Page 89 of Zero Divergence

Though it broke his heart, Sawyer had agreed. It would’ve been cruel and selfish to insist otherwise. They drove to his parents’ house every night to watch the sunset and enjoy a beer. It was during one of those evenings that Vic found the courage to discuss life after he was gone.

“What are you thinking about?” Sawyer had asked.

“That you’re going to share these majestic sunsets with another man someday. I hope he’ll know how lucky he is.”

“Never,” Sawyer had said vehemently.

Vic had chuckled and held him tighter. “Just you wait and see.” It took nearly two years before Sawyer could admit Vic had been right.

Sawyer continued his trip down memory lane, his eyes landing on another photo of him on the boat dock. It was hard looking at the thirteen-year-old version of himself. The obese, awkward kid with the bad acne was a part of him, and a reason why he’d become a tad vain about his looks.

The summer after the photo was taken, Sawyer had hit a growth spurt, which helped him shed extra pounds, and he took weightlifting as an extracurricular class in middle school. He’d thought it would be better than taking a gym class where he’d be forced to participate in group sports with kids who’d bullied him for years. He’d had enough of being chosen last in elementary gym classes to last him a lifetime. He’d made the right call. The high school football coach taught weightlifting, and Sawyer learned more about himself and his body during those two semesters than any other time in his life, except for his freshman year of college. He’d started seeing a dermatologist for his skin and learned to treat food as fuel. Royce teased him about his strict skincare regimen and diet, but he’d understand when he saw these photos. And he would see them.

“Sawyer,” his father said, pulling his attention away from the photos. “Were you coming to see me?”

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you privately about Senator Vincenzo.”

“Ah. Jack said you might, but perhaps we should save it for later since others might get nosy and interrupt us.”

“Who? Like me?” Evangeline asked as she walked toward them.

“I’m glad you’re here, Mom. I want to include you in the conversation also,” Sawyer said.

Evangeline patted his cheek. “Rest assured, dear. Jack has already told us everything, and unless you think he killed Vivian Gross, the rest isn’t our business. People are entitled to their privacy, even state senators.”

“No, the senator isn’t involved in her death,” Sawyer said. “I just didn’t want you to get caught up in the aftershocks when the scandal explodes in the media.”

“Jack feels the same way, which is why he called to warn me that he’s releasing an official statement after Vivian’s burial late next week. He’s wrapping up the final arrangements. If he announces it now, Vivian’s funeral will become a media circus.”

“You can say that again,” Sawyer said. He debated asking his dad if the senator had decided to continue his campaign or resign but concluded it wasn’t relevant. It was apparent Jack still had his parents’ support either way. And besides, they were adults who could make decisions for themselves. He heard Royce’s voice in his head, teasing him.Control freak.

Sawyer’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. Removing it from his pocket, he saw it was from Royce.

Things got wetter than I anticipated. I’m going to swing by my place and grab a quick shower and change. Be there soon.

You better!Sawyer replied.

“I can tell by your sappy expression it’s a text from Royce,” his mother said. “He better not be shot or on fire.”

Sawyer laughed. “Nope. Drenched. He’ll be here soon.” Sawyer couldn’t wait to share his first sunset on the dock with Royce.

Royce was grateful for two things: quick reflexes and a patient boyfriend. Without the first, Candi’s second-story bathroom floor might’ve sustained a lot more damage. The valve to the toilet had snapped off when Royce attempted to fix it, and he had wrenched the water off before too much gushed out. If not for Sawyer’s patience, he’d be in the doghouse big-time.

He’d harassed Sawyer enough times about withholding his mom’s dinner invitation and was now running late when the universe finally aligned for them to attend. Then again, maybe Sawyer was mad. Perhaps the humor Royce detected in Sawyer’s response was wishful thinking.

Damn, Royce. Stop being a putz and get a move on.Royce pocketed his phone and found his house key on the ring. It had been weeks since he used it. Glancing at Aunt Tipsy’s overgrown flower beds, he sent up a silent plea for her not to hate him.

Royce needed to decide what he was going to do with the place. Maybe it was presumptuous, but he suspected filling out a change-of-address card was in his near future. Selling the house felt wrong, but he didn’t want to be someone’s landlord either, unless… An idea occurred to him. Jace was probably tired of living in his apartment over the body shop where he worked, and Holly had always loved the house. From what he remembered, Aunt Tipsy showed her a lot about planting and pruning flower beds. Holly had sucked up the attention and the knowledge like a sponge since her homelife hadn’t been much better than theirs, which was why she’d understood Royce’s struggle with intimacy over the years. It probably was why she’d tolerated Jace’s bullshit longer than she should have too.

Holly and Jace were different now, and Royce was confident they would make it. He hardly recognized the man his brother was becoming, but he figured Jace would say the same about him. As far as Royce was concerned, Jacewashis family. His younger brother, sister, and father ceased to exist in his new world. Now when a bar owner called him looking for restitution because Eddie Locke had busted up his establishment, Royce responded with “Eddie who?” His heart felt lighter with the hard stance and his bank balance got heavier.

Royce unlocked the door and pushed it open, moving a mountain of mail that had gathered beneath the mail slot. His only debts were his credit card, home and auto insurance, utilities, and his car payment. He received e-statements for all of them. Some he had automatically deducted and others he paid on apps or online. Royce had no earthly idea how he’d collected so much junk mail, but he stepped over it on his way to the bedroom. He could sort the bullshit out another time when Sawyer and his family weren’t waiting on him.

Don’t be nervous. Don’t be nervous.It was easier said than done after he’d made such a big deal about it to Sawyer. Royce had no reason to be worried. Evangeline adored him and Baron and Sawyer’s siblings liked him. He hadn’t met the nieces and nephews, but kids loved him. They recognized one of their own. By the time he peeled himself out of his soaked clothes, he had calmed the fuck down. Royce rushed through his shower and dressed in clean, dry clothes. He’d had enough hair product left there to style his hair, so he wouldn’t look like a complete bum. Sawyer loved his hair messier, and he’d happily let him run his fingers through it later.

An idea struck him when he passed his closet on the way to the bedroom door. He’d told the truth when he said he couldn’t fit into his dress blues, but the white hat would sure as hell still fit. Royce could easily find a pair of aviator glasses at a drugstore. He just needed some super skimpy underwear.Aha! Candi had purchased him a red, white, and blue Speedo as a gag birthday gift one year. He’d buried it in the bottom of his underwear drawer instead of throwing it out. Royce retrieved the swimming briefs from his dresser and held them up in the air. He’d need to do some trimming and maintenance down below before jamming his junk in the tiny scrap of fabric. Sawyer would love it.

Royce fisted the trunks, tucked the hat beneath his left arm, then turned off the bedroom light and exited his room. He’d had every intention of stepping over the mail on the way to collecting his keys from the small table by the front door, but his eyes snagged on a large envelope with his name handwritten on the front of it. Royce’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the name of the sender was V. Gross, and the return address written below was the same as the crime scene he had visited six days ago.