Chapter 31
“I could just—call her,” Franklin said. He sounded small and frightened, much like a little boy, which was rather shocking to hear.
But Beckett didn’t blame him. He had his own problems to deal with when they got to their parents’ house. He was scared out of his own fucking mind. Far more so than he’d ever been, even when he was in the Corps preparing for a firefight in the desert.
“No,” Beckett said. “You fucked it up, you unfuck it in person. Besides—she’ll want to meet dipshit.
” He gestured towards his newly official brother-in-law.
Matthew was looking particularly dapper today—like he’d brought out the big guns to impress.
His expensive tastes were subtle. Quiet elegance, Hayes would call it.
He should know—he had that quality himself.
“We just—hardest part is getting out of the car,” Beckett assured his older brother, hoping Franklin wouldn’t be able to see through the bullshit.
“I think it’ll be the ass-whooping, personally, but you lie to yourself if you need to,” Franklin said, killing Beckett’s confidence in his attempts at subterfuge.
Beckett took one more deep breath and prepared himself to step out of the car, just as his door was pulled open, revealing the incredible specimen that was Hayes Monroe. He looked a little less than pleased as he peered down at Beckett expectantly.
“I’ve let you stew for 10 minutes—might be time to get your ass in gear before she looks outside and comes to meet you,” Hayes pointed out.
They’d driven separate cars. Beckett had driven Franklin and Matthew, too afraid they’d wimp out and instruct their personal driver to turn around and head back to Montreal.
Hayes had driven there on his own using their rental car.
“Agent Monroe has a point, darling. As angry as she’ll be, it’s perhaps better to meet her on home ground, I think,” Matthew said, kindly.
Beckett begrudgingly admitted that he didn’t hate the man quite as much as he had initially. Every time he witnessed Matthew interacting with Franklin, he despised him a little less. He was still an asshole—but he’d done right by Franklin. A brother really couldn’t ask for more than that.
“You’re right,” Franklin conceded, and refusing to procrastinate a moment longer, he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car. Matthew followed him.
Beckett stepped out last, but he was the first to enter their childhood home. Alone, like a scout sent ahead to check out what might lie ahead of the troops.
“Maman?” he called out, as soon as his feet hit the familiar entryway tiles.
He heard the telltale sound of her puttering about, along with an excited dog announcing his homecoming, and then she appeared in the doorway of the kitchen looking—haggard.
It was a Tuesday morning—she hadn’t expected company—but Beckett didn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother so sullen and downtrodden.
She was still in her pajamas, and the top and bottom were mismatched.
That was the first anomaly. Her naturally curly hair was haphazardly gathered into a frizzy bun.
The bags under her eyes showed her lack of sleep, and the red, irritated skin under her nose told Beckett she’d been crying quite a bit.
“Beckett?” she said, in mild disbelief. “Hi, sweetheart! Une belle surprise! What are you—” she began, rushing up to him for a hug.
She squeezed him tightly—like she might be trying to fuse them together.
“Let me look at you,” she said, as she pulled back, lifting her hands to gently frame his beaten up face.
Her eyes betrayed the depth of her concern as she took in the myriad cuts and bruises.
“What happened to you—oh, my baby,” she cooed sympathetically.
“I’m fine,” he promised, placing his hands on top of hers.
“You’re a fine liar. You always have been,” she chastised, before letting him go with a sigh and turned when she heard Hayes come through the door.
Beckett sneaked a look out the window to make sure Franklin was still waiting outside. They’d agreed Beckett would warn her first, which should lessen the shock of his return.
“Oh, Hayes, dear—what madness did he get himself into now? And tell me you’ve been keeping well away from it!” she exclaimed, rushing to hug him as well. She took her time inspecting every inch of his handsome face to make sure he was unharmed.
She turned back to study Beckett, her gaze raking over him disapprovingly, taking note of his overall appearance of having been run over by a bus. Or a herd of bison. Either way, he looked rough.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Beckett declared with a whine, that motherly disapproval having the effect of making him feel like a pre-schooler trying to avoid punishment.
“Don’t you play daft with me!” she warned him, waving a stern finger in his face.
“Except this time—he’s telling the truth, Mom. Beck’s messed up face is on me.”
So—Franklin had apparently taken a page out of Beckett’s book and gone with “fuck the plan.” He stood in the doorway, with one foot on the welcome mat—and one foot on the porch.
Their mother’s eyes widened with shock as she covered her mouth with trembling hands.
Everyone held their breath.
They’d speculated on her reaction while having breakfast that morning.
Franklin had wagered on mainly anger, followed by a long period of fussing, questioning, and ranting.
Hayes had put his money on crying and instant forgiveness, which he’d been thoroughly ridiculed for.
Beckett had guessed she’d be a mess of crying, hitting, and hugging.
She played all of them for fools by standing there silently. Then she looked over at Beckett and Hayes, as if making sure they’d witnessed his arrival as well.
“Franky?” she asked shakily.
He gave a quick nod.
She was on him in an instant, but didn’t say a thing. Not a word. She embraced him fiercely. She seemed gigantic then—towering above them all as she hugged him. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, her right hand settling in Franklin’s hair as her left ran up and down his back.
“Oh, my baby boy,” she said, barely above a whisper. Like a muttered prayer. “Thank you,” she said. It was anyone’s guess who she was thanking.
It was several minutes before she pulled away, and by then, Hayes had returned to his rightful place next to Beckett.
Silent and supportive. Beckett couldn’t have been more grateful for him.
When she finally pulled away, she had tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t sobbing like he’d expected.
She turned to Beckett with her lips pressed together firmly.
“You knew?” she asked, and it was a loaded question.
“Not at first,” he said, shaking his head. “I found out the day before we left.” He’d pondered the facts of what he’d done and ways he could frame his answers. He didn’t want to deceive her any more than she had been already.
She gave a sharp nod, and there was a flash of anger there, but she didn’t express it. She turned back to Franklin and seemed to notice for the first time the lanky figure standing there behind her son.
“Are you—” she hesitated, looking back and forth between Matthew and Franklin.
Franklin took a deep breath and offered their mother a soft smile that was rather uncharacteristic.
“Mom—meet Matthew—my boyfriend.”
That stumped her. She opened her mouth to say something—God only knew what, but then nothing came out. She just stared at Matthew like one might gape at seeing a magic trick.
“How about a cup of tea, Mrs. Thérault?” Hayes said, taking the lead in breaking the uncomfortable silence in the room.
She startled and turned to him, and whatever spell he’d managed to cast worked because she nodded frantically and walked over to Hayes. He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the kitchen, talking in a low voice about putting the kettle on.
“That’s—” Franklin began, clearly running out of words.
“I think you broke her,” Beckett said, transfixed by the sight of his mother leaning against Hayes as he seated her at the counter.
“Wait ‘til she hears about the sex trafficking,” Matthew said, shutting the front door behind him.
Beckett clucked his tongue and turned to his brother-in-law.
“FYI—I’m still not opposed to using Franklin’s recently dug up burial plot for your remains,” Beckett reminded him.
Matthew snorted dismissively, calling his bluff.
Beckett smiled evilly in response, contemplating the reassuring weight of his Glock in his shoulder holster, and the extra clip he carried at all times.
“Come on,” Franklin said, nudging Beckett as he walked past him and towards the kitchen. “This isn’t over.”
Hayes made tea. They all sat in the kitchen at the breakfast nook, avoiding looking directly at one another.
“Thank you,” she finally said as Hayes placed a cup of tea in front of her. He served everyone else, then sat down next to Beckett.
“Thank you,” Beckett said, hoping Hayes would sense everything he was thanking him for.
Hayes nodded and winked before leaning sideways to whisper, “This seems like the wrong time to be sober.”
Beckett snorted into his cup.
“Alright,” Cynthia said after taking a few sips of her tea. “Start from the beginning,” she said, looking directly at Franklin. “And don’t leave anything out.” Her gaze was intense and unrelenting.
Franklin could barely meet her eyes, but he nodded and took a deep breath. He was sitting across the table from her and had Matthew by his side.
Beckett would have bet his left nut that they were holding hands under the table.
Franklin told the full story, adding details Beckett hadn’t even known. He frequently exchanged glances with Matthew, as if seeking reassurance and support.
Their mother remained mostly silent throughout, taking it all in stride. She interrupted him once.
“You knew what he was involved with, and you accepted his advances anyway?” Cynthia asked about halfway through the story. It sounded—rude. After all, she was openly criticizing Matthew, but then again—the Rosario name spoke for itself.