Chapter Eighteen
Nate stood as Wesley shook his head.
“Not at all. How can I help you?”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “I’ll keep this short; you’ve been through enough already. I’m here about your assault and a possible connection between you and a missing thumb drive.”
“Would you like a chair, Detective?” asked Nate.
“Yes. Thank you.” She offered him a nod and faint smile.
Nate tugged the chair he’d been sitting in around the hospital bed.
Detective Hollis maneuvered it closer to the bedside and sat. She pulled out a small notepad from her pocket and flipped it open. “Go ahead, Mr. Byerly.”
Wesley shifted slightly, careful of his ribs, and walked her through the events of two days ago.
The pen scratched across the page in quick bursts, shorthand maybe, Wesley thought.
“So what about this thumb drive?” She looked up, her eyes sharp and steady, dark as chestnuts.
“If I had a thumb drive in the backpack, it would’ve had third-grade lesson plans or thomething on it.
” Then Wesley remembered—and hesitated. His ribs ached, but not half as much as the tightness in his chest. Would she judge him?
Well, it didn’t matter. He’d been judged his whole life.
“But I loaned the one I usually take to the club to my neighbors.”
“Your usual one what? And what club?”
He nodded. “The bag I take into Omaha. There’s a place I go thometimes. A private club. That’s where I was the night of the original attack.”
A wisp of surprise flickered across her face. “I was told this was a single incident. You’re saying there was another assault?”
Nate squeezed his hand in silent support and encouragement.
Wesley gave a brief explanation—where he’d been, what had happened—leaving Nate out of it. Nate’s presence at the club didn’t seem pertinent at the moment.
She took notes, her pen clicking softly as she wrote. “And you’d brought a different bag that night because the regular one wasn’t available?”
“Right.”
“Who has that bag now?”
“Annie and Hank Monroe. Neighbors. They borrowed it for a trip.”
“And this club in Omaha—what kind of club are we talking about?”
Wesley hesitated for half a beat, then exhaled. “It’s a private membership club. Dithcreet. Gay-friendly. It’s...not illegal or anything. But people go there expecting privacy.”
The detective’s eyes flickered up from her notes. “Understood. You ever see anyone suspicious while you were there? Anyone paying particular attention to you?”
“I never thought tho.” Wesley shook his head, frustrated.
She nodded slowly, scribbling more notes. “Anything else you can remember?”
“No.” He dragged a hand over his face and hissed at the pull of muscles and flexors.
“Wait.” The details of this latest assault were fuzzy, but a memory flickered into focus.
“One of them—he thaid the drive was put in a little pocket on the thtrap. Like it was already there when I grabbed the backpack.”
She straightened and clicked her pen closed.
Wesley blinked. “Do you have any idea why thomeone would go after me?”
Detective Hollis’s expression softened. “Not yet. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.
What you’ve told me helps narrow down some things, but there’s a lot we still don’t know.
” She slipped her notepad into her jacket pocket.
“This isn’t just local anymore. The first assault, the thumb drive, the club—that all falls under Omaha’s jurisdiction.
I’ll need to refer this up the chain. Someone from Omaha PD will reach out to you directly.
” She moved to the door. “Take care, Mr. Byerly.”
Wesley let his head fall back against the pillow as the door clicked shut behind her. The room was quiet again, but his thoughts weren’t.
Nate gave his hand another small squeeze, not pushing, just holding on. “I’m here.”
Wesley didn’t know what came next, but he knew he wasn’t facing it alone. That counted for more than he could say.
* * * * *
Sunlight slanted across the carpet and the recliner. Wesley lay nestled beneath the blanket from his bed, the sky so bright and blue beyond the picture window it hurt to look at. He was recuperating in Nate’s condo once more.
He didn’t remember much of the ride home; just the hum of the car, the throb in his ribs, and Nate’s hand hovering like he could keep the pain at bay.
He’d leaned into Nate the whole way up the elevator, half-limping by the time they reached the twelfth-floor hallway.
The pain flared hard again somewhere between the front door and the recliner, and by the time he sank into the large leather chair, he was shaking with the effort required just to stay upright.
Now, he was finally still, and the worst of the pain had dulled. The meds were working. Or maybe it was just the way this place—Nate’s place—had started to feel safe and familiar, like something he could sink into.
Wesley turned his gaze down the length of the open space, looking for Nate.
The quietness of the condo offered a sharp contrast to the incessant low-level buzz of the hospital.
For the first time in days, he wasn’t under a microscope.
No beeping monitors, no clipped voices, no antiseptic sting in the air.
Nate approached, a bottle of water in one hand and a bowl of something in the other. “I’m not going anywhere,” Nate said. Not as a question. Not as a reassurance. Just a truth.
“I know.” Wesley blinked slowly. “I believe you.”
Nate set down the water and the food and knelt next to the chair, settling one hand lightly on Wesley’s leg. The contact was grounding.
“I remember something.”
Nate’s brow furrowed as a frown appeared. “I thought you didn’t have any memory loss.”
“I don’t. Not really. It’s more like everything’s jumbled. The attacks, the hospital, the cops—it’s all out of order bits and pieces. But the fragments are starting to re-order themselves.”
“Okay, good.” Nate rocked back on his heels and rose just enough to perch on the sofa cushion on the other side of the end table. He rested his elbows on his knees, waiting for Wesley to continue.
“I remembered that I never actually signed the resignation papers. My medical insurance should still be in effect.”
“Not that I wouldn’t have helped you, but I’m glad. One less thing to worry about.”
“Agreed. But I’m still going to resign.”
“Why? I thought you loved teaching. Officer Bennett wants you to be his daughter’s teacher.”
Wesley couldn’t help the grin, although every bruise in his face complained.
“Really? That’s so sweet and I’d have loved to teach her, but I’m not staying where who I am is a problem.
They want a resignation? They’ll get one, but on my timeline, my terms.” The decision no longer felt like a loss. It felt like taking his life back.”
“Good. That’s how it should be,” Nate said. He rose and brushed his lips against Wesley’s temple before settling back on the couch and nudging the bowl in his direction.
Wesley reached for it, muscles protesting. Creamy ivory oatmeal with more than a drizzle of Nutella tugged at his stomach and his throat at the same time—comfort food, made all the sweeter because Nate had thought of it.
Silence stretched between them as Wesley ate slowly; not uncomfortable—complete. Nate’s steady presence pressed warm against the raw edges of Wesley’s resolve.
I love you hovered on his tongue. Was it too soon?
Eventually, he whispered, “I didn’t think I’d ever get this. Any of it.”
Nate’s soft blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, you do. You get me. You get us. I get us.” He leaned forward and let his hand settle briefly over Wesley’s forearm, warm and steady. “You’re home now.”
That was a huge expression considering how much Nate hated this place. But home was a person in this case, not a place. “Yeah,” he said, voice shaking a little. “I am.”
He let the moment settle, warm and steady in his chest. Then, almost absently, he said, “I still think it’s wild that yours was the first unlocked car I found that night.”
Nate smiled—a slight curve of the lips, small but sure. “I don’t know how that happened.”
“Me neither.” Wesley exhaled a slow breath, let his eyes drift shut. “But I’m glad it did.”