Chapter 30 #3
“Overdue,” Franklin summarised. “It’s not quite over, of course.
Mario appeared in front of the judge this afternoon.
He’s pleading not guilty, of course, but the judge refused to let him out on bail, so—there’s that.
Matthew has to meet with his siblings in the morning—make sure none of them suspect what he’s up to or—keen to follow in their uncle’s footsteps. ”
“Is that likely?”
Franklin shook his head.
“His sister is already in the loop. She wanted Mario gone as much as Matthew did. The twins—well, they were always a long shot, but Matthew doesn’t foresee any trouble there. As long as they get a generous share of their uncle’s businesses, they should be content.”
Beckett hummed thoughtfully.
“So what’s next?” he asked, finding himself genuinely curious.
“Next?” Franklin asked, petting the furball in his lap.
Beckett hadn’t noticed the furball until now.
He seemed as disinterested in Beckett as most girls had been in high school when he’d gone all awkward and pimply.
He wondered briefly where Adeline was. Had he missed her departure?
If so, he was somewhat surprised she hadn’t managed to steal Nickel.
“Should I buy a tux for the wedding? Practice the nuptial march on my 5th grade recorder?”
“God—please, anything but that. You were horrendous.” Franklin was right about that.
He shook his head, but he smiled fondly to himself.
“He’s discussed it with his sister. He’ll be withdrawing from most family affairs—keeping only the real estate business in his name.
Hopefully, between that and his caritative work, he’ll stay busy,” Franklin said, sounding awfully proud.
Like one might boast of re-homing a Pitbull.
“I’m sure Mom will be glad to know he’s leaving drug trafficking to his siblings from now on,” Beckett said, not all that impressed by Matthew’s progress.
“I’m not planning on introducing them,” he said, shrugging, like that was a non-issue as far as he was concerned.
“Really? Then how do you expect to explain your faked demise? Just—a bad cough that got misdiagnosed? This isn’t the fucking 1600s! No one gets buried alive anymore,” Beckett said with a disappointed frown, hoping Franklin could tell how ridiculous he sounded.
“Well—” he hesitated, looking everywhere but at Beckett as he continued to stroke the dog in his lap. “Perhaps it’s easier if I—don’t explain it.”
“Yeah—risen from the dead with no explanation is definitely not going to fly any better than dating a Mafia boss is.”
But Franklin shook his head like it was Beckett who was being dense now.
“I mean that maybe it’s best I stay dead.”
And whether Franklin was brave or foolish, he did meet Beckett’s hard stare. But Franklin couldn’t maintain the staring contest. Perhaps he’d expected to find consideration, or empathy—but Beckett had none to give. All he had was cold, resolute anger.
“No,” Beckett said, and as the word echoed around the room, he felt as if he was channeling his father.
“You have to—"
“No,” he repeated. Cold and short. “Whatever rubbish you’re about to try to sell me—no. I won’t idly stand by and watch my mother grieve over losing a son simply because you’re too much of a coward to face the music.”
Perhaps it was having his own words turned against him, or Beckett’s unyielding tone, but Franklin didn’t offer any arguments. His jaw clenched and he ducked his head to stare at the dog in his lap.
“You should get some sleep while you still can—we’re leaving first thing in the morning,” Beckett declared firmly, downing the rest of his water and getting to his feet.
“It’s already morning,” Franklin pointed out.
“Then first thing come—mid-day!”
He turned back towards his bedroom, fatigue hitting him all at once.
“Beckett—” Franklin called, halting Beckett’s progress.
He turned back towards Franklin, one eyebrow hitched. Ready to fight once more if need be.
“Thank you,” Franklin said.
Beckett was stunned to realise he hadn’t expected or needed to hear those words from him. But he felt gratified all the same.
He smiled, and sighed. A yawn came on suddenly and he shook his head to stop it as he focused on Franklin.
Eyes drooping from exhaustion, he took in his older brother’s silhouette in the chair—unable to name the feeling that settled over him as it finally dawned on him that he was truly here—truly alive.
“Can’t pretend I understand what you see in him,” Beckett said, nodding in the general direction of Matthew’s bedroom. “But I hope he makes you happy.”
With that parting comment, Beckett headed back to his room. Hayes was half asleep as Beckett crawled into bed and snuggled up to him. He pressed a kiss to Hayes’ shoulder, the skin sweet and soft beneath his lips.
“Had a good talk?” Hayes asked. Maybe they’d been loud enough for him to hear their conversation, or maybe he’d simply deduced what had been going on in the living room.
“At least I didn’t punch him,” Beckett said. He nestled his head closer to Hayes’ chest, and felt the comforting rumble of his chuckles.
He was asleep a minute later.