Chapter 2
Tennyson
After dinner, Ten took the kids back to his house and got them all ready for bed, while Ronan stayed with Jude and helped clean the kitchen.
He was so proud that Ronan was taking such an active role in helping his friend.
The only downside was that it left Ten to pull double duty at their house, which meant washing the breakfast dishes after dinner.
Once the dishes were drying in the rack, Ten sat at the kitchen table and sorted through the pile of mail.
He’d gotten into the bad habit of just tossing it on the kitchen island and leaving it there until the weekend.
All of their bills were on autopay, so Ten didn’t have to worry about late payments.
All that was left in the stack were magazines, spam offers urging him to get new windows, a reverse mortgage and life insurance, catalogues and sales flyers from the local grocery stores.
With the kids settled in the living room with snacks and The Goonies, Ten was free to sort to his heart’s content.
He grabbed the grocery ads, noting one chain’s low price on chicken wings, thinking it would be smart to stock up before the Super Bowl.
Last year, he’d had to serve chicken fingers at their party.
The kids loved it. The adults, not so much.
Next were the catalogs with their after Christmas sales.
He wasn’t interested in any of their bargain prices.
He’d spent a bit too much on Christmas. When they’d found out Jude was going to be okay, he and Ronan went a little crazy with buying gifts.
Not so much that they’d end up sleeping in Ronan’s Mustang, but the last thing they needed was more stuff.
The final pile of mail was the business envelopes.
Ten went through them one at a time. Home equity loans.
Credit card offers. Twenty-five percent off a cruise to the Caribbean, if he acted now.
As much as Ten would love a little fun in the sun, he set that envelope in the trash pile, which left him with only one piece of mail to go; a plain white envelope with a Salem postmark, no return address.
Just his name and address in black ink block printed on the front.
A shiver slipped down Ten’s spine as he picked it up. His gift screamed at him not to open it. The printing style had freaked him out. Ten knew if he threw it away without opening it, he’d just end up downstairs in the middle of the night, rooting through the trash like a hungry raccoon.
Taking a deep breath, Ten ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The contents were written in the same block printing style as his name and address.
“My dearest Tennyson,” he read out loud. “I know something you don’t know.”
Tennyson felt his stomach dip. He was cast instantly back to grade school and the taunting voices of his classmates, which made him want to tear the letter to pieces.
Again, he stopped himself and kept reading.
“You don’t know me, but I know you. I also know your husband, the great cold case detective and degenerate alcoholic, Ronan O’Mara.
I spy with my little eye, a man sitting alone in the parking lot of Bob’s Liquors on Chestnut Street, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of Hennessey.
Oh, well, a relapse was bound to happen sometime.
I suspect your husband’s drinking has to do with the fact that your little angel, Everly, has grown into a mouthy little bitch. ”
Dropping the letter onto the table like it was on fire, Ten stared at the paper and its venomous contents. He reread the message once, then twice. The words didn’t make any more sense the second or third time around.
Ten would have known if Ronan had been drinking, wouldn’t he?
Ten sat with that notion for a few seconds before reaching out with his gift, which gave him nothing.
He could see Ronan sitting at Jude’s kitchen table, the men looked to be having a serious conversation.
Truth be told, every chat with Jude over the last month had been of a serious nature.
Ten saw Ronan get up from the table, hug Cope and head for the front door.
His heart pounding like a jackhammer, Ten took several pictures of the letter with his phone.
When he was finished, he snatched up the letter and bolted toward the pantry.
Grabbing his box of bran cereal, he folded the letter back into thirds, stuck it in the envelope, and shoved it into the box.
No one ate bran flakes, hell, after one bowl, Ten hadn’t eaten them again.
He’d thought of throwing the awful cereal away, but for whatever reason left the box on the shelf, where it was now earning its keep.
Setting the box back on the shelf, he hurriedly shut the doors, just as the front door alarm went off, signaling Ronan’s arrival.
Seating himself quickly back at the table, Ten grabbed a sales flyer and tried to calm his breathing.
“Hey, babe!” Ronan said. “Oh, good, you’re sorting through the mail. If much more piled up, we were gonna have to move or be buried under L.L. Bean catalogs and reverse mortgage solicitations.” He pressed a kiss to Ten’s cheek before going to the fridge to grab a can of ginger ale.
Ten watched as Ronan cracked the can and took a long sip. He burped, getting as far as the letter “F” in the alphabet, before setting the drink down and focusing on his husband. “You okay?” Ronan’s detective’s eyes narrowed on Ten.
Ten wanted to shoot the same question back at Ronan, but held his tongue. It wouldn’t do him any good to fly off the handle. The letter was probably from some crank who had nothing better to do than to stir the pot. “I’m good, just tired.” He shrugged, hoping it seemed casual as he’d intended.
“God, me too,” Ronan tipped his soda to his lips and drained the can. He got up from his seat and tossed it into the recycling bin. “I’m gonna grab a shower. Kids are almost done with their movie, we’ll all go to bed when it ends.”
“Bed sounds great,” Ten agreed.
“See you in a bit.” Ronan waggled his eyebrows suggestively and left the room.
Ten managed a smile. He could see how tired Ronan was. His posture was a bit stooped, his eyes were dull and the usual spring in his step was gone. Seconds later, the kids erupted in laughter at something Ronan said, which had been too soft for Tennyson to hear.
Reaching out with his gift, Ten read Ronan again and again.
He didn’t see anything that would indicate Ronan had been drinking.
Yes, he was stressed out over being a man down at work, worried about Jude’s health, and tired to his bones, but nothing suggested his husband had come anywhere close to falling off the wagon.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Ten pulled back from Ronan.
They’d been married for eight years. There had been bad times sprinkled among the good, but the one thing Ten could count on was his husband’s honesty, not because he could use his gift to see if he was lying, but because Ten trusted his husband with his whole heart and soul.
At least he had until tonight.
What if the letter writer had seen what he claimed? What if Ronan was drinking again? What the hell would he do if that was the case?
Feeling his emotions spiraling out of control, he ran into the bathroom, hit his knees and threw up.