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“Ansel, you don’t have to apologize.”

“I just…” He looks at the darkening sky for a beat, then back at me. “You’re the person who makes me feel better.”

My heart leaps. “I’m happy to be that person for you. You’re that person for me too.”

Something passes between us, then the door to the pub opens, and we quickly step back from each other. Thankfully, it’s no one I recognize, so I assume they’re tourists who don’t know us either.

“All right, let’s do this.” Ansel holds the door open for me, and I step inside.

It’s busy. Almost all the tables are spoken for, though I don’t think that matters. We won’t be having this conversation where it’s up for public consumption.

Fowler is behind the bar, wiping it down, when he sees us. The cloth stalls on the wood surface, and his shoulders sag, lips turning down. “Rosalie, can you keep an eye on things for a few? I have something I need to take care of.”

The pretty brunette server at one of the nearby tables smiles at him. “Sure thing, boss.”

“Let’s talk upstairs.” He nods toward the stairs at the back of the old house.

Before it was a pub, this place was a house on the water, though only the main floor and the outside are used for the pub. I’ve actually never been upstairs here before, so I can’t help but look around as I follow Fowler.

The front bedrooms are used for storage, and the one on the back of the house is Fowler’s office. Since it’s a decent size, there’s a desk and filing cabinets at one end and a couch set across from two chairs on the other side.

Ansel and I sit side by side on the couch, and Fowler sits across from me.

Before Ansel or I can say anything, Fowler looks at me. “Collins, I’m sorry.”

I swallow at the regret in his eyes, and I nod. “When did he first tell you?”

Fowler shifts in the chair, appearing uncomfortable. “A few months after it started, so probably… four or five months before he died.”

It dawns on me now that if he told Fowler, there’s a chance Caleb told someone else too. The idea is mortifying. “Does anyone else know? Anyone at the station?”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. He told me I was the only person he’d told.”

“Why did he tell you and not me?” Ansel’s voice is sharp as a whip.

Fowler leans forward and exhales, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t know, man. I asked him once, and he said you wouldn’t understand.”

Ansel’s lips thin. He doesn’t understand it, and I get where his hurt is coming from. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re a good guy, Ansel. Always have been.”

He motions across the room at his friend. “You’re not exactly evil incarnate.”

“True. But I’ve never had a long-term relationship. Most of the women I’ve been with have just been hookups.” He raises both hands. “I know what you’re gonna say, and yes, you’re not exactly Mr. Relationship either, but you have had them over the years. Maybe they didn’t work out, but you weren’t averse to them like I am.” He shrugs. “Maybe Caleb thought you would lay into him more. Honestly, I don’t think he knew how to deal with the idea of disappointing you.”

“And did you? Lay into him, I mean?” Ansel asks.

Fowler frowns. “Of course I did.” Hurt flashes across his face. “You think I would what? Give him props, tell him it was no big deal?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Ansel mumbles.

“Collins, I promise you, I told him to put a stop to it and to talk to you about it. Then when he said she was pregnant…” He pushes a hand through his mop of hair. “Then I didn’t know what the hell to say.” He shakes his head. “It was all so fucked up. I kept prodding him to see if he’d told you, but he just kept telling me the timing wasn’t right.”

“Was he planning to leave me?” My attempt to keep my voice steady fails spectacularly.

Ansel takes my hand, pulling it onto his lap and linking our fingers. Fowler stares at our joined hands.

“Deal with it.” Ansel pins Fowler with a stare as though daring him to say something about it.