Page 65 of I Do, or Dye Trying

“Who?” I asked.

“We need to talk about your movie preferences, Gabe. You’ve learned nothing valuable.” He then told me how he learned about the S-I-N-G defense moves in a movie about an FBI agent going undercover as a beauty pageant contestant. “It’s hilarious,” he added after I didn’t immediately respond.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me as soon as the anger, fear, and adrenaline stopped pumping through my veins; in their place was sadness and grief that someone I had once loved and trusted killed my brother. I thought that I would feel a sense of closure once I learned the identity of Dylan’s killer, but I didn’t. I grieved all over again.

“Baby, sit down before you collapse,” Josh said, pushing me onto the sofa. “What can I do for you, Gabe. How can I make this better?” My guy was a doer and had no intention of sitting idly by while I struggled through my grief.

I passed up the opportunity to make a snarky comment about what Josh could do to make me feel better, but it was a good sign that the chance to do so penetrated through the mental anguish I experienced. “I have to tell my parents, Josh. It feels like losing Dylan all over again. I thought knowing the truth would help me and provide closure. The pain is still there; in fact, it’s worse. My mom…” my voice broke, and I cleared my throat, “baked Jimmy cakes for his birthday. She made him all kinds of meals he could freeze and heat later after his wife left him. He joined us for Thanksgiving his first year alone.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “How could he sit at my parents’ table and eat the food my mother made all the while knowing he killed their son? Who does something like that?”

“A psychopath,” Josh said calmly.

“Did you learn that in psychology classes?” I asked, finding a bit of humor after all.

“Yes,” he said smartly. “Jimmy could be a sociopath, but his complete lack of guilt and conscience makes me think he’s a psychopath.”

“Huh,” I said, not sure what else to say. I looked at my watch and noted that it was getting close to ten o’clock. I knew my parents were still awake, but that didn’t mean calling them was a good idea. What good came out of them losing sleep? On the other hand, they would want to know that Dylan’s case would be closed if the ballistics test on the gun showed a match to the one used to kill my brother. What if Jimmy was lying? Did I risk upsetting my parents without solid proof?

“I can hear you thinking,” Josh said.

“Do I tell my parents now or wait until I know for sure that Jimmy killed Dylan?” I asked my husband.

“What would you want to happen if you were in their shoes?” Josh asked me.

I picked up my cell phone and dialed my parents in Miami. Josh pressed himself tight against the left side of my body then squeezed my knee comfortingly. The heat of his body and the slight weight of his hand was just what I needed when my words shattered my parents’ hearts all over again. Josh pressed his lips against my shoulder in a simple kiss when I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer.

Josh led me upstairs after I was done talking to them and held me tight in the darkness of our bedroom. I knew there was no fucking way I was going to get any sleep that night. I was also just as certain that the sunrise the next morning would pale in comparison to the man who loved me.

“My Sunshine,” I said, kissing his forehead.

“Always.”

“COME OUT AND LETme see you,” I said to Gabe through the bathroom door. “It can’t be that bad.”

“I’m not coming out,” Gabe said, sounding more like a petulant teenage girl than a sexy stud. “I can’t believe I let you pick out the costumes for the party.”

“You didn’tletme. That was your punishment for the asinine contests you and Dorchester set up again. Clearly tying you to the bed and fucking you stupid was only encouraging more stupid.”

“Stupid is as…”

“No, Gabe. Now is not the time to repeat movie lines like Savage and Sassy do to get out of trouble. You agreed to let me pick out the costumes, and you’re going to plaster a smile on your face when we go down there and kick some costume ass!”

“Can I wear my real gun in my holster instead of the fake one you gave me?” Gabe whined.

“No! Get out here.”

Gabe opened the door so fast that I nearly stumbled in, but then I got a look at him and fell to the floor laughing. Gabe stood over top of me with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “I don’t know why you’re laughing at me. That wig makes you look more likeJoe Dirtthan James Crockett.”

His ire only made me laugh harder. “That wig!” I said in between gasps of air. I’d gotten him a wig that was supposed to resemble the curly hairstyle of Ricardo Tubbs, but he was looking more like Lionel Richie.

“I look ridiculous,” he said. “Can’t we just cut eye holes in the bedsheets and go as a ghost or something?”

I stood up and faced my husband down. I was a firm believer in picking your battles wisely, and I discovered that I didn’t want to back down from him that night. “No!” I looked down at my white pants, pink silk T-shirt, and open white jacket. “I think I look damn fine in this outfit.”

“You’ll look better out of it,” Gabe grumbled, but at least his humor was starting to return. He looked down at his double-breasted suit jacket and matching trousers that were like a suit Tubbs wore on an episode ofMiami Vice.

I pulled one side of my jacket open to reveal my cheap pleather holster and water pistol. “I’m still going to have a lot of fun if we don’t win.”

“Hey, why don’t I get a water pistol?” The whining had returned to his voice.