Page 89 of Pretty Poison

His first instinct was to sugarcoat it for his husband, but he decided to go with honesty. “Rough at first, but then I put on my big boy pants and took the sleep aid.”

Asher placed his hand on the back of Rocky’s neck and massaged the muscles. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” Rocky asked. “Take the sleep aid?”

“No, demean yourself.”

Rocky forced himself to relax. “It’s become a habit. A survival mechanism, I think.”

“You don’t need to put up shields or try to impress me. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m already crazy about you.”

Rocky glanced over and smiled. “I’m crazy about you too.”

“The prescription helped, then?”

Rocky chuckled. “The first night was hard because my brain tried to fight the effects of the drug, so it triggered a panic attack. I huffed and puffed and breathed my way through it and slept really well once I calmed myself down.”

“That happened to me the one and only time I tried pot in college,” Asher said. “Everyone else is mellow as fuck on the shit. Not me. My friends told me to sleep it off, but I couldn’t. I was convinced my lungs would forget to work if I didn’t stay awake. It was an awful feeling.”

Rocky rested his hand on Asher’s thigh. “The medication wasn’t a heavy sedative, so it didn’t turn me into a zombie the morning after. The second night went smoother.”

“I can attest that you weren’t knocked out cold.”

Rocky had woken up when Asher slid between the sheets, and they’d given each other a proper hello. Rocky still had the bite marks on his inner thigh to remind him it hadn’t been a dream. Maybe he wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet, but four out of six wasn’t bad.

“Better get your mind out of the gutter before you drive into a parked car,” Asher said. “That would derail our afternoon plans for sure.”

“My mind isn’t in the gutter.”

Asher chuckled. “Your hand on my dick says otherwise.”

Rocky stopped at a light, then looked over. Sure enough, his hand was full-on groping Asher’s crotch. He smiled sheepishly and returned the rogue appendage to the steering wheel. “Should I apologize?”

“Hell no,” Asher replied. “How’d the phone calls go? Did you get in touch with everyone?”

“I did.”

“Why don’t you sound happy?”

Rocky took a deep breath. “All together, Felix, Jonah, and I interviewed almost three dozen people. Each of us recorded our phone conversations and uploaded them into our shared drive. I haven’t listened to Felix’s or Jonah’s interviews yet, but all the people we talked to virtually said the same things about Tess and her husbands.”

“Could their accounts be similar because they’re the truth?”

“I thought about that,” Rocky replied. “Even if they’re being a hundred percent honest, wouldn’t there be some variance in their recollections of the same events?”

“Give me an example.”

Rocky had so many thoughts it was like searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack to find one that would capture what was bothering him. He grabbed ahold of the first shiny thing his overactive brain landed on. “Okay. Here’s one. Everyone in Augusta mentioned a New Year’s Eve party at Bob and Tess’s house. I guess their parties were legendary among their friends, but this one was particularly memorable because Tess had gone into labor with Grant.”

The more Rocky talked, the clearer his concerns became.

“Everyone’s account of the night leading up to Tess’s water breaking is virtually the same. I know these people are in their seventies, and memories can be tricky things at any age, but why would they all see and hear exactly the same thing? Hadn’t they used the bathroom at any point or stepped into the kitchen for a refill?”

“I see your point,” Asher said. “You feel like their responses were rehearsed or even fabricated.”

“Yeah, I do. I can’t think of another reason why everyone I talked to chose that night to define the Duncans’ relationship.”

“Hmmm,” Asher said. “You didn’t accidentally steer them toward talking about it?”