Chapter 13 #2
“My brother was a bastard. The best kind, but a bastard, nonetheless. He liked to toy with people because it was easier for him to do that than to risk getting hurt. He’d call and ask me about my life, but he’d never answer any of my questions—” he looked down at the podium in front of him.
Briefly, he wondered how many tears had been shed there over the years, and how many more it would take until the varnished surface showed any damage.
“I always figured—who cares? He doesn’t want to share?
He wants to play Mr. Independent? Fine.” He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, sensing the crowd wanted to refute his statement.
“But then, shut up and take it, you know? Killing yourself after refusing help? That’s a coward’s move. ”
The shift in the crowd’s mood was immediate.
Suddenly, their mourning dissipated as they began muttering among themselves about Beckett’s comments, nodding and shaking their heads.
Beckett figured that they were either with him or against him.
Encouraged by their reactions, he leaned closer to the microphone.
“Anybody else—I would have understood. But him? With his pompous attitude and his big fancy degree?” He shook his head and snorted derisively. “I had a great older brother, but I guess he ended up being nothing but a selfish fucking prick.”
Before Beckett knew what hit him, Jackson leaped out of his seat and, with a brutal shove, knocked him away from the lectern.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Jackson growled, grabbing Beckett by the back of the neck and shaking him hard enough to rattle his back teeth.
Dragging him along beside him like he was a bag of trash, Jackson headed for an office behind the vestry and literally tossed him into the room.
Slamming the door behind them, he yelled, “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
After picking himself up off the floor, Beckett threw his shoulders back, fully intending on taking on his older, much larger brother. He might get his ass beat—okay, for sure he would definitely not come out of this looking too good—but when the fuck had that ever stopped him?
Abruptly the door opened and Hayes walked in. Sizing up the situation in two seconds flat, he advanced on Jackon and glared at him warningly.
“Leave it!” Hayes ordered sharply.
“He’s fucking lost it! Did you hear—”
“Leave. It.” Hayes repeated coldly, through gritted teeth.
Jackson held Hayes’ stare for a long, intense moment before backing down. With a growl of frustration and clenched fists, he stomped out.
Beckett and Hayes stood shoulder to shoulder watching him leave. Just the two of them against the world, the way it should be, Beckett thought with a sigh of satisfaction.
Once Jackson was out of sight, Hayes turned to Beckett with a sympathetic expression.
“I should have prepared something before I got up there,” Beckett reflected with a pained grimace.
“I don’t know—it felt pretty honest,” Hayes refuted with a faint smile.
“My brother’s dead. I could have lied, or some shit. Instead—I just told everyone he was an asshole.”
“It’s how you feel,” he said, shrugging.
Beckett found Hayes to be unbearably adorable whenever he jumped to his defense, which was especially true in this instance.
“Still—it was a dick move.” Beckett frowned and looked sheepish.
“Franklin would probably say you are a dick.” Hayes patted him on the shoulder and smiled crookedly.
Beckett wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at that.
“I should have lied. He’s dead. I should have just gotten some flowers.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. From what I know about Franklin, he was more of the cactus type,” Hayes replied, shaking his head.
Beckett’s bark of a laugh turned into a harsh sob.
“I feel like I’m going insane,” Beckett admitted, finding that saying the words made them a helluva lot more dramatic than just thinking them. He glanced over at Hayes with desperation in his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because—” Beckett began, swallowing hard as the words stuck in his throat. “’Cause I don’t believe it.” He met Hayes’ warm gaze, wanting him to see and understand his inner turmoil.
“Don’t believe what?”
“That he’s dead. I know we saw the tape—and I know—” Beckett shook his head, his anger and grief creating a maelstrom of internal confusion. “But something doesn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain this exactly, but I just can’t—I can’t fathom that the fucker would do this!”
Hayes took his time mulling this over.
So many expressions crossed his face that Beckett couldn’t read them all. Amazing really—this visible proof that Hayes had come a long way from the buttoned-up, stoic puzzle he’d once been. Beckett decided he’d be better off keeping that to himself.
“You don’t think he’s dead?” Hayes asked, seeking confirmation.
In response, Beckett simply shook his head.
“Okay—so, what do you want to do?”
Hayes’ ready acceptance took Beckett by surprise. He thought it would be harder than this to persuade his logic-based partner that something was hinky. Beckett took a second or two to recalibrate.
“You—I mean, you think I’m right? You don’t think I’m insane?”
Hayes responded with a warm, understanding smile that made Beckett want to tackle him to the floor and lick him all over.
“Oh, sweetheart, I figured out you were insane the day I met you—doesn’t mean I don’t believe or trust you.
” Hayes accent was much more pronounced whenever he expressed strong emotions, which was irrefutable proof of genuine sincerity.
“I also know your gut is rarely wrong—so—what’s the plan?
” Hayes rubbed his hands together briskly, signifying his readiness to get down and dirty for whatever Beckett had in mind.
Beckett’s heart lifted with renewed faith and hope.
He knew Hayes loved him. They’d been saying as much to each other for several months now, but Hayes’ immediate acceptance and support of anything and everything he needed meant more than he could possibly express.
Beckett had always been a few miles east of alright.
He knew he had a tendency to sound insane to most people.
It just hadn’t occurred to Beckett that above all else, having someone to back him up, no questions asked, would be his kryptonite.
He chuckled at the level of insanity they shared, deciding it should be embraced shamelessly and enthusiastically. More convinced than ever that Hayes would be there, right along with him, no matter what he said or did, made him feel invincible.
“We’re going to dig him up,” Beckett declared, absolute certainty in his green eyes.
“What?” Hayes looked horrified.
“Franklin. We’re going to let them put him in the ground and then—we’re going to dig him up.”
There’s nothing like digging up a grave in the wee hours to make you reconsider all of your life choices.
First, it should be noted that Hayes didn’t regret anything.
Second, he loved Beckett, and he’d follow this man to the inner and deepest circles of hell if he asked, but this—this felt like an “Aha!” moment.
The moment when realization hits that the price of love is directly linked to the loss of brain cells every step of the way down that road.
“You have to account for the dirt that will roll back in,” Hayes told Beckett as he watched yet another avalanche of dirt fall back into the hole his partner was digging so industriously.
His futile efforts to get anywhere fast with this project were almost laughable.
Hayes turned away for a moment to compose himself.
“Keep your eyes on your side of the grave, you kinky motherfucker,” Beckett muttered, grunting with effort between shovelfuls. He sounded exhausted—rightfully so, since he was working twice as hard as Hayes, doggedly plugging away.
“Seriously. If you slow down, then you reduce the amount of dirt that falls back in the hole. The job will get done a lot faster,” Hayes replied, ignoring his partner’s wisecrack.
“How do you know so much about digging graves?” Beckett stopped digging and whirled around with a suspicious look on his face.
“Not my first one,” Hayes replied with a quick shrug.
“I know I’m just a measly grunt, but I’m pretty sure gravedigging is not in the SEAL curriculum!”
“My uncle lived off the grid. He was a hunter. Easiest way to dispose of big carcases was to bury them,” Hayes said, resuming his shoveling.
“And he made you dig the graves?” Beckett asked with a small shiver of disgust.
“Sure.” Hayes wondered why Beckett was making such a big deal of it. “Came in handy when I had to clean up the CIA job.” Hayes was reminding Beckett of the CIA job that had blown up in their faces so spectacularly when they’d gone to New York to help Chase.
“Maybe you should’ve dug a bit deeper—fucking Campbell found your clean up job way too easily,” Beckett muttered.
“Says the man who’s been digging the same two feet for the past hour,” Hayes replied, giving as good as he got. Clearly, Beckett’s smartassery skills were starting to rub off on Hayes.
“Hey! I’m grieving! You’re supposed to be nice to me!”
“You’re digging up your brother—grieving isn’t the word I’d use.”
While most people in his situation would have been offended by Hayes’ remark, Beckett just snorted and kept digging.
Hayes slacked up a little, turning to watch his boyfriend’s shoulders move in the faint light of the moon.
Even though Beckett had bitched about it, he ended up taking Hayes’ advice and had slowed down.
He was working quietly, and Hayes wondered what might happen to his boyfriend’s calm demeanor if they found his dead brother buried here after all.
Beckett had seen more than his fair share of dead bodies.
But there was a world of difference between seeing a dead G.I.
in a war zone and coming face-to-face with your older brother’s corpse in a graveyard.
“Did you—have you considered what you’ll do if—” Hayes faltered, striving to choose the right words.