Chapter 63
Reid
Main Street had gone soft around the edges by the time Reid stepped out of his car.
Light spilled from the restaurant windows onto the sidewalk. Voices drifted from doorways.
He should have been home—eating something forgettable, opening a file he had no intention of reading. Thinking too much. Sleeping badly.
Instead, he’d found himself parking two streets over and walking without quite admitting, even to himself, where his feet had decided to take him.
He slowed near Sully’s—just as the door opened and Deck O’Rourke came out into the night.
The older man stopped short when he saw him.
For one beat, they just stood there.
Deck had his jacket slung over one shoulder, expression carved into its usual rough lines, silver at his temples catching the light from the sign behind him.
“Well,” Deck said. “If it isn’t the district attorney lurkin’ around town like a man with no good plan.”
Reid huffed a laugh.
“Good evening to you, too.”
Deck let the door swing shut behind him and took his time settling his jacket properly.
“You headed somewhere,” he said, “or just wearin’ grooves in our sidewalks?”
Reid slid a hand into his pocket and looked up the street toward nothing in particular.
“Undecided.”
“Christ,” Deck muttered. “That bad, is it?”
Reid looked back at him.
Deck studied his face for half a second, then came to whatever conclusion he needed.
“Ah,” he said. “Worse. You’re thinkin’.”
“That’s, generally, how most of us make decisions.”
“Not well, from what I’ve seen.”
Despite himself, Reid smiled.
Deck noticed but didn’t comment. Instead, he shifted his weight and looked out over Main Street.
“She’s back,” Deck said.
Reid went still.
The movement was slight. Barely there. But Deck caught it anyway.
“I figured as much,” Reid said evenly.
“Did you?”
A challenge, not a question.
Reid exhaled.
“I saw her car.”
“Mm.”
Deck folded his arms.
“And yet, here you are,” he said, “standin’ outside a bar three blocks from her place lookin’ like a man drafting closing arguments in his own head.”
Reid did not answer.
Deck’s mouth flattened.
“Let me save you some time, Calloway. Whatever noble, self-sacrificing speech you’re buildin’ in there, she’s already got one of her own. If the pair of you start takin’ turns martyrin’ yourselves, we’ll all be dead of old age before anyone gets a decent kiss out of it.”
Reid laughed then, sudden and short.
Deck pointed at him. “There. Good. You’re still alive.”
He dropped his hand.
“She loves you,” he said, like he was commenting on the weather.
The words hit hard. Reid had spent days trying not to say them that plainly, even in his own head.
Deck kept going, merciless.
“And unless I have badly misread you—which I haven’t—you love her right back.”
Reid looked away toward the courthouse steps rising pale in the distance.
After a moment, he said, “This town has opinions on everything.”
“This town’s not who I’m talkin’ about, now is it?”
“No,” Reid said quietly. “I suppose not.”
Deck nodded once, as though they had finally arrived at the part where honesty might be possible.
“She is scared,” he said. “And when Eleanor gets scared, she starts running.”
Reid let that sit.
It felt true enough to hurt.
“She thinks distance is protection,” he said.
“Aye.” Deck’s voice lost a little of its edge. “Always has.”
“And if I push—”
Deck turned to look at him fully.
“Son, with respect, you are the district attorney. You know the difference between pushin’ and showin’ up.”
That landed.
Reid met his eyes.
Deck jerked his chin up the street.
“She went to Charleston to breathe. Fine. Good. Maybe she needed it.” His eyes narrowed. “But she came back.”
Reid’s chest tightened.
“Yes,” he said.
“So stop standin’ out here like you’re waitin’ on permission from the universe.”
Deck stepped closer—not aggressive, just certain.
“Get your arse over there,” he said. “Knock on the woman’s door. Tell her the truth plain, for once in your well-pressed life, and bring your girl home.”
Reid stared at him.
Deck held the look without blinking.
Then, because he was Deck and apparently unwilling to leave well enough alone, he added, “And if you start talkin’ like a brief instead of a man, I’ll come over there myself and fix it.”
That got a real laugh out of Reid.
“Noted.”
“Good.”
Deck started down the sidewalk, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
“One more thing.”
Reid waited.
Deck’s expression shifted, barely. Enough to show the affection under all the gravel.
“Don’t wait for her to invite you in,” Deck said softly. “She’s spent her whole life thinkin’ she’s too much trouble to ask for what she wants. If you wait for her to ask, you’ll be waiting forever. Walk through the damn door.”
Reid felt that one all the way down. He nodded once, sharp and sure.
“Understood.” This time, he started walking.