Chapter Eleven — The Dangerous Brother #2
“What are you doing?”
“Calling him.”
“Why?”
Ronan stared.
“Because police are outside his apartment.”
“He has a lawyer.”
“Elliot.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
The command landed harder than intended. Elliot's expression closed. Ronan noticed.
“Not today.”
“Fine.”
Ronan called. Dylan answered quickly enough that Elliot could hear his voice from several feet away.
“Ronan.”
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
“Are they coming in?”
“My lawyer's on the way.”
Ronan paced toward the windows. Elliot remained seated. Watching. Listening.
“They say they have more questions.”
“Don't answer until your lawyer gets there.”
“No shit.”
“Did they say what about?”
“No.”
A pause. Then Dylan's voice dropped.
“They asked if I knew you.”
Ronan stopped. Elliot's attention sharpened.
“What?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“I don't fucking know.”
Elliot stood. Ronan looked at him. Dylan continued through the phone.
“They asked how long we've known each other. Whether you've been to my apartment.”
Cold settled into Elliot's stomach. There. Police weren't simply looking at Ronan. They were connecting him outward. Dylan. Victims. Jealousy. Violence. Everything Elliot had spent years allowing Ronan to look like. Ronan said, “What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
“Which is?”
“That we're friends.” “Anything else?” Silence.
Ronan's expression hardened. “Dylan.” “They asked if we'd slept together.” Elliot's jaw clenched.
Ronan looked toward him. Their eyes met.
“And?” “I said yes.” Elliot looked away.
Ronan's voice remained controlled. “Anything about Elliot?” Another pause.
Elliot's attention snapped back. “Dylan.” “They know, man.” “What did you tell them?” “That I thought something was going on.” Ronan closed his eyes.
Elliot felt heat rush through him. “Thought?” Ronan said.
“I didn't know for sure.” “Apparently enough to tell homicide detectives.” “Ronan.” “You could've said nothing.” “They asked directly.” “So?” “So I'm already being looked at for two murders.” Elliot laughed quietly.
Both men fell silent. Ronan looked at him.
“Not funny.” “No.” Elliot's smile disappeared.
Dylan asked, “Is he there?” Ronan stared at Elliot.
“Yes.” “Tell him I'm sorry.” Elliot spoke loudly enough for the phone to catch it.
“No.” Ronan gave him a warning look. Dylan sighed.
“Great.” “Call me when your lawyer gets there,” Ronan said.
“Yeah.” The line ended. Silence. Ronan placed the phone on the island.
Elliot stared. “He told them.” “They already knew.”
“He confirmed it.”
“What did you expect him to do?”
“Keep his fucking mouth shut.”
“That's easy for you to say.”
“Yes.”
“Because you're not the one they're treating like a suspect.”
Elliot froze. Ronan heard it too late. The sentence hit exactly where it shouldn't.
“You're right.”
“That's not what I meant.”
“No. You're right.”
“Elliot.”
He stepped away from the island. Ronan caught his arm.
“Stop walking away from every argument.”
“I'm not arguing.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I'm realizing something.”
“What?”
Elliot looked at him. Maybe this was the problem.
Ronan thought Dylan was vulnerable. Ronan thought Elliot was safe.
The equation was backwards. Dylan had police, a lawyer, parents, friends.
Ronan had Elliot. And Elliot had no intention of letting anyone turn Ronan into a convenient monster because Elliot had been too careless to protect what belonged to him.
“Nothing,” Elliot said.
Ronan sighed.
“Fuck that word.”
Elliot smiled. This time, Ronan didn't. By noon, Ronan's name had reached local television.
Not officially. No police statement. No reporter standing outside his house.
Just enough. A blurred screenshot of the online post appeared during a segment discussing public speculation.
The anchor explicitly warned viewers against identifying private citizens.
Then displayed Ronan's photograph anyway.
Elliot stood in the living room watching.
Ronan had stopped watching twenty minutes earlier.
He sat at the kitchen island working on his model, pretending none of it mattered. The reporter spoke carefully.
“Bellweather Police have not identified any person of interest in either homicide.”
The screen showed Saint Augustine's Park. Then Lucas's photograph. Then Mason.
“Officials are also urging the public not to circulate unverified claims regarding individuals connected socially to either victim.”
The photograph of Ronan disappeared. Too late. Elliot's phone vibrated. Claire.
CLAIRE: people are posting ronan
Elliot typed:
ELLIOT: i know
CLAIRE: is he okay?
Elliot looked toward him. Ronan bent over the model beneath the pendant lights. Knife in hand. Dark hair falling over his forehead. Fucking calm.
ELLIOT: he's fine
Claire responded.
CLAIRE: are YOU okay
Elliot stared. Interesting.
ELLIOT: yes
CLAIRE: police came to campus again
ELLIOT: why
CLAIRE: asking about ronan
Elliot's body went still. He typed:
ELLIOT: who
CLAIRE: people who were at halston
CLAIRE: apparently they're asking if he was there
Elliot looked at Ronan. He hadn't been. Good.
ELLIOT: he wasn't
CLAIRE: i know
Then:
CLAIRE: elliot they're asking about how he acts with you
The room seemed to narrow.
ELLIOT: what does that mean
Her answer took longer.
CLAIRE: protective
CLAIRE: jealous
CLAIRE: controlling
Elliot's jaw tightened.
ELLIOT: who said controlling
Pause.
CLAIRE: idk
Lie. Elliot recognized Claire's lies. They contained too many abbreviations.
ELLIOT: claire CLAIRE: people talk ELLIOT: who No answer.
Ronan looked up. “You're doing the face.” “What face?” “Murder face.” Elliot stared.
Ronan smiled. Bad wording. Terrible wording.
Elliot almost laughed anyway. “Claire says police are asking about you on campus.” Ronan put the knife down.
“What exactly?” “Whether you were at Mason's party.” “I wasn't.” “I know.” “What else?” Elliot hesitated.
“Us.” Ronan's shoulders tightened. “Again.” “Apparently.” “Great.” “Someone called you controlling.” Ronan laughed.
That wasn't the reaction Elliot expected.
“What?” “Are they wrong?” Elliot stared.
“Yes.” “Elliot.” “You're not controlling.” “I tell you what to do constantly.” “I ignore you constantly.” “Fair.” “You don't control me.” Ronan looked at him.
Something warm entered his expression. “Good.” Elliot hated that word in this context.
He crossed the room. Ronan watched. “What?” Elliot stopped between his knees.
“You're not going to let them arrest you.” Ronan blinked.
“What?” “If this gets worse.” “That's generally not something you get to veto.” “I'm serious.” “So am I.” Elliot's hands settled on Ronan's shoulders.
“You didn't do anything.” “I know.” “Then don't protect anyone.” Ronan's expression changed.
“Who?” “Dylan.” There it was. Immediate irritation.
“Jesus Christ.” “I mean it.” “You think I'm going to confess to murder for Dylan?” “No.” “Then what?” “If there's anything you haven't told police because it makes him look bad, tell them.” Ronan stared.
Elliot continued. “Anything.” “You're suddenly very pro-police.” “I'm pro-you.” Silence.
Ronan's irritation weakened. Elliot leaned closer.
“They're building something around you.” “You don't know that.” “Yes, I do.” “How?” “Because that's what I'd do.” Ronan frowned.
Elliot realized the sentence had come out wrong.
“If I were investigating.” “Right.” Ronan studied him.
Elliot smiled faintly. “Psychology homework.” “Bullshit.” The word was affectionate this time.
Almost. Ronan wrapped one arm around Elliot's waist. Elliot relaxed slightly.
“You're scared,” Ronan said. “No.” “Liar.” Elliot looked down at him.
“Maybe.”
Ronan's hand tightened.
“There it is.”
“I don't like people thinking you're dangerous.”
Ronan smiled.
“I am.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because they're listening.”
Ronan laughed. Elliot didn't. The laugh faded.
“You really are worried.”
“Yes.”
Ronan looked at him for a long moment. Then pulled him closer until Elliot stood between his knees.
“I'm not going anywhere.”
Elliot's chest tightened.
“You can't promise that.”
“Watch me.”
“You don't control the police.”
“No. But I control what I do.”
Elliot swallowed. Ronan's forehead rested briefly against his stomach.
The gesture surprised him. Ronan rarely sought comfort.
He gave it. Demanded it. Mocked Elliot for needing it.
But rarely took it. Elliot's fingers moved into his hair.
Slowly. Possessively. Mine. The thought came easier than breathing.
If Bellweather wanted a dangerous brother, Elliot could give them one.
They simply had the wrong name. Detective Vance arrived at 2:18 P.M. No warning.
No phone call. One moment Elliot and Ronan were sitting in the living room.
The next, someone knocked on the carriage-house door.
Three firm knocks. Ronan looked toward it.
Elliot knew before either moved. He didn't know how.
Maybe pattern recognition. Maybe instinct.
Maybe paranoia had finally become useful.
“Stay,” Ronan said.
Elliot stared.
“Excuse me?”
Ronan stood.
“Just stay there.”
“You're proving the controlling rumor.”
“Cute.”
He walked toward the door. Elliot followed. Ronan looked back.
“What part of stay was confusing?”
“All of it.”
Another knock. Ronan opened the door. Vance stood beneath the porch roof.
Dark coat. Badge visible. A uniformed officer waited several feet behind her.
Ronan's body changed. Elliot felt it. Shoulders wider.
Posture straighter. Protective. The version strangers found intimidating.
Elliot almost wanted to tell him to soften.
Instead, he stood beside him. Vance looked between them.