Chapter 18

“Thank you…both,” Geoffrey said. “Now can we turn down the testosterone a little bit and talk this all out?”

“Not much more to say.” Mitch shrugged and shrunk into his shoulders a bit. “Sorry,” he repeated. “Even on my day off, I drink four cups of coffee before nine a.m. I heard stuff, and…I jumped to conclusions.”

“To protect me,” Geoffrey allowed. “I appreciate that.”

“Me too.” Tag finally offered his hand. “Good deal,” he said as Mitch shook it.

“Sheri ushered him into the back of the ambulance that night,” he said, “because he seemed so concerned. There weren’t any obvious marks on him, and until the cops had him pushed against the wall—”

“Jesus,” Geoffrey muttered.

“We never thought it was a domestic issue—never put two and two together. Which I guess when we did, we came up with five, because we were both off base. So were the cops.”

“You probably had to leave before they figured that out,” Tag said, reaching for a croissant he handed off to Mitch. “Strawberry jam?”