The Assignment

Chapter 24

After a long night of constantly waking up in a sweaty mess from nightmares, I awoke around nine with a sharp headache and a chill. I rolled over to take refuge in Joey's body heat, but the other side of the bed was empty. I could hear the TV on in the living room and wrapped the duvet around my body, padding out of the bedroom.

Joey was sitting cross-legged on the couch, coffee in hand, watching the local news station. He had a blank stare and his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles. He'd barely gotten any sleep.

"How long have you been up?" I asked, pouring myself some coffee.

He shrugged and motioned to the TV where a young brunette reporter was standing in a parking lot outside the shooting range in Westfield, giving an update on Ron's homicide.

"Police tell me they have identified the suspects you saw in the security footage. However, they are not releasing names at this time. Those suspects have not yet been apprehended," the woman said. "The funeral for Ronald Coffman was this morning. His family says they are heartbroken that this husband and father is gone, but they were comforted by the massive outpour of love and support they received from extended family, friends, and the community this morning."

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn't budge. "Joey..."

He shook his head, releasing a ragged breath. "I should've been there."

"You couldn't," I whispered, sitting down beside him. "But he knows how much you cared about him, Joey. He knows."

I cuddled up against his side and tossed the duvet over us, trying to manage my coffee mug and comfort him at the same time. The sparkle was gone from his bright blue orbs. It was like someone had drained all the energy from him.

"It's like losing my father all over again," he breathed, a pained look on his face.

I still refused to mention that I knew about his family's deaths. Instead, I stayed hugging his torso and listening to the rhythm of his heart while he vented. I wondered when was the last time he'd let his emotions break free – or if he ever had.

"When I was sixteen, my parents and my brother died. Someone set our house on fire." Joey spoke like he was in a daze. "My dad was a homicide detective in Chicago when I was a kid. He'd given it up and found a new job coaching baseball by the time I was a teenager. But it turned out that some bastard he'd helped put away a decade prior still held a vendetta when he got out of prison. That's how he got even."

"That's how you ended up with your grandpa?" I asked, my lips brushing his collarbone.

He nodded. "Yeah. He took care of me like I was his own kid. So did Ron. Ron really was like another father to me. Hell, he was the one who gave me the talk. Tried to explain it by putting a straw through a lid. He was really something."

Joey let out a breathy laugh at the memory. I tried to imagine that conversation between them. It had to have been hilarious.

"Sometimes I feel guilty for surviving." His voice cracked, jerking me out of my thoughts. "I wanted to get to my little brother. I could hear him screaming. But my only way out was the window. I thought I'd hop out the window and then find a safe way back in the house to help. When I climbed out, though, I had to jump from the second floor, and the firetrucks were just pulling up, and this big, burly fireman grabbed me and carried me to the street. I was kicking and screaming, begging them to go save my family. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was a firefighter saying it was too late."

I'd been thinking that Joey wouldn't tell me anything I hadn't already learned from reading the article, but I hadn't been prepared for such heartbreaking details. I understood exactly how he felt about losing a brother, though.