Page 158 of String Boys

Music to Kelly’s ears.

MATTY DIDN’Tmake it until Thanksgiving.

Three days after Seth came back home, the nurse greeted them in the morning after Craig and Linda had left for work, and told them that Matty was unconscious and probably wouldn’t wake up again.

An hour later, after sitting next to the bed holding hands, talking to Matty’s still form about all the things they should have been doing in the last eight years but couldn’t, the heart monitor by his side flatlined, and he was gone.

Kelly called the coroner while Seth called his father. Linda had stayed up half the night, reading Matty his favorite stories, and all the girls had said goodbye that morning, before he’d slipped away.

They’d made their peace. They’d said their goodbyes. It was time for honest grieving.

They spent the week of Thanksgiving practically chanting Matty’s name like a prayer, possibly making up for all the years they spat it as a curse.

They had the funeral the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Only the family showed—Isela, her father, their church, all of them noticeably absent, although Linda had tried to let Mr. Cortez, at least, know Matty was gone.

It didn’t matter. The family was enough.

Seth played pop songs from their high school, mostly, and then, like at Matty’s father’s funeral, “Hallelujah.”

It did the same thing now that it had then—it let them grieve for someone who was far from perfect, but who had left a dent in their lives just the same.

THE NEXTevening, just as Seth and Kelly were getting dinner on the table, there was a knock at the door.

Three men stood there—one young guy not much older than they were, in a cheap suit, one shark-looking guy with brown hair and a beak of a nose in an expensive pinstripe, and one scrawny, insanely hot tomcat in jeans.

The scrawny one looked oddly familiar.

“Officer Rivers?” Kelly asked, feeling blindsided. “Wait—are you still Officer Rivers?”

Rivers shook his head. “No, Kelly, not anymore. Now I’m a PI for a law firm. But I’m glad to see you doing well. Can we come in?”

“Yes,” Seth said unexpectedly from Kelly’s elbow. He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rivers. Kelly, go get my dad and your mom, okay?”

Kelly glared at him. “What in the hell—”

Seth looked at him serenely. “Don’t worry, baby. Remember when I said we were free?”

“Yeah.”

“This is what’s gonna set us free.”

“’Scuse me.” Kelly looked over his shoulder and slid out the door so Seth could usher their new friends in. “Let me get my folks.”

Craig and Linda had no idea what this was about, Kelly could tell. He’d interrupted them in the middle of lounging on the couch, feet up, holding hands and smiling stupidly at the television. And he knew that because nobody had bothered to fix the gap in the curtains in nine goddamned years.

When they got to the upstairs living room, Seth had brought in water for the three strangers on the couch, and the girls—all of them—had gathered, children on their laps as they sat on the floor and looked avidly at this new entertainment.

“So,” Seth said as Craig took one of the stuffed chairs, Linda on his lap, and Kelly sat in the other, “this is, uh… well, Detective Kryzinski, and you know Mr. Jackson Rivers. And this is his boyfriend, defense attorney Ellery Cramer.” He paused and looked at them all in turn. “I got that right?”

“Yeah.” Rivers grinned at him. “You’ll have to excuse Ellery. He’s a little bit starstruck. He’s been following your YouTube channel for the last three years.”

“You are so damned young,” Cramer said, still shocked. “Holy Jesus—twenty-six?”

“Five,” Kelly said dryly, because nobody got that right, not even Seth.

“Do you have any idea what kind of talent you have?”

“No, he doesn’t. Why are you here again?”