Curtis smiled, continuing to rock in his chair. “Your mama kicked me out. She insisted I was the reason Mad won’t eat his peas. Said every time he looked at me, he’d spit ’em out.”
“That true?”
His father chuckled. “Maybe.” Another laugh followed, this one a bit louder. “He thinks it’s a game.”
Of course he did. Travis knew his father enjoyed getting the munchkins riled up from time to time. He claimed it was a grandfather’s right.
“Have a seat,” Curtis instructed.
“I can’t stay.”
His father looked up, met his gaze. “Have a seat,” he said more firmly.
Travis found it interesting that he was forty-two years old—a grown man for quite some time—yet when his father told him to do something, it was like he was ten all over again.
With a resigned sigh, he lowered himself into the other chair and relaxed almost instantly. Not because he was comfortable but because he knew he had a slight reprieve. Although he loved his kids more than life itself, he dreaded going home these days. He didn’t want to be anywhere else, but he hated the tension that seemed to follow him. It was affecting everyone.
“How’re things at work?”
“Fine.”
His father continued to rock in his chair and Travis waited patiently for him to get to what he wanted to chat about. Clearly something was on his mind.
“How’re things at home?”
That question wasn’t so easy to answer. “As good as can be expected.”
“I saw the pictures of the snowman.”
Travis nodded, stared out into the twilight. “Snowmommy.”
Curtis peered over at him. “What now?”
“Kate called it a snowmommy. She dressed it up in Kylie’s things.”
He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but Travis didn’t look over. It wasn’t like he could explain her reasoning for wanting it.
Silence descended for a minute or two as Travis stared out at the yard, the big oak tree. Nothing was nearly as vibrant as it had once been, even if it still looked the same. Well, mostly. The snow that remained beneath the tree wasn’t something he was used to seeing, but he’d gotten an eyeful this past week. Enough to last him another four decades if he was lucky.
“I talked to Reese again today,” Curtis finally relayed.
He looked over, his chest suddenly devoid of air. “I’m sorry, what? What do you mean again?”
“He’s been keepin’ me updated on the investigation.”
Travis leaned forward, prepared to get to his feet, but stopped when his father barked for him to sit his ass down.
“Pop, I don’t have time for this. I don’t wanna hear about Reese or Brantley or whatever—”
“They think they’ve received a valid tip.”
Clearly he’d been wrong about not having air in his lungs, because that statement sent it out of him in a mad rush. Considering Brantley had been in his fucking office just a few hours ago and hadn’t said a damn thing about it…
“Where is she?” he asked when his head stopped spinning.
“They haven’t been told yet. His brother’s apparently keepin’ it close to the vest until they’ve vetted it.” Curtis peered over. “My guess is they don’t trust Brantley not to go after her.”
They didn’t trust Brantley? Or they didn’t trust Travis?
“Why’d Reese share this with you and not me?”
“He calls me every coupla days, fills me in. Most of the time it’s nothin’, but he seems upbeat about this one. Said it’s worth pursuin’.”
Travis had more questions—like when were they going to get confirmation?—but he couldn’t force words past the lump in his throat.
“I think he uses it as an excuse to check up on you and Gage, see how y’all are doin’.”
Reese could’ve called him if he really wanted to know. Then again, Brantley and Reese weren’t high on Travis’s list of people he cared to talk to these days. The conversations they did have were necessary, nothing more.
His father looked at him, those blue-gray eyes wary. “I know you wanna blame those boys for what happened, but we both know it ain’t their fault.”
Rationally Travis knew that, sure. But he wasn’t doing a lot of rational thinking as of late. And it was just easier to lay blame than it was to figure out what his next move should be. He had honestly thought offering a reward would work. He’d thought for sure someone knew exactly where Juliet Prince was and the enticement of money would have them reporting it. That hadn’t been the case.
“Does Gage know about this new lead?”
He watched his father, seeing the answer long before the words came out.
“You kept him in the loop but not me?”
Curtis started rocking in the chair again, his gaze sliding out over the yard. “He asked me about it. I didn’t offer.”
“But he’s known what’s been goin’ on?”
Clearly his father thought that rhetorical because he didn’t respond.
Travis stared out into the yard, the sky already dimming as night descended.
“They won’t stop until they find her,” Curtis finally told him.
He didn’t reply immediately, choosing his words carefully. When he did, he kept his voice low, even. “I don’t want her in prison, Pop. I want her in the fuckin’ ground. I don’t even care if she’s breathin’ when she goes in, I’ll shovel the dirt myself.”
Based on Curtis’s expression, that wasn’t as much of a shock to his father as he’d thought it would be.
“You and me both, son.”
Chapter Sixteen
Baz finished typing up his notes and pushed back from his desk. He stretched his neck, moving his head side to side in an attempt to alleviate the tension building. It had been a long day. Hell, a long week, and while he’d spent most of the past few days sitting in his apartment with no water and the electricity flashing intermittently, it hadn’t felt like a vacation. Partly because he’d been stranded with JJ and they weren’t exactly on good terms.
Or rather, they weren’t on the good terms he preferred them to be on. They were getting along just fine. Friends, even. They could talk and joke, but there was still a tremendous gap between where they were now and where they had once been.
As he pushed to his feet, Baz’s stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t had lunch. He’d spent the majority of the day catching up on a few of the stragglers coming into the tip line. Nothing worth noting, but it had required a follow-up to make that assessment.
He ventured up to the loft, following the sound of busy fingers on a keyboard. When he reached the top of the staircase, he found JJ furiously typing away.
Baz cleared his throat, wanting to alert her to his presence. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination or not, but these days JJ seemed jumpier than usual. Ever since New Year’s.
When she turned her head slightly, he asked, “How long you think you’ve got left?”
Since JJ had yet to buy another vehicle, partly delayed because of the weather, Baz was still driving her to and from the office, which meant he stayed until she was ready to go.