Whisper

By L. Setterby

TRUTH THAT MUST BE TOLD

When the friends he's been sleeping with get engaged and cut him out of their lives, newly-minted small town police officer Jack Miller confesses his heartbreak to the absolute last person he should tell: his superior officer, Bryan Keene, a former Marine, volunteer firefighter, and, Jack suspects, a closet case. Keene is a really good listener. Jack finds himself confessing to even more, including the trauma that haunts him, and the distressing desires that he keeps at a distance.

SECRETS THAT MUST BE KEPT

Keene has never met anyone as honest as Jack--or as perceptive. Youthful, beautiful Jack sees past everything Keene says and does. For the first time in almost a decade, Keene wishes he could be honest about who he is. But Keene has segmented his life so completely since his return from Afghanistan that he no longer knows how to be a whole person. Falling for Jack--his subordinate, the rookie--puts everything he's built in jeopardy.

LOVE THAT RISKS IT ALL

Although they promise themselves they'll stop seeing each other, they soon relapse into dating in secret. Jack wants to tell their police chief and take their relationship public. He sees a chance for something real--a meaningful counterpoint, at last, to the painful directionlessness of his life. Keene wants to help Jack, who is dogged by his past, and more importantly, he wants to be with Jack. No matter how sure he is that Jack will leave Grenton, and Keene. In a town this small, in the grip of a series of mysterious fires, secrets cannot stay hidden for long. And when all truths are finally told, the consequences may be unbearable.

WHISPER is a stand-alone, full-length novel in the Grenton PD series. Content warnings: sexual assault in character backstory (off-screen only, no flashbacks); internalized homophobia. Contains spoilers for BREATHE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094430959

L. Setterby

L. Setterby writes gritty, suspenseful contemporary romance. As London Setterby, she also writes modern-day Gothics and fantasy romances. Under both names, she writes across the LGBTQ+ spectrum. London lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and toddler. She is usually covered in cracker crumbs.

Book preview

Chapter One

New Year’s Eve — Dec. 31, 2014

Smoke still clung to him. It always did, sometimes for days, no matter how many showers he took. It seeped into his skin and, God knew, his organs.

On their way back to the fire station, Keene listened to the rest of the firefighters debate what could’ve made an abandoned trailer deep in the frigid Vermont woods burn down to a charred, skeletal frame. A cigarette? A spark from old wiring? But as soon as all the equipment was put away, he left the station, went to his mom’s trailer, and shoveled her driveway to within an inch of its life.

You don’t need to wear yourself out on my account, she said, when he went inside for a glass of water.

Looks like Bermuda needs her nails clipped. He nodded at the old black dog lying by his mom’s feet, never too far from her or her cane.

The vet can do that next month, she replied mildly.

I don’t mind, he said, as if they were arguing.

I know you don’t. His mom set her crossword puzzle aside and cast him a lopsided smile. She wouldn’t ask what was bothering him. She wanted him to volunteer it. But he didn’t, because he knew he was being irrational. Unlike the abandoned trailer that had caught fire today, his mom’s trailer was in perfect condition. He made sure of that on a daily basis.

He did a few more chores around the place, still wound up even though he’d stayed up all night at the fire scene.

Happy New Year, Mama, he said, when he finally ran out of things to do. He had to grab some dinner and a nap before he headed to the police station for his second overnight in a row—this one in uniform as a patrol officer instead of as a Fire Lieutenant.

Be safe, sweetie, she told him, as she always did. He shrugged it off. His gaze fell to her cane and the sleeping dog, and silently, he wished her the same.

Anybody here? Keene called out as he stepped into the police station, shrugging off his coat. O’Malley? You in, buddy?

Normally, Keene would know where O’Malley was posted. He’d turned up his police radio for the drive to work, but it had all passed right through his tired head.

He stamped the snow off his boots and crossed through the main office to the small kitchen in the back of the station. The new recruit, Jack Miller, sat at the table by the wall, under a cork board of newspaper articles about the department. Shadows softened the hard lines of Jack’s jaw and smudged the undersides of his deep-set hazel eyes. Even in uniform, his posture was all youth: shoulders slouched, long legs stretched out in front of him, a phone cradled in one broad hand.

Keene stopped in the doorway, abruptly wide awake. How had he missed this? He’d checked the schedule a couple days ago, and it was O’Malley tonight. Not Jack.

Jack glanced up from his phone, eyebrows rising in surprise. You’re in early, sir.

Keene was an hour early, in fact. Thought it might be busy, he told Jack, which was true enough, since it was New Year’s Eve.

Not so much, so far. Jack shoved the phone into his pocket, his gaze measuring and curious. From the beginning, he’d been a man of few words. He’d stayed at the periphery, observing, interested but detached, whether he was in uniform or out of it. At twenty-six, he was by far the youngest on the department; he wore his golden brown hair a little too long and, whenever Keene saw him around town in street clothes, Jack was always dressed like a hipster, in slim-fit button-up shirts, jeans, and chukkas. But he seemed to see past every exaggerated act, every white lie, as if he’d had the benefit of decades of experience. It made Keene jittery.

Keene grabbed the coffee carafe and filled it at the tap. You and O’Malley switched shifts?

Yessir.

You didn’t have plans on New Year’s Eve?

I’ve got nothing going on.

How’s that possible? Keene tried to soften the question with a laugh. Jack had to have friends, girls—in a word, options, even in a town as small as Grenton.

Jack’s gaze fell to the plain white tabletop. A little bit of gold glinted in the light brown of his lashes. He shrugged.

Keene braced his hands on the counter. Even he had to admit there was fuck-all to do here. The town didn’t have much more than a pub and a diner. They didn’t even have a movie theater anymore. The old one had closed a few years ago—a decade ago, he realized with a wince. It had closed the same year he’d come back from the Marines.

Burlington probably had a lot more to do, Keene said as he finished making coffee, still trying to keep moving, like a man trying to outrun a train.

It’s not that, exactly. Jack glanced up at Keene from under pensive eyebrows. People here are hard to get to know.

Keene looked away, stung. O’Malley and Sergeant Russo did most of Jack’s training now that Simon Labelle was on medical leave for a line of duty injury. Keene and Jack didn’t really work together much, and when they did, Keene was… friendly enough. He was sure he was friendly. He didn’t avoid Jack.

Except even as he thought that, he wished his coffee would finish brewing so he could leave. Tuck himself away in his office until Jack’s shift ended.

If he did avoid Jack, it was for good reason.

Jack’s cell phone pinged. Awareness—of Jack’s presence, of the quiet intimacy of the kitchen—rippled across Keene’s back.

Sorry. Jack sighed. Thought I’d turned that ringer off.

Girl trouble? Keene poured himself a cup of coffee in a chipped Grenton PD mug.

Not exactly.

What’s that mean?

Some friends of mine got engaged tonight, he replied. To each other, obviously.

Friends of yours, Keene echoed. And suddenly he understood: Jack, even quieter than usual, obviously feeling shitty, working New Year’s Eve by himself. You mean that girl with the blue hair. Emma.

Emma Pinette.

Keene had seen her and Jack around town together a lot. It was hard to miss the way Jack laid his hand across the small of her back, how he smiled at her—that rare, slow smile. Jack may have had options, but he knew who he wanted. And she was taken.

Shit. I’m sorry, man. Keene sipped bitter coffee, wishing he was better with words. He knew how it felt to want someone you couldn’t have. How the longing could eat at you until there was nothing of you left. But he wouldn’t have told Jack about that, anyway, even if he could’ve.

It’s all right, Jack said. Leif’s a good guy. The two of them are great together.

Keene could respect that. Especially since it had to hurt.

That’s the thing, right? Jack said, stretching his arms up and lacing his hands behind his head. Lean muscles flexed underneath his long-sleeved uniform shirt. It would be a lot easier to deal with if it weren’t so hard to get to know people here.

Keene hesitated, his blood pumping, the scent of fire still heavy in his nostrils. Jack couldn’t stretch like that around him—Jesus. Especially when Keene was this restless, this… in need. He had to change the subject, or leave the room, escape—but he couldn’t walk away from their broken-hearted rookie on New Year’s Eve, no matter how much he distrusted his own big, dumb mouth.

He picked up his coffee, pulled out the second chair, and sat down across from Jack.

How’d you meet her?

Who? Jack stared across the table at Bryan Keene, trying to hide his shock. Keene had always made a point not to sit with him. Even when they were on a detail together and stopping at the diner for a quick bite, Keene would find someone else to talk to or make up a reason to go back to the cruiser alone. Jack had assumed for the last seven months that Keene didn’t like him. In a department of six, it was a lonely feeling.

Mother fucking Teresa, Keene said. Who do you think?

The man swore like other people breathed. Emmie and I met in college.

Same college?

Different colleges. I went to UVM Burlington, she went to culinary school in Montpelier. We randomly met at a bar one night.

Did you follow her here?

It was just a coincidence. It had seemed so auspicious at the time, getting an offer from a department in a town where he already had an old friend. As if it were a sign that he was making the right decision about his new career. His new life. He’d questioned every aspect of that decision over these past seven months, but in the meantime, he’d started to feel truly close to both Emma and Leif. Their arrangement had turned into something special, or so he had thought, and it had soothed the sense of directionlessness he’d been trying so hard to ignore.

It would be a lot to give up.

Keene stirred his coffee, his brow furrowed. Jack wondered how much he could say without betraying his friends’ trust. How much Keene cared to listen to.

It’s all just so serious, Jack said. Like we won’t be friends anymore once she’s married. They would move on with their lives, and he would be stuck, alone, with the choices he had made.

Keene squinted at Jack, considering him. Guess I get that, he grunted. You’re a better man than me, buddy. I’ve never been able to feel that happy for my exes. I try, but… He shrugged. Little part of me’s always jealous.

Everybody gets jealous, he said, only half listening to himself. He was stuck on that word exes. Not ex-girlfriends. Keene had never mentioned any girl, ex or otherwise. He acted so boisterous, so casual, but he was meticulous when he spoke. The tells were so few and far between, Jack could almost have believed they were products of his imagination. Almost.

Are you seeing anybody? Jack asked, carefully gender-neutral, knowing Keene would bristle at the invasion of privacy.

No.

Why not?

Keene, predictably, glowered at him.

Jack smiled. You just asked me twenty questions.

That’s different.

Why? Jack leaned forward. You filling out a report on me?

If I was, there wouldn’t be a lot in it.

What’s that mean?

You told me you met a girl in college, you liked her, and now she’s getting engaged to someone else. And you’re sad about it. All that shit, I could’ve figured that out on my own.

You couldn’t have guessed I met her in college, he pointed out. Among other things.

I could’ve figured that out, too.

How?

The girl’s not from here, and neither are you. She’s got blue hair and hipster tattoos on her arms. And I bet you’ve got those somewhere, too.

You got me. Jack winked. Except instead of hipster tattoos, I’ve got a tramp stamp.

Keene’s eyebrows shot up. He burst into his trademark roaring laugh. Jesus, warn a guy before you say shit like that.

Sorry. Jack was not sorry at all. He’d never been given the chance to make Keene laugh before. He liked it. I actually do have a tattoo, but it’s probably more nerdy than hipsterish. Surprised nobody here has commented on it. I got mocked mercilessly for it at my hospital security job.

Why? What is it?

Jack unbuttoned the cuff of his duty shirt and rolled it up to his elbow. He stretched out his arm, palm up, across the table.

Keene swept a hand across his buzz cut and bent forward just enough to look at Jack’s ink, a mathematic equation written in black cursive across the widest part of his inner forearm. What’s it mean?

It’s the First Law of Thermodynamics, Jack replied. It’s about how no energy can ever be wasted, just transformed. I always thought it was kind of soothing.

I like it. Keene leaned back and edged his chair away from the table, creating space between them again. The way he always did, as if Jack were going to contaminate him.

Jack suppressed a sigh. Too nerdy for you, huh?

None of my business if you want to be nerdy, Keene said. Labelle can’t be the only one with brains on the force.

He’s not, Jack said, annoyed. You’re all smart. Especially you.

Keene barked a laugh. Yeah, right.

I’m serious.

You don’t need to be nice, College.

I hate it when you call me that, Jack said, against his better judgment. Keene’s nickname invariably signaled the end of their already short conversations. Jack would try to contribute, either professionally or just making small talk, and Keene would turn to him and say, Good point, Professor, or, worse, he’d turn to whoever else was there and say, College is right. It’s patronizing, he continued, despite the warning bells in his head telling him to stop mouthing off to his superior officer. I’ve been here for more than half a year. You can start treating me like an adult. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take a little hazing, but he’d had a long day, and Emma and Leif were having a romantic night without him while he rang in the New Year with a coworker who couldn’t stand to be around him.

Keene bit his lip, his dark eyes somber.

Never mind, Jack said, chagrined. He didn’t like to let his feelings get the better of him like that, especially at work. Forget it. It’s fine.

It’s not fine, Keene said. I shouldn’t be such an asshole. I’m sorry.

His deep voice held a note of genuine remorse. Thanks, Jack said. A different nickname would be all right.

Dangerous thing to say. Keene grinned.

I trust you. He was pretty sure Keene meant well, underneath all his bluster and swearing and machismo. You ever had any nicknames?

I’m a Marine. I’ve had nicknames.

Fair enough. Any favorites?

‘Heavyweight,’ Keene admitted. I liked that one.

As in boxing?

Yeah, or lifting, or whatever. He gestured at himself. For once, Jack let his gaze travel across Keene’s chest and shoulders. Everything about Keene was oversized. He was even taller than Jack, and he had a wide frame and thick arms and legs. The other guys teased Keene for constantly being at the gym, but it paid off. He wasn’t cut, but he didn’t need to be. He was not, strictly speaking, a handsome man, with his craggy nose and salt and pepper stubble, but it all worked somehow, when you put it together. He had a virile energy Jack couldn’t help liking.

It suits you, Jack agreed. Any others?

Nothing memorable. Keene pushed his chair back and got to his feet. Your shift’s almost over. You should probably try to salvage the rest of your New Year’s.

It turned out all right, Jack said, standing and brushing off his work pants. Thanks for hanging out.

He’d known the thank-you would make Keene uncomfortable, and it did, judging from the way Keene literally waved it away with a sweep of his big hand. Keene avoided Jack’s gaze as he crossed the kitchen and rinsed his coffee mug in the sink. Jack swallowed another flare of frustration. Back to avoiding him already?

Why haven’t we ever really talked before? he said, unable to stop himself. Even on details together, it’s like… Like you don’t even want to look at me.

What do you want to talk about?

Anything. Tell me about your family. Or fighting fires. He didn’t know how Keene made time to be a volunteer firefighter—a Lieutenant, no less—on top of working full time as a police officer, but it was a source of fascination to Jack.

What, right now? Keene asked.

Yeah, sure, if you want to. But I mean in general.

You don’t want to listen to that stuff.

Why not?

Because it’s boring.

That was not the answer Jack had been expecting. Though he didn’t know what he had expected. Something about pretentious newcomers, perhaps. It’s not boring. Not to me.

Keene stuck the mug in the dish drainer and stalked out of the kitchen. Jack followed him into the main room, where Jack and Kyle O’Malley both had cubicles set up behind the information desk. Keene ducked into his office along the exterior wall, and Jack followed him there, too, though he had rarely crossed over this threshold.

Keene stood in front of his desk between two old chairs, shuffling papers that lay heaped in great piles. The muscles in his broad back rippled with each small movement.

Grab a drink with me sometime, Jack said.

Keene faced him, folding his arms across his chest and frowning. Despite his posture, his deep brown eyes were nervous, his gaze flicking from Jack to the floor.

Jack edged toward him, sensing the other man’s discomfort and wishing he understood the cause. This close, he picked up on the faint scent of wood smoke underneath Keene’s spicy cologne and the sweet lingering nuttiness of his coffee.

We could play pool, or darts. I’m not picky. Jack said. It would be fun.

Still, Keene didn’t speak. Jack wished he understood why the thought of Keene disliking him bothered him so much. At first, he’d thought it was because their department was so small. Everybody had to like each other, or the department couldn’t function, right? Then, as he’d gotten to know his fellow officers, Jack had realized that Keene was the department’s heart. Technically, Chief Porter and Sergeant Russo took care of administration and leadership, but Keene was the one who knew how to do absolutely everything, who talked the rest of them through bad calls, who motivated them when they were tired. Keene always played it off as if it were no big deal, but it was.

Is it so hard to believe that I think you’re interesting? Jack asked softly. Or is it really just me—that you don’t like me? I wish you’d tell me what I’ve done wrong.

I don’t dislike you. Keene said each word with effort, as if he had a mouth full of tacks. It wasn’t spectacularly convincing.

All right. It’s okay. Forget I said anything. Jack started back toward the door, trying not to show his disappointment. He could make friends outside of work, and he should, now that he’d be seeing Emma and Leif less and less. He didn’t need Keene, or his good opinion.

Jack.

Jack stopped, surprised, and glanced back.

You off on Friday? Keene asked, without looking at him.

Friday, as in the day after tomorrow. The second day of the new year. Yes.

Piper’s Pub? Meet you in the back at seven?

All right. He couldn’t hide his astonishment or the emotion that crept up alongside it: optimism.

Chapter Two

Keene cursed at himself the third time he changed his shirt. This wasn’t a date, for fuck’s sake. The first shirt had been fine, anyway. He pulled the dark green thermal back on over his undershirt and frowned at himself in the bathroom mirror. When had he started looking so tired?

He dabbed on a small amount of cologne, hating himself for it, and headed out to his truck before he could do anything else equally stupid. Late afternoon had already transformed into cold, austere darkness, with jewel-bright stars glimmering between silhouetted pine trees. Vermont winters packed the kind of cold you felt in the deepest hollows of your body, and this winter was already shaping up to be colder than most.

He started up his truck and let it idle outside his cabin, half-listening to the warbling radio while his thoughts strayed, again, to Jack. Overnights always fucked up his sleep, and New Year’s Day had been no exception, as the ice-pale winter sunlight seeped into strange fever dreams about Jack’s tattoo, climbing up Jack’s arm and over his shoulder, across the lean, graceful planes of his back, like a filament of fire.

Once he started driving, Piper’s Pub came up way too fast, a golden ball of warmth and the promise of hot wings. He should cancel, he thought, as he walked up toward the door. He should get back into his truck and go home. That would be the smart thing to do. Despite what Jack seemed to think, though, Keene wasn’t smart. He had made his peace with that years ago. He’d just have to try not to say or do anything too damning.

Inside, Piper’s buzzed with mellow rock music, sports games playing on the television, the chatter of people clustered around the bar. Keene waved to Shannon, the bartender, who was wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt with cut-off sleeves. She lived a double life as an upscale dog groomer with a soft spot for poodles.

Usual, Bryan? she called to him, flashing one of her big smiles.

You bet, he said, making his way through the crowd, greeting a few of the regulars as he did so. Shannon passed him his beer across the bar, and he chatted with her about her kids, the poodles, her husband’s newest construction job. Tonight might not be so hard after all.

Then someone across the bar waved Shannon over for a new pitcher, and Keene glanced up at the clock on the television ticker tape. 7:05.

He could still leave. Make up some excuse.

But he wouldn’t, because he was a man who kept his word.

He headed toward the back room, where a jukebox and pool tables were set up under old-fashioned frosted glass ceiling lamps. Only one table was in play. He was pretty sure he knew the group of girls playing there from when he’d been their school resource officer. And now they were old enough to drink. Jesus.

In the back of the room by the dartboard, Jack leaned against the wall, one foot planted on the wainscoting. As usual, he was looking at his phone. He glanced up and slid the phone into his pocket as Keene walked over. Heavyweight, you made it. I was wondering if you’d show.

Course, Keene grunted. Got a drink yet?

Jack picked up a dark brown beer from a high-top table along the wall. Cheers.

To what? Keene asked, as he tapped his glass against Jack’s.

The new year seems like an obvious answer. Jack sipped his drink.

He should respond with a joke, or a dig…anything. Small talk normally came as naturally to him as drinking coffee all night and driving his patrol car. He only got tongue-tied like this around pretty boys. Clean-cut, wholesome, with classic features, maybe a pair of blue eyes. They had to be beautiful to catch his attention, even more beautiful to render him speechless.

Jack was clean-cut, but that was where his similarity to Keene’s usual type ended. His features were harsh, with his square jaw and broad forehead. His body was long-boned and lanky. He would have looked more natural taming a wild horse than modeling for Abercrombie, despite his trendy clothes.

Say something, Keene told himself. Say anything.

How was your day? he managed.

Jack shrugged. I did a construction detail.

So you froze your balls off?

"Pretty close