Absolution (The Protectors 1)

We’d ended up moving into Cole’s parents’ house after leaving Chicago because it didn’t have a lot of stairs and because we knew Cole’s father could use the support. The man’s discipline and drive had been exactly like his son’s, and while he’d struggled terribly during his withdrawal period, he’d never wavered and he’d managed to visit Cole on multiple occasions while he remained in the ICU. We’d stayed in Chicago for the two weeks that Cole remained admitted and I’d taken Cole’s father to daily AA meetings. Once we’d gotten back to Connecticut, we’d found Cole’s father an outpatient rehab program that would help him deal not only with his alcoholism, but with his grief over the loss of his wife and daughter as well.

Cole’s father had admittedly struggled to understand that his son was involved with two men, but he’d come around quickly as he realized what Jonas and I meant to Cole and he to us. But living under the same roof with Cole’s father had put a moratorium on sex even after the doctor had given Cole the all clear. Whenever we started sniping at each other for even the most trivial of infractions, Cole and I would head down to Jonas’s studio where he’d go during the day to paint and insist he take a break. His bed was a tight fit for the three of us but that only forced us to try a bunch of new positions.

Jonas’s safety had continued to be a concern in the days that followed Eduardo’s attack, especially after Mateo was released from jail since the D.A. had had to postpone the Grand Jury hearing until Jonas was in a position to testify. I’d called Ronan the day we’d learned that Mateo had gotten out and asked him if he could spare some men to help me watch Jonas, but he hadn’t answered. After several hours with no word from Ronan, I’d been in the process of calling Mav and some of the other men I was on a first name basis with to see if they would help me off the books when I got a text from Ronan that simply said, It’s done. I had an idea of what he’d meant but it wasn’t confirmed until I watched the news that night and saw the story about the pimp who’d been released from prison only to be shot and killed a day later in a drug deal gone bad.

I hadn’t known that Ronan had stayed in Chicago after he’d been cleared of any charges relating to Eduardo’s death, so I hadn’t had a chance to thank him. I’d finally managed to reach him a few days after Mateo’s death, but he’d brushed off my efforts to thank him for everything he’d done. I’d ended the call by telling him I was out and he’d simply said, “I know,” and hung up on me.

“Down here,” I said as we reached the third row of grave markers. Jonas turned into the row and led us down it until I told him where to stop.

I drew in a deep breath at the sight of my son’s headstone. It was the first time I’d seen it since the funeral and while the pain of his loss radiated through me, it no longer felt as insurmountable as it once had. Jonas released Cole’s hand and stepped forward to place a bouquet of flowers in front of the headstone and then he came around to my other side and wrapped his arm around me. It was my favorite position – me between the two of them.

Jonas had only ever wanted me to be whole but I knew now that whole for me meant being a part of them.

“Happy birthday, Evan,” I said quietly as I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Matchbox car and stepped forward to place it on the top of the smooth marble headstone. I let my fingers linger there for a moment before stepping back. Jonas leaned his head against my shoulder and Cole wrapped his arm around me as they gave me the moment of silence I needed to remember my little boy. I didn’t bother to imagine what Evan would have been like at fifteen, just like I no longer dwelled on how or why he’d been taken from me because the what ifs of life served no purpose. I focused on the time I’d had with him and as I began accepting my loss, I started sharing those memories with Cole and Jonas.

“Mace?”

I turned at the sound of my name and felt a wave of heat pass through me at the sight of Shelby standing at the end of the row, a baby in her arms.

“Shel,” I breathed.

Although I’d started rebuilding the relationship with my parents, I hadn’t yet had the courage to reach out to Shelby. While the things I’d done to my parents were horrendous, my treatment of Shelby had been so much worse because I hadn’t been there to grieve with her when she needed me. I’d also thrown all her words of forgiveness for my part in our son’s death back in her face.