The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

“Is there a part that isn’t difficult?” Sam said with bleak humor.

“Point.”

Sam said slowly, “I thought I had this worked out, and I was prepared for you moving on. That had to happen. But.”

“But?” Jason said quietly, “Oh. Shipka.” From the point Sam learned that Jason had slept with Shipka, he had subtly changed, withdrawn. There had been those uncharacteristic flashes of aggression. Jason had noticed, but had trouble believing they came down to something as ordinary, as simple, as human as jealousy.

“Yeah. That was…not what I wanted. I wasn’t prepared for that. For how much it would…”

Hurt.

Welcome to the club.

Jason said, “I take it you’ve been banging agents coast-to-coast for the past eight months?”

Sam inhaled sharply, started to cough, and had to clear his throat. “No,” he said eventually. “In fact, that’s when— No.”

“That’s when what?”

He shook his head.

“I see.” Jason thought it over. What the hell. Was there really any mystery about this? Hadn’t they been wrestling with it a week? “I’m going to say it then. I’ve had eight months—not to mention one hellish evening—to think about it. In a business like ours…well, I’d regret not saying it.” He drew in a breath and dove. “I love you, Sam.”

Sam raised his head.

“I know,” Jason said. “Especially after your declaration of independence at dinner. But I do. I’m not sure how it happened because I wasn’t looking for this. In particular, I wasn’t looking for this. If that scares you…I can only tell you that I’ve heard everything you’ve said. I understand. Which isn’t to say that I agree or I’m okay with it. I just know that this week was total hell. And that’s not counting murder and getting locked in a crypt and being held by the police for questioning.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t think it would matter that much to you.”

Jason spluttered, “You didn’t… What?”

Sam pulled him over, settling Jason’s head on his chest. “And when I realized it did…there was still nothing I could do about it. I still feel the same about this. Being involved is not going to be good for either of us.”

“But we are involved, Sam. You can call it what you want. Friends or fuck buddies. But if you’re going to keep phoning me up—”

“We can call it what it is,” Sam said. “It’s not the word I’m afraid of. I love you. I’ve known for sure since Christmas when I couldn’t stop myself from calling.” He said self-mockingly, “I just had to hear your voice.”

Jason remembered that phone call. Somehow it had been more painful than no call at all. Or maybe not.

Sam said, “But I meant what I said at dinner. I do want some kind of relationship with you. I want you in my life. Watching you walk away on Monday…I couldn’t do it. I felt like I’d made a mistake there was no coming back from. And hearing you’d slept with Shipka. No.” He was silent again. “I guess it depends on what you want.”

Jason shook his head. How was he supposed to answer that? He said, “I want what we talked about in Massachusetts. I want to try.”

Sam shook his head. “I know who I am. I am the job. Work will always come first for me. That means I’m not going to be there for dinner with the folks or Christmas or romantic getaways. I don’t remember birthdays or anniversaries.”

You would have been there for Ethan. You would have remembered for Ethan.

But Jason banished that thought. That way lay madness. It wasn’t even necessarily true.

Instead, he said lightly, “Maybe you should wait until I propose before you start planning how you’re going to leave me standing at the altar.”

But Sam was not in a joking mood. “Whatever it is you need, Jason, I’m probably not that guy.”

“Probably not,” Jason conceded wearily. “And I can’t promise that that doesn’t matter or that I’ll hang in there through thick and thin no matter how big an asshole you are. I don’t know how high my tolerance for pain is. I just know I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Sam muttered, “It would kill me to say goodbye now.”

It went a long way to assuaging the hurt of the past few days.