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Nico cleared his throat, struggling to find the words. “I, uh . . . I wanted to come by and tell you in person that I’ve, uh . . .”
Fuck. Why was this so hard?
“You’ve what?”
There was no hope in George’s voice. No expectation. It was too late for all of that now.
“I’ve taken a new posting. Here. As the new lieutenant.”
Nico waited for the eruption of rage and disapproval. The spitting anger. The disgust.
George shifted his gaze to the sunrise, his eyes squinting slightly at the glare. “Sergeant Hellman told us you were coming.”
“He did?” Nico wasn’t sure how he felt about his former sergeant going behind his back like that.
Eyes still on the sky, George said, “I hoped it wasn’t true.”
Nico’s head ducked in shame, an automatic response. “Listen, George, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but I hope you believe me when I say that it’s not my intention to cause you any undue stress—”
“ ‘Undue stress?’ ” He chuckled. “How diplomatic of you.”
Nico exhaled. “I’m sorry . . . If my being here is . . . painful for you. What happened with Sara—”
“Don’t,” George warned, his tone sharp. “Don’t you say her name.”
Birds were happily chattering in the trees nearby, their cheerful songs unfitting for the blanket of sorrow and regret draped over the two of them as George stared him down.
“Alright. I’ll go.” Nico paused, unsure how to say his next words without causing offense. Gesturing to the house, he said, “But if you and Esme need anything, any help with . . . repairs, maintenance . . . or just anything, I’m here.”
“Yes,” George replied. “You are.”
Realizing all too late that perhaps this entire idea had been a grave error—that maybe there was no atoning for past mistakes, only the pain of continuing on despite all that had been lost—Nico turned to leave, then hesitated when he heard the front door open again, revealing a far too-skinny Esme Riley. If he’d had a hard time looking at George and his decline, Esme was a thousand times worse. Her hair, once a glossy raven, was now streaked with silver, falling in a dull heap across her shoulders. Her skin creased with new lines, made all the more visible by the gauntness of her pale, weary face.
Eyes that matched her husband’s glared at Nico as she lifted one spindly hand toward him. “No,” she whimpered. “No, no, no, you’re not supposed to be here.” She spared a look at her husband. “You said he wouldn’t come. You said he wouldn’t . . . ” Turning back to Nico, she pressed her hands to her middle, whether to hold herself together or an involuntary reflex as she recalled the child that once grew in her womb but never lived to see her thirtieth birthday, he didn’t know.
“How dare you show your face here?” she demanded.
“Esme, I . . .” Nico’s heart splintered. He’d never hated himself more.
“Sweetheart,” George said softly, coming to wrap an arm around his fragile wife’s shoulders. A gesture that caught Nico off guard, considering the last time he’d seen them, George had been anything but gentle with her. A tyrant of a man was how he’d been described, not only by his wife in a brief, private conversation with Nico, but everyone else authorities had spoken to at the time. It appeared time, or grief—perhaps both—had softened him.
“Go inside,” he told her. “I’ll handle this.”
Esme’s jaw trembled. She tore her gaze away from Nico and looked at her husband. “You promised me,” she whispered, before stomping back into her home without so much as another glance at Nico.
I will mourn forever. That’s what she’d said when the news of Sara’s death had come. Words branded onto his conscience, never to be erased.
Nico braced himself for a hiding. If George wanted to beat him to within an inch of his life for simply existing while their daughter rotted in the ground, he’d take it. But that’s not what happened. Instead, George surprised him by descending the three porch steps and coming to stand before him, man to man.
Looking away as if embarrassed, he said, “She’s not been in the best frame of mind since . . .”
Nico worked his jaw, equally uncomfortable. “I can only imagine.”
George looked at him, all hints of vulnerability gone. “I don’t want you coming back here, understand? I don’t want your charity; I don’t want your help.”
Nico’s throat bobbed, but he nodded.
“Just leave us the hell alone.”
