Chapter Nineteen

 

Milo

 

The rage in me is surging and I have to resist the urge to go back to the Longstreet house and beat the shit out of Clyde – just for being Clyde. I can't believe that I've had a son all these years and that Bree kept it hidden from me. That she would still be hiding it from me if I had left town without stopping by her place and running into him by chance.

She tried to fucking play me. Tried to play me for a fool. Tried to use her situation to play to my sympathy and extort cash from me – the whole time knowing that she has my fucking son and not saying a goddamn word about it.

“Bitch,” I growl to nobody in particular. “That lying, conniving, deceitful bitch.”

How fucking stupid am I? I really believed we had formed a connection. A bond. She had me believing that maybe the night in the gazebo was just a foundation, but with her last night, we had started to build something a little more solid on top of it.

How could I have been such a fucking idiot?

I drive on, probably faster than I should, heading to nowhere in particular. I just need to drive. To get away. To get my head straight. There is a lot going on in my head right now, but the only thing I can feel is absolute rage.

My cell phone rings and I look at it, my anger surging even higher. I'm half convinced that it's her, trying to weasel her way out of this shit with some half-assed explanation or apology. Yeah, well fuck that. I'm not in the mood to hear that bullshit.

What I did eight years ago was fucked up, I'll admit. But what she has done, for years on end, is on a completely different level of fucked up.

I look down at the phone and see that it's not her. It's Riggs. Shit. I punch the button to route the call through the car speakers.

“Riggs,” I say.

“Well, don't you sound like a little ray of sunshine today,” he says.

“Sorry,” I reply. “Having a rough morning. What's up?”

“I'm at the office by the lake,” he says. “Was figuring you might want to be here while I'm pokin' through this shit. Answer any questions you might have.”

It's not really the way I want to spend my day – but then, the way I want to spend my day would probably land me in prison, so it's a good alternative.

“Yeah, that's good,” I say and glance at my watch. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Sounds good, I'll be here.”

I disconnect the call and step on the accelerator. I make it to the lake in five minutes, pulling up behind Riggs' rental. I climb out of the car and walk over to my old friend, who stands up and pulls me into a tight embrace. Though not diffused entirely, seeing him helps cool my blood – if only a little bit.

Enough though, that I feel my head start to clear and the rage that's boiling inside of me begin to abate slightly.

“Good to see you, brother,” he says.

“Better to see you, man,” I say. “Thank you for coming.”

“Shit,” he says, “you popped for first class on the flight out here, I kinda felt obligated.”

Despite my shitty mood, I laugh. “Only the best for you, brother.”

Riggs is about three inches shorter than me, but he's built like a proverbial brick house. His head is shaved clean and his skin shines like polished ebony. He's got a wide smile and an even friendlier disposition – unless you piss him off. I've seen him go from Zen master to practically Tasmanian Devil in the blink of an eye.

Riggs is thick with muscle. I don't think there's an ounce of fat on the guy. Strong as an ox, but sharper than a razor. Pretty sure the guy might be a member of MENSA. I'm no idiot, but I know there's no way I'd ever come close to getting into that particular club.

He leads me back to the charred-out building. He's already got his kit out and he's running, what looks like, a bunch of different tests.

“What do you have so far?”

“Just getting started really,” he says. “But, what I can tell you for sure is that this was no electrical fire.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “The point of origin listed on the report is wrong. It doesn't exist. That's my first clue. The second clue is the smell. It's a little fainter since it's had time to dissipate, but I can definitely smell an accelerant. Most likely gasoline, but I'll have to run some tests to definitively see what was used. But, I can smell an accelerant in this pile of rubble.”

I nod. My suspicion that Timmy was killed is quickly morphing into certainty. Something catches my eye and I turn to look at the pile. I see that something is different. Something's been changed. I just can't tell what it is yet.

Stepping closer to the rubble, I look at it closely, scrutinizing everything. It takes me a moment, but I finally realize what it is.

“Son of a bitch,” I say.

“What is it?”

I kick the debris off the two front doors and look at it. The doors are still there, but the chain and lock are gone. Somebody's come in since I was last here and took it. Somebody is working hard to cover their tracks. I point to the doors and then show Riggs the pictures on my phone. He whistles low and shakes his head.

“Someone is trying to cover their ass,” he says.

“Good thing you're here,” I reply. “Because this shit will not do.”

“Amen, brother,” he says.

I turn and see a sheriff’s car pulling up behind our vehicles. Riggs and I stand side by side as we watch Keyes struggle to move his girth from the car.

“Looks like the Sheriff spends more time chasing donuts than bad guys,” Riggs mutters to me.

I chuckle. “You're not wrong about that.”

Keyes slips through the fencing and waddles over to us. He looks Riggs up and down and then turns to me, giving me the same treatment.

“Do you like what you see, Keyes?” I ask.

“No,” he sneers. “Not really.”

I shrug. “Then you can get your fat ass back into that cruiser. You're free to get the fuck out of here.”

Riggs whistles low and I can tell that he's suppressing a laugh. Keyes, apparently seeing it, shoots him a dark glare, his face reddening with embarrassment.

“What do you think you're doing out here, Sheridan?” he asks.

“Your job, actually,” I say. “Since you can't seem to put down the jelly rolls long enough to do it.”

He looks embarrassed, so he turns to Riggs and growls. “Who the fuck are you?”

One of Riggs' biggest pet peeves are people who don't have common courtesy. People who are rude and inconsiderate. And Keyes is currently ticking off all the boxes. I would tell Keyes that it's not wise to irritate a man who can blow you into a million pieces with normal, everyday objects, but part of me thinks it'd be fun to see Riggs do it. Messy as hell, given the amount of flesh that'd go sky high, but fun nonetheless.

“Tony Riggs,” he says.

“That supposed to mean something to me?” Keyes sneers.

Riggs shrugs. “Nope. Not at all. Just answerin' your question.”

“The better question here is, what do you want, Keyes?” I ask.

“I want to know what you're doing out here.”

“I told you,” I reply. “Your job.”

“Your brother's case has been closed already,” he says.

“Yup,” I say. “That's what the paperwork says.”

“Then, there is nothing to be done out here.”

“Maybe,” I reply. “But maybe not.”

Keyes looks at the kit on the ground and then at Riggs again. His eyes narrow and I see something behind them – a ripple of fear, perhaps. Uncertainty hangs over the man and I can see that he's nervous.

“What is it you do, Tony Riggs?” Keyes asks.

“Arson investigator,” he says. “Los Angeles Fire Department.”

Keyes nods. “A bit out of your jurisdiction, ain't you?”

Riggs shrugs. “I'm working as an independent consultant right now.”

“And what might you be consultin' on?” Keyes asks.

“That's enough questions,” I say and turn to Keyes. “Time for you to go.”

“You don't tell me when to go, Sheridan,” he spits. “I'm the goddamn sheriff.”

“Actually, I do,” I say. “This is private property. You're trespassing. In other words, get the fuck out of here.”

“This is a crime scene –”

“Not anymore it isn't,” I say. “Case is closed, remember?”

“If you release a crime scene,” Riggs says, “unless you open a new investigation and re-activate said crime scene, you cannot prevent people from taking possession of their land and buildings back. You should know that, Sheriff Keyes. Unless, you missed that day at sheriff school?”

This time, it's my turn to stifle a laugh. Riggs is probably the most sarcastic son of a bitch I know. He never fails to crack me up. Keyes looks between us, his porcine eyes narrowing and his jowls flapping in the breeze.

“Don't know what the fuck you two are hoping to find out here,” he says. “Your brother died in a fire. Tragic, yes, but hardly something remarkable.”

I shrug. “I guess I'm wasting my time and money then.”

“Yeah, you are,” Keyes says.

“Well, good thing it's my time and money to waste then, isn't it?” I ask. “Now, kindly waddle your fat ass of my property or I'll have you arrested for trespassing.”

He gives us an indignant huff and turns, reluctantly heading back to his car. As he's wedging himself through the fence, I call to him. He stops and turns, looking at me through the chain link.

“Quick question, Sheriff,” I say. “You know who might have come out here and taken the chain off those front doors?”

He looks at me and says nothing. His face is as blank as a sheet of paper and he gives nothing away. I have to credit him for that, at least. I shrug.

“No big deal,” I say. “I've got pictures already. No sweat.”

He turns and goes back to his car, wedges himself back in, and speeds away, the tires of his cruiser kicking up gravel and dust as he leaves. Riggs looks at me and laughs.

“I think the good Sheriff has a crush on you, big boy,” he says.

“Not really my type,” I say. “I like curves, but that's pushin' it.”

“Round ain't the same thing as curvy,” Riggs replies. “Nobody ever says that a beach ball has got great curves.”

We both burst into laughter. It lightens my mood a bit, and for that, I'm thankful. Eventually, the laughter tapers off and I find myself standing there, looking out at the lake.

“Yeah, I think he still holds the fact that I knocked him out cold against me.”

Riggs looks at me, feigning disappointment. “That's not very sporting of you,” he says. “The guy can barely walk without getting winded.”

I shrug. “He used to be in good shape,” I say. “Almost a decade and an untold number of donuts ago.”

We're silent for a moment and I look around, my eyes drifting from the lake, to the resort building, to the woods beyond. My mind is spinning in a million different directions and I don't know how to begin to make sense of any of it.

“You really find chains on the front door?” Riggs asks.

I turn around and see him collecting samples and conducting a bunch of tests that I will never understand. I simply nod.

“Yup,” I say. “The chains were on the outside of the doors. Timmy had been locked in.”

“Chains, the use of an accelerant,” Riggs says. “I'd say that adds up to murder. You got any suspects in mind?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say. “Pretty sure I know exactly who did it.”

He whistles low and shakes his head. “Damn, boy,” he says. “You weren't kidding about the whole family blood feud thing, were you?”

“Nope,” I say. “I wasn't. It’s the dumbest shit ever.”

“If it ends up in people getting killed, yeah, I'd have to say so,” he says. “I want to get these samples back to the lab. I can test them and definitively tell you what was used. But, just based on what I've found so far, there's no question in my mind that the report on what occurred here is pure bullshit.”

“I appreciate it, Riggs.”

“Oh, I'm still going to bill you for my time,” he says and grins. “First class plane ticket or not.”

“I'm happy to pay,” I reply.

Riggs looks at me for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. “What's on your mind, Milo?” he asks. “I noticed this faraway look in your eyes and I can tell that it has nothing to do with your brother.”

“So, in addition to being an arson investigator, you're also a psychic?” I ask, giving him a small grin.

“Got to be a little psychic to do my job well,” he says. “But I don’t have to be psychic to see that you're in pain. What's up?”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I found out that I have a son.”

Riggs' eyes widen, and he looks at me, disbelief written on his face. “Wow,” he says. “Congratulations, brother. That is a blessing.”

My laugh is hollow. “I don't know that it's a blessing exactly,” I say. “I mean – it's been kept from me. I'm only just now finding out about my son – and I found out by accident.”

“Huh,” he says. “Ain't that somethin'. How are you just now finding out?”

I kick at a rock near my foot and proceed to tell my tale of woe to Riggs. I tell him about everything – the bet, the video, and everything that happened in between. I leave nothing out – even though I know how it makes me look. I also tell him about Bree's situation. At least, what she's told me. I have no trouble believing that part of her story is true, knowing her family like I do. Hell, knowing my family too – they'd pull the same shit in similar circumstances, I'm sure.

And when I'm finished, Riggs is nodding, a look of patient understanding etched upon his face.

“That's quite a story,” he says.

“Yeah,” I reply. “That it is.”

“Somehow seems very much in the Southern tradition,” he replies.

I laugh and nod. “Yeah, you're not wrong.”

“So, what are you gonna do?”

I shrug. “I have no idea,” I say, my voice sounding miserable. “I mean, she fucking lied to me, man. Kept the fact that I have a kid from me. That shit's not kosher. Not at all.”

“Not sayin' it's right,” he says. “But, based on what you just told me, it's somewhat understandable. Her situation aside though, you have a kid. A son. That's a blessing, man.”

“I don't know,” I say. “I mean yeah, there's part of me that's stoked, man. So excited. I mean, I have a son. At the same time, I'm terrified. What in the hell do I know about kids? I'd never planned on having kids after enlisting, to be honest, and the thought of having one drop out of the blue like this scares the shit out of me.”

“No one knows anything about being a father before getting into it,” Riggs says. “It's one of those things you have to learn as you go. But, I'll tell you what I do know – you would make a great father. You're one of the most honorable, decent, and honest men I know.”

“I doubt that Bree shares your opinion.”

He shrugs. “Forgive me for saying so, but you sounded like a real asshole when you were young.”

“You're not wrong,” I say. “Rich, spoiled, entitled. Yeah, I was an absolute dick.”

There's a moment of silence between us and my thoughts are flying. My whole world has been turned upside down in the matter of only a few days, and honestly, I'm not even sure where to begin sorting through it all. I've got a lot of baggage inside that I need to unpack, but I'm not sure where to start.

“You care about this girl?” Riggs asks suddenly, giving me a pointed look.

I shrug. “I don't know,” I admit. “I mean, I think I do, yeah. I did anyway. We seem to connect and fit together pretty well. She is the only girl I've never been able to get out of my head. She was with me all through the time we were in the shit. She was with me when I was setting up Spearpoint. She's with me now. I can't seem to shake her.”

“Doesn't seem like you really want to.”

“Maybe not,” I say. “Still, it doesn't matter. She fucking lied to me about my son.”

“She had her reasons. Not that it's right, but given all of this Southern psychodrama, blood feuds, and all the shit that comes with it, I can't say that in her shoes, I would have made a different choice,” Riggs says. “Can you?”

I let out a long breath. It's a fair point, but at the moment, it doesn't make my rage burn any less. It doesn't diffuse the anger boiling inside of me. Bree lied to me. She kept my son from me. And she would have let me go back home to California, completely ignorant of my son's existence. Saying that it’s not kosher doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of how fucked up the situation is. It's evil.

But Riggs' question continues to echo in my head – would I have made a different choice if I were in her shoes?

“I don't know, man,” I say. “I really don't know.”

“Let me tell you somethin', brother,” he says. “You don't get many chances in life to snatch that one pure love. That kind of love you can't shake. It sticks to you. Climbs inside of you and doesn't come out. Those are rare. A once in a blue moon kind of thing. When you have it sitting there, right in front of you, you would have to be an idiot to let it get away. And I know that you’re no idiot.”

“That's debateable,” I say.

He chuckles. “The point is, you haven't been able to shake this girl for a long time. If you care for her like I know you do, you need to find a way to get over this shit. You need to fight for her,” he says. “You need to do whatever it takes to patch things up and be with her. If that means pushin’ down some of your own pride and ego, so be it. Show her that you're a good man. A good father. From what it sounds like, she's lookin' for you to do just that. She's waitin' on you, Milo. Don't let her get away. Be the man she wants and the father that boy needs. Mark my words, you'll regret it if you don't.”

A good father. Father. The word simultaneously excites me and fills me with a fear I've never experienced before. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea of having a son. Of having a kid I can go throw the ball with, teach to swim, to surf. To play games with and read to.

On some level, I have to admit, the idea of having a son appeals to me greatly. But, there's also fear. Well, that and the fact that given the way I left things with Bree, I'm pretty sure she would rather shoot me than spend five minutes with me again.

Still, he is my son and I'm entitled to see him. She can't keep me from him against my will. I don't want to do it, but if I have to bring in a lawyer to ensure my parental rights, I will.

I'd rather work something out with her though.

I want to be a part of Owen's life. I will be a part of Owen's life. I just need to figure out if I want to be a part of his mother’s life. And if so, to what extent. Bree lied to me. She fucking lied, deceived, and tried to manipulate me. Even though Riggs thinks I need to find a way through that shit, I don't know that I can. Whenever I look at her, I fear that all I'm going to see is the woman who lied to me. The woman who spent the last seven years keeping my son from me.

I don't know if I’m going to be able to find a way through that.

Shit. Life, as they say, is a long, strange trip. Everything can change in the blink of an eye and sometimes, I simply can't keep up.