North on Drummond

by K. C. Burn

  “No. No fucking way. What the hell are you trying to pull? Trying to get yourself a spot in the Phantoms segment? You don’t need to pull this elaborate bullshit to get Brett to give you an interview.” Cliff’s lips twisted into a sneer. “All you’d need to do is let him in your pants.”

  Drew gasped and pulled back as though Cliff had slapped him, but there was too much anger in Cliff for anything like remorse to take hold. Cliff stood, pulled out a couple of twenties, and threw them down on the table.

  “But—”

  “I have to get to work.” Cliff left before he let Drew’s big blue eyes, brimming with moisture, make him even think about believing this towering mountain of bullshit.

  “Cliff, wait!”

  Without acknowledging Drew’s anguished plea, Cliff dashed for the door. He wasn’t lying about needing to get to work, and if he gave any thought to what this might mean for his new relationship, the one he had such hopes for, he’d be a fucking wreck. As it was, Brett was going to sense trouble, like a shark sensing blood in the water. Cliff would have enough trouble keeping his temper with Brett, so the best thing to do was to pretend the whole discussion hadn’t happened. He could worry about it after his shift. With a stabbing pain in his heart and a sick flip of his stomach, he decided he might have to crash in Scott’s spare room after work.

  How could he have been so happy just an hour ago?

  * * * *

  Unable to put Drew’s story out of his mind, Cliff showed up at his mother’s estate still fuming. Brett better not be a fucking ass, or Cliff was going to make a habit of breaking noses. And probably get fired in the process, so he really hoped Brett wasn’t a dick. Then again, being a dick was Brett’s normal state of being.

  His stride ate up the ground, and before he was ready, he was already approaching the film crew. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a muscular blond man at the edges of the activity. Cliff couldn’t think of one good reason for Rob—there was no bruising on his face—to be here. Just as Cliff decided to confront Drew’s brother, Rob noticed him and slipped away behind one of the trailers.

  A frowning Scott got in Cliff’s way before he could chase the man down. “What is wrong with you?” Scott’s voice was low, and Cliff was thankful his friend did his best to keep it down.

  “What the hell is Rob Drummond doing here?”

  “As far as I know, your mom hired him to pick up some of the stuff she’d hired Andy for.”

  Cliff gritted his teeth. He’d have to have words with his mother about that, but later. The last thing he needed today was a constant reminder of the pending implosion of his relationship with Drew. Tripping over one of the evil twins wasn’t going to make it easy to put that out of his mind.

  “You gotta keep Brett out of my way today. Please.”

  “What did he do now?”

  Cliff let out a bitter laugh. “Not Brett. Drew. But Brett likes digging into open wounds and…well, let’s just say the leash on my temper is frayed.”

  At least today’s segment wasn’t inside the house but in some of the outbuildings that had had various purposes over the years. Inside the house, where filming was to take place tomorrow, his mother would likely witness it if he lost his shit all over Brett. Having his mother chastise him for doing so—which she would undoubtedly do, no matter how justified—in front of the Phantoms crew and his new partner would likely push Cliff into homicidal territory.

  “Trouble in paradise? That surprises me a little.”

  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Cliff managed to get the next words out. He told himself he was only angry, but he was hurt, badly, too. Drew knew how he felt, and he’d still decided to spin out this stunt to get on Brett’s show. “You said you had a spare room. Can I crash there tonight after work?”

  There wasn’t any hiding the surprise on Scott’s face, and he glanced around before dragging Cliff away from the filming and behind a large tree. Any other time, Cliff might have found it amusing, but not today.

  “Okay, what the hell is going on? I might not be in a relationship, and I realize this was sort of an intense beginning for you and Drew, but this is a pretty drastic step. Are you sure you want to do this? What happened?”

  What happened between him and Drew was so personal. If anyone else had asked him the same thing, Cliff would have told them where they could shove their questions. There was also a small part of him that wanted comfort, because he didn’t know if he could continue in this relationship. Drew’s betrayal wasn’t as bad as if he’d cheated, but it was a betrayal nonetheless.

  As emotionlessly as he could, Cliff relayed the story Drew had told him.

  “I just can’t believe he’d go to these lengths to try and get on Phantoms.”

  Scott’s eyes flared open. “He asked you to get him on Phantoms?”

  “I left the restaurant before he could ask, because I might have broken up with him right there.” Cliff’s breath hitched. The thought of not having Drew in his life left him light-headed, but how could he trust Drew after this? “I don’t know…I don’t know if that won’t still happen, but I’d rather not have to do it in front of the whole town.”

  The story left Scott stunned into speechlessness, and he peered around the tree as though checking for eavesdroppers. But Brett was the only one who’d care about this, and he’d been in the middle of filming a segment when Cliff arrived. At least the man had enough professionalism to harass people only when he wasn’t needed for filming.

  When Scott returned his attention to Cliff, he grabbed Cliff’s shoulders and squeezed, presumably to comfort Cliff, although it wasn’t quite doing the job.

  “We should probably get to work.” Now that he’d bared his soul, Cliff really didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He hadn’t cried since Pete died, and to do so over the actions of one of the Drummonds seemed the height of stupidity. He should have known better and listened to his brain, not his heart and cock.

  Scott rolled his eyes. “We both know this is a bullshit assignment for PR purposes only. And ironically, the person Brett needs the most protection from is you. So there’s no rush. We’re close enough if something happens, which it won’t.”

  Cliff dropped his gaze. He should have kept his fucking mouth shut.

  Scott’s fingers didn’t release their grip but only got tighter. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. You’re certainly welcome to stay in my spare room. But I want to say one thing, and I want you to listen.”

  One thing. Scott wasn’t capable of that sort of brevity, but Cliff was the one who’d opened the door for Scott to butt in on his relationship, so he’d just have to shut up and deal until Scott let him escape, hopefully without any tears. The important part had already been said—Cliff had a place to sleep tonight.

  “I don’t really think Drew is the sort to do what you’re accusing him of. He didn’t like Brett at all.”

  “Okay, I’ll take that under advisement. Can we go now?”

  Scott’s expression hardened to stone. “I might have lied about having only one thing to say, but you’re going to listen to me. You’re my friend, and I don’t want you unhappy. I also happen to think you’re making a colossal ass of yourself, and I’m hoping to keep you from making it worse.”

  Cliff barely held back a snarl. He didn’t need to alienate everyone in Sandy Bottom Bay in his first week. “Fine. Talk.” Listening to Scott might be marginally better than dealing with Brett’s taunts.

  “I know you’re sensitive to the whole supernatural thing here. I get why, and I know how much it pissed you off when we were in school. I know you think anyone who believes in it is a gullible fool. But let me ask you something. Is Drew Catholic? Baptist? Hell, is he a Buddhist? Muslim?”

  Cliff’s confusion broke through his anger, just a bit. “I don’t know. It hasn’t come up. We’re in Florida, so I’d assume Baptist, as long as the Drummonds don’t actually burst into flame the second they set foot in a church.”
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  A tiny burst of shame had his ears heating. He didn’t need Scott’s disappointed expression to know he’d overstepped. Assuming he and Drew could get past this, Cliff was going to have to refrain from openly disparaging Drew’s family, because that wasn’t fair of him. Not at all.

  “Okay, that aside,” Scott continued. “I know you were an atheist in high school. I’m assuming that hasn’t changed, right?”

  Cliff shrugged. “No.”

  “If Drew had told you he was a Baptist or whatever, would you have this same reaction? Would it make you this angry? Would it be worth breaking up over?”

  “No, of course not. Why would it?”

  “Belief in the supernatural isn’t a religion, of course, but from an atheist’s standpoint, what, exactly, is the difference between the two?”

  Some of the stiffness in his spine melted as shame heated his ears even further. “Oh shit. I…I fucked up, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you kinda did.”

  Cliff let his head drop, and he fought against the tears that had threatened ever since he’d walked out on Drew. He had all sorts of unresolved anger tied up in his mother’s beliefs and the resulting breakup of his family, and he’d brought all that anger and baggage and slammed it squarely atop his burgeoning relationship.

  “Oh fuck, Scott, what do I do?” Despite the fact that their current assignment was stupid and useless, he couldn’t just abandon his post to chase after his boyfriend, although Drew deserved a heartfelt and groveling apology. Assuming he would even listen, and at this point, Cliff wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

  Scott merely raised his eyebrows because, yeah, Cliff knew what he had to do. Apologize like he’d never apologized for anything before. After his shift, which seemed like an eon away.

  “C’mon. We need to get back to work, or your ex is going to come looking for you. You sure that’s not going to go anywhere?”

  Cliff did his best to compose himself. He had at least eight hours of dealing with Brett’s shit, if not more. “Why? You want a chance at celebrity ass?”

  Scott laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “Not hardly. Just checking. Because if you gave in, he’d probably be a lot nicer to work with.”

  A snort escaped Cliff. “That might be the worst reason I’ve ever heard to have sex with someone. Just sayin’.”

  Scott shook his head and started walking back toward the film crew. With a sigh, Cliff fell into step behind him.

  “You know, Drew asked me the same thing. About Andy.”

  The twitching muscle in Cliff’s jaw had been getting quite the workout since he’d arrived back in Sandy Bottom Bay. Now he wasn’t sure if he was upset that Drew must have gone to Scott first with this, or irritated that Drew was putting so much effort into this campfire horror story. “Really? When was that?”

  “Dunno. Earlier today, outside the station. I think he was looking for you, but a couple of the guys made some comment about a Drummond making the job easier by coming to the station on his own. So he didn’t tell me about his visions or whatever, assuming he was going to tell me that.”

  A fresh surge of anger had Cliff clenching his hands into fists. No mistake this time. However upset Drew had made him, knowing that some of his fellow officers were hassling his boyfriend was a million times more aggravating. Once word got around that Cliff and Drew were an item—assuming they still were—Cliff would knock their heads in if they continued to give Drew trouble.

  There couldn’t be anything to Drew’s murder…theory? No, calling it a theory gave it too much credence. Notion. Cliff scrubbed a hand through his hair. He might not have had much respect for the backwater town of his birth when he’d left, but from what he’d seen of the small police department, they were every bit as professional as he could hope. But there weren’t many murders in Sandy Bottom Bay. At least, not the sort of murder requiring investigation to determine the identity of the killer. Could someone have mistakenly pronounced an accidental death simply because it was so uncommon?

  God. He was making himself crazy. Brett better not be an asshole tonight, or Cliff’s hard-won control would snap.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Drew stood in front of the door of the mobile home where he’d grown up. His brothers had elected to remain there until their father was released from prison, but Drew was certain as soon as the man returned, his brothers would rent an apartment or something. None of them had particularly warm feelings for the hard man who…hadn’t raised them, exactly, but rather had spent time drunk in their general vicinity while their mother did the bare minimum for them as required by law.

  Lunch with Cliff had been disastrous. With no exaggeration. Cliff hadn’t wanted to hear one word about Drew’s new skill, and he’d looked so angry when he’d left, Drew wasn’t sure if he’d managed to irreparably maim the relationship of his dreams. He had no idea how to fix it either, because he couldn’t ignore what he’d seen. Not when taken in conjunction with the two previous visions.

  So here he was at the only other place where he might find some answers, since Kyle was still incommunicado. After a detour for another milkshake from the Dairy Devil, of course. Thank you, Helen Somerset. He actually felt a little less guilty for accepting her generosity, since it was her son’s intractability forcing Drew to seek mint-chocolate-chip solace for the second time in one day.

  He rang the doorbell, wondering if he should have gone by his brothers’ auto-body shop instead. For guys who’d never been much into honest work until their father had been incarcerated, they were usually at the shop very early in the morning, though they rarely stayed past midafternoon. The town was small enough that anyone who needed to pick up their car or have emergency work done only needed to text one of the brothers, and they’d show up at the shop. Most times, they’d even be sober.

  Wyatt flung the door open with a scowl, and a laugh sputtered out of Drew.

  The irritated expression on Wyatt’s face smoothed out, mostly. “What’s so funny?”

  Drew flicked a hand toward Wyatt’s bruised nose and matching remnants of a pair of black eyes. “I guess we’re the twins in the family now.”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Your boyfriend is an asshole.”

  Despite the recent tension between them, there was still a spurt of warm-fuzziness in Drew’s stomach at the acknowledgment of Northcliff Garcia as his boyfriend. It helped that Wyatt’s grumbles weren’t the serious “the Drummond twins are gonna pound the life out of ya” sort, not like the feral look that came into Wyatt’s—and presumably Rob’s—eyes whenever Brett’s name came up. Kyle had caved and told Drew exactly what had gone down the night he was injured, and none of it was worth his brothers going to jail for, so he figured he’d just not mention Brett Cavanagh or Phantoms until filming wrapped.

  “Maybe to you. But you know you rub people the wrong way. Can I come in?”

  Wyatt stepped back. “Not going to be rubbing your boyfriend any way.”

  Drew bit his lip against another bout of laughter that wanted out, but Wyatt didn’t spend a lot of time cracking jokes, so he might have been serious. Drew headed straight for the kitchen and flung open the fridge, looking for a beer. He plucked one out and hefted it in his hand.

  “Middle-of-the-day beer?” Wyatt sounded puzzled, but Drew was probably the only Drummond who didn’t regularly engage in pre-five-o’clock drinking on weekdays. Mostly because the majority of his family didn’t hold down regular jobs.

  Then he remembered the two enormous milkshakes he’d had earlier and scrunched up his face. No matter how awkward the coming conversation was, a single beer wasn’t going to smooth the way. It would probably only make him puke.

  “No, I guess not.” Drew slid it back into the fridge.

  “Hey, little man, if you want beer, you drink it.”

  Ugh. Little man. He was taller than both his brothers, but they’d coined the name before his growth spurt, and it had stuck, much to his dismay. Maybe it was better when his brother
s called him a fairy. Regardless, the beer was still a bad idea, so he filled a glass with ice and tap water before sitting down at the kitchen table.

  Wyatt grabbed the beer Drew had put back, slouched in another chair, and waited. Wyatt and Rob never, ever got nervous in silence. Probably because they’d been trained by the sheer number of times they’d been taken in for questioning. Babbling didn’t happen. It was a skill Drew didn’t much have, perhaps due to lack of practice, for which he was terribly glad now. He was sure Cliff, as a cop, wouldn’t give him the time of day if he’d had the practice his brothers had.

  The silence stretched out, but then, Drew was the one with the issue, and he should be the one to speak up. Wyatt would probably sit there, not speaking, until he got hungry.

  No matter how he approached the subject, it was going to be awkward as hell. Third time was the charm, right? “Wyatt, I need to ask you something about Andy Wilson.”

  “What?” Wyatt’s irritated growl was accompanied by a faint stiffening of his shoulders.

  “I know it had to have been hard, finding the b—” Drew cut himself off. Even for his brother, calling Andy the body would be insensitive. Andy had been a friend to both twins. “Er…finding him dead like that. I was just wondering how come it was you that found him.”

  Wyatt narrowed his eyes and assessed him for a moment before speaking. “Andy’d borrowed some of my tools. I went out there to get them.”

  Well, that was exactly what the gossips had said, no matter how oddly coincidental it seemed. Then again, if Wyatt had been out there smoking up with Andy or doing anything borderline illegal, the borrowed-equipment excuse was at least vaguely plausible. Nevertheless, Drew suspected tools might be a euphemism for weed.

  “And…there wasn’t anything weird?” Oh good. That wasn’t too vague.

  “Weird how? You snooping for your boyfriend or something?”

  Drew’s shoulders sagged. “No. It’s just…” Did he spill it out again, like he’d done with Cliff?

  “Just what?” Wyatt did not sound happy.