Page 441 of A Matter of Time

“Don’t you dare stick your head out there,” I yelled at him.

I watched him decide, saw the muscles clenching in his jaw, his shoulders tensing before he suddenly relaxed and closed the window with a bang.

“Thank you.” I barely got it out before I started to cry. The adrenaline surging through me was way too much.

“Aww, babe,” he said, walking over to me, putting an arm around my neck, and pulling me close to kiss my forehead. “It’ll be okay. I’ll call it in. You’ll see—everything’s gonna be fine.”

I nodded, trembling against him.

Our apartment was swarming with policemen. Most of them were wearing those jackets that said POLICE in bold yellow letters, but some were in ties and suits and those shiny black shoes, while others were in uniforms and hats with shower caps over them to keep them from getting soaked from the rain. The crime lab guys were there dusting for prints and taking photographs outside on the fire escape, inside by the window, and down on the street. Someone had been in the apartment, they were sure of it, they just didn’t know who, and there were no fingerprints to be found.

Sam split his time between being on the phone and talking to Hefron and Moore. I was surprised that Pat and Chaz were there instead of Chloe, and even more surprised when Pat came and sat with me, not talking at all, just sitting beside me, shoulder to shoulder, stopping anyone from getting too close to me.

“No,” he said repeatedly, not raising his voice, sometimes just the slight shake of his head keeping people away.

It took hours, and I was nodding off when Sam finally came and sat with me. He put an arm around me and leaned me against his chest.

“How’re you holding up, baby?”

I nodded.

“Jory,” Pat said slowly, drawing my attention. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe all Sammy’s friends don’t care so much that you’re a guy, but more about the fact that you’re so goddamn young?”

I looked at him.

“Yeah. Ya missed that, huh?”

I turned my head to look at Sam and found him scowling.

“He’s not that young,” he growled at his friend.

“Oh, screw you, Kage.” Pat shook his head, flipping him off. “You’re the only guy in our group who’s dating a guy who doesn’t know who Led Zeppelin is.”

“Wait,” I began, “I know who⁠—”

“He’s twenty-six, Pat,” Sam barked at him.

But Detective Patrick Cantwell was already getting up off the couch. He reached out and ruffled my hair before sauntering across the room to talk to Chaz.

I turned and looked at Sam.

“What?”

“They all think I’m gonna leave you crying in your coffee because you’re old.”

“I’m not—fuck that, J, I’m not old! I’m not even forty.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I won’t be forty for four more years!”

“Three years,” I corrected him. “You already had your birthday this year. You’re thirty-seven.”

He stared at me.

“What?”

“You remembered when my birthday was?”