Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Tarius had spent the long train ride to Sonora planning how to best support Branson once they arrived, assuming all of Branson’s energy would be spent comforting and supporting Jeuel.
And it had—until they crossed the threshold of Uty’s hospital room.
Jeuel had gone stone-cold, while Branson had practically aged in reverse, reverting to a scared child, trembling in the face of a terrifying monster.
They didn’t stay in the room long after the doctor called time of death.
Jeuel walked out first, and he kept going, so Paxton and Quillen raced to catch up with him.
Tarius held onto Branson until he seemed aware of Jeuel’s absence.
Without a second glance at the body in the bed, Branson pulled in Jeuel’s direction.
Tarius went with him, concerned that Branson might stumble or collapse if Tarius let go of him while they walked.
No one spoke on the interminable trip to the parking garage.
Tarius fought the urge to cough more than once, irritated by the persistent tickle in the back of his throat, and the new, gentle throb behind his eyes.
His body was probably mad at him for being cooped up in a metal can for the last two days.
Once their group reached the cars, which were only two spots apart, Paxton said, “My condolences to you both. If there’s anything you need while you’re here, please call.”
“Thank you for everything,” Jeuel said, his voice as hollow as his eyes. “I just want to go back to the hotel. It happened…so fast.”
“That’s where we’re going,” Tarius replied. “I assume that was the last legal act required of either Branson or Jeuel? Once we board the train home, it’s over?”
“It’s over,” Quillen said. “But we will have eyes on you until you board the train. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Of course. Much appreciated.”
Corinth conferred quietly with Quillen, and then he was driving them back to the hotel using the car’s fancy GPS navigation.
The door between their adjoining rooms stood open, and Corinth disappeared into one without closing it.
They hadn’t discussed whose room was whose, because no one was sure if they’d be staying the night.
It was barely lunchtime now, but everyone might prefer a night’s sleep in a semi-comfortable bed before braving the train’s cots.
Branson and Jeuel sat together on the side of one bed, knees touching but otherwise separate in their emotions and grief.
Tarius wasn’t sure what to say or do, so he picked up the ice bucket and went in search of the little service room every hotel had.
Filled up the ice bucket and bought several bottled drinks from the vending machine, including a bottle of orange juice for himself.
A few snacks, too, partly to give himself something to do.
They hadn’t talked about this weird limbo in between Uty’s death and going home.
Tarius had honestly expected Jeuel to waffle over his choice to sign the papers, to sit with his sire for a few hours, rather than getting it over with almost immediately.
He hadn’t expected Jeuel to be so cold about the entire thing, and it worried Tarius.
When he returned, Branson was alone on the bed. The bathroom door was shut, the shower running behind it. Branson accepted a cola then held the chilly bottle to his forehead. “Do you have a headache?” Tarius asked.
“Small one. I feel a little like the ball in one of Linus’s soccer tournaments.”
“Ouch.” He put the other food down on the dresser, and then rooted around in his overnight bag for the little white bottle. Shook out two ibrospirin tablets and handed them to Branson. “Here.” He considered taking some for his own aching throat, but he didn’t want to make the moment about himself.
This was Branson’s loss.
“Thank you.” Branson opened the cola to wash down the pills, flopped backwards onto the bed, and put the bottle on his forehead. “I don’t know why I lost it like that. When he died. I hate Uty for what he did to my omegin.”
“Grief doesn’t always make sense, Bran. Remember what we kept telling Jeuel?”
“To feel what he feels?”
“Exactly. Feel what you feel.” Tarius eased onto the bed and squeezed Branson’s thigh. “I don’t think you could have predicted how you’d feel about today until it happened. I didn’t expect Jeuel to react like he did.”
“You mean so unemotional? Same. But maybe he really has mourned his sire, and today was more symbolic than emotional?”
“It’s possible.”
Branson pulled the bottle away and angled his head to look up at him. “You don’t believe that, though.”
“Not really. Jeuel is seventeen. He’s been through more trauma than anyone his age ever should, and he usually wears his emotions on his skin. I’m worried he’s bottling up his grief, and it’s going to pop off at the worst possible time.”
“Like a private train car at two a.m.?”
“Maybe. Or months from now, when one of us isn’t there, something could trigger his grief, and he could do something destructive.
” Like how Layne had bottled up his trauma and fear for years, until they finally imploded in the most self-destructive way possible, and Layne had nearly died.
“Uty never should have been allowed to leave Sansbury all those years ago, much less start a new life with new kids. He deserved to be punished for what he did to your omegin.”
“Yes, he did.” Branson sat back up and put his soda on the bedside table.
His expression was pensive, almost confused.
“But that was almost a quarter-century ago, Tar. It can’t be changed, and the man is dead.
As much as I hate knowing Uty got away with what he did to my family, Jeuel is alive and in my life, because Uty avoided custody. I can’t be mad about that.”
Tarius couldn’t hold back an angry snort that made his nose hurt and the throbbing behind his eyes sharper.
“Another alpha who didn’t get the punishment he deserved.
” He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but he’d always had a hard time biting his tongue around Branson.
Branson was a safe space, someone he could vent to—but now was not the time or place.
Branson tilted his head to one side “Who are you talking about? One of your cases?”
He could have named more than one alpha who’d never fully paid for his crimes, including the young alpha who’d tried assaulting Tarius when he was eighteen. But this wasn’t about him; it was about Branson and Jeuel. “Never mind. We need to focus on our next steps.”
“Well, my next step is talking about this. I need the distraction.”
“Maybe you do, but I don’t want to pick a fight.”
“A fight?” Branson blanched, and Tarius hated seeing confusion on top of his husband’s lingering grief. “What are we fighting about?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you are thinking about something specific. Can you not talk about it because it’s an active case?”
“It’s not work, okay? It’s you.” Goddess-dammit, Tarius needed to get his mouth under control.
He could blame it on lack of good sleep, lack of food and coffee, the weird headache and scratchy throat, or any number of trip-related things.
But his brain was stuck on an earlier conversation, and he couldn’t let it freaking go!
Branson blinked at him. “What the hell did I do?” he asked, more baffled than angry.
Tarius had stuck his hand in the hornet’s nest. Branson was laser-focused on the problem, and now there was no chance of pulling out without a few brutal stings.
“It’s not you, it’s something you said earlier that caught me off guard.
But it’s not something we’ve ever talked about, which is actually a little surprising. ”
“Which was what?”
“When you were talking to Constable Quillen, you said you supported abolishing the death penalty.”
“I do. So?” Branson’s eyebrows arched. “Don’t you?”
“No, not for all crimes, of course not.”
“But…” He stared at Tarius, confusion pinching his brow and flattening his lips. “But you’re a defense attorney.”
“I work for defense attorneys, and I love my job, but there are still certain crimes that are so intolerable to me, certain criminals so completely unrepentant of their crimes, that we’d be a safer society if they were humanely killed, leaving no chance of them ever escaping or committing further harm against another human being. ”
Branson’s face hardened. “My omegin was tried for capital murder. He faced the gallows if found guilty.”
Tarius expected this argument, and Branson didn’t disappoint.
“But he wasn’t found guilty of any felonies.
He pled guilty to a misdemeanor. By the end of that trial, no one believed Kell deserved prison time for what he’d done, much less death.
” No one except Kell’s father-in-law, Haus Iverson, who’d deserved far worse than life in prison for his varied and disgusting crimes.
Even though the man had died behind bars years ago, he should have died much sooner.
“What about Liam?” Branson jerked to his feet and glared down at Tarius. “He purposely stabbed a man in the gut and then made their car hit a tree. Mancini died because of Liam’s actions. Did Liam deserve to die for taking a life?”
“Of course not!” Tarius stood, too, hating that he’d accidentally created this fight, and wishing he could say what Branson needed to hear so he’d calm down.
But Tarius didn’t want to lie, not about this.
Not ever to Branson. “You cannot compare Liam and Kell to true monsters like Hank Mancini and Haus Iverson, or like Esom Dent.”
“Dent? He died a long time ago.”