Page 87 of Butterfly

Ollie thought back. “The girl in the paper. You knew her.”

“She was my sister.” Rory’s voice tightened. “I didn’t know…that’s how I found out. My superiors kept it from me.”

“Shit, I’m sorry—”

“You have nothing to apologise for. Erica died. I was pretty sure I was going to join her when Sebastian got released. I told him who I was and why I’d been in prison with him. I was so sure he would kill me, but he didn’t.”

“I did wonder how you two ended up together.”

Rory shot him a questioning look.

“Sometimes I’d ask Captain how you were doing, and he’d tell me you were both doing fine.” Ollie shrugged. “I didn’t hate you, Rory… I was just…”

“Upset.”

Ollie nodded.

“That was never my intention.”

“I know,” Ollie whispered. “Thank you for today.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

Ollie gave him a weak smile.

They fell into a comfortable silence. The bag crinkled between Ollie’s feet, and he reached down to grab a story, any story; it didn’t matter. Ollie had given Teddy a voice in his head. It was deeper than his own, a rumble of words, and he told Ollie about the time he’d stained the outside of the caravan purple for his sister’s birthday. She loved it, but his parents had been less than pleased, especially when it wouldn’t wash off. As punishment, Teddy’s father had made him scrub the caravan from top to bottom with a toothbrush. It didn’t remove the purple, but it did make everyone envious over how shiny it looked.

Ollie could picture Teddy’s smiling face when he’d read the story back, smirking slightly as his eyes glazed over with the memory. He’d had a life. He’d had parents, and friends, and a sister obsessed with the colour purple.

No one knew that about Teddy, only Ollie.

“Here we are,” Rory said, pulling onto what could only be described as a building site. There were half-completed houses everywhere and a huge apartment block covered in scaffolding.

“I hope you don’t mind dust, endless sirens, alarms, and noise starting at seven thirty every morning and finishing at five. Except Sundays, Sebastian lets the workers have Sundays off.”

Rory stopped onto a driveway of one of the few completed houses. It was detached, three stories high, with a double garage.

“Crime really does pay,” Ollie muttered.

Rory lifted an eyebrow. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Ollie gestured to the house in front of them as evidence.

“Come on,” Rory said, opening his door.

He waited for Ollie to join him on the front step before opening the door and going inside. Rory hung up his coat and slipped off his shoes. Ollie did the same, listening to the sounds of the house. Blues music flowed from around one of the doors.

“We’re home!” Rory shouted.

Sebastian didn’t question the ‘we’re’. He opened a door and immediately asked, “How did it go?” before spotting Ollie.

Ollie waved awkwardly. “Hi.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. He glanced behind himself, shuffling back until he found an apron to cover his chest with. His grey chest hair was a few shades darker than the hair on his head. Sebastian was well defined, and it was clear he still enjoyed a workout like he did in Hollybrook.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he said, rising to full height. His eyes were ice, but Ollie didn’t take it personally. They’d always been cold, clinical, in the way he looked at the world.

But it was instinctual for Ollie to drop a step behind Rory.

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