The Truth of Yesterday
Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 16
I sat alone at Micah's favorite diner, anxiously waiting for him to arrive. I'd managed to snag a corner booth, so at least we'd have some measure of privacy when we had the conversation I'd been rehearsing over and over in my head. Despite having agreed to meet at five, I was such a nervous wreck that I'd left work well before the appointed time.
I slouched there, playing out what I planned to say while mutilating sugar packet after sugar packet. Although Novak's advice had set me off on a path of self-examination that ended with some very clear decisions, I was still worried about how Micah would react.
I wasn’t even sure why I’d chosen this place. We didn’t have the best history here. The last time we’d been in this booth, Micah had come dangerously close to breaking up with me. Maybe I’d chosen it on purpose — a kind of emotional reset, a chance to rewrite the memory.
I destroyed the last sugar packet and was about to move on to the Sweet-n-Low when Micah slid into the seat across from me.
"Hey," he said easily.
He wore a dark-blue pullover that looked like it had been crumpled at the bottom of a laundry basket, and his hair was endearingly mussed — but somehow, he looked better than ever.
"Hi," I said softly, trying to smile.
"How did things go yesterday?"
“Okay,” I said. “But there’s something I need to talk to you about first, if you don’t mind.”
An unreadable expression flickered across his face — gone before I could make sense of it. I fought a sigh as I wondered what the point was in having all my gifts if they didn't help me out when I really needed to know what was going on right across the table from me.
Before I could say a word, however, a waitress appeared to take our order. I bit down the urge to snap at her. She was just doing her job. But I could feel the words I’d carefully built up teetering at the edge of my nerves like a stack of fragile dishes.
Once she was gone, Micah turned the full weight of his attention on me, causing my stomach to suddenly curl itself into the fetal position.
“Yeah. So,” I began, my voice shakier than I’d hoped. “Novak said something this morning that really got me thinking...about us.”
Micah tilted his head, listening.
“He told me to let go of the unimportant things and hold on to what matters. And as I thought about that, I realized something. You matter to me. A lot. And I don’t want to lose you.”
He opened his mouth, but I held up a hand. “Please...just let me get this out. I’ve been rehearsing it all day, and if I don’t say it now, I might never get it right.”
He nodded once, and I continued.
“I know I handled things badly when I found out about your past. I could make excuses — I was caught off guard, it was a shitty way to find out — all of which are true, but it's also true that I overreacted. Who am I to judge your past? I’ve never been in your shoes, and I have no idea what I would’ve done if I had been.”
I paused, collecting myself. “But what I do know is that I love you. I love who you are, and who you are is a product of everything that came before. These past few months with you have meant more to me than I ever expected. That morning in D.C., when we...you know, I’ve never felt more right about anything in my life. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. So...I guess I’m hoping you’ll forgive me. And maybe we could try again. Start fresh.”
I started to add something else, but Micah cut in gently.
“May I speak now?”
I nodded, heart pounding.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “Honestly. Yeah, the way you found out sucked — but I should have told you sooner. You needed time to process, and you took it. That doesn’t mean we need to start over. It just means we keep moving forward...together.”
I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and felt an enormous wave of relief roll through me.
He smiled. “Kill, I thought for sure you were about to dump me.”
“Not a chance, Mr. Gerber. You’re stuck with me.”
“Suits me just fine, Mr. Kendall.” He reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. “So, now that we’ve survived that conversation...what happened yesterday?”
I quickly walked Micah through my conversations with Tad, Razi, and Sabrina, ending with the search of Paul’s apartment and the discovery of the key.
"At this point," I said, leaning forward, "I need to get in touch with Paul’s family and with this Neal guy. I was hoping you could help me."
Micah rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I might be able to help with Neal. But Paul’s family? That’s going to be tougher. I never met them, and he hardly ever talked about them. I’m not even sure where they live.” He paused. “Do you have the key with you?”
I nodded and pulled it from my pocket. I’d slipped it in earlier on a hunch. I slid it across the table.
Micah picked it up, turning it over in his fingers with practiced curiosity. “Looks like a safe-deposit box key.”
I frowned. “Do you know if he had one?”
“Not while we were together. But that doesn’t mean anything. He could have gotten one after we broke up, and even if he had one then, he wouldn’t have told me. He was careful, especially with anything that might tie back to the agency.”
I nodded, thinking. “There’s no bank name on it, no logo or number — nothing.”
“Yeah, they’re not usually marked. That’s part of the security. Even if you figure out which bank it's from, you still can’t just walk in and open it.”
“Why not? I have the key.”
Micah gave me a look. “There are two keys. Yours, and one that stays with the bank. Both are required to open the box. Plus, you’d need proof of identity, either as Paul or as someone legally authorized to access his belongings. Without that, they won’t even talk to you.”
I groaned and slumped back in the booth. “So I risked tampering with evidence for nothing.”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied with a small smile. “I’m sure something will occur to you. It always does.”
I looked up at him, his expression warm and confident, and couldn’t help smiling back. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely. You’re stubborn. That’s one of your better qualities. Most of the time." He winked. "Okay, so let’s talk about Neal. What do you want to know?”
Before I could answer, the waitress arrived with our sandwiches. We took a break to eat a few bites.
After a minute, I asked, "So what about Neal? Do you have a number for him or something?"
Micah shook his head and swallowed.
“I don’t think I have Neal’s number anymore. I didn’t keep much from that time. When I moved here, I wanted to leave all that behind. Start over.”
I must’ve looked disappointed, because he quickly added, “Hey, it would’ve been too easy if I did, right? You’re the detective. You’ll figure it out.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I hate it when people say that.”
“I know. That’s why I said it.”
“Jerk.”
He grinned. “You love it.”
“Maybe. So, tell me more about the agency. How did it work, exactly? I mean, how do they find people? Isn’t this kind of thing illegal?”
“Technically, yeah. But they operate pretty far underground. Neal’s agency was known for being discreet and professional. It had a good reputation—especially for keeping the escorts safe. I don’t know how he handled the business end of things, but I’d bet he used a front of some kind to launder the money.”
“I know you said Paul got you into it, but how do they find their...employees? Do they advertise on Indeed?”
He laughed. “It's mostly word of mouth, networking, spotting someone who fits the profile. They do a lot of recruiting from sites like OnlyFans these days."
"Did you ever meet Neal? Like, did you have an interview?"
"No, I think my videos were my interview. I never met Neal face to face. I talked to him on the phone a few times, but most of our communication was through text.”
“What happened after you were hired?”
“If he had a job for me, he’d send the time, location, and client info. If the client paid in cash, I deposited it into a shared account. He’d pull his share and leave the rest for me. If the client paid electronically, Neal would transfer my cut directly.”
I blinked. “You took credit cards?”
Micah smirked. “Yeah. Like I said — professional operation. Again, all very discreet. It's not your credit card bill had the charges listed as sex work.”
I snorted. “How did clients find you? Word of mouth again?”
“That, but there’s also a website.”
I stared at him. “A website?”
“Sure. That’s how people booked us. It had profiles, photos, preferences, the whole thing. Password-protected, naturally.”
I sat back, trying to process it all. “It’s like this whole parallel world I didn’t know existed.”
“In a way, it is another world,” he said, his voice softening.
I took another bite of my sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “How many guys work for Neal?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t interact with the others much. Neal kept us pretty isolated, probably to avoid any complications or drama.”
“Razi mentioned that he met Paul through work,” I said slowly. “And that sometimes clients had special requests.”
Micah froze slightly, his sandwich halfway to his mouth.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Do I even want to know?”
Micah looked suddenly sheepish. “Um...every once in a while, a client would request a specific scenario or, like...two guys.”
“Oh,” I said, blinking. Then, “Ohhh.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable.
I waved a hand. “No judgment. Really. I'm just trying to get a complete picture.”
“I appreciate that,” he said quietly.
“Do you think Paul and Razi ever worked a job like that together?”
“It’s possible,” he said, brow furrowed. “But honestly, Razi and I never got along so I never asked for details. But if Razi was telling the truth, then yeah...maybe.”
"Got it." Time to change the subject. "What was Neal like?" I asked.
Micah leaned back in the booth, thinking. “He seemed...fine. At least over the phone. Polite, professional. Never raised his voice unless you broke the rules, and even then he wasn’t cruel. Just firm.”
“What kind of rules?”
“You had to be reachable, always. Your phone was never supposed to be off. If he called and you didn’t answer, you had thirty minutes to call him back.”
“Or what?”
“The first time, he’d let you know he wasn’t happy. The second time, he’d dock your pay. More than that, and he’d stop using you.”
I frowned. “Sounds a little controlling.”
Micah shrugged. “Maybe. But in his world, reliability was everything. If a client had a last-minute change or an emergency, he needed people he could count on.”
“And if someone got fired or quit, could they just go solo? Keep escorting on their own?”
“Sure. Like Razi said, a lot of guys eventually do. If they’re in it long-term, it usually makes more sense to branch out on their own. But working with Neal meant stability, safety, and a steady stream of clients.”
“How did Neal even get into this business? I can’t imagine it’s the kind of thing you grow up dreaming about. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up, little boy?’ ‘I want to be a pimp!’”
Micah chuckled. “He’s not exactly a pimp. I mean, yeah, kind of, but not all clients are looking for sex. Sometimes it’s companionship, an event date, someone to talk to. Still, the label kind of fits, I guess.”
“So?”
“I heard he made a ton of money on some Internet startup in the early 2000s. Sold it off, retired young, and got bored out of his mind. Rumor is, he’d used an escort service before, thought he could run one better, and just...did.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a post-retirement project. Most people just take up golf.”
Micah grinned. “Neal wasn’t most people. Some people say he even used to work for an agency himself, back in the day. But I don’t know how much of that is true. It was all rumor. Nobody I knew had ever met him in person.”
“How old is he?”
“No idea. I always pictured him in his late forties, maybe early fifties? But it was just a voice on the phone.”
“One last question, and I promise I’ll stop prying.” I leaned in slightly. “What’s the agency called? Does it even have a name?”
Micah nodded. “Yeah, it’s called The Drake Group.”
I blinked. “The Drake Group? That sounds like a law firm.”
“I think that’s the point. Neal wanted something discreet, professional. So if someone saw the name pop up in your contacts or on a deposit, they wouldn’t think twice.”
“Smart. Boring as hell, but smart.”
He smirked. “Would you prefer something like Top to Bottom?”
That made me laugh — hard. “God, no. But you definitely never told me the name before. The Drake Group. Yeah, that I wouldn’t have remembered.”
We ate in silence while I digested all I'd learned. After a few minutes, he asked, "So, do you have any Halloween plans?"
“Oh! I almost forgot,” I said, dropping what was left of my sandwich. “I have tickets to the Equality Ball on Halloween night.”
Micah blinked. “You what?”
“I have tickets. To the Ball.”
He leaned forward, eyes wide. “How in God’s name did you get them? Those are like golden tickets. Practically impossible.”
“Novak pulled a few strings. Called in a favor, I think. I wanted them for another case I’m working on.”
“Another case? What case?”
I hesitated, realizing I hadn’t mentioned anything about investigating Jake. So I explained Judy’s request and how I’d found the ticket among Jake’s things. “So, you wanna go with me?” I added lightly. “You can be my Prince Charming.”
Micah grinned. “Does that make you Cinderella?”
I stuck my tongue out at him, which made him laugh. “Of course I’ll go. You think I’d miss a chance to see you in a ball gown?”
“You’re hilarious. But for real, Novak said we need to dress up — tuxedos and masks. It’s a formal masquerade.”
Micah raised an eyebrow. “Leave that to me. I might be able to convince the paper to cover tux rentals. They’ll be thrilled one of their reporters is actually going.”
“They weren’t already sending someone?”
"Not that I've heard, but we do have a society writer, so maybe. I've been so caught up in this story that I wouldn't even know if they were sending Walters."
Walters, one of the senior reporters at the paper, had been in the business since Ben Franklin started printing and resented the younger reporters like Micah. After Walters sabotaged some of Micah's early assignments, their relationship became especially acrimonious, leading Micah to relish every chance he got to upstage the older man.
"I can't believe you have to go to the Equality Ball for work."
I laughed. "It's a dirty job but somebody has to do it. What are you up to later tonight?"
He glanced down at his phone. “Unfortunately, I have to head back to the newsroom soon. I’m lucky I could sneak away for dinner at all.”
“I was hoping we could hang out tonight.”
He gave me an apologetic look. “Wish I could. But the story’s heating up. Why not make plans with someone else?”
I sighed. “Like who? I don’t exactly have a bustling social calendar. It’s basically you or my family, and I haven’t been making much time for them lately. Kane reminded me of that not so gently.”
Micah leaned on the table. “You really should try to expand your social circle, Kill. You throw yourself into work like a man possessed. It wouldn’t kill you to spend time just having fun.”
“You think I’m too caught up in my job?”
“Uh, yeah. You’re only eighteen. You should be going out, doing stupid things, partying—”
“I do have fun! We go dancing sometimes and…” I trailed off, struggling to think of anything else.
Micah raised an eyebrow. “Case in point.”
“I’m just not a party person, okay?”
He tried not to smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “All I’m saying is, you could use more friends.”
I shrugged. “The guys at Haven seemed nice.”
“Exactly. So stop arguing with me.”
“I’m not arguing,” I said, then paused. “Okay, maybe a little. I think I’m just getting tired of everyone telling me what I should be doing with my life...even when they’re right.”
“Who else is telling you what to do?”
"Just about every living person I know. Plus a few who aren't."
He tilted his head. “Huh?”
“Long story.”
Micah glanced at his watch. “I’ve got about half an hour before I absolutely have to get back. Want to tell me?”
I hesitated, then nodded. Micah knew about Amalie. He'd been present for most of what happened with her, so he was aware of my gifts. We'd even talked about my being sensitive to supernatural things, but I’d never really laid it all out. If this relationship was going to move forward, I couldn’t keep hiding pieces of myself.
So I told him everything — my visits from Seth, what happened at Paul’s apartment, the sensation of being strangled, the strange visions, and my decision to finally seek training for my abilities, whatever that might look like.
When I finished, he sat quietly for a moment, processing.
“Yeah, I can understand how that might be overwhelming,” he said finally. “I’m glad you’re going to get training. You need to understand what’s happening to you so you’re not constantly freaked out.”
I blinked. “You’re not...freaked out?”
He smiled gently. “Not really. I was there for Amalie, remember?”
“Yeah, but—”
"If I could handle that, this doesn’t faze me. Give me some credit.”
I let out a breath. “You’re right. Sorry. I guess because I’ve had a hard time with all this, I assumed everyone else would too.”
Micah shrugged. “Not everyone resists change as hard as you do.”
“Hey! I don’t resist—” I paused. “Do I?”
He didn’t say anything. Just gave me a look.
I sighed. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”
He reached across the table and gave my hand a gentle squeeze just as the waitress returned with the check. Before I could reach for it, Micah grabbed it and pulled out his wallet.
“My treat,” he said. “Now I really do have to get back, but I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
As he stood, he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “You’re doing better than you think, Killian. Keep going.”
I sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty space across from me, his words echoing in my head. You’re doing better than you think. It was such a simple thing to say, but it landed with unexpected weight.
The last few weeks had been a mess — a confusing blend of grief, guilt, supernatural chaos, and emotional whiplash. I’d second-guessed every choice, questioned every instinct. I hadn’t felt like I was doing well at all. If anything, I’d been constantly afraid I was screwing everything up — Paul’s case, my so-called gifts, and most of all, my relationship with Micah.
But he believed in me.
And so did Novak, as he took every chance to remind me.
A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth despite everything. I could still feel the ghost of Micah's kiss on the top of my head — so light it could almost have been imagined, but real enough to make my heart ache in the best way.
You’re doing better than you think. Maybe he was right. Maybe I didn’t have to have it all figured out right now. Maybe just trying was enough.
I watched Micah walk to the counter, that easy, self-assured stride of his making something flutter quietly in my chest. He handed the cashier a couple of bills and cracked a smile at something she said — probably some corny joke — and I found myself smiling too, almost involuntarily. There was something comforting about seeing him like that. Steady. Familiar. Mine.
I leaned back in the booth, feeling the last of my nerves unwind. Things between us really did seem to be returning to normal, like we’d finally started to shake off the tension that had crept in over the past few weeks. We weren’t magically back to where we’d been, but maybe we were getting there.
It wasn’t lost on me how ridiculous my version of “normal” had become. Murder investigations, psychic visions, dead people showing up at my kitchen table like it was just another Tuesday... But sitting there, watching Micah pay for dinner and shoot me that casual wave over his shoulder, I felt something dangerously close to contentment. Didn’t every young gay couple juggle ghosts, guilt, and romantic dinners in the middle of ongoing homicide cases?
I finished the last bite of my sandwich and slid out of the booth, grabbing my jacket. As I passed the counter, our waitress reappeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She caught my eye and grinned.
"You've got a cute one there, hon," she said with a wink. "Better hang on to him."
I felt my face warm, but I couldn't stop the grin that spread across it. “Yeah,” I said, almost to myself. “I plan to.”
Outside, the air was cooler than before, and the early evening sky had started to slip toward dusk. I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed for my car.
I didn’t know what was waiting for me tomorrow — visions, spirits, angry clients, or something worse. But for now, in this brief, quiet moment, I let myself feel the tiniest flicker of peace.
And I held on to it.
I once again returned home to an empty house.
It was starting to feel like a theme — me coming home to silence, lights off, shadows stretching across the walls like they'd taken up residence in our absence. I was beginning to wonder if everyone else had quietly moved out and forgotten to tell me. I hadn’t seen Adam or Steve in a couple of days, and even Kane had been scarce lately. The house didn’t feel haunted, exactly, just hollow.
Micah FaceTimed me later that night. I was already in bed, and he was still at the office, hunched over his desk and looking unfairly good in bad lighting. We didn’t talk about anything important. Just chatted. Laughed a little. It was a nice change of pace.
We were running out of things to say when I heard a noise from downstairs.
“Hey,” I said, sitting up a little straighter, “I think Adam’s home. I haven’t seen him in a few days. I’m gonna go check in.”
“Okay,” Micah said with a small smile. “Tell him I said hey.”
I padded downstairs barefoot and found Adam in the kitchen, bent over and rummaging through the fridge like it owed him money.
“I thought that might be you,” I said.
He jumped and nearly whacked his head on a shelf. “Damn it, Killian, you scared the crap out of me.”
I tried to smother a laugh and failed miserably. “Sorry, I figured you knew I was here.”
“I saw your car but thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“I was talking to Micah.”
“Ah. How’s that going?”
“Better,” I said, and realized I meant it. “Definitely better.”
Adam sighed as he closed the fridge door and flopped into a chair. He looked bone-tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your shoulders and never quite lets go.
“I feel so out of touch,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately.”
“It’s okay,” I said, joining him at the table. “I know you and Steve have been slammed trying to get the B&B up and running.”
“True, but that doesn’t make it right that I haven’t been home in days. I’ve barely seen Kane, and you boys never complain, so I just assume everything’s fine.”
“Everything is fine,” I assured him. “We’re figuring it out. It’s not forever.”
He studied my face for a second, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe me. “You’re really okay?”
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to tell him everything — Paul’s apartment, the visions, the feeling of being strangled — but I held back. Adam worried enough. No need to add supernatural murder trauma to his mental checklist.
“Yeah,” I said. “Everything’s under control.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “What about Kane? How’s he holding up?”
I smiled. “He’ll be okay. He was a little upset the other night, said it felt like the family was falling apart. We promised each other we’d make time to hang out more. It helped, I think. He’s a good kid.”
Adam nodded slowly. “He is. You both are. But I’m a dad. Worrying is part of the job description. And I worry about you too. You have so much going on...”
“I’m going to get training for my gifts,” I said quickly. “Try to understand this stuff better. I've already talked to Judy.”
“That’s great, and I’m glad,” he said. “But it’s not just the visions, Kill. It’s your job — it’s dangerous. You’re balancing school, work, a relationship... You’re eighteen. That’s a lot.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re overworked, sleep-deprived, and emotionally stretched thin.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Jeez, you have a lot of fears.”
“Welcome to the joys of parenthood.”
“I’m a big boy now, Adam. I can take care of myself.”
He gave me a long look. “I know you think that. And that worries me too. You’re still a kid in a lot of ways. A kid with a much older, much more experienced boyfriend.”
“Micah is good to me,” I said softly. “He would never hurt me.”
“Not intentionally, no.”
“This is about his past, isn’t it?”
Adam hesitated. “Maybe a little.”
“Micah told me he appreciated the way you and Steve handled it. He said the talk meant a lot to him. He thought you were supportive.”
“I was. I am. I meant everything I said. That the past is the past. That you were mature enough to handle the truth. But after that...my dad instincts kicked in and I started overthinking everything. And worrying.”
“Well, stop. I was freaked out at first too, but I love Micah. And he loves me. We’ve both got baggage. Who doesn’t?”
Adam chuckled. “Boy, isn’t that the truth. And listen — I like Micah. I really do. I think he’s a good guy. I’d be worried no matter who you were dating. That’s just what I do.”
“You’re exhausting, you know that?” I teased.
“And yet, here we are.”
“School’s going fine. My job is mostly boring, with occasional spikes of mortal danger. Could be worse. I could’ve become a—” I dropped my voice to a whisper, “—lawyer.”
That earned a laugh. “You said Kane’s a good kid, but I’ve got two good kids. No — two great kids.”
I leaned over and hugged him. “And we have two great dads.”
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in, warm and steady. It had been a long time since he’d held me like that. His hand rested gently on the back of my head.
Then he sighed. “I’m beginning to think this whole thing was a mistake.”
I pulled away slightly. “What whole thing?”
“The bed and breakfast.”
“But it was Steve’s dream.”
“I know. And I wanted to help him make it happen. But maybe some dreams aren’t meant to come true.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
He rubbed his temples. “No. Not really. I'm just exhausted. And I miss Steve. Even when we're both there, we're so busy we don't get any alone time.”
I nodded. “It won’t always be like this. Starting a new business is hard. Once things settle, you’ll find your rhythm again. You’ll find each other again.”
He gave me a faint smile. “A new normal, maybe. I’ll take it. But you’re right. We’re not going to solve all the world’s problems tonight. We should get to bed.”
“I thought you’d never say it. I’m running on fumes.”
He stood and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks, kiddo. For talking. For being here.”
“Anytime,” I said, meaning it.
We turned off the lights and climbed the stairs in comfortable silence, each of us carrying our own worries — but, for the moment at least, not carrying them alone.
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