The Mystery of the Curiosities Page 13

  Hideous.

  There was a folded note beside the mermaid. I picked it up and read it.

  Congratulations!

  Gee, thanks.

  But there’s more.

  That sounded like a shitty infomercial.

  I unfolded the rest of the note.

  Visitors needed a guide to Thebes. Tomorrow, 10am.

  And there was another address.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Hmm?” I quickly folded the note and stuffed it into my pocket before turning.

  Neil stood in the doorway.

  I was taken aback by his presence. “Second time in two days?”

  “Guess so.” Neil bent to set his forensic kit down.

  I looked over his shoulder, but everyone in the shop was too far away to make out. Neil was staring at me when I turned my attention to him again. “Hi.”

  “Hey.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re expecting to fingerprint for. My landlord already admitted to sneaking in, and he put this lovely specimen in my office—”

  “So you’re dating Winter.”

  “Uh, yes, it would appear that way.”

  “Why?”

  “I… like him,” I awkwardly replied.

  “You said when we broke up that you weren’t going after him.”

  Was Neil… jealous?

  Calvin really had been serious about Neil not being over me. Not that I had believed his whole alpha attitude of “I’m fucking you, you belong to me” had been unprovoked, but still. This didn’t strike me as a behavior Neil would ever exhibit, but maybe in all the years we’d been dating, he’d hid a lot more of himself in the closet than just his sexuality.

  Perhaps I had never really known him as intimately as I believed.

  “I wasn’t, but shit happened,” I answered.

  Like gunfights in the streets, as if New York City were the Wild West.

  “And now you are,” he finished.

  “Now I am, yeah.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Neil, what the—”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m not talking to you about my relationship with Calvin,” I said, holding up a hand.

  “You cheated on me, Seb.”

  “You. Walked. Out. It was over.”

  “Over because I told you to watch your ass and you didn’t.”

  “Oh, fuck you, Neil.”

  “But I see your new boyfriend lets you play detective with him,” Neil continued. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Do you get a good pounding every time you find a clue?” he asked, pointing at the mermaid on my desk.

  “Stop it!”

  This wasn’t the same man I used to be in a relationship with. This man was angry and bitter and….

  “I know you, Sebastian,” Neil said quietly. “I know you’re curious to a fault. You’re willing to risk life and limb to fit together puzzle pieces.”

  “I do not.”

  “You’re doing it now. How many more times do you have to be fed nonsensical bullshit before you admit how obsessed you are?”

  “Is there a problem here, Detective Millett?” Calvin asked, standing behind us both just outside my office door.

  Neil turned around. “No.”

  Calvin slowly took his eyes off Neil and directed his gaze at me. “Come on.”

  “The mermaid is here,” I pointed out.

  Calvin didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. What I saw worried me.

  The stress was back.

  He’d been really wound up since Ricky’s. Okay, granted, I’m sure having to shoot a guy because your dumbass boyfriend was in danger probably didn’t sit well, but he was usually so sure of everything when he was at work. Work-mode meant Calvin was untouchable.

  Except recently, I had reason to believe that was not the case. That his armor had finally become too heavy and he couldn’t breathe. God… how much worse had I made it? How could I have been so fucking stupid to not see that Calvin was finally losing his battle?

  The look on his face… no one would know, but it was that same desperate and lost expression he got after coming down from a panic episode. That look of hopelessness Calvin always had about him as he recalled the faces of lives lost, of deaths he considered his fault.

  “Never mind,” I said, brushing by Neil. “We’ll go. I’m not going to fight.”

  Calvin swallowed painfully and nodded.

  I shot a look over my shoulder at Neil as I left. The look of contempt on his face made my stomach roll.

  CHAPTER TEN

  POP AND I ate Indian takeout for dinner.

  He didn’t know what he wanted to cook, and I was lying facedown on the couch, being a completely useless shit.

  “So what’s up?” Pop asked as we sat at the table, finishing our food.

  “The ceiling, the sky, the clouds….”

  “And what else?”

  I frowned and stopped pushing the last of my rice around. “Can I put on music? I’ve got a hankering for some Ella.” I stood before Pop answered and went to the record player that was part of his entertainment system. I turned it on before plucking one of the Ella Fitzgerald records from my dad’s collection.

  “Sebastian?” He turned in his chair.

  I glanced at Pop before putting the record on, gently setting the needle down, and then letting Ella’s perfect voice fill the room. I picked up the record sleeve and stared at her face. I never did have that rhythm she said I needed to give everything to.

  “Kiddo,” Pop prodded again.

  “Calvin’s not doing so well,” I answered, and as I said that, I felt like I was betraying him.

  Pop set his napkin down and got to his feet. He walked across the room, took the record sleeve and set it aside, before guiding me over to the couch. He sighed as he sat down beside me, knees cracking. “Did something happen?”

  I guess I couldn’t exactly tell him the shit that I did without Pop wanting to ground me from leaving the house like I were fourteen again.

  I shrugged. “It’s just… I think his partner is worried about him. He’s been working hard lately, and I assumed it was some big cases, but she said they’ve been working on cold cases.”

  “Those are still important, though, aren’t they?”

  “Sure, but—” I looked down at my hands. I was gripping them hard without noticing. “He had one of his episodes at a diner, a few days ago. And I had to sit in the bathroom with him while he cried.” I felt my own eyes begin to tear up. “Dad,” I whispered, and it was hard to talk. “I’m more worried about him than anything. He’s so stressed out from work, and I don’t know why he’s killing himself over it.”

  “You have to talk to him, Sebastian,” Pop said, taking one of my hands and giving it a comforting squeeze.

  I shook my head. “We can’t. Every time I try—every fucking time—he gets so defensive.”

  “He’s likely seen a lot of atrocities,” Pop murmured. “Those didn’t stay behind after he came home from the war. And he sees awful things like it right here in New York. I can understand the desire to bury it, to just shut it out, but the two of you won’t make it if you can’t find some way to talk.”

  “We have to make it,” I said quickly, looking at him. “Dad…. Calvin, he’s… there’s never been anyone like him. He gets my frustrating humor. He thinks I’m sexy, and how many goddamn times have you heard someone say that about me?”

  “Sebastian.”

  “He likes to spoil me for no reason. Last week he came by the Emporium with my favorite coffee and cookies on his lunch break. I asked him what the occasion was, and he said, ‘It’s Tuesday.’ Who does that? He likes watching silent films, and he lets me talk his ear off about stupid antique shit I know he doesn’t find as interesting as I do.

  “I need to return the affection. I mean—I do. Every chance I get. But I want to help him. I want to help him sleep through the night without dreaming about the dead children in Afghanistan he’s co
nvinced died because he wasn’t a good enough soldier. I want him to stop crying, to stop being afraid. He’s the bravest and strongest man I know, and he thinks the exact opposite of himself.”

  Everything poured out of me so fast, I had to come back up to breathe.

  Pop let go of my hand, nodding. “And he won’t go to a therapist?”

  “No. And Quinn knows. Enough at least to be aware that there’s reason for concern now.” I took my glasses off and dabbed the corners of my eyes. “I don’t want him to lose his job. He loves being a detective. It’s what he’s made for. But this can’t keep going.”

  “What I said about him getting a dog…,” my dad said after a pause. “I was serious.”

  “I know. I sort of suggested it too. But wouldn’t he have to go to a doctor first? I know he needs a doctor, but if it’s official… his career….”

  “I have a friend,” Pop said. “She runs a nonprofit that trains rescue dogs to service vets. They’re even taught how to wake owners from nightmares. They’re not affiliated with the government or the VA—they help a lot of folks through donation alone.”

  “Really? They’re in New York?”

  “They have a small office here, yes. I can give her a call. Maybe you’d like to meet her before going to Calvin with the information?”

  I did, actually. It sounded promising. Calvin was so opposed to visiting a VA hospital, but maybe I had to come at this nightmare from a different angle. How he’d have the time to care for a dog, I didn’t know, but I was honest when I said I’d help. And if he benefited from this pup, maybe it would lower his stress and anxiety to a point that he’d not be opposed to at least talking now and then with a therapist.

  I took a deep breath and nodded, feeling like a weight had been lifted from my chest. “Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks, Pop.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo. You know I really like Calvin. And I love seeing how happy he makes you. We’ll figure this out.”

  “I’m nominating you for Dad of the Year.”

  “Oh please,” he said, standing. “I’ve got so many awards, they cut me off.”

  I laughed and nodded. “True. You are a pretty cool dad.”

  “Very hip,” he confirmed, dating himself by word usage alone. “I need to take Maggie on a walk. Want to come along?”

  “Sure, I—”

  The building’s front door buzzer went off.

  “Was Calvin coming back here after work?” Pop asked as he went and hit the door-lock button.

  I turned from my seat on the couch as he unlocked the apartment door. “I wasn’t under the impression he was.”

  Pop opened it when there was a gentle knock. “Hello there, Calvin. We were just talking about you.”

  “Good evening, William,” Calvin said quietly. He stepped inside when my dad ushered him in. Calvin turned and looked at me. “Hey.”

  “Hey back.”

  Calvin stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “Can we talk?”

  This was… not a good sign. Nothing good ever comes when the person you’re dating says you’ve got to talk.

  My heart started pounding harder as I stood. “Yeah. Of course.”

  My dad immediately grabbed his coat. “I’ll leave you boys to it. Come on, Maggie,” he called, and dad’s princess ran to the door. “I’ll be back in, oh… twenty minutes or so,” he said, giving me a knowing nod before him and Maggie left.

  Calvin didn’t move.

  Something was very wrong.

  I walked slowly around the couch, standing just far enough away that it felt strange. “Cal? Look, before you say anything, let me apologize. I was stupid. I know. But I didn’t… realize what I must have put you through today.”

  “You mean the part where you nearly had your skull smashed in?”

  I nodded. “That would be the part,” I whispered.

  He looked away, staring at the entertainment system.

  When had Ella stopped singing? I hadn’t noticed.

  “Baby…,” he said quietly, sort of trailing off.

  “I want you to stop working so much,” I blurted out.

  Calvin looked back at me.

  I nodded furiously and balled my hands into fists. “As soon as we started dating, you went into work overdrive. I thought you had big cases and bosses breathing down your neck, but after Quinn told me differently? She’s worried about you too, Calvin. You’re working yourself to death, and I don’t… want to lose you. Not for a long goddamn time, do you hear me? I’m talking canes and liver spots and pants hiked up to our chests.”

  Calvin didn’t speak. He shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other, but otherwise, not a response.

  “I want to spend time with you,” I continued. “And I get that you have a demanding job, and that you love what you do. But to find out that you stay late, don’t sleep or eat, when you have the opportunity to come home? We don’t have to do anything! You want to de-stress by eating takeout and watching hockey and nothing more—I’m down. Let’s do it. I’m not a needy guy. My only request is that you don’t kill yourself!”

  “The same could be said about you, Sebastian,” Calvin said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Any regular person, after nearly getting blown up, would let the police do their fucking job,” he snapped. “But not you. You’ve got to be Sherlock.”

  “This isn’t about my dumb choices, Calvin. I’m being serious!”

  “So am I!” Calvin moved forward, and as he got close and I could make out his features better, I realized how pissed he was. “I had to shoot a man today because of you.”

  “He’s fine. And not a good guy, anyway. He tried to kill that poor girl!”

  Calvin jabbed his finger against my chest. “I shot him because of you. When I ran into that club, I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. I couldn’t fucking breathe, Sebastian. It was like every fear I had was coming true. I told you how scared I was. Of us—of something happening to you because of us.”

  “Ricky didn’t stop to ask if I enjoyed cock.”

  “No, but Luther North had some fucking opinions. This man has threatened you and is still suspect numero uno in the murder of Meredith Brown!” Calvin said forcefully.

  “This isn’t about either of us being gay, Calvin! It’s not! It’s not about holding hands in public. Jesus Christ. I could blow you in public and no one would even consider trying to piss you off. This is about you and your mental health! Construe it how you want, but your PTSD is fucking destroying you and it’s breaking my heart!”

  Calvin’s expression dropped, the crease in his brow softening. His jaw muscles were tense. “Didn’t I say it was inevitable?” he asked, all at once very tired-sounding.

  I shook my head in confusion before I understood what he meant. Calvin’s reluctance toward dating to begin with was because of his PTSD. He was convinced he’d break my heart.

  “No,” I said firmly. I grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him closer. “It’s not the same thing, and you damn well know it. It hurts me because I—Calvin. I love you so much, it’s like I’ve outdone the Grinch. My heart has grown a hundred sizes, and it’s still not big enough to hold my love for you. That shit is fucking pouring out all over the place, and it’s sappy and stupid and people are probably sick to death of hearing me talk about you.”

  Calvin’s eyes were shiny, and he took a strangled breath. “First time you’ve said it.”

  “Is it? I’ve sure as hell thought it.”

  He snorted and laughed. “Yeah, honey. First time.”

  “My apology.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Can we kiss and make up?”

  He nodded.

  “And talk about you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about—”

  “Then no kissing and no making up.”

  “God…. Sebastian.”

  “I’m serious. I’m not backing down this time. Fight me all you want, but I can’t watch you lose th
is battle alone. I know that I won’t ever really understand what you’ve experienced and what you’ve seen, and if you can’t talk to me about those memories, that’s okay. But I’m in this for the long haul, and if you’re afraid to seek help alone, we’ll do it together.”

  Calvin was frowning, but he took my face into his hands and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You are such a pain in my ass,” he muttered.

  “No, I’d make it feel good.”

  Calvin laughed again.

  “This is why people try to kill me,” I pointed out.

  “Don’t joke.”

  “Too soon?”

  “Yes.”

  I stood up on my toes, closed the distance between us, and kissed Calvin, sweet and innocent, just a little peck on his lips. “I’ll stop being a detective.”

  “Why do I not believe you?” he murmured against my mouth, kissing me again.

  “You’re a realist.”

  “Are your fingers crossed?”

  “Umm-hmm….”

  Calvin held me firmer, kissing me longer. “You frustrate the hell out of me, sweetie.”

  “Good.” I stepped back and took Calvin’s big hands into mine. “Let’s talk about dogs.”

  “What? Again?”

  “Again.”

  Calvin didn’t speak.

  I let go, tugged his jacket off, and tossed it onto a chair. “Stay awhile.”

  “I have to go back soon.”

  “Were you here for this fight we just had?” I asked.

  “I don’t have cold cases now.”

  “Fine. But come sit first.” I pulled him around the side of the couch. “Don’t get angry, but—I told Pop.”

  “About what?” Calvin asked hesitantly.

  “About you. And this,” I said, waving a hand absently.

  “Sebastian, are you serious?”

  “Just listen,” I said, holding on to his shoulders and staring at him. Calvin was not happy. “He knows a woman who runs a group. They supply trained dogs to people with PTSD, anxiety, all that sort of stuff, and he said they help a lot of vets. And—” I continued when he opened his mouth to speak. “They’re not part of any government organization. We don’t have to go to a VA hospital or anything like that.”