Page 70 of Beyond the Stix

Within minutes, we’re in the home. I sniff, and a soft familiar scent of musk hits my nose. “Connor,” I whisper, knowing that smell intimately. It’s Connor’s favorite bodywash.

I point upstairs, as I take the first step. Fig nods and continues searching the main floor.

As I reach the second floor, it hits me that the house is practically empty. No clutter, which I find odd. There’s furniture, but only the basics. Three of the four bedrooms are identical. Same twin beds, a single night stand, and nothing else.

The last bedroom, which happens to be the largest, has a king size bed with a metal headboard, and a dresser that has several picture frames displaying Connor at different ages. Some of the images are crystal clear, but most are grainy like they were taken at a far distance.

“John,” Fig calls up from the main floor.

I reach the top of the stairs. “What?”

“There’s a basement,” he says grimly. “I think I found the evidence you need.”

Without hesitation, I follow Fig down a set of wooden stares. The basement is empty, apart from the left corner of the space. Ten filing cabinets line the back wall. An old but clean desk anchors the area, with a modern chair tucked up against it.

On the desktop are five different screens that appear to link up to a complicated computer system. Everything is neatly arranged and almost too clean.

“Even Lee would even appreciate this,” Fig whistles, as he opens the first filing cabinet. “Jesus, talk about fucking fanatical.”

“What did you find?” I ask, looking at the folder in Fig’s hand.

He hands it to me, and several pictures of Connor when he was young, playing baseball, fall out of the folder. I pick them up, but I’m floored at what I’m seeing.

“It’s a log,” Fig says, as he picks through another folder. “It explains what Connor was doing that day, what he wore, and how he looked. There are even hearts scribbled around the edges of the notes.”

Fig opens up the next filing cabinet, then the next, until he skims through the contents of each one. “Holy… They are all the same. All of Connor.”

“This just got a whole lot bigger than we realized.” I put the folder back into the cabinet, but not until after we took photos of the evidence.

“What do you want to do?” Fig asks, as he looks around the space.

“We got what we came for. Let’s get the hell out of here.” My phone rings right then. I glance down at my screen and see that it’s Pen calling. “What’s going on? Connor okay?”

“No. You need to get here quick.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Connor

I eventually climbout of the bunk around noon and stretch, trying to get the kinks out of my back. I had no choice but to cubby it last night. Danny and Tobias took the main back room after Ron and Dean left for a more comfortable setting, while Rafe, Bobby and Callum crashed in the other room.

Last night when I climbed in—after imbibing way too much alcohol, I didn’t give two shits about whether I’d wake up with a stiff back. Even though it was an absolute blast hanging with everyone after the Friday night show, I had thought of John constantly. I couldn’t get the asshole out of my head, couldn’t stop wishing he was here with me.

Jesus, I have to face the fact that no matter how my heart feels, I can’t be with a man I can’t trust. Or one that can’t be truthful with me on any given matter. No amount of pondering, like I usually like to do with decisions, will change those facts.

Fortunately, we have a month before Warrior Black’s tour starts. That will give me time to be with my mother and begin to heal what’s left of my fucking heart.Jesus, I hope so.

After talking with Ron and Dante last night, they understood that I have to go home today. Tobias approved, so long as I knew that Pen has to come with me.

I got pissed, but reluctantly agreed.

Danny is awake now, too, and has joined me in the kitchenette. He, Rafe, and Bobby decided to stay until Sunday, but Callum already left early this morning with Dom to head to Boulder. Callum’s condo management called, informing him that his place was broken into. Of all the shitty luck.

A ping from my phone alerts me to a message from a number I’m not familiar with. It’s from Lee, who I learned is the tech specialist for Harper Security. He got Pen and me first-class tickets, which I appreciate. Though, the flight isn’t until this afternoon.

After confirming my flight, I sit next to Danny.

“Are you alright with all this—John?” Danny asks, passing me a cup of black coffee. A curl of steam wafts up, signaling it’s hot. However, the dark brew promises to hit all of my senses. I inhale the aroma before taking a slow sip—and my tastebuds thank me.