Let It Go (18 page)

Eli wasn’t his son but he may as well be. Tom felt the same now. He looked from Randy standing near the door, his shoulders stiff, his jaw set. He knew that look. Randy was doing his level best not to take something apart. Most likely the bedraggled man sitting in the chair hiding his face behind his knees, blood-covered hands gripping his shins, his shoulders shaking. “What happened?”

“All he said was Eli was attacked. I haven’t questioned him. I can’t do it right now, Dad, there’s another deputy on the way.” Randy wouldn’t turn to look at the scarecrow in dirty jeans. He wouldn’t even look at Tom. “He was my best friend. I can’t be the one.”

“Okay. We’ll deal with it. How’s Eli?”

“He was out cold when they took him back. I haven’t heard anything since.”

Tom clapped his son on the shoulder. Randy was a good man. If Creed Dickson had snapped and taken Eli on, maybe it was a mistake putting them out there alone. This was his fault. The scarecrow of a man looked up, tears streaking his dirty face. This wasn’t the same broken kid who had sat across from him even a week ago. Something was different. Stunningly handsome even half-starved as he’d been that day in his courtroom, Creed was even more handsome now after two weeks of a steady diet. The old man driver had been right about that much. Someone needed to save that boy from himself. And someone needed to save Eli. Treadwell seemed to think the two of them would be good for each other. At least they’d settle their decade-long crusade to kill each other. One way or another. Looks like it was the wrong way.

“Want to tell me what happened to Eli?” Tom sat down beside him, careful to keep his voice neutral. “How did Eli come by his injuries, Creed? Did the two of you—”

“I didn’t do this.” Creed sat up straight, his eyes bright with anger. He held one hand against his chest rubbing the thumb as if it ached. He seemed to realize what he was doing and settled his hands on his knees. Tom noticed the bruises on the man’s torso and raised an eyebrow.

“Then who did?” His voice softened. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, son.”

Creed sat for a moment flexing his hands as if he was trying to decide what to do with them. Tom noticed the scar that ran from between thumb and forefinger down to his wrist. Razor thin, surgical looking. The bruises on his neck, his chest. The blood on his shirt. His hands, which were remarkably free of injury. “He was in the stable. I didn’t hear him come in. I didn’t know he was anywhere around. He—he didn’t even fight back. He just took it. Just let him do that to him. He didn’t even cry out for help.”

“I’m confused, son, who was in the stable?” Tom watched as stark terror crossed the man’s face. He’d never seen terror like that before. Yes, he had. In every abuse victim he’d ever had to question. In the faces of women and children. But never a man.

“Eli’s uncle, he has a beard now. I haven’t seen him in years but it was him. He didn’t say anything, he just started shouting and he tossed Eli like he was nothing against one of the columns in the stable. He raged at him. Beating him. And he took it. He just took it.” The hand went back to his chest. He held it tight. Guarding the old injury.

“Owen was in the stable? Owen went into a rage and—”

“Yes. Mason was in the stable. He caught us and he went crazy. I wouldn’t hurt Eli. I’ve never once hurt Eli. Not even when he spent years trying to make me hurt him. Why the hell would I start now? Now when—” Creed turned away, his mouth clamped tight, his eyes gone blank. He shut down while Tom watched.

“What did Owen catch you and Eli doing?” He didn’t have to ask. He could see it.

Creed pulled his shirt closed. Almost as if he suddenly realized he wore one at all. His face changed, softened somewhat. “Kissing. Making out. Whatever you want to call it. Eli and I and … and…” Fresh tears started. His hands shook when he covered his face. “He’s going to hate me for telling that.”

“I know that Eli is gay, Creed, I’ve known for a long time.” Nine fucking years. The last time Owen had gone off his fucking rocker. At least he could have left the boy his fucking horse. “I didn’t know Owen was in the state. He doesn’t come around here anymore. Eli—Are you in love with him, son?” Tom saw his own son’s head turn their way. Anger flashed in his eyes. A moment of something he’d never seen before was there. He’d forgotten his question when the strangled “yes” sent Randy out of the ER.

“Okay, son, it’s okay.” Tom didn’t have time to wonder why Randy left. He needed to find out Eli’s condition. So much of Creed’s story needed—well, hell, it was nine years ago all over again, wasn’t it? Except this time the boyfriend had stuck around.

“I took the bullwhip to him. He’ll have lash marks on his neck and shoulders. Find him. Lock him up where he can’t hurt anyone again,” Creed whispered, his chin on his knees; he traced the scar on his hand with a finger.

“I’ll see what can be done. You’ll have to make a formal statement. I need to talk to Eli. I need to check on Eli first. Will you be all right out here?” Tom ran his hands through his hair.

“As long as Deputy Dickhead doesn’t decide to take me apart,” Creed said, looking toward the sliding glass door where they could see Randy pacing on the sidewalk.

“You need to stop listening to Eli, son, he’s a bad influence. Smart-ass just like his father. Okay, stay put. I’ll be back.” Creed just nodded and Tom left him to find answers of his own.

* * * *

The son of a bitch sold Opie. Just sold the fuck out of his horse. The horse his dad had given him for his tenth birthday. Opie was just a baby then. A foal. They’d raised him from there. Evan loved riding Opie. Eli would lead him around the pasture while he said “giup OP.” Evan had named him Opie. He couldn’t say his real name. Eli couldn’t even remember the horse’s real name. Opie became Old Paint as he aged. He was only nine; still a young horse and that bastard sold him.

Eli came home for the first time since his parents died. His back was going to be scarred for the rest of life. Ribs cracked. He was lucky he’d protected his head. Randy was away going through the police academy. He’d flunked out of college. Tom—he’d said to call him Tom—was pissed about it, but Randy never really fit in the academic world. Even Eli remembered that much about him. Not stupid, just not interested. Their fathers were lawyers. They owned a firm in town. Eli slept in Randy’s room. When he could manage it, Tom took him out to the house. It looked the same, sort of, just run-down. The animals were long gone. The pastures overgrown.

“He sold off everything he could. I blocked the sale of the property. I did the best I could, Eli. I tried my damnedest to keep him from taking you away. Your dad had the sense to put the finances and the practice in my hands. He didn’t think he’d need to—well, no one does when they’re young. Owen was blood; the judge sided with him. I can’t do much for this place. I paid the taxes and insurance. It’s all I could salvage. One day you can rebuild. Or we can sell it. I can help with that for you.”

“No, no sale. I don’t know if I can ever live here but I can’t sell it. I remember when the house was new. I lived in a pink house. Nobody else had a pink house.”

Eli moved in after Christmas. Tom had spent the better part of the year trying to find Owen and then trying to find Opie. He wouldn’t say much that summer when he said that there was nothing else he could do. Eli wasn’t stupid either; he knew Tom had found the horse. He knew it was better that he didn’t know where. He’d murder Owen if he knew. Tom knew. Tom knew everything. And Eli didn’t need to ask to know. He knew.

Eli went to school; for two years he went to school cramming in as many classes as he could. After that he went back on the circuit. He’d finish law school eventually. Right now he needed to ride. He needed to win. He needed to kick ass. The long-haired upstart Creed was just as he remembered him. Taller maybe. Better in saddle broncs than anyone had a right to be. And Eli was going to put him in his place if it killed him.

“Where’s Creed?” He tried to sit up as soon as Tom came into his cubicle. “Tell me Randy doesn’t have him in county lockup?”

“He’s in the waiting room.” Tom raised an eyebrow at him. This was familiar. Tom watching a nurse bind his damned ribs. “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah.” Eli looked away, too fast, his vision swam. “Looks like concussion. They’re going to do a scan. Is Creed okay?”

“Why is Creed Dickson your first and seemingly only thought?” Tom sat on the doctor’s exam stool and looked up at him. Eli shrugged. What was he supposed to say? “Tell me why I shouldn’t have Mr. Dickson arrested for attempted murder?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eli tried to sit up but failed. His ribs hurt like a bitch. They didn’t think they were cracked, just bruised. His mouth felt like raw hamburger and he still heard bells ringing in his ears. “Creed didn’t—”

“Then tell me who did? I have Creed’s story. But I have no reason to believe it. It’s frankly a bit far-fetched. Easier to believe that a down on his luck rodeo bum would look to settle the score with you. After all, you’re the reason he’s off the circuit. That works for me. I’m going to have Randy drag him in for processing. Attempted murder. Maybe he was looking to profit off your assets somehow. That’s a fortune in horses out at your place. He’d know that.”

“Tom, what the fuck, Creed didn’t, Creed wouldn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t he? Just because you’re in love with him doesn’t mean he returns that sentiment. Face it, Eli, he’s just fucking with you until—”

“Owen. Owen. Are you happy now? Don’t you dare bring my—don’t say things you can’t prove, Tom.” He finished ducking his head as the nurse patted him on the shoulder. He lay back, embarrassed now. “He’s a good man, Tom, he wouldn’t hurt me. I don’t know how or why but Owen was in the stable. Creed saw him first. He—Tom, he was terrified. Just stood frozen staring over my shoulder at something. I didn’t have but a second to figure out who he even was; he’s changed, grew a beard, still huge. Still mean as fucking hell. I—He was in a rage, calling me whore, or faggot. And Creed didn’t move. I’ve never seen anyone—I don’t know what happened. It’s a blur. Screaming, cussing, and pain, and just like Oklahoma City I wake up in the damned ER.”

“It was Owen in Oklahoma City, wasn’t it?” Tom knew. He had always known. Eli had just never come out and said he was right.

Eli sighed, pain from his chest shooting through his body. “It was always Owen. Oklahoma City was just the worst.”

Tom was silent for a long time. His jaw clenched. “I suspected. I see abused kids all the time. I didn’t want to believe.”

“Yeah, well, it’s over now.” But Eli knew that was a lie. If it was over he wouldn’t be in the damned emergency room waiting to get his head scanned. “Can I see Creed?”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure the doctors know to call him back.” Tom stood up but he didn’t leave. “I’m going to send a deputy in for both of your statements. And Eli, don’t even think about not pressing charges.”

“I’m not stupid. He left me to die nine years ago. At least this time it wasn’t that bad.”

“You can thank Creed for that,” Tom said cryptically before he left.

* * * *

The deputy paced outside for several long minutes after the judge went through the ER doors. The look on his face every time Creed caught sight of it scared the hell out of him. He’d seen anger like that before. Usually before he locked himself in the bathroom for hours, or after he forgot to lock himself in the bathroom—Creed shivered. Randy flexed his hands, his gaze locked with Creed’s through the glass door. The man wore a fucking gun on his hip and his onetime best friend lay unconscious beyond those doors. Creed wouldn’t believe him either if he were in the other man’s shoes.

He shook off the fear that consumed him when Randy started back into the waiting room. Time to be on his toes, Creed realized. Feet on the floor, hands loose on his thighs. Nonthreatening, benign, harmless, innocent, he schooled his face, looking to not get this man angry enough to draw his gun.

The deputy lumbered across the beige tile floor, his shiny black shoes squeaking a little with each step. He stopped beside him. Creed steeled himself for the blow. Instead, Randy sank onto the seat one away from him and leaned over his knees, hands clasped. He looked down at the floor.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Creed pulled his legs back into the seat and rested his chin on his knees. The triage nurse came and went; there wasn’t anyone else waiting, just him and Randy.

“We were in seventh grade.” Randy’s voice seemed thicker than usual. “Science class. Right after lunch. Dad came to the room and motioned for the teacher. Eli and I left together. Dad didn’t say anything. We sat in the back of the Crown Vic, both of us scared out of our minds. My dad had never come for us. Never. Usually it was Eli’s mom. That morning she was supposed to drive Eli’s little brother to Pensacola. Because of the weather his dad went with them that day. They dropped us off at school and told him they’d see him tonight.” He wiped his eyes. Creed sat silently while Randy cleared his throat. “I was a horrible person. My first thought was that Eli would live with us and be my brother. I was thirteen; it never even occurred to me that Eli wouldn’t ever see his family again. And then it did. Eli just sat on the bottom bunk in my room. A lot like you’re sitting right now. He didn’t say anything. He just stared off into space. For three days. One week later he was gone. His uncle took him out of school and disappeared with him. Dad was furious. He filed kidnapping charges. Everything he could think to do to get him away from Owen. In the end, Eli didn’t come back.”

“Judge Buchanan is your father,” Creed said, feeling stupid. Of course he was; Randy was a younger version of the judge. Probably the spitting image of him thirty years ago.

“Yeah,” Randy grunted. “I wasn’t great at the college thing. I’d rather be the one chasing down bad guys than getting them off on technicalities, you know.”

“I wasn’t so great at the whole school thing either. Never stayed in one place long enough.” Creed shrugged when Randy looked up at him. “But Eli did come back, he’s here now.”

Randy just stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. He shook his head. “The Eli that came back was a stranger. I wouldn’t have recognized him except for the hair. That, and Dad told me he was home and sleeping in my room. That Eli was barely even a person. His eyes were so damned cold, angry all the time, he said thank you and please when my mom offered him food or to do his laundry. That was about it. That fall he sat on the back deck and drank. Dad said to give him time. But no one ever told me time for what. I wasn’t in the loop. I tried to get him to go out. Tried to get him to go fishing or riding. He wouldn’t get near the horses. One night I saw the welts on his back. And I knew. The welts were still fresh, pink, barely healed over, but the damage was older than them. Years older. They trained us to spot abuse. I never once thought that the first pair of soulless eyes I’d see would be Eli’s. Dad raised his hand one day to swat at a fly or something silly like that; he was standing too close to Eli when he did it and Eli hit the floor. He moved out to his parents’ house the next day.”