The Same End (The Lamb and the Lion Book 3)

by Gregory Ashe

  THE SAME END

  THE LAMB AND THE LION

  BOOK THREE

  GREGORY ASHE

  H&B

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Same End

  Copyright © 2021 Gregory Ashe

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests and all other inquiries, contact: contact@hodgkinandblount.com

  Published by Hodgkin & Blount

  https://www.hodgkinandblount.com/

  contact@hodgkinandblount.com

  Published 2021

  Printed in the United States of America

  Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63621-011-7

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-63621-010-0

  For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other.

  Ecclesiastes 3:19

  1

  “I don’t want to kill anything,” Tean said into the phone as he unlocked the door and stepped into his apartment. “I’m already named for a murderer; that’s bad enough. Besides, I haven’t been hunting in twenty years, probably more.”

  His brother Amos sighed. “You don’t have to kill anything. I’m not inviting you to go hunting.”

  Scipio, Tean’s black Lab, bounded off the sofa, stretched, and then crashed into him. A wet nose found his hand, and Scipio did some happy whining to fully communicate how thrilled he was that Tean had returned. “You, Corom, Timothy, Seth, and Dad go hunting every Pioneer Day weekend.”

  “We go camping. And every year we invite you, and every year you refuse to go.”

  “Because you’re not just going camping. You’re going hunting.”

  “We go hiking. We cook potatoes in the Dutch oven. We try to find constellations. We eat s’mores and listen to Dad’s dumb jokes. Like we did when we were kids.”

  “And you do some hunting.”

  On the other end of the call, Amos made an irritated noise that he suppressed quickly. “I’m just trying to get you to see the big picture. Yes, we go hunting.”

  “And fishing.”

  Another of those noises. “And fishing,” Amos said; it sounded like he was gritting his teeth. “But you’re missing the point. The point is that this year, we’re not going camping.”

  “Hunting.”

  “Teancum, please!”

  “Fine. What are you doing instead?”

  “We’re going to Vegas.”

  “Sin City? Bold choice. What does your wife think about that?”

  “It was Bailey’s idea, actually. She won some sort of KSL giveaway. Five tickets to Celine Dion. She’s taking Mom and the sisters-in-law; Sara and Miriam opted out to give the other girls a chance to bond. They’re even taking the kids for four days. We come back late on Pioneer Day.”

  “I hope you have a great time.”

  “And you know Bailey, so she called the hotel and talked them into reserving a block of rooms for all of us. It’s an unbelievable rate.”

  Tean tried to repress a shudder. He’d once seen Bailey break down a Hobby Lobby clerk, leaving the poor man in tears, over a ten-cent price adjustment on a baby-Jesus-themed wreath. “Even better. I hope you all have a great time.”

  “A block of rooms for all of us, Tean. That includes you. Come on, please. This is a chance for us to bond, just the guys, while the girls do their thing.”

  Tean cradled the phone against his shoulder as he helped Scipio into his harness. “I’ve got too much work. A moose injured a hiker, we’re still trying to figure out how bad the damage from the Beaver Mesa fire really is, and we’ve got to inspect close to fifteen thousand boats for invasive mussels on the hulls. I’ve got enough work for the rest of the year.”

  “Great. You’re never going to catch up on it, so you might as well take a few days off and hang with your brothers.”

  “What about Jem?”

  “I don’t think even Bailey can get another free ticket to Celine.” Doubtfully, Amos added, “Not this late.”

  Scipio led the way out of the apartment, and Tean pulled the door shut behind him. They went downstairs. “Do you want to try that again?”

  “I was just joking.”

  “Jem isn’t my wife. He’s not even my boyfriend. He’s my friend.”

  “Nobody else is bringing friends.”

  “Why can’t I bring him?”

  “You just said he’s not even your boyfriend. He was unbelievably rude last time he came around, and he made everyone feel horrible—Mom cried, by the way. And I don’t know why you feel like you need a bodyguard so you can attend family events. If you’ve got a problem with us, you can tell us yourself. We don’t need your friend sticking his nose into our family business.”

  “He’s not sticking his nose—”

  “Does he even allow you to go places by yourself? Are you permitted to see your family on your own?”

  “Goodbye, Amos.”

  They stopped at the first available stretch of grass so Scipio could relieve himself, and then they headed south. Salt Lake City was an oven in July, the dry heat baking the air. The whole city felt gritty with dust—they might not have precipitation again until the first snowfall—and where the sun danced on glass and stucco, it was so bright that Tean had to squint.

  Everyone was looking for ways to beat the heat. He passed a kebab shop, its doors propped open, two fans humming to circulate air—and, as a bonus, blowing the smell of seared meat into the street, probably in the hopes of attracting customers. Scipio was definitely interested. A glitzy, upgraded hipster version of the old-fashioned ice-cream truck was parked at the next corner, and the line of people ran for half a block. Tean had no idea what mochi balls were, but if they were this popular, Jem had probably already tried them and fallen in love with them. Catty-corner, a pair of Latina girls were running an ancient shaved-ice machine, their only client a middle-aged woman who was digging through her purse while the kids threw murderous looks at the mochi truck.

  Tean and Scipio were halfway to Liberty Park when his phone buzzed. It was Amos again. Tean dismissed the call. At the next crosswalk, it vibrated again. Cor, the next brother in line. Then, when they got under the shade of an elm, Timothy. At this rate, they’d burn through the immediate family before dinner, and then Tean would be ignoring calls from his ailing, elderly great-aunts until he put his head under the wheel of a mochi truck.

  When Seth called, Tean answered and said, “What?”

  “Oh. I didn’t think you were going to answer, so I honestly wasn’t ready.”

  “Goodbye, Seth.”

  “No, wait. Can I start with Amos is a jerk, and we’re all sorry?”

  “How often do you talk to each other? Is there a group chat I don’t know about?”

  “Yes, obviously. Except you do know about it. It’s on that app you refuse to download. I’ve sent you ten invites.”

  “I’m not going to Vegas.”

  “Please?”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Ok. That’s fine. I mean, we’ll miss you, but that’s fine.” Someone had set up sprinklers in one of the open fields of the park, and kids were d
arting through the spray, laughing, shrieking, slipping, coming up muddy and grinning. “Would you at least think about it, though?”

  “You know that you guys do this with everything? You invite me, invite me, invite me, and you don’t want me there, but then I’m the bad guy if I don’t go.”

  A diesel dump truck rumbled past, the engine so loud that it obliterated other sounds.

  “Do you really feel that way?”

  “Never mind. I’m tired. I’ve got a lot going on.” When they got to the fenced section of the park, Tean knelt to unhook the leash from the harness. He opened the gate and let Scipio race inside. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m not going to be able to make it.”

  “You know what?” Seth said.

  Tean shook his head and didn’t answer.

  “Your friend was right about a lot of stuff. But you’re not giving us a chance to make it better.”

  “Right. Got it. It’s my fault again.”

  “Don’t do that. You know this was Dad’s idea, right? This is all about you. Just like every conversation we have in this family is about you. He’s told everyone who would listen that he wants you there.”

  “Dad’s freaking out because I stopped writing Mom blank checks,” Tean said.

  “Jeez, Tean, I get it! Dad’s an asshole! Quit letting him screw up your relationship with people who love you.”

  At the other end of the fenced area, Scipio was playing tag with a Pomeranian. The Lab would get as close as he dared, and when the Pomeranian whirled around, Scipio would shoot off in the other direction.

  Tean started to laugh. Then Seth started to laugh too.

  “I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever heard you use a bad word before,” Tean said.

  “Well, it’s not the first time.”

  Tean sat on a bench; the back was hot from the sun, and he rested his elbows on his knees, watching Scipio play. “So, what? Everybody resents me because I’m the black sheep and you have to talk about me and think about me and pray about me?”

  “You are an extremely frustrating person sometimes. Did you know that? If this is what you put Jem through, somebody honestly ought to give that man a medal.”

  “You should hear him when I make him wash the dishes. You’d think he was the victim of a war crime.” Then Tean’s face heated. “We’re just friends, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  “He’s crazy about you; that’s obvious. He stood up for you. Heck, you dragged him to a family party, and he didn’t run away screaming. You should probably jump straight to marrying him.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is it because of Ammon?” Seth sounded hesitant. “Just so you know, well, everybody knows. More or less.”

  “It’s complicated. That’s all.”

  “That’s your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Seth, if I’m being totally up front, I don’t think I can talk about it. Not with you, anyway.”

  Scipio had taken up position near the fence and was barking at joggers.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” Seth said.

  “I’ll think about Vegas,” Tean said. “I need to go. Please don’t make Great-aunt Gilda call me.”

  The call ended in taut silence.

  After collecting Scipio, Tean headed back to the apartment. The line for the mochi truck was longer. The Latina girls had packed up, maybe to try their luck somewhere else. Tean considered stopping at the kebab shop, but then he remembered he had a brick of tofu and a few cloves of garlic at home, and he figured he could make something out of that.

  As he neared the apartment building, he heard Mrs. Wish screaming.

  “Stop it right this minute! I absolutely will not tolerate this behavior. You are both gentlemen, and you will behave—no, Senator Borah, don’t you dare, I will not—” And then more screams.

  His neighbor was an older woman in a housedress printed with sailboats, her white hair up in a bun. She was currently trying to wrangle three of the Irreconcilables. The cats’ leashes had gotten tangled, and two of them—Senator Poindexter, a Siamese, and Senator William Borah, a Bengal—were hissing at each other, lunging, trying to fight. The third cat, Senator Frank B. Bandegee, a domestic shorthair with a white patch on her chest, was pulling in the opposite direction. Mrs. Wish was yanking on the tangled leashes and screaming.

  Tean secured Scipio’s leash to the trunk of a short-needled pine, and the Lab flopped onto his stomach, obviously curious to see how Tean sorted this out. Tean got his leg between the fighting cats, clapped his hands loudly a few times, and when Senator Poindexter retreated and hissed at him, Tean took the leashes from Mrs. Wish’s hands. He untangled Senator Poindexter’s, passed it to Mrs. Wish, and said, “Take him back to the apartment, please.”

  “No, no, we’re going to work this out. They just need more time together.”

  “That’s only going to make things worse. Take him back, please.”

  “I really think they’ll be the best of friends if they’d just—”

  Senator William Borah hissed and lunged again, and Mrs. Wish let out a shriek. She stumbled back, dragging Senator Poindexter with her, only barely managing to keep her balance.

  “I am very disappointed,” she announced, straightening the housedress. “I am very disappointed in all of you.”

  Still untangling Senator William Borah and Senator Frank B. Bandegee, Tean had the suspicion that he was included in that statement. Mrs. Wish trundled back to the apartment. Tean retrieved Scipio. The Lab had watched the proceedings with disinterest, but when Senator Borah got within range, he bent and sniffed at the Bengal.

  “Leave him alone,” Tean said, using the leashes to force the animals apart.

  Scipio sneezed. He was still eyeing Senator Borah.

  “I know,” Tean said. “This is why we don’t have cats.”

  On his way back to the apartment, he got a text from Ammon: Want to grab dinner? Tean dismissed the message without replying.

  By the time he made it upstairs, Mrs. Wish had gotten Senator Poindexter inside her apartment, and she stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips.

  “This is absolutely unacceptable behavior, Senator William Borah,” she said. “I will not stand for it.” To Tean, she said, “I’m sorry you had to see that, Dr. Leon. I thought we’d reached a détente, but it seems they’re determined to act like little boys instead of gentlemen.”

  “Mrs. Wish, they’re not acting like boys or men. They’re acting like cats. Unneutered cats. And if I had to guess, I’d say Senator Frank B. Bandegee is in estrus. This is why you should have all of the Irreconcilables fixed; you’re not going to be able to socialize them out of this. It’s instinct.”

  “Well, I should hope not.”

  “I’m sorry, but it is. You can’t fight nature.”

  “Senator Frank B. Bandegee is an excellent young lady, but the boys have other choices, and I’m sure they can find a way to—”

  “It’s not about choices, Mrs. Wish. And it’s not about logic or reason. You’ve got two males who are fighting over a mate. That’s not going to end well; you need to take care of this, even though I know you don’t like your options.”

  Mrs. Wish frowned, the lines around her mouth deepening. Then she shook her head. “We’ll just continue to go on walks. They’ll work things out between them.”

  Sighing, Tean passed over the leashes. Then he led Scipio to their apartment. As he was heading inside, he got another text, this one from Jem. It was a GIF of a woman eating an enormous bowl of pasta, which was Jem’s way of asking if Tean wanted to get dinner. Tean dismissed that message too.

  Tean shook his head, already thinking about Mrs. Wish again as he helped Scipio out of his harness. He wasn’t sure why so many people fooled themselves into thinking that if they ignored a problem, it would eventually go away.

  2

&nbs
p; “Hold on,” Jem said into the phone. “This might be them.”

  “I don’t care,” Tinajas said. Keys clicked on her end of the call. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Just hold on.” Eyeing the white Mercedes GLE through the window, Jem decided these were the people he’d been waiting for. “It’s them, but they’re not getting out of the car for some reason.”

  “I don’t care. Really. I do not care at all. I have a rich, fulfilling life that has nothing to do with you.”

  “Really? It sounds boring. Wait, wait, I think they’re arguing.”

  “Again: do not care. You called me at work to bother me—”

  “I called you at work to harass you.”

  “—and complain about how bored you are—”

  “Well, I like to keep you updated.”

  More clicking from Tinajas’s end of the call. “—in spite of me repeatedly telling you not to bother me at work. Great. Consider me officially updated. Goodbye, Jem. Sell a house, make lots of money, and pay me back the five hundred dollars I loaned you.”

  “Loaned me? I thought that was a birthday present.”

  “It wasn’t. It was a loan. Which is what I told you when I gave you the money and made you sign an IOU to pay me back.”

  “I thought that was my birthday card.”

  “Really? You thought you were signing your own birthday card?”

  Sensing that he might have spun things out a little too far, Jem said, “This guy looks really douchey. He keeps checking his sunglasses lanyard.”

  “Goodbye, Jem.”

  “And the wife is way too young for him. Oh, maybe she’s a mistress?”

  “Sell a house. Pay me my money.”

  “She looks like she’s got fake boobs.”

  “Do not call me at work ever again,” Tinajas said and disconnected.

  From inside the house, which was currently for sale, Jem took one last look at his prospective clients. They were definitely arguing. He made a quick tour of the ground floor—everything was in order, but it felt creepy to stand at the window, watching them—and settled himself in the kitchen. He checked his phone. He sent Tean a GIF of a woman eating pasta. He considered doing this showing with an accent. Maybe Swedish. Or—or he could pretend to keep getting lost. That was a new one. He could walk straight into a closet and pretend to be completely baffled that it wasn’t the butler’s pantry or whatever these fucking jackals wanted. He was willing to do anything, at this point, that made the game even the tiniest bit less boring.