Brent: Thanks Dare.
I blew out a heavy breath. “Now the police can handle it from here.”
“Should have known it would have something to do with that homophobic asshole. I hope they can prove he was in on it.”
Brent stood but was a little wobbly on his feet. I reached out to steady him.
“Attempted murder and conspiracy come with hefty consequences. If he was involved, they’ll find it.”
He nodded and took a deep breath.
“How’s your head?”
“It hurts a little, but I’ll be fine. We better go so they can head back.”
Picking up our bags, I slung them both over my shoulder as we headed for the door.
Sandra reached out to hug Brent. “I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll be back to pick you up when you’re ready to come home.”
Brent smiled. “Thank you. Do you have kids?”
She laughed. “Lord yes. Three of them.”
“I’m sure you’re a good mama.”
She grinned and patted his face lightly. “You’re a sweet talker, aren’t you?”
“More like a shit-talker,” I mumbled, making him laugh.
“He’s right. But thank you for your hospitality. I see why Greer loves you so much.”
“I just call them like I see them,” she said. “We’ll see you again soon.”
“Thank you,” he replied. He reached for his aviator sunglasses as we walked in the morning light toward the terminal.
After we picked out our rental, I slid into the driver’s seat after stowing our bags in the back. Brent entered the address on the GPS as I pulled out of the parking space.
When we’d finally gotten on the road, it occurred to me that we hadn’t arranged accommodations.
“Where are we staying? With your mother or a hotel? I don’t have to stay with you if it makes it easier for you.”
I saw him do his patented slow pan out of the corner of my eye. “I’m staying with you wherever that may be. We’ll see what happens when we get there. But if you want to find us a place to stay as a backup, that might be good.”
I smiled and held my hand out to him. “That will give me something to do.”
We talked about what it was like growing up here and some of his favorite places to hang out. He held my hand as I drove to his childhood home in a suburban neighborhood in Colorado Springs. The closer we got, the more rigid he became. And when I pulled up in front of the ranch-style house, he didn’t get out of the car.
“Are you ready to go in?” I asked, holding onto his hand.
“No, but I don’t have a choice. So let’s go.”
“Wait,” I said, “who am I to you? Are we playing the friend card? We don’t have rings, so they’d never know if you don’t want them to.”
He laughed. “Fuck that. I am who I am. And I am married to you. I have the Santa photo to prove it.”
My heart nearly exploded right there, and I had to kiss him. So I twisted in my seat to face him as I reached over, tucked my index finger into the collarof his shirt, and pulled him to me.
“I love you, Dreamboat. Don’t forget that.”
