Page 33 of Someone to Call My Own
Once I was alone again, I blew out a frustrated breath. No matter what I’d just told Michelle, I had a feeling that things were about to get fucking ugly. I hadn’t moved to replace Rick as my attorney since his death because I hadn’t needed one but realized that could change quickly. I hadn’t made any real friends since I moved to the Queen City besides Rick and I couldn’t very well ask him for a fucking referral for a good lawyer.
There was someone I could call, but I didn’t want to hear his voice. Marlon Bandowe was a self-loathing gay man who led my brother around by his short and curlies for more than a decade or longer. He was the kind of guy who spoke out about homosexuality ruining family values right after soliciting a blow job in an airport bathroom. I had no use for bastards like him. I got that not everyone could live openly—hell, that had been my life for the majority of my career in the military and black ops. The difference was that I had never led someone on. I never told a man that I loved him in one breath while denying him in the next.
“Fuck!” I decided to bite the bullet and call him. I picked up my phone and saw that the text I missed earlier was from Emory.
Happy to help your *friend* out.
Just like that, I forgot all about calling Marlon.
Ihadn’t planned on responding to Jon’s text message, let alone act playful.Jon?When did I start thinking about him as Jon again?Somehow, I just didn’t have it in me to ignore his text after the way things ended between us at my house. I was finally ready to admit that I’d flown to Montana because of him, and it would be my farewell gesture. I sent my reply text to him in the same spirit. I didn’t want there to be animosity between us any longer. I didn’t want there to beanythingbetween us.Do this thing and make a clean break, Emory. Delete his number from your phone and purge him from your mind.If only it were that easy.
I texted Memphis to let him know that I had arrived safely, had a bite to eat, and was getting ready to meet with the sheriff to review the case. I had promised to call him later that night, figuring that would be enough to tide him over, but I should’ve known better. Memphis fired a reply before I could put my phone away.
Is he hot?
Smoking!I replied because it was true. Why lie about it? He just wasn’t for me.He’s just your type too. Piercing blue eyes, light brown hair with a touch of gray at the temples, and a hard body that came from working rather than a gym membership.
As usual, Memphis always did the opposite of what I expected. I thought he’d reply to my teasing right away, but he didn’t. His reply came five minutes later at the same time there was a confident knock at my door. Funny how a knock could reveal the character of your visitor, or at least their present mood.
Pictures or it didn’t happen,Memphis wrote.
Have to go. Talk later.
“Sheriff,” I said by way of greeting when I opened the door.
“What’s it going to take for you to call me Beau?”
“I just like to keep things very professional with the law enforcement agents I’m working with on a case,” I said in an apologetic tone. “Tell you what, I’ll call you Beau when we find out what happened to Kent Jessup.”
“Deal,” he said, “but I’m going to call you Emory.”
“Fair enough.”
When we got downstairs, I noticed that Caroline was no longer behind the desk. A dour-faced man stood in her place, and I noticed the atmosphere wasn’t nearly as welcoming.
“We don’t runthatkind of establishment, Sheriff,” the man said. “Maybe your out-of-townguestwould be more comfortable at one of the hotel chains out by the highway.”
Did that grouchy bastard wearing the Mr. Roger’s sweater in a putrid shade of green just imply that I was the sheriff’s whore or something? I wanted to confront him, but Beau’s swift and strong grip on my elbow stopped me from turning around.
“He’s here consulting on a case, not to suck my dick, Virgil,” Beau tossed over his shoulder as we walked out the door. “Old homophobic prick. He better be glad I’ll never be the one answering a nine-one-one call should he ever dial that number.” He mumbled the last part under his breath but loud enough that I heard it.
“I guess hatred exists everywhere, but I’ll never get used to it.”
“Me either, and if he were smart, he’d keep his fucking mouth shut since both the fire chief and sheriff are gay men. Chances are he’s going to need our fucking help someday, and I’m going to try to be a better man when that time comes,” Beau bit out angrily.
The mood in the SUV was somber with neither of us saying anything until we reached the sheriff’s office, which was the typical nondescript brick building with a satellite and antennas on the roof. The inside was as standard and basic as all the other law enforcement agencies I’d visited over the years. Everything was beige and boring, but that stopped once we entered Beau’s office. Oh, it was beige too, but he personalized his space with pictures of him with two other men in various places in the world. I recognized Jon and assumed the other was the Corbin guy that Jon had mentioned.
The photos looked like they dated back twenty years or so. In fact, one of them looked like it was taken during boot camp. I was inexplicably drawn to the pictures and found myself studying each one to catalog the changes in Jon throughout the years. He’d changed from a fresh-faced young man to a world-weary one full of cynicism. I couldn’t begin to imagine the things he’d done and saw to make the bright-eyed boy so jaded. Well, maybe I could imagine it, but I didn’t want to.
“I’m sure you recognize Jon in those pictures. The other guy is Corbin, who I grew up with in New Orleans. We joined the service together and met Jon at boot camp. The three of us became inseparable for the two decades that followed. Corbin is back in NOLA with his family, I’m here in Big Timber, and Jon is in Cincinnati. It’s the longest we’ve been apart since we met.” I heard the pride and love he had for his friends. I suddenly understood why they chatted every Sunday morning. It was their way of staying connected.
“You must miss them.”
“Every day, but our lives took paths that none of us anticipated,” Beau said somewhat cryptically. His words and actions convinced me that Kent Jessup’s disappearance was more personal than he let on. He hadn’t told Jon, so I knew that he wouldn’t confide in me. It was also possible that Jon just didn’t tell me the full story. “There’s never been anything between us except amazing friendship, Emory.”
I pinned him with a heated look. “Why would you say that to me?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. “That must’ve been some phone call the two of you had this afternoon.”
Beau put his hands up peacefully. “I simply called Jon to thank him. I might’ve mentioned that you were cute because I thought that maybe you and he—”