Page 59 of Shades of Henry
“Really?” Lance asked, not sure he’d ever be.
“Look. When Jackson was looking like hell, I told him it would be okay if they arrested me—I knew he and Cramer and you and John and Galen and my brother would work to get me out. I’d be okay. And he said, ‘Yeah, but you’re my friend and I don’t want you in jail.’”
“Wow,” Lance mumbled, moved in spite of himself.
“Yeah. So he’s got people that will do the same thing for him. That’s why we’re going to help him and Cramer put this case to bed.”
Lance had to double-check to make sure his eyes were still open. “I’m sorry?”
“There was a loose end, a nurse named Frasier, who wasn’t arrested. Rivers and I heard her having sex with Martin Sampson’s father, and we’re pretty sure she’s been stealing drugs from patients and only giving them half doses—”
“Oh my God!” Lance went to sit up. “We have to tell the ethics board, and there’s a whole department for that and—”
“And we have to get her arrested and provide cold, hard evidence first,” Henry said, and Lance calmed down a little, because Henry was right. “Now lie back down.”
Lance slid into bed again, his bones turning to jelly with that last burst of adrenaline. “Fine. Sure. Whatever.”
“Well, do you want to help me find evidence or not?” Henry asked when he was settled again.
Lance was almost asleep, but he wasn’t so far gone he missed what this was about.
“You want me to see why you like it,” he said. “So I know why this is what you want to do.”
Henry stroked his hair back again. “Yeah.”
Well, couldn’t argue with that. “Fine. Be reasonable. Sure.”
“Good, now go to sleep.”
“Night, Henry. Love you.”
He fell asleep before he realized what he said.
Apprentice to the Master
HENRY LOOKEDout over what was going to be another ball-burner of a day and fought a sense of letdown.
This was over. He wasn’t under suspicion of murder anymore, and that was great, but now that Martin Sampson had been put to rest in a small vase of ashes currently being buried in a very small plot, he felt… adrift.
Purposeless.
He swallowed and tried to remember some of the thrill that had come from running around finding Martin Sampson’s killer, and with that tickle in the belly, the excitement about jumping back into the fray, there also came the knowledge that Henry was entitled to ask questions.
And he was standing next to his brother, who could answer maybe the most pertinent question of all.
“So what made you fall in love with him?” Henry asked his brother as they lingered in the shade of a dusty pine tree at the cemetery. The question had been burning in his stomach probably since Lance had told him that “Scott” was Davy’s ex.
Davy’s smile was thoughtful, and for the first time, Henry realized his brother was over thirty, in a birthday that not even their mother had celebrated.
Henry knew the date—September 26th. This year, when Davy turned thirty-one, Henry would give him a card, maybe plan a birthday surprise with Kane. Kane might hate it, but it would be worth it to know Henry’s brother had more than just his husband and their niece bringing him cake and a present.
“I was… floundering,” Davy said. “And he told me it was okay—happy endings were for suckers. Only it turned out, I really wanted one and he… he really didn’t think they were possible.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Henry said, recognizing the adult censorship in Davy’s voice. His own wobbled. “Please, Davy? I showed up on your doorstep full of lose. I just… just need to hear there’s some hope that’s not all I am.”
David grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. The little group that had gathered for Martin Sampson—aka Scott’s—funeral had mostly dispersed, including a sad and scarred ex-boyfriend. Jackson and Ellery had been the first to go because Jackson had a doctor’s appointment, and while he was still looking exhausted, his lips weren’t blue, and that was an improvement.
“Want some ice cream?” Davy said. “I don’t have to be at the shop for another hour. Let’s get some fro-yo or something.”
