unconscious male, late eighties early nineties. He’s not responsive,” I relayed to the operator.

The operator started to ask questions, but I halted them by telling her I knew no more.

She accepted that, and I hung up, running to where I found Naomi trying to get Butterfinger under control.

“Careful, baby,” I eased in the room. “She’s scared, and I don’t want her to hurt you.”

Naomi was careful, but luckily Butterfinger was in a willing mood to cooperate, and allowed her close to Brady.

The moment she dropped down to her knees, though, and I heard her soft cry, I realized that Brady wasn’t alive anymore.

Not even close.

“Rigor has already set in,” she disclosed shakily.

“Can you call the dog off?” I rumbled. “The paramedics will be here shortly, and I don’t know if Butterfinger will allow them in.”

She swallowed convulsively, and then stood up, calling Butterfinger to her.

“Come here, baby,” she called her. “Come to me.”

Butterfinger went, but the entire time she kept turning back to look at her master, whimpering with each step she took.

The moment Naomi got her out of the room, I checked for signs of life myself, even though I knew there wouldn’t be any of them.

The minute my fingers met the cooled skin of Brady’s neck, a deep wave of grief washed over me. Naomi was going to be devastated.

Brady had become one of her greatest friends since moving here, and now that he was gone, she would have a huge hole in her life that he used to fill.

“I put her into my car,” Naomi said softly from behind me.

I looked over to her from where I was kneeling beside Brady’s body.

“What are you going to do with her?” I asked curiously.

I knew after a discussion a few weeks ago that Naomi wasn’t allowed to have dogs at her apartment. The moment she tried to have a dog there, the landlord would kick her out just like she’d done the last four tenants who tried to sneakily have a pet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if we take her to the pound, she’ll be put down. Everyone will look at her and think she’s mean when she’s really just heartbroken.”

I didn’t point out that Butterfinger really was mean. In fact, she was a downright asshole.

Naomi was speaking the truth. If we did take her to the pound, which I knew we weren’t, she’d be put down immediately. She was that much of a jerk.

“We’ll figure it out in a little bit, baby,” I said softly, returning my eyes to the man in front of me. “Gather her food and toys. We’ll take her to my place until we figure this out.”

With one last glance at Brady’s prone body, she turned and escaped.

I stayed there until the medics came through the door, followed on the heels by my father.

“Son,” my dad said. “Your woman is in the yard crying next to a dog that growled at me.”

My lips twitched.

“Yeah,” I said. “She’s sad.”

Dad took a look at the man, then nodded. “Get out of here. Take your girl home.”

Dad clapped his hand on my shoulder to halt me before I could take a step toward the door.

“Did you touch anything?”

Confusion swept over me. “Just touched his body, felt for a pulse, why?”

“Don’t touch him.”

The two paramedics who were about to bend down froze.

“Get out. Tell my boy outside that we need a crime scene crew.”

The two paramedics left just as fast as they came.

“What is it?”

The worry in my voice didn’t stop my father from putting his police hat on and ignoring everything about me. “Get out of here, Son.”

Aaron came in the room moments later and said, “Crime scene techs have been called. What’s wrong?”

That was when my father pointed to a small brass cylinder on the floor.

“Shell casing,” he said as he pointed.

My brows lowered in confusion. “That might’ve just been there,” I told him honestly. “He has guns.”

Dad proved me wrong by bending down and pushing the side of Brady’s head over, revealing a hole in his head right under his ear. “Bullet wound.”

“There’s no blood,” I said. “How the fuck…”

Dad stepped carefully over the carpet, and pushed the door of the bathroom open, and it was there that I saw the blood.

It was everywhere. Splattered on the wall, the floors and even the ceiling. There was blood all the way up to the end of the carpet where it disappeared, but was likely still there we just couldn’t see it since the carpet was so dark.

“Why move him?” Aaron asked. “Why not just leave him there.”

Before anyone could answer, Brady’s phone rang, and dad walked over to the office desk in the corner and pressed the button with a pen that was in his vest pocket.

“Hello?”

Dad looked over at me as he said, “Hi. Who is this?”

The man on the other end of the line laughed like dad had said something hilarious instead of something that was common occurrence when someone called and you wanted to know the person’s identity.

“I’m sure you would like to know,” the man on the phone said. It was raspy, and so goddamn familiar that I knew that I’d met this guy before somewhere. “You can call me…Mr. Silver.”

The man’s voice sounded so familiar that my subconscious was practically screaming.

“Hello, Mr. Silver,” Dad said. “What can I help you with today.”

“I think we can all cut the crap and get to what I really called for,” the man that wanted to be called ‘Mr. Silver’ said silkily. “It’s time for you to understand what’ll happen if you don’t leave her alone.”

Dad looked at Aaron in confusion.

“I think that you have us at an advantage,” Dad said. “We’re confused about what you’re talking about.”

“You would be, because I’m not actually speaking to you,” Silver said. “I’m talking to the man currently standing behind you.”

Dad’s eyes hit me, and I had a full second to realize that there was a red dot on my chest before I was hit like a linebacker.

The bedroom window glass shattered simultaneously as the wall behind me exploded as something hit it. My entire head throbbed as I hit the ground for the second time in a day.

This time, my head actually did bounce off the floor, but only hard enough for me to see stars instead of it knocking me unconscious.

Ghost lifted up off of me only far enough to stare at me, his face so concerned that he’d accidentally hurt me that it was nearly comical. I hadn’t even seen him come into the house.

“Pity,” Silver snapped his fingers, the sound reverberating in the room. “Next time, I’ll aim better.”

I knew that he didn’t want to kill me. Had he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have used a laser. He had to have been standing at the copse of trees just over the property line. He’d have just lined up a shot and taken it before I even knew what hit me.

“Why clean it up?” I croaked.

“I didn’t want her to see her friend like that. I felt it prudent to clean him up so the scene wasn’t so gruesome.”

Then he hung up.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” I groaned. “And goddamn, did you have to hit me so fucking hard?”

Ghost shoved off of me and rolled to the left to avoid the body that was lying on the floor.

“Came to tell you your place was ransacked. Ran by there to pick up the power washer, and found both your dad’s place and your trailer a fuckin’ mess.” He sat up and scooted so his back was to the wall. “Did someone contact the fuckin’ cops outside to go look for him yet?”

That was directed at my father, and he jumped as if he’d just been jolted awake.

“Fuck,” he rasped, picking up the handheld mic and relaying the message to clear the area.

Once done, he looked at me, was about to say something, and then Naomi ran in. “What in the hell was that?” she gasped, worry outlining her face.