Resilience Read online

  Not that they would have cared if any of their kids hadn’t made it into college and decided to take up a trade instead. No shame in that, as long as they worked hard at it and made an honest living for themselves.

  He wouldn’t deny he was a little relieved none of them had shown an interest in being a writer. Not that he didn’t love Tyler, or what the man did for a living, but trying to fill famous shoes like that would be…imposing, to say the least.

  Tommy sighed and set his mug aside. “Guess I need to pry my ass out of here.”

  Mikey set his mug aside, too, and helped him out, handing him a towel. “Want a refill?” He held up Tommy’s empty mug.

  “Yes, please. Just bring it upstairs into the bathroom for me. I’m going to get a shower.”

  “Then what? Please don’t make me 911-text Dad to yell at you.”

  “No, I’ll behave. I guess I’m going to be restricted to the couch today.”

  Mikey grinned. “Who says you can’t teach an old bulldog a new trick?”

  “I wasn’t a Bulldog, son. I was a Bull. You’re gonna want to remember that, since you’ll be one, too.”

  “Same thing.” His grin widened. “Both hard-headed.” He went Brit again. “Bleedin’ wankers.”

  Tommy stuck his tongue out at him.

  Chapter Four

  With Elliot’s help, Tyler convinced Crystal he didn’t need her to walk him back to his hotel after breakfast. The car was scheduled to pick him up in two hours, and Tyler planned on using every last minute of that time for working.

  One plus in Crystal’s favor—she’d put him in a decent hotel centrally located in the city so he could reach his various appearances with relative ease, and it was within a couple of blocks of excellent restaurants and stores. He had pretty much camped out at the hotel, and as it was, he’d already amassed a suitcase’s worth of books and other items to ship home.

  No way in bloody hell was he going to try to fly them home, and he wouldn’t have time to go out and ship them before leaving for the airport Monday morning. He’d already consulted with the concierge about the logistics. They would handle it for him and charge it to his room.

  Back in his room, he pulled the curtains wide open and stared out over the city. It’d been nearly a year since his last visit here. Tom had come with him that time.

  While there, one night he’d fucked his sweet boy in front of a window much like this one, with the room lights off to conceal their activity as they talked with Nevvie on the phone and took in the view. Then, after he’d filled Tom’s ass, he’d dropped to his knees in front of Tom and sucked him off while Tom had held on to Tyler’s head and fucked his mouth.

  Deliciously naughty fun.

  Tyler sighed and turned from the view of the city, having to reach down and adjust himself in his slacks. He couldn’t think about that trip now, delightful diversion though it was.

  He needed to get back to the victim Augustine was currently vivisecting in the thirteenth book in that series. Eleven and twelve were in various editing stages. After he submitted this one, there was a paranormal novel he wanted to write that he’d chipped away at off and on for a couple of years. He’d finally nailed down one of the plot lines for it, but needed to get this book done and off his plate first.

  He switched on his laptop and set his phone on the table next to it. While he was waiting for his laptop to boot up, he made himself another cup of coffee. He was doing that when he heard his phone vibrate on the table from an incoming call.

  After glancing at the display and seeing Unknown, he silenced it, sending it to voice mail.

  They can leave a message or sod off.

  He was no idiot. When home, Nevvie usually babysat his phone for him for the rare calls that needed his immediate attention. The kids knew to text Nevvie during his work hours when he was home. On trips like this, they could text him whenever with the knowledge that he might not be able to reply right away.

  But he never answered an unknown call.

  And the caller didn’t leave a message.

  An hour later, he was nearly a thousand new words into his current project when his phone rang again.

  Unknown.

  Again, he sent it to voice mail.

  He was getting out of the car with Crystal at the book fair when he realized he’d missed a third call from the persistent Unknown, but that time they had left a message.

  Except now he didn’t have time to listen to it.

  Whoever they are can wait.

  If there was an emergency, Nevvie or Tom—or other family members in the know—would send what they’d dubbed a “911 text.” Simply put, the text would start with 911, followed by the text message needing an immediate reply, or an instruction to call immediately.

  Barring that, it wasn’t an emergency. Only his family was worthy of “emergency” status anyway.

  Today’s schedule wasn’t nearly as stressful as yesterday’s had been, now that he’d had a full night’s sleep in his system. As she’d promised, Crystal had gotten the Q&A format changed and had somehow snagged the assistance of three event volunteers, who would help her go through the cards people would deposit up to an hour before the start time. Any illegible or improper questions would be dumped immediately, leaving the remainder for Tyler to quickly skim through, with Crystal putting the ones she felt were best at the top of the pile for him.

  Maybe she’ll redeem herself from the Friday morning wake-up.

  If only he could rid himself of her for a few moments. One time, she’d nearly walked into the men’s room with him because her attention had been focused on her phone and numbers she was rattling off at him, social media statistics.

  The day quickly got away from him. Between how busy he was, trying to digest what Crystal was saying, wanting to spend time talking to Nevvie, Tom, and the kids after returning to his room that evening, and his latest WIP calling him back to his laptop, he totally forgot to play the voice mail from the persistent Unknown.

  It wasn’t until he was sitting with a group of friends and fellow authors at lunch on Sunday—after having gently shed Crystal for the morning—and they were all waiting for their orders that he remembered it. After replying to a text from Adam, Tyler spotted the alert and decided to play the message. The man’s voice spoke clear English, but with a hint of an accent Tyler couldn’t quite place despite it hitting his ear as slightly familiar.

  “My name is Nicolas Goossens, from the firm of Simons, Pieters, Verlinden, and De Clercq. I am trying to reach Mr. Tyler Paulson regarding an urgent personal matter on behalf of a client of mine. My numbers are…”

  Tyler almost deleted the message, except he realized the numbers the man rattled off were organized in groups unlike no US phone numbers he was familiar with. Definitely overseas. The caller had left two, an office number and a cell phone.

  Instead of deleting it, Tyler saved the message and tucked his phone away so he could focus on his discussions with his luncheon partners.

  * * * *

  Another stupid cocktail party and another dinner, and then Tyler’s time was his once he’d managed to get clear of Crystal. The concierge had left a shipping box in the room for him, along with packing materials and tape. Tyler quickly prepared that and took it back down to the man, also handing him two twenties for his time and trouble.

  When he was back in the room for the evening, he set about packing. He knew he needed to call Nevvie and Thomas, but that’s when he remembered the voice mail.

  He sat down at the table where his laptop was up and running and grabbed a pen and notebook to write the man’s name and the two phone numbers. He guessed at the spelling of the names from the man’s firm but decided to start with the easiest thing.

  He Googled the man’s office number.

  The website for the law firm named in the caller’s message came up as the top search result. Nicolas Goossens was one of their partners.

  In Brussels.

  He drew in a sharp breath.


  There was only one person Tyler knew from Brussels.

  For long moments he sat there, stunned, staring at the website and not wanting to ponder the ramifications.

  He hadn’t had any contact with Marcus in a year. The last had been a card Tyler had sent to him the previous Christmas, the same card they sent to other friends and acquaintances they considered close enough to send a picture to, but not family-close.

  Unlike previous years, there had been no reply from Marcus. Tyler honestly hadn’t contemplated that, too busy to keep track of those kinds of things.

  Until now.

  He hadn’t laid eyes on the man since that night in Seattle, in the hotel room, where Marcus had confessed he’d sought Tyler out, even knowing Tyler had a husband and a wife.

  Out of hope.

  Admittedly low chances of success, but Marcus had been lonely and desperate and had lost his partner to cancer the year before.

  Despite knowing it wasn’t yet business hours in Brussels, Tyler called the man’s cell phone, fully expecting to reach a voice mail message. He’d hoped it would be a faster response than Tyler waiting until the man got into his office the next morning to play his voice mails there.

  To Tyler’s surprise, the man answered, sounding sleepy.

  “Hallo, met Goossens.”

  “Um, yes. My name is Tyler Paulson. I’m sorry about the time—”

  “Ja, Meneer Paulson.” Now he sounded more awake. “Thank you for returning my call.”

  “Is this about Marcus Van Durben?”

  There was a hesitation that didn’t need to be translated to be recognizable in any language.

  Discomfort.

  “I am afraid that it is.”

  Tyler didn’t realize how tightly he was holding his phone until he felt it digging into his palm. “Has he passed?” Tyler currently existed in the Schrödinger’s paradigm, simultaneously wanting Marcus to be alive and dead, and hating himself for both.

  “Not yet, but soon, I am afraid.”

  * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Tyler sat at the table and stared at his phone in stunned disbelief. The page of handwritten notes he’d reflexively taken during their conversation stared back at him, mute testimony to the fact that no, he had not imagined it.

  His next phone conversation wasn’t going to be any easier than this one had just proven.

  In fact, it would be infinitely worse. He’d already checked the flights, and could catch a late evening flight to Heathrow from Atlanta tomorrow night, and from there to Brussels. He hadn’t booked it yet, because otherwise, the next flight would be early Tuesday morning out of Atlanta. Which flight he took depended on one key point—

  Either way, he needed his passport.

  Which was sitting at home in the fireproof gun safe in their bedroom closet, where Nevvie also stored her skeet guns and ammunition, in addition to important papers such as deeds, car titles…and passports.

  After verifying the time, he called Tom’s cell phone directly, knowing there was very little chance Nevvie wouldn’t be close by, but still hoping.

  Tommy’s sweet, rich drawl answered. “Thank you for calling Sexy, Sinful Savannah. How may I sweet-talk you, sugar?”

  Tyler chuckled as he rubbed at his forehead. “Hello, love.”

  “Love? Who is this? Do I know you? Is this one of them obscene phone calls?” Tommy followed that with a snicker. “I hope.”

  Tyler desperately missed that man, him and Nevvie both, and could only hope neither of them would be horribly upset with him. “Are you at home?”

  “Yeah, I’m in bed watching TV. Nevvie’s over at Dad’s talking to Karen.”

  More guilt over what he was about to ask. “How’s your leg feel, love?”

  “Not nearly as fricking bad as it was yesterday. Can’t wait to get you home tomorrow night, you have no damn idea how much.”

  “Yes, well, about that…”

  He didn’t know how to proceed.

  Tom’s tone changed, concerned. “Ty, what’s going on?”

  “I need you to meet me in Atlanta tomorrow afternoon, at the airport terminal, with my passport.”

  “What? Ty, what the hell?”

  Tyler pressed on, still rubbing his forehead. “And I need you to bring me a few other things, like an overcoat, the one I take to London.”

  “You’re going to London? What the frickin’ hell? When did that get arranged? What happened to coming home?”

  “London isn’t my final destination, it’s just where I transfer planes. I’m actually going on to Brussels.”

  From Tom’s end of things, Tyler heard a pained grunt, then what sounded like the bedroom door shutting, followed by the volume being turned up on the bedroom TV. A moment later, another door shut, and from the echo, and the way the TV suddenly sounded muted, he assumed Tom had locked himself in their private en suite bathroom.

  The tone of Tom’s voice had changed, too, from sexy hubby to pissed-off man. “Okay, Ty,” he darkly muttered. “You tell me what the fuck, right now, or I’m going to burn your fucking passport out on the barbecue grill as soon as I hang up this goddamned phone.”

  “I just spoke with an attorney from Brussels. Marcus is dying. Essentially hospice care. Cancer. Less than two weeks, and that’s quite generous. He likely will not last the week. He’s asked to see me.”

  “Uh, well, too bad, so sad, you’re my husband.”

  “He’s left the entirety of his estate to us.”

  Another pause. “Say what?”

  “To you and myself. Go now, or go later, I still must go to handle the paperwork and deal with the disposal of his assets.”

  “Fuck,” Tom whispered. “Why?”

  “According to the attorney, Marcus has no close living relatives, and he has no children. He left everything to the two of us to do with as we see fit.”

  “Not Nevvie?”

  “It made the paperwork easier, plus the attorney said that Marcus feels especially guilty over what happened in Seattle. And, apparently, he feels remorse that because of how he treated me years ago, it hurt me so much that you held a twenty-plus-year grudge on my behalf. Which, of course, led to what happened in Seattle.”

  “Fuck.”

  He let Tom stew for another couple of moments before asking again. “Will you bring it? Please? And what I need? I haven’t booked the flight yet. If you bring it, I can fly from Atlanta tomorrow evening. If you refuse, I’ll fly home from Atlanta on the commuter flight to Savannah as planned, and then drive myself back to Atlanta tomorrow night and fly out early Tuesday morning.”

  “No, fuck. Don’t do that. Fuck!” Tyler heard the door open again, and another, and then, after a moment, a metallic noise he recognized as the sound of the closet gun safe being opened. “I’ve got it, and mine.”

  “I don’t need yours, love.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll need it. You think I’m letting you go to Brussels alone, you’re off your nut, Evil Genius. Book us on the flight leaving tomorrow evening.”

  Tyler breathed a sigh of relief, so keen and sharp he almost cried. “Thank you, love.”

  “You thank me now.” Another pause. “Fuck, Nevvie never renewed hers. It expired in July. Well, guess she’s not going with us after all. We’re gonna have one pissed off wife in need of soothing when we get home.”

  “I warned her about that.”

  “What else are you gonna need?”

  “Overcoat and a few sweaters should do it. I had the hotel’s laundry service wash my things yesterday, so at least I have clean clothes. Pack accordingly, love. It’s rainy and chilly there now. Slacks, jeans, a warm jacket or overcoat.”

  “Well, let me get off here and get packing for us.”

  “Perhaps Nevvie should help.”

  “I’ll be fucking lucky if Nevvie doesn’t neuter my ass when I break this news to her. I’m not asking her to pack for me, too. I’m a big boy, I can deal. I’ll drive over to Atlanta tonight and spend the n
ight at a hotel there.”

  More guilt on Tyler’s plate. “That’s a three-hour drive, love. It’s late.”

  “I know, but I’d rather do that and have time to get there and rest than wait and have something happen tomorrow and be stressed because I’m stuck on the road. You know how crazy traffic can be. We can fly back into Atlanta and drive our own car home.”

  “Very well. The flight doesn’t leave until five. We won’t have to check in until about three, so that will leave us approximately five hours, if my flight arrives on time from New York.”

  “We’ll play suitcase shuffle and dump anything not going with us into the trunk of the car. We can leave it parked in long-term parking.”

  “Good thinking.” Tyler opened his eyes and stared at his page full of notes. “I love you so much right now, you have no idea.”

  “Love you, too. Let me get off here. I need to get ready and figure out how the hell to tell Nev. I should make you tell her.”

  “I will, if you wish.”

  Another sigh. “No, fuck. I’ll do it. I’ll play the bum leg and puppy dog eyes card.”

  “My brilliant boy.”

  “Yeeeaaah, I’m thinkin’ we get so much as five minutes alone together behind a hotel room door, I ain’t gonna be the one catching for a while, buster.”

  Finally, something to make Tyler laugh. “You can pitch to me for as long as you can keep it up. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Be prepared for a screaming phone call as soon as she gets home.”

  “Right.”

  Tyler booked the flights, including the connector to Brussels. They could fly direct into Brussels from Atlanta, except there wouldn’t be another direct flight for over a day.

  Frankly, Tyler was hoping he could get there before Marcus passed.

  Absolutely he felt a jumbled mix of emotions about the man. But one thing Tyler could not deny—what he had been through with Marcus had shaped who he was now. Had he not gone through it, maybe he wouldn’t have met Thomas. Maybe they wouldn’t have unlocked the secrets to Nevvie’s trust.