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Chapter Sixteen

Josiah

Josiah stopped for fish and chips on the way home at an old, traditional place near his house. It was pouring with rain when he left the chip shop, so he covered his head with his coat and ran back to the duck.

He threw himself inside and dumped the bag of food onto Alex’s lap. They grinned at each other in anticipation as the delicious smell wafted from the bag.

It was such a simple thing, to buy a takeaway one evening after work and share it with an attractive man… He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it. He’d forgotten what this was like.

Elsie left the hospital just before Esther arrived.

Josiah had a long conversation with his boss, talking her through his edited version of what had happened in cold, brisk tones.

Fortunately, she didn’t try to put her arms around him, or offer up meaningless platitudes; she understood him too well for that.

He had lost his soulmate and life partner – nothing she said could make that better. All she could do was her job.

“I will find Peter’s killer,” she told him in a low, determined voice. “If I have to take apart the whole damn country to do it.” Maybe she would. Or maybe Josiah would get there first. He hadn’t decided yet.

“We’ve already lifted the prints off the knife and found a match on the IS database, so I can give you a name,” she said.

“He’s called Lars Driessen. He can’t have gone far.

I will track him down and get justice for Peter, if it’s the last thing I do.

” He realised it was the only comfort she could give, and the only comfort she knew he’d accept.

After she’d left, he went to stand next to Peter’s body.

Instead of grief, he felt a surge of anger.

“I told you your big, stupid heart would get you killed one day. All this time, I thought we’d get arrested by bounty hunters, or an IA on the make, or taken down in a fight trying to get a bunch of indies out of the country.

Instead, it was this. This! Fuck you, Peter!

Why couldn’t you have been an ordinary person, just living your life – doing a normal job, working on stupid old cars in your spare time, walking the dog – and being alive.

Being alive.” He turned away and slammed his fist into the wall.

“ You wouldn’t have fallen in love with me if I’d been ordinary ,” a voice murmured.

He whirled around, but Peter’s body was still lying on the mortuary slab, unmoving. He must have imagined that dry voice, whispering in his ear. He walked back to take one last look at his dead husband.

“I know. Nobody could ever call you ordinary. I was looking for a cause to fight without even knowing it, and you gave me one. Your cause became our cause, and now it’s my cause. I won’t let you down.”

He took Peter’s hand and held it against his cheek.

There would be no more caresses, no kisses, no touching, and teasing, and loving – it was all gone.

His fingers closed around Peter’s wedding ring.

It was his last link to Peter, a reminder of the vows they’d made, and before that it had belonged to his father.

He couldn’t leave it behind. He tugged it from his husband’s finger and repeated the vow he’d once made.

“With this ring, I thee worship,” he said, placing the ring in his inside jacket pocket.

He would always wear it next to his heart.

He wouldn’t give it away a second time. “I’ll never let you go, Peter.

Not ever. There will be nobody else – how could there be?

Who could ever compare to you?” He pressed a final kiss to Peter’s forehead and then left the room .

When he arrived home, Hattie came running to greet him, her tail wagging enthusiastically.

Despite her warm presence, the house felt cold and empty.

She jumped up at him and buried her nose in his sweater.

She smelled the blood, nosing at it intently.

He didn’t know what dogs understood, or if she could smell that it belonged to Peter.

She looked up at him with big brown eyes, and then wandered over to the door and waited expectantly for Peter.

She was Peter’s dog – he’d rescued her, and she’d lived with him her entire life.

She’d happily accepted Josiah into their lives, but he wasn’t Peter.

Josiah realised that she’d lost the love of her life, too.

“Sorry, old girl, but he’s not coming home,” he told her, and that was when it hit.

This was it – a lifetime of Peter never coming home again.

His legs wouldn’t hold him up anymore, and he sank to the floor.

Hattie ran over to him with a questioning whine.

He put his arms around her and buried his face in her fur.

“It’s just you and me now, Hattie,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a poor substitute for him. I’m so sorry, old girl – I let you down. He’s gone.”

She whined again and nuzzled his neck, and he held her tight, breathing in the scent of her thick dark fur.

The shower had turned into a full-blown storm by the time they reached the house, with thunder, lightning, and pounding rain.

Josiah paused the duck on the driveway to click open the garage door.

His announcement about Alex earlier had done the trick, and the news crews had disappeared.

The bad weather had probably helped disperse them, too.

“My art supplies.” Alex pointed to a box hidden behind the wheelie bin on the front drive.

He dumped the bag of fish and chips on Josiah’s lap and dashed out to retrieve it.

Josiah steered the duck into the garage and climbed out, carrying their dinner with him.

Walking to the open garage door to wait for Alex, he paused next to Hattie’s collar and lead, hanging in their usual place on a hook on the wall next to Peter’s car.

She’d died peacefully a couple of years ago.

He’d returned to the house after that final visit to the vet and hung up the lead and collar one last time.

That was where they’d remained ever since, waiting for a dog who, like the man before her, would never return home.

Alex ran into the garage with the box, chattering about his art supplies. Josiah smiled as he followed him up the stairs to the house. He had a bag of warm fish and chips in his hand, and someone to share them with. The house didn’t feel cold or empty anymore.

Alex took his damp parcel through to the dining room and placed it on the table.

Taking off his suit jacket, he slung it over the back of a chair and then impatiently tore open the box.

Josiah grabbed bits and pieces from the kitchen and carried them through to the dining room to join him.

He laid the table, pushing Liz’s vase to the far end to make room for the ketchup, vinegar, salt, pepper, plates, and cutlery for their meal.

“This stuff is amazing. I read about it a while back, but never thought I’d be able to try it,” Alex said, holding up a bottle of some unidentifiable liquid.

“Is that paint?” Josiah asked.

“No – lacquer. I got different colours. And some resin. There’s paint, too… and brushes, and paper, and a ton of other stuff. I hope I didn’t spend too much…” He prattled on.

“It’s fine. I make a good salary and don’t have much to spend it on,” Josiah said with a shrug.

“Except fancy clothes. Do you ever dress down? Even when you’re wearing jeans and a tee-shirt you look hot.” Alex winked.

“Hot? Really?” Josiah rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Trust me – I was struck by the hotness the very first time I saw you.”

“The first time you saw me, I knocked you down and arrested you on suspicion of murder. You have some weird priorities if what you noticed was my supposed hotness,” Josiah teased.

“Hmm.” Alex gazed at him for a moment and then turned away.

Josiah was aware that the atmosphere in the room had changed, but he had no idea why.

Taking off his own suit jacket, he hung it on the back of his chair.

“C’mon – let’s eat before it gets cold. Put the box down – you can finish checking it out later.

” He served a portion of fish and chips on each plate, then made a chip butty with two slices of soft white bread covered with a thick layer of butter.

He took a bite and let out a happy sigh.

“That looks good,” Alex said. “Judging by those orgasmic noises you’re making, anyway.”

“Hah! Trust me – that’s not what my orgasm noises sound like,” Josiah said, and then wished he hadn’t.

The trouble with feeling the warmth of human companionship after all this time was that it made their situation seem normal.

It was as if their mild flirtation might develop into a full-blown relationship, but, of course, that simply couldn’t happen.

Alex was his IS, and he was no Elliot Dacre, seeking to replace a lost love by forcing an indie to occupy that space in his life.

Alex devoured his own plate of food enthusiastically. Between the box of art supplies and the fish and chips, he looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “This is delicious,” he proclaimed through a mouthful of food.

“Yup. It’s the best fish and chips in England.”

“Well, second best,” Alex said softly.

“Second?” Josiah queried lightly.

Alex nodded silently, his expression changing.

He didn’t elaborate, but instead said quietly, “You know, when I was young, I thought happiness lay in the big, important stuff. Impressing my father, and being as good as my famous brother. I thought I could find it by designing the next big thing in ducks, by forging my path in the world, and having people look up to me and admire me.”

“That was before you were sentenced to be an IS?” Josiah was intrigued by his change of mood.

“Yes. After that, for a long time I thought I could never be happy again. I had to learn to change my perspective and look at the world differently.”

“That can’t have been easy.”