You Were Always the One

You Were Always the One© 2013 Hollis Shiloh

Cover Art© 2013 Christine Griffin alizarin_griffin@yahoo.com
www.christinegriffin.daportfolio.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

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Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-270-2
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
October 2013

In memory of J., with love.

“HEY, Max, one of the guys we picked up is asking for you down in the cell,” said Jansen.

“Oh?” I put a finishing touch on my report and hit Save.

“Who’s he say he is?”

“Jamie Wyzacki. Little asshole won’t shut up, keeps demanding to see you.”

I looked up, swallowed. “What’s he in on?” My voice sounded strange in my ears. My little Jamie, in jail?

“Prostitution charge, same as the others.”

“Yeah?”

“Escort agency bust. Don’t know what they’re thinking.

We’re overcrowded already, and ten to one there isn’t enough to charge most of the people anyway.”

I nodded my thanks for the information and went to the coffee machine. The sounds of the busy precinct swirled around me. I got a mugful, drank half of it, put it down, and went into the holding area.

A bunch of people filled the holding cell: milling, sitting, resting, or pouting. Jamie was pacing. Little Jamie. He never did grow very big. I remembered the runty little guy with his animated face. He used to bounce up and down, trying to get our attention.

Now he wore jeans that fit just a little too tight, a slick blue dress shirt with several of the top buttons undone—

showing a fair amount of his chest—and a black leather jacket with the collar turned up. His shoes were red sneakers, not quite matching the rest of his outfit. I’d seen him a few times in the almost ten years since we’d been close, but I still wasn’t prepared for the sight of him in a sexy outfit.

The moment I entered the room, his gaze shot to me. He walked up to the bars, as demanding and hotheaded as ever.

He gripped the cell bars and glared at me. “Would you just get me out of here?”

“Sure. If you tell me how you got in here.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He gave the bars a frustrated shake and growled in his throat. “Ugh! All right, wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t do anything, Max, you know I didn’t!”

Jamie’s blue eyes looked so insistent and assured. He never could lie to me. He lied better to his own brother. But not to me. He never fooled me.

I spoke to the officer in charge; he got the keys. They jingled. Jamie bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently.

We let him out. Relief shone in his face. “Good! Now make them give me back my wallet, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Not so fast.” I caught him by the turned-up collar and hauled him after me.

“Max!”

“We’ve got to talk.” I took him to one of the interrogation rooms, pulled a chair out pointedly, and sat down in the opposite one. I crossed my arms. “Want to let me know what’s going on in that stupid head of yours?”

Jamie walked around the table and regarded the chair, then me. He dragged his chin down a little and raised his eyebrows with an expression that seemed to say, “Really?”

“Sit.”

Jamie crossed his arms harder than I had, sat down on the table, and glowered at me. He looked pretty damn sexy like that. It surprised and disturbed me to notice—my old friend’s little brother. Why, that practically made him my little brother, or something.

I’d always had a soft spot for Jamie, though. Always tried to tell myself it was nothing but friendliness. Hard to think that, when he was sitting there dressed so sexily.

“Well? Got an explanation for yourself, young man?” Maybe that would reassert our professional boundaries.

“Don’t give me that! I’m not a young man! I’m out of college and everything!”

“You’re sitting here dressed like that, on a charge of prostitution, and you’ve got the nerve to—”

He jumped up and shouted. “Dressed like what? This is a cool outfit. Don’t you dare mock me, Max! Y-you a-ass!”

I got up, walked around the table, and caught his shoulder. “Sit.” I pushed his unwilling body down into the chair and stood there next to him. “Why are you being accused of prostitution if you’re innocent?”

He rolled his eyes, but I could see him tearing up. He never could hide that from me either. I pulled out my handkerchief, handed it to him, and waited.

He blew his nose. It took awhile. He refolded the handkerchief, blew again, and then fiddled with the handkerchief, looking down. “It’s an escort service,” he said at last in a muffled voice.

A cold feeling prickled up my spine, followed by a hot one.

“Not that kind of escort service. Just… you want somebody to go with you to a party kind of thing. Somebody to talk to and look cool with. I don’t know what anybody else does,” he said hotly. “But I never sell more than that, and it’s official you’re not supposed to sell more than that. So I d-don’t know why anybody would pick me up, because I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. Max! I wouldn’t.” He looked at me with those big, indignant eyes, just like he was a kid again, insisting he hadn’t been the one to do the deed, no matter how much incriminating evidence there seemed to be against him.

“All right. All right, you didn’t.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “But kiddo, should you really be selling yourself, even as a companion? You’ve got to admit it looks shady. So do you, dressed this way.”

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” he demanded, tugging at his shirt. I looked away. “Oh, come on! I’m not indecent!”

“You’re not exactly emphasizing your intellect, kid. Are things really so tight for you?”

He rolled his eyes, embarrassed at the pity he must’ve seen in my face. “Well, what do you think? Acting in community theater doesn’t exactly pay the bills, and let’s just say my paintings aren’t selling like hot cakes yet.” He shrugged elaborately, lifting his shoulders and his hands high. “So I do this. It pays better than packing groceries. Which I also do. I’m not doing anything I’m ashamed of, and I wouldn’t. Spending a little time at a party with somebody who’s willing to pay… it’s not my idea of hell.”

I walked back to my side of the table. I ran a hand through my hair, sighed, and pushed the chair in. “All right.”

I turned and gestured to him. “I’ll see what I can do. And for pity’s sake, button up and wipe the pout off your face.”

Jamie frowned at me, squinting a little more with one eye than the other. He did up his buttons and followed me from the room.

“Sit here and wait for me.” I pointed to a chair and motioned for a coworker to keep an eye on him. Then I went in to see the boss.

I could vouch for him, I said. We were overcrowded, I said. He was a good kid and hadn’t actually done something criminal; they probably wouldn’t even end up charging him, certainly not with anything likely to stick. Could he possibly be released into my custody for the night? I’d hate to see an old friend spend the night in jail.

My boss furrowed his brow, considering it. “How long ago did you know him? Perhaps he’s changed.”

“He has, sir,” I agreed. “But not that much. He’ll listen to me and stay out of trouble.” Don’t make me leave him here overnight.

Finally, my boss agreed. “We’re a bit overcrowded at the moment, and it’s looking as though we’ll have to release most of them anyway. Just keep a close eye on him until it’s official. I don’t want to see tomorrow’s paper read: CROOKED COP RELEASES OLD FRIEND, CRIMINAL.”

My boss loved headlines as illustrations. He wasn’t very good at them, but they seemed to haunt him. I could just see them keeping him awake at night, tossing and turning. He’d probably been the victim of some bad ones that left him a mite obsessed early in his career.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care of him.”

Outside of his office, I nodded to Jansen and gave Jamie a swat on the arm, grinning. “I cleared it with my boss. You can stay with me, released into my custody. You’ll have to wait ’til I finish my shift, though.”

He jumped up. “What? No! I have places to go, things to do….”

“You should have thought of that before you got picked up like a whore.”

He blushed this time. I didn’t expect it. “I’m not.”

“I know you’re not. But it’s what you’re accused of, and I can’t just release you because you’re my little buddy. You’re coming home with me, released to my custody until we can get these charges dropped. Now come on. You’re really lucky here.”

“Yeah, I feel lucky,” he muttered. “Asshole.” He kicked at the chair, head down sullenly.

“What was that?” I inquired sweetly, catching him by the collar and dragging him forward faster.

“Ah. Nothing! Let go.”

I COULDN’T get off early. I had to finish everything and then some. But it wouldn’t hurt Jamie to cool his heels. At last, I grabbed my coat, rubbed my lower back and grimaced, and then headed out to pick him up in the lobby.

He looked like a kid sitting there, not very big, not very strong, and unable to sit still. He had a magazine flopped open on his lap, one foot twisted around the chair, the other wagging back and forth. One of his shoelaces had come undone. His slicked-back, dark, rather greasy-looking hair was starting to come loose, strands of it falling down like he was a fallen-angel Elvis.

He raised his head and said something to the desk sergeant. She grinned in sympathy and nodded. He reached up and took a small handful of the mints she kept on the desk and popped them into his mouth. They made his cheeks bulge like a chipmunk’s.

I stood still a moment and then forced myself to walk into the room and his awareness.

“Kid. C’mon, let’s go.” I reached down and patted his arm.

Jamie hopped up instantly, put the magazine down, and grabbed his jacket—and tugged until he finally got it off the back of his chair. He slung it over his shoulder, gave me a whimsical smile, and headed out after me, his steps bouncy.

“Somebody recovered his good mood,” I observed. My steps were light too.

He ran his fingers back through his hair and gave it a little shake. “Well, you caught me off guard. But I am glad to see you.” He cast me a quick, shy grin. “I’d like to see where you live, actually. And will you cook something for me?”

“Don’t push your luck.” I bumped his shoulder lightly with mine. He got into the truck with me, adjusted the seat forward, and put on his seatbelt. I smiled at him, nostalgia making me feel a little twist inside. “Remember when you’d sit there in the old Ford?”

He cast me a quick, sweet smile that lit his whole face. “Yeah. You were supposed to be doing your math homework, but I could always convince you to drop everything!” He grinned, looking proud of himself.

I smiled at the reminiscence. “Video store so you could rent a game, art store so you could buy paints….”

“Grocery store so I could buy junk food. Hell, you ferried me around more than my own brother did.”

“I was awfully damn proud of having my license.” I remembered now: fourteen-year-old Jamie, who had looked about twelve, his insistent little moon-face popping round the corner of my bedroom door. “Max!” he’d call. “I need to return my video, okay? Okay?” He’d come and sit on the edge of my bed and kick his feet against it, lean back, lean forward, ask about the posters in my room, ask about anything and everything, and distract me no end until I agreed. But his smile as he hopped up, eyes shining, was always worth saying “yes.” I’d pretend to be annoyed. Not terribly effectively, I’m guessing. I’d grab my letter jacket and walk out after him, then drive him wherever he needed to go that day, my chattering little buddy, always so happy to go away with me.

Jamie and Mason had lived next door. We’d been

neighbors since Jamie was just a kid in diapers, and me and Mason weren’t much older. Mason was my buddy for a long time, until we started going our separate ways in school—me into sports, him into academic achievements. Even then he was still the one I told the important stuff.

But Jamie was something special. He invaded my life and took me by storm; a shrimp of a kid—insistent, loud, and sweet. He always tried too hard to get noticed, never happier than when he had my full attention so he could chatter away and tell me every little thing in his life. We still cared about each other, but distance began to crop up between us when the dreadful teen years found us both—me at sixteen in the heights of them, him a thirteen-year-old at the beginning. He grew sullen, he got pimples, and his voice changed at odd times and made him self-conscious.

But he still asked me to drive him places. It was often the high point of my day, if I’m honest. By then the demands of school were taking their toll—but not as much as the demands of sorting out my sexuality and coming to the terrifying realization that men filled my dreams, not women.

The girl I was dating, the girl a lot of guys wanted, didn’t turn me on the way my baseball buddies did. It was a hell of a time. Little Jamie was one of the bright points of my day.

He distracted me from myself, reminded me of better days, and his hero worship salved my aching self-esteem.

The one thing I could never face was that sometimes Jamie filled my dreams too. Three years younger was an eternity in those days, and Jamie always looked younger yet.

He’d always been “the kid,” the one I looked after. I couldn’t let myself see him differently. But sometimes my subconscious did, anyway. I hated myself when that happened.

All these things rushed through my mind, bitter and sweet at the same time, while I drove Jamie home with me one more time.

I cleared my throat. “So how have you been, kid? Other than this, I mean.”

“Pretty good. I can’t complain.” He kicked the seat and then reached over and started fiddling with the radio dial.

“Would you quit that?” I swatted at his hand.

He swatted back and gave me a glare. “I can’t run the radio now? What is this, a gulag?”

“Save the big words. You can’t talk for five minutes without listening to music?”

“It’s not a big word. It’s five letters long.”

“It’s foreign.”

“Augh! All right. What do you want to talk about?” Jamie flung himself back in the seat and glowered at me.

I couldn’t help smiling a little and shaking my head.

“Are you ever going to grow up?”

“I can’t help it. You bring out the twelve-year-old in me.”

“Oh, so you want me to take you to a video store, then?”

“Are there even any still in business around here?” He looked interested.

“No. I’ll let you rent a movie from OnDemand.”

“Oh! Cool. And pizza?”

“You can’t rent a pizza.”

“No, I mean, will you make me pizza?”

I shut my mouth. A wave of nostalgia washed over me, a wave carrying rocks, hitting me in the chest and then pulling back, pulling the sand from under my toes and trying to drag me out to sea. I took a quick breath.

“I don’t cook a lot anymore,” I said softly.

“Shame.” He watched me closely. “What do you do?”

I shrugged painfully. “I survive on takeout and instant foods. Canned soups, microwave fodder. That sort of thing.”

“I liked it when you cooked.” He turned and looked out the window, watching the street lights flash by. “Now there’s a hooker,” he said, pointing. “Why didn’t they pick her up instead of picking on me?”

I glanced over and caught a quick glimpse of bare thighs and black boots, a lady with large hair, smoking.

“You don’t know that, kid. And hard to get it to stick. This bust of yours, it’s been brewing for some time apparently. You got caught in the middle.” I hesitated. “You going to quit now? It’s obviously not the most reputable place to work.”

He snorted. “And go back to just packing groceries? Yeah, right.” He had that stubborn tilt to his chin.

“Think about it,” I said, knowing when to back off. I gripped the steering wheel hard and tried to concentrate on driving. I wanted to reach over, to touch him, to assure myself he was real.

“How come you never visit anymore?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t say anything.

“You came over every Christmas and Thanksgiving. Every time your dad was in the bar and you didn’t want to be alone. You ate with us more often than with your family, except for when you cooked something. Or you cooked something for us. Do you have a family of your own now, somebody to eat with all the time?” His questions were in a low, awkward voice, as if it hurt him to ask.

What could I say?

I cleared my throat. “No, I don’t have anybody. Well, a dog, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know it’s not. Why, Max? We missed you.”

“Mason and I had a falling-out. It didn’t concern you.”

“Well, then you should’ve kept coming around. I was your friend too.”

“You still are. But things move on.” I went to the academy while he was still in school, and then he went to college while I was busy being a cop. “Didn’t you have new friends to keep you busy?” I snorted, then answered myself. “Of course you did. Friends who introduced you to the escort business.”

“Don’t,” said Jamie. “You have no idea. It’s not bad work, and I don’t do anything bad.” He crossed his arms.

It was so hard to think of him as an adult when he had his stubborn, mule-headed look on. I reached over and touched his arm. The leather of his jacket was soft.

“Come on, Jamielon,” I said.

He loosened up and shot me a look; a smile grew on his face and left his eyes alight and friendly again. “You remembered.”

I chuckled. “Of course. Do you remember mine?”

“Maxilon!” He almost bounced in his seat. He shoved his knuckles into his mouth and gnawed them in his excitement. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“How could I forget my spaceman?” Then I had to concentrate on driving because I felt hot in the face.

One summer, Jamie had been mad for science fiction. He'd begged and pleaded for anyone to play with him until everyone groaned at the mere mention. But I always played, at least some truncated version of his imaginative games. He was Jamielon (a particularly futuristic-sounding name, we thought at the time), and I was Maxilon. Usually, I got to be a villain, and he vanquished me, but sometimes, we were on the same team. My bedroom was a spaceship, the desk the pilot’s array. He’d push it in front of the window, and I’d sit cross-legged on my bed while he flew the ship, making engine sounds in his throat, which got louder and louder.

I had hated math homework. It buzzed around and got stuck in my brain and made me feel stupid. I always welcomed his distraction, every time.

He had been my little buddy. Sometimes when we were younger, like six and nine, when my mother was still alive, he'd come over a lot. He used to curl up next to me, just sort of cuddled up at my side while I read. Sometimes, he fell asleep. Jamie was such a little guy then, so small. He’d run around and wear himself out and then fall asleep against me, his face flushed, snuggled against me like he’d never need to be anywhere else.

It had taken me forever to read anything for school. I'd worked twice as hard as everybody else. I have dyslexia, but knowing the word back then didn’t make me feel any less dumb. I knew even then that I needed to concentrate on reading, that I shouldn’t reach down and pet him. I knew most people didn’t want to cradle their friends the way I wanted to cradle mine. Especially Jamie.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. He tapped his fingers on his thighs and hummed under his breath, a happy sound that made me ache inside. I hadn’t meant to feel anything like this, not again. Especially not with Mason in the background, still cold and distrustful from when I told him I was gay.

I don’t fit a lot of the stereotypes of gay men, so most of the time people are surprised if they find out. Mostly, they don’t. I took a long, hard road to self-acceptance; I’ve given up on trying to make other people accept me. I just want to live my life, do my job, and hope someday I’ll meet a nice man who won’t mind having a partner who’s a cop. Most of the time, I think I’ll probably just grow old with a couple of dogs for company, and people will say, “That guy ‘was’ the job. They don’t make them like that anymore!” I hope for that sometimes. I’d like to be someone people look up to, the way Jamie used to look up to me.

“This is your place?” He straightened up and looked interested.

I put the handbrake on. “What do you think?” I looked at it through new eyes with him next to me. A quiet, medium-sized house in a small neighborhood: gray stucco with blue-trim windows, white window boxes, and a potted palm tree out front. I like the way it looks, always have.

Jamie unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out of the truck. He slammed the door behind him. “I like it.” We went through the gate; I have the whole place fenced in to keep my dog safe. Jamie walked toward the front step and touched the palm on his way. He held a frond lightly and slid it between his fingers.

He waited for me to get the door. “Your dog doesn’t bite?”

“Oh yes. Especially feisty little shrimps.” Jamie gave me a shove on the shoulder.

I unlocked the door.

The scrabbling of toenails greeted us; no barking. Alex was a good dog. I greeted her first; I knelt down and grabbed her head in a rough, affectionate tussling, then rubbed her ears. Her mouth lolled, and she licked me and danced around.

Then Jamie arrived beside me; he hunkered down, and his hands reached out, light and tentative. He was so close I could smell him; the scent of aftershave covered up his natural scent, which was sweet and light, or at least, it had been when he was younger.

He made a small sound in his throat as he petted Alex. “Good boy. Good boy.”

“Girl, actually.”

“Good girl.” He looked at me, a shy look, and then away.

We rose to our feet and walked inside. I held the door for the dog; Alex dashed out into the backyard and barked at something small that ran away; she ran fast, exuberant circles inside the fence, switching back and forth.

Alex barked once more. I unlocked the doggy door to the backyard so she could come back anytime she was ready. I poured us each a glass of soda; I could feel his gaze on me. I handed one of the glasses to him. It was already sweating.

My hand touched his slightly as I passed the glass. I withdrew.

“Thanks.” He sipped it. I could still feel him watching me, thoughtfully now, like he was getting ready to pry me open like a stubborn clam. “Whatever happened to Lauren?”

“Huh?” That was left field. I expected him to ask me something about work or my dad, or trail back to why I didn’t visit his family anymore.

I looked at him. Jamie’s gaze was clear, calm, and curious, but still had something hidden in it. I didn’t want to think about what.

I’d put off thinking about this for a long time. I mean, I don’t fit the stereotypes. Just because, in some ways, Jamie does, doesn’t automatically make him gay. So he likes art, he likes acting, he dresses nicely, he’s really good-looking and not stereotypically masculine. But that doesn’t mean he’s gay. Mostly, I didn’t want to think he could be because how would Mason react to that, his own brother? I didn’t want to think of Jamie’s own brother rejecting him. And would Mason somehow blame me if Jamie was gay? Mason might think like that. Hell, lots of people would.

“Lauren?” I repeated stupidly.

“Uh-huh.”

Alex scrambled back through the door, mouth open, panting and happy. Jamie bent slightly and scratched her head with his fingernails, not taking his gaze off me. “You used to date her all the time. I thought it was serious between you two.”

“It was… and it wasn’t. A mistake, that’s all. I think she’s married now. Haven’t kept up with her, to be honest.” I opened the fridge, looked for something I could make us.

Something a little better than microwave food.

Jamie brought back memories of how much fun I used to have in the kitchen, even though I really learned to cook out of necessity. Basically, I’d have starved if I hadn’t learned to look after myself and had the kindest of mothers next door who’d feed me in a heartbeat. My dad was always working or out at the bar after Mom died.

Dad wasn’t abusive, and he wasn’t a mean drunk. He didn’t drink all the money, either. He just wasn’t there for me. That’s bad enough, though, if you have to live through it and wonder what the hell’s wrong with you that your daddy never wants to spend time with you anymore.

“Oh,” said Jamie. He lowered his gaze and stared at my dog. “I thought you guys were serious.”

“How about you?” I said, trying to turn the spotlight off myself. “Are you in a serious relationship? I guess not, or you wouldn’t be an escort.”

“Now what does that have to do with it? I told you, it’s different from selling your body. It’s just a time thing and keeping someone company.”

“Men? Women? Both?” I guess I had my cop voice back.

He grimaced at the sound of it. “The interrogation continues, does it? Men or women... mostly men.” He cast me a defiant look, walked farther into the kitchen, and looked around. “Where am I going to sleep? I’m tired.” He sounded petulant again.

“The couch,” I said firmly.

He cast me a quick, hurt grin that twisted his handsome face into something painful to look at. “Oh, what, afraid I’m going to infect you?” He brushed a hand back through his hair and then shook it back, straightening it. “Thanks a lot.”

“I…. No.” My mouth was dry. “I don’t mean it like that. Damn, Jamie, you’re my buddy’s little brother!”

“I thought you weren’t talking to Mason anymore.” His expression still looked crumpled and hurt, and he was trying to keep from facing me head-on now. He brushed past into the next room, looking around.

I caught at his arm. “Jamie….”

He pulled free. “Never mind. The couch is fine.” There was a little hitch in his voice. “I’m not going to hang all over you like I used to.”

“You were fine. You were a great little kid.”

“Hah. You were patient and kind, but I bet you just wanted to tell me to get lost. I was an idiot. A pushy little idiot.” He still had that hurt sound in his voice, now mixed with bitter self-recrimination.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I couldn’t let him talk about himself like that. “I liked it that you relied on me and looked up to me. You were a great little kid, honestly.”

“And look at me now, right?” He sniffed deeply and then turned around, his expression determinedly cheerful. “Never mind. Let’s eat and watch that movie. What do you want to see?” He cast me a big, bright-eyed look, but I could see it was a lie.

“Sure. Whatever. That new Men in Black sounds good. It should be available by now.” Or was it? Time passed in strange ways sometimes. Work swallowed weeks, months, more—and then I looked up and wondered where it had gone. Other times, it dragged like a ton of bricks pulled by donkeys.

“You gonna cook for us? Microwave, I mean?”

“Sure. I’m a wizard with the nuke machine.” I walked back to the kitchen and left him in his prickly, emotional state to regain control. The motions of opening and preparing the meals calmed me down a little, but my head was still in a whirl. Alex was underfoot, hopeful of me dropping something. Such a little beggar.

When everything was ready, I got two beers out of the fridge and carried them in with me on the tray next to our food. Alex plopped down on the rug and stared avidly, panting a little, her gaze intent. I’d already have fed her a morsel or two by now, if Jamie wasn’t here. She made that pretty clear.

“Shouldn’t you feed her?” he asked, nodding to the dog.

“Uh, she gets fed in the morning.” I sounded guilty. “She really doesn’t need any snacks.”

“Oh really?” He held out a piece of the stuffing that came with his turkey dinner, and Alex licked it up. He cast me a slow, defiant look, smiling a little.

I sat down and sighed with defeat. “Find something?” I gestured to the television.

“Yeah.” Jamie tucked his feet under him and began picking at his meal. He’d kicked his shoes off.

I felt uncomfortable and too large sitting on the faded armchair across from him. At the same time, something in me relaxed and felt happy, a deep, welling, unasked and unexpected happiness. It felt so perfectly right having him here with me again. We relaxed into the same relationship as always; we knew each other so well. Despite the years, hard edges, and questions between us, things were so very much the same.

Jamie ate some stuffing with his fingers, then pulled up the movie using the same fingers on the remote. I grimaced.

“You’re getting the remote gross,” I pointed out.

“So? Wash it.”

I made a low, frustrated sound in my throat.

“You’re such a neat prick.”

I laughed a little at his mistake. “Neatnik, you mean.”

“No, I mean you’re neat and a prick. Just what I said.” He cast me another look and set his dish firmly on the floor.

“You haven’t finish—” I bit my tongue. Alex lapped up the gravy, wagging her tail so hard it hit my leg. Lick, lick, lick.

“I had enough.” He sat back and crossed his arms, looking smug. “You’re missing the movie,” he pointed out. He looked happier now that he’d managed to discompose me and refused to eat more than a few bites. I finished my meal and tried to concentrate. The movie drew me in, but I didn’t want him to be hungry. If I’d cooked, I was pretty sure he’d have eaten more.

I had tried to let go of the past and Jamie. But he was here now, and I could no more have resisted trying to take care of him than I could’ve opened the door and pushed Alex out into the darkness. Even if he was upset with me, even if he was acting childish, it was so good to be here with him, no matter what.

I got up after a bit and took the trays out to the kitchen and trashed them. I rummaged around in the fridge and found the half tray of brownies left over from a bake sale I’d dropped by on the weekend. I cut two large squares and carried them in on napkins. Jamie twisted around and craned his neck to look. I handed him the biggest brownie.

I touched the back of his head lightly. “You don’t disgust me, okay? Never have, never will.” I took my seat again and watched the movie. When I dared look at him, he was crouching over his brownie, looking like he was trying not to choke on emotion. I had the urge to give him a handkerchief, but we’d already done that earlier, and he had some tissues near him if he needed them.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, after a bit. “You were a big part of my life. And then you weren’t anymore. I felt lost.”

“You did okay. You went to college and everything.”

Jamie ducked his head. “I thought you hated me. I thought you guessed.”

“What?” I gaped. “Guessed what?”

There were tears in his eyes. The movie blared, but neither of us paid it any mind now. He reached up and swiped at his lashes, a delicate motion with his thumb and forefinger. “You know. That I liked you. That you were my first crush.”

The word buzzed between my ears like a trapped yellow jacket. “You never, ah, said,” I managed at last, my head still buzzing.

“Oh, Max, come on. How can you not have guessed? I wanted to be with you all th-the time and impress you. I was such a little—” He made a low, frustrated sound in his throat.

“No. No, you were wonderful.” I put down my half-eaten brownie and got up. “You were great, and you still are. Don’t you dare feel self-conscious.” I walked over and wrapped my arms around him. He turned into the embrace and hugged me back with all his strength. I rubbed his back lightly.

Tears pricked the edges of my eyes. Damn it. I’d never meant to hurt Jamie, certainly never meant to let him think I was rejecting him. I’d tried to preserve harmony by backing away from him and Mason, to protect Jamie from his brother’s wrath and from my “gayness.”

“Does your family know?” I asked at last, gently. He seemed to relax under the touch of my hand on his back. His breathing eased to a comfortable level, but he still held on to me.

“I think so. We don’t talk about it. I think they’ve guessed.” He hiccupped.

“So it’s mostly guys, then, at the escort business.” I rubbed his back a little harder, still distressed by this sexualized and worldly, jaded side of my little Jamie. “You have a serious boyfriend yet?”

His breath hitched a little. “Don’t, Max. Don’t have the fucking condescending safe-sex talk with me. I can’t bear it, not from you. I know you think you’re my big brother, but I don’t, okay? And this is not a discussion I want to have.” He laughed, almost in tears. “Fuck, this is so not the conversation I wanted to have with you!” He drew back and dashed at his eyes.

I took the hint and returned to my seat. I couldn’t follow the movie anymore, but I tried to watch it, my head awhirl.

Should I tell him how I’d felt about him? Should I? I ached to. But inside my head buzzed a loud, neon NO.

Mason. Mason would not be pleased. I couldn’t put Jamie on the outs with his own brother just because I wanted to confess something too. And since he’d had a crush on me, Jamie might want to act on it now, especially when he was feeling so low.

That could be a huge mistake all around. Especially for him. But I wasn’t sure I had the strength to say no if he wanted to make out with me or even do more than that.

Even if I did, it would be hard to convince him without hurting his feelings. Maybe it was better to just let him think I was sympathetic but straight.

Better. Yeah, right.

Alex put her head on my lap and looked up at me with moony, chocolate eyes. She wagged her tail, and it thumped the coffee table. At the sight of her, Jamie laughed, unexpected and authentic-sounding.

“She’s such a baby.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed her ears, and she thumped the table harder. Jamie laughed again and stretched out on the couch a little.

We watched the rest of the movie, though I’m not sure either one of us could tell you much about it. Afterward, I got him a couple of light blankets and loaned him some pajamas. We could both see they’d be too big for him.

He looked up at me with such a tight, wistful look, his gaze full of longing. I reached down and ruffled his hair.

“Night, kiddo.”

“Night,” he said after me, a soft sound, like a leaf falling from a tree.

Alex stayed to keep him company by the couch. He let his hand trail down, touching her lightly. She heaved a sleepy sigh.

I closed my bedroom door quietly behind me. I still couldn’t think clearly. Everything still spun around inside my head. Likely, I wouldn’t get much sleep that night.

I DIDN’T. Neither did Jamie, if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by. He was up and making coffee when I stumbled out to the kitchen.

“Morning.”

He didn’t say anything, and his head hung down like he didn’t want to look at me.

“Hey.” I touched the back of his head with my fingertips, catching his neck a little too. “All right?”

“Uh-huh. How long do I have to stay here?”

I gulped. “Just a day or two, ’til we get this ironed out.”

“Well, I’ll need some clothes and things. You’ll have to drive me to my place. I can drive my scooter back.”

“You drive a scooter?”

He cast me a defiant look. “Yes, I drive a scooter, okay? Do you have a problem with that? If you say it’s gay I’ll stab you with this butter knife.” He held up one of my utensils.

“I wouldn’t. Believe me. But I won’t have time before work. Can you wait ’til this afternoon?”

He grimaced. “Fine, I’ll take a fucking cab!” He turned away, his mouth twisted.

“Would you watch your language? I keep thinking I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.” I walked up behind him and embraced him, lacing my arms around him.

He felt so damned good there, I regretted it.

He elbowed free from me, still hurt and offended. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Maxilon!”

I smiled wryly at the nickname. “Of course, you’re not.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He cast me a hard, hurt look; tears glistened in his eyes. “I can’t believe you. I bared my fucking soul to you last night, and you’re still just l-laughing at me and treating me like a child.”

“I’ll call Mason, shall I?” I said sharply. “You can stay with him. He’ll keep you in line.”

Jamie started for me, his little fists flying. We scuffled in complete, serious silence. I held him back, but it wasn’t easy even with my training. Jamie fought like a little Tasmanian devil, and I didn’t want to hurt him. It was a brief scuffle, but it seemed to last forever.

At last he stood back, breathing hard, rubbing a wrist against his side, and cast me a hurt, defiant look. “Don’t you dare call Mason.”

“Fine, then wait for me. I’m not playing. I really have to get to work. You’ve no idea the hours they require of us.” I scraped a hand through my hair and heaved a sigh. “Just…

come on, Jamie. I’m going out on a limb for you here. Can’t you wait ’til I get back from work? Then I’ll take you wherever you need to go, I promise.”

“Feel like I’m fucking fourteen again.”

“And if you were, I’d make you clean up your language.” I pointed at him. “Watch movies, play on the computer, just be here when I get back!”

His eyes teared up again, and he turned away, quick and savage and hurt.

“Oh, what did I say now?”

He shook his head, waving me away. He walked from the room, not looking back at me.

I debated, but I really was cutting it close. “I’ll talk to you later. Don’t be upset. I’m not,” I promised.

No answer.

I gulped some coffee, which burned going down and hurt afterward, and then headed out, grabbing my jingling keys. I hoped to hell I hadn’t forgotten anything.

On the way there, I berated myself for not handling the situation better. I was treating him like a child—and I knew I shouldn’t let him hit me—but despite everything, I couldn’t help feeling I’d been too tough on him. He was so vulnerable to me right now, emotionally if not physically. Somehow, I’d managed to hurt him yet again.

But even so, I trusted him to stay, if he was still the Jamie I’d known.

IT NAGGED at me all day, Jamie being so hurt and angry. I called once, but he didn’t pick up.

I tried again on my lunch break. I took my cell phone outside and held a finger to my other ear to cut the traffic noise. “Jamie, if you’re there, you’d better damned well pick up. If you’re not there, I’m calling your brother and your mother right now to find out where you could’ve gone.”

I held my breath, mentally crossing my fingers.

Sure enough, the receiver clicked. “What?” he asked sullenly.

“Talk to me, kiddo.”

“I’m not your—I’m not your kiddo.” He managed to say it almost calmly, though his voice shook with the effort. “Can’t you see I’m writhing here? I tell you the… the darkest secret of my life, and you act j-just like you always do, like some kind of damned boy scout who’s going to save everybody and protect the world. Next you’ll be giving me the condom speech and telling me I really should talk to my family about this! I can’t believe you! You weren’t this bad when you were a kid!”

“Neither were you,” I snapped and then could’ve bitten my lip. “Look,” I tried in a calmer voice. “All you’ve done is rail at me and pout. Try to grow up a little, okay? It’s not that I’m not sympathetic. Believe me, I am. You were always my favorite, and you still are. Just… would you believe I’m trying to help you and stop prickling up like a porcupine? My goodness, I love you, you little bastard. Just calm down and we’ll stick out these days together. You’ll be missing me before you know it.”

I waited. Silence, except for his breathing down the other end of the line.

“Okay?” I asked.

“Okay,” he muttered.

“So I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later,” he said in a subdued voice.

He hung up quietly.

I SPENT the day kicking myself over how “well” that phone conversation had gone.

I felt particularly low when I headed home to Jamie. I stopped by the local pizza place and ordered an extra large to go. The smell of pepperoni and greasy, cheesy crust travelled with me the whole way home. I was hungry, but part of me didn’t care at all about food. I wanted things to be right with Jamie and me, and I dreaded telling him he could go home.

We hadn’t sorted anything out, not really, and he was probably still furious with me.

“Heee-eeyy,” called Jamie. He gave me a bright, tilted smile as I opened the door. “Guess who—oh, damn.” He caught sight of the pizza, and his smile died.

I stopped on the doorstep; Alex frolicked around my heels. She didn’t jump up—she was too well trained—but you could see she wanted to. Her nails clicked loudly.

I stood stock-still and gaped. Jamie, my little Jamie, was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and my apron. And he’d tied a handkerchief round his head. Not like a pirate. Like Lucy Ricardo from the 1950s sitcom. I couldn’t help it, I gaped. I wouldn’t have felt any more surprised to see him wearing heels and pearls like June Cleaver.

“You can shut your mouth now.” His gaze narrowed at me in a tough little glare, and there was my Jamie again. “So, I cooked. The world’s not ending.” He crossed his trim arms. It showed off his muscles—sexy muscles.

I finally walked in, set the pizza on the table, and looked around for evidence of his fare.

“No, of course not. What’d you make?”

“Tuna casserole!” He looked entirely pleased with himself.

“Wha—”

“It used to be your favorite, remember?” He looked at me with those big eyes of his.

I could only shake my head helplessly. “Kid, everything your mom made was my favorite. But I don’t recall….” I stopped. He looked ridiculously disappointed in me. “Um.

Was it that dish you had to make for one of your classes?”

He nodded, a faint movement of his head, as if he couldn’t even be bothered with that. “It wasn’t really your favorite, was it?” he asked in a subdued voice.

I smothered a grin. “No, sorry. I guess I just said that to encourage you.”

“I am such an idiot.” He ripped the apron off, tossed it onto the back of a chair. “Let it burn. We’ll eat the pizza.”

“Now, hang on a minute. I don’t see any reason we can’t have both.” I moved toward the oven and grabbed two potholders. The heat from the oven smacked me in the face, smelling of fish. I swallowed. On top of the casserole, he’d crumbled cornflakes. Underneath, it looked like a lot of noodles and not much tuna. But damn it, I was going to eat it and love it.

“No, seriously, Max. Skip it.” He spoke near my ear, hovering by while I got the pan out using the oven gloves. His voice sounded serious and low, embarrassed and grim. “It’s fine. I feel like an idiot already, okay?”

I put the pan down on top of the stove, closed the oven, switched it off, and turned to him. “Then take this stupid thing off.” I snatched at the handkerchief on his head and yanked it away, freeing his soft-looking hair. He ducked away from my hand, swiping out at me and grinning, looking absolutely joyous to be teased.

For a moment, I wanted to tackle him, scuffle around with him, and tighten my arms around him, squeezing him close. Of course, I didn’t do any such thing.

I cleared my throat. “Hey. Uh. My boss… basically, you’re free to go. You’d probably have been released last night if I hadn’t taken you home with me. I guess they figure you’re not a dangerous criminal.” He opened his mouth to speak. I held up a hand. “Which, by the way, I’m not saying is correct. That remains to be seen.”

Jamie hit me with one of the potholders, and I held up my hands against it, ducking away so he couldn’t get my head. He charged at me with a little giggle in his throat, clumsy and fierce and not very big. And then I was roughhousing with him, catching him in my arms, swinging him this way and that. I couldn’t tell if it was more hug or fight. But a realization splashed on me like a bucket of water, spoiling it. He was delighted to be in my arms, would’ve let me do anything in that moment.

I let him go, almost pushing him away. His smile died.

I cleared my throat. “We should eat.”

Jamie looked up at me. His gaze was full of regret and a gentle, wounded reproach. But he only nodded and looked away.

He wouldn’t get through half a piece of pizza like that.

High-strung, temperamental, artistic… he was halfway to tears, I could tell. I had to fix it before he could scrape back his chair and run, giving a swift, choked insistence that he was fine.

“Jamie, how would Mason feel if I took advantage of his little brother?”

“Am I his little brother forever?” he inquired quietly, looking at his plate and not me. “When do I get to just be me?” And then he did lift his gaze to mine, faintly inquiring and oh-so-blue.

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat and looked down at my plate. “I’m not ready to have this conversation. Damn, Jame, I spent so long….” I trailed off. I couldn’t find words that wouldn’t incriminate me.

“Never mind. I don’t mean to put you on the spot. The idiot gay guy prancing around and irritating the board-straight cop. Just forget I was here. I won’t be much longer.”

He pushed back from the chair and marched from the room.

You asshole, he might as well have said; or perhaps that was just my guilt speaking.

“Jamielon!” I hurried after him. I caught him round the middle before he reached wherever he was going in such dignified haste. I drew him back, squeezed him to me, and held on tight. At first he was stiff, indignant, not gracing me with any response. I pushed my face against his hair, smothering myself in it, breathing in the scent of him. “Never mind all that,” I said, my voice husky. “Just forget it. It doesn’t matter. You have to know it doesn’t matter. You’ll always be my Jamie, and nothing can change that.”

“Your little Jamie, you mean,” he said stiffly, but I could hear how relieved he sounded underneath his irritation. He was going loose in my arms now and holding on to me as well, his arms covering mine. “Max… can we stay friends?” His voice cracked. “I mean, you w-won’t walk out of my life again, will you?”

“I promise.” His hair smelled so sweet to me. “Come on, little Jamie. Let’s eat some pizza.” I released him and gave him a gentle swat.

He turned a fierce grin on me, showing his teeth. His eyes were wet. I turned and headed back to the kitchen, and he followed me. He’d always follow me, I realized. It had been an awesome and terrible responsibility when I was young, and it was again now.

Still, I couldn’t be any worse for him than whoever had gotten him into the escort business. I’d have to tell Mason that, if he objected to me spending time with Jamie again.

As it turned out, I didn’t get the chance.

There was a loud knocking, pounding at the door when we were nearly finished with our meal. Jamie was expounding on music and finishing his bottle of beer. I was making mine stretch and savoring the last of my pizza and, I have to admit, his conversation.

“Who’s that?” Jamie looked up, a little sleepy, a little confused. “Were you expecting someone?” He tilted one eyebrow suggestively.

“No.” I got up to answer the door and hide my blush.

You wouldn’t think I could blush like a teenager just because he implied…. Actually, it was rather flattering he’d think I had someone special coming over.

For a second, I didn’t recognize the furious man standing on my porch. Mason was older and starting to grow a beard. Alex pushed forward around my legs and panted up at him, her tail wagging. I tugged her back by the collar.

“Max.” Mason reached for my shirt and caught it. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I told you to stay the hell away from my little brother. Where is he?”

“Mason,” I said. “It’s nice to see you.” Inwardly, I was dying. How could he come here and make a scene? He didn’t seem quite in control. If he spilled….

“I told you to stay away from him, and I find out he’s staying here? What did you do to him, you prick? Did you do something to turn my brother gay?”

“Mace?” asked Jamie, moving forward and bobbing up past my elbow. Right now, he just sounded confused. “What are you talking about?”

Mason saw Jamie and released me. He moved to catch his brother instead and tugged on his arm. “C’mon. We’re going. You’re not staying in this house one more second.”

My throat was dry. I held on to Alex’s collar.

“What are you…? Mace!” Jamie jerked his arm free. “What the hell? Just because you don’t like Max anymore.”

Mason stared at him, face intense and tight with fear. “Did he abuse you? Did he touch you or something when you were a kid?”

I felt my face heating up. I’m a trained police officer, but I just stood there like a brick. I had no control in this situation, and I should have. Alex began to whine.

“Guys….” I said.

“What? NO! What the hell, Mace?” Jamie gave his brother an outraged glare and a shove. “Why would you even think…?” He cast me an incensed glance and then one at his brother, and then something coalesced in his gaze. He turned to face me, ignoring his brother now. “You’re gay?”

I didn’t say anything. My fingernails bit into my palms.

Thank you so much, Mason.

“You’ve been gay all this time, and you never told me?”

Mason had shut up and was watching closely, but it was too late; the damage was done. Jamie’s voice rose to an aching, furious agony. “You left me all alone because you were gay?

You selfish fucking bastard!” He swung at me, hard. His knuckles stung against my arm and would leave a bruise. “Let me by.”

I stepped back and let him past. He stormed away, head down, and charged into the house.

I turned to Mason. “Happy?” I asked with a sarcastic tilt of my lip. Alex barked once. I started to pull the door shut.

Mason followed me and grabbed the door to keep me from shutting it. “Not on your fucking life.”

“Language, dear,” I said in a voice that was halfway between laughter and tears. What would the neighbors make of this scene? “Feel free. Take your little brother and go home. I’m sure you two will be really happy together.” And in that moment, I determined that no Wyzacki was ever going to hurt me again.

I said, “You think you could’ve handled that any worse? You just barge in here, assume the worst, and spill the secret you wanted me to keep? Congratulations, asshole. Well, you got your wish, old ‘friend.’ I’m out of your life, out of his, out of everything. Now you fix it. Oh wait, you can’t, can you? Because he didn’t choose to be gay either, did he?”

Mason tore away from me, after his brother, blundering through my house and trying to find him. I felt ripped and bloody inside, and I followed, sarcasm raising my voice and making me sound harder than I am. Alex walked beside me, pressed against my leg, whining.

“Shut up,” said Mason. But half the fight had gone out of him, and I could see his hand trembling. He was breathing hard. “I thought—”

“Oh, I know what you thought,” I interrupted. “I’m a child molester, apparently, because I turned out to be gay. Thanks a fucking lot.” Now I was swearing too.

Jamie stormed out, carrying a bag clumsily stuffed with clothes. I stared. He hadn’t had that last night. Had he gotten a ride to his apartment and come back with supplies while I was at work? His face was tight and furious and his gaze reddened. He didn’t look at me, and he didn’t look at Mason.

“Jame….” said Mason awkwardly.

Jamie ripped away from his outstretched hand and walked past him with quick, hard steps, no expression on his face. Mason followed.

“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” I called after Mason.

Shortly, wheels spun in the gravel of my driveway. A car squealed away. Mason, taking Jamie away from me yet again. But possibly even more thoroughly this time.

I sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands. I wanted to sweep all the dishes onto the floor and make a loud crash. I wanted to cry. I wanted to drink too much and pass out, but I am not my father, and I refused to take that way out.

I got up eventually, cleared away the dishes, put away the cold pizza and casserole, and went to bed. I didn’t sleep for a long time, even with a sleeping pill.

I HAVE this thing I do. I zombie through. When work gets to me with all its death and suffering, I turn off emotionally; I switch on zombie mode.

It’s not something I do on purpose. I’ll be honest: it hasn’t always helped make my life better. The one serious boyfriend I had, this was part of what broke us up. Lincoln also couldn’t stand that I was a cop, but I think zombie mode was an even bigger part of it.

But I can only handle so much. When things get really tough, I revert. Zombie mode got me through my mom’s death (after a fashion), through the worst times with my dad, through losing Mason and Jamie, and through those horrible early days as a cop when I couldn’t eat for the things I’d seen and couldn’t sleep for them either.

I went back there now. It welcomed me with open arms.

TWO days later, I got a call from Mason. He sounded strained and miserable.

“Max.”

“Wyzacki.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “You got him out of jail. But I didn’t know that. I didn’t know what he was in to. Believe me, we are going to have some serious conversations about that, him and me. But you… helped him. Like you always did. I’m sorry I freaked. I’m sorry I… freaked about everything. You never deserved that.”

“Thanks.” I knew something inside me should be loosening up and feeling better, but it wasn’t. “Anything else?”

He was silent for a long moment and then heaved a sigh across the distance between us—a distance that was far more than just physical. “No.” It was a sad, weary sound, but I was still a zombie; I couldn’t give him anything more.

I hung up.

THE next morning, a call woke me.

“That’s it, huh?” said a familiar voice.

“Huh?” I scratched a hand back through my hair and yawned. Alex was a warm lump on the bed by my legs, and the clock read a bleary five a.m. “Who is this?”

“I don’t—it’s me, okay? Jamie?” he said with sarcastic hurt in his voice.

“Oh. Sorry.” I was too close to sleep to be as wary as I should; zombie mode hadn’t kicked in correctly yet for the day. I reached over and dug my fingers into Alex’s fur. She stretched in her sleep, reveling in the feel of the muscle massage. “What do you want?”

“You said. You promised. Max, you said you wouldn’t leave me again.” His voice had a little tremble in it. “Yes, I’m mad at you and my brother. But he’s still my brother, and you’re still Max. I need to talk to you. I…. I’ve got some things to say, to work out. I need to yell at you, okay? And I need you to be okay with that. Then we can go back to b-being friends, or maybe even j-just acquaintances. But you promised, Max.”

I was closer to being awake now. It hurt deep inside to hear him so wounded because of me. “Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

“Um….”

“I’m not having you come here to yell at me, thanks. I’ve had enough of that from you and Mason.”

Jamie made a sound, and I realized he was crying. “I need to see you.”

He hung up abruptly.

I stared down at my cell phone and flicked it off. Alex stretched her paws out on the bed and yawned a huge, doggy yawn. I ruffled her ears and then pulled the covers back over my head. Maybe things would look better if I grabbed another few minutes of sleep.

I DIDN’T hear from him again that day, but I couldn’t leave it like that, zombie brain or not. I thought about it all day and decided he was right: I deserved to hear whatever he had to say to me. That he still wanted me in his life afterward was a mark of undeserved grace.

I bought two coffees after work and headed to the place he lived, according to the address he’d given the police.

It was a small apartment in a rather bad part of town.

Someone was torturing a guitar loudly. I knocked at the door. I knocked again. Then again.

Eventually, the guitar stopped. A long time after that, someone pulled open the door. In front of me stood a bleached-blond little punk with a lip ring and a sullen expression. He was probably Jamie’s age.

He looked me up and down without much interest. “Hey, fuzz.”

I wasn’t in uniform, but some people can tell even so. Usually criminals. “Is Jamie Wyzacki here?” I asked stiffly.

“He’s at work. You Max?”

I blinked. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Thought so.” He moved back inside, leaving the door open. “You can wait. He’ll be home soon.”

I put the coffees down on the table. The young man shuffled away. Soon, the bad guitar playing started up again.

I sat uncomfortably on one of the battered kitchen chairs. I wouldn’t have felt uncomfortable here if it was a drug bust, but I felt extremely uncomfortable waiting for Jamie.

I looked around the small apartment. The tiny stove looked like it had squeaked past any health codes on a lick and a promise. The walls were faded and dirty. The windows were filthy. Well, Jamie always was a slob.

A vehicle pulled up outside with a tinny squeak of brakes. I crossed a leg over my knee and waited, heart pounding. My chest felt fragile. I wished it were a drug bust, anything but this waiting for Jamie.

The door opened quietly, and Jamie turned right around again to lock it. He hadn’t seen me. My heart in my throat, I stood up. “Jamie.”

“Max?” He whirled, gaze shocked, key forgotten in the door. He took two steps toward me, looking like he was going to fling his arms around me. Then he stopped, and his eyes narrowed. “Wait. What are you doing here?”

I gestured to the coffee. “You said you needed to talk.”

He walked over to the table, looked down at the cups, and pried the lid off one. He smelled it and then took a sip, leaving a foam mustache on his upper lip. His hair was tousled, and he wore jeans, his red sneakers, and a leather jacket. Yet he managed to look completely different than he had in jail. These jeans fit well but without the snug, sensual look. His jacket didn’t have the collar turned up. And his shirt underneath was a common loose-fitting blue T-shirt with a logo on it.

Jamie looked up at me from under his brows, his eyes as big and sad as a cow’s. “Not here,” he said. “We’ll disturb Rock.”

“Rock?” A snort might have escaped me.

“Yeah, he’s practicing for his band.” His gaze narrowed. “Let me guess, you don’t like people named Rock?”

I held up a hand. “Your friends are your own, their names are none of my business.”

He harrumphed and drank a little more. “Let’s walk,” he suggested.

“All right.” I grabbed the second coffee and followed him.

We passed my truck and his little white scooter with the chipped paint. “Where do you work?” I asked.

He pulled a face. “Just finished a shift bagging groceries at the Freshie Mart.”

“So….”

“The escort place is out of business. But before you breathe a sigh of relief, let me tell you I still have a list of clients and I have no problem seeing them privately.” He cast me a challenging glare.

“You realize how that sounds, right? The business goes under for shady practices, but you’ll still see clients ‘privately.’” I left my coffee untouched. My stomach churned too much to drink any.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Why do you have to twist everything and make it sound dirty?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. If he couldn’t see that what he was doing looked bad and might be dangerous, I didn’t have any way to convince him. I still thought he was being an idiot. “You have something to say to me?” I asked crisply.

“In a minute.” Jamie savored his drink, not looking at me.

We walked down the cracked and weed-strewn sidewalk, more or less side by side, except for where it narrowed. At the ratty buildings we passed, I kept thinking things like: crack den; should be condemned; crack den.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“It’s fine. I sort of already knew Mason hated me.” I ran a hand back through my hair and continued to scan the streets. A skinny kid ran off, giggling and carrying a long stick. A young boy chased her behind a house.

“So… Rock,” I said. “Are you two together?”

“Not now.” He cast me a long glance, taking in my face, weighing what he found there. Then he looked away again. “On and off a couple of times.”

I cleared my throat. “But you were care—”

“Yes, Max, I was careful when we were.” He sounded weary, worn down, and sad. “You know, I’m not the idiot you seem to think I am. I’ve grown up a lot, and you’d know that if you’d been there.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t. I thought I was doing the right thing, so you and Mason—”

“Don’t give me any crap about Mason. If you’d wanted to, you could’ve kept in contact with me.”

I didn’t say anything.

“This was because you told Mason you were gay, am I right? And he said, ‘Stay away from my brother.’ I just don’t get why you listened to him. Why did you listen to him?” He cast me an angry look, tears at the edges of his eyes. “I thought it was me, okay? I thought you knew and didn’t like me anymore. You h-have no idea what that does to a kid.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve. You always knew how much I needed you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s so hard, figuring out you’re different and how to handle it and… and not having anybody to ask who you can trust. Damn it, Max, I needed you once upon a time, to talk to me a-about all this stuff… safe sex and… and talk me down when the first time was weird, and tell me I wasn’t insane for wanting… for wanting a real boyfriend, not just somebody who wanted sex.”

He turned to me, tears glittering in his gaze. We’d stopped walking now and faced each other on the cracked sidewalk. “I needed somebody. I needed that desperately, I just didn’t realize it was you, you had the answers all along and… and you stayed away because fucking Mason said to!”

He dashed at his face with a sleeve. A little sob escaped him, catching in his throat. He started walking again.

I caught his sleeve, and he whirled back and came into my arms. I spilled my coffee putting my arms around him so fast. He squeezed me so tightly that, if I’d been a jam sandwich, all my filling would’ve come out. He spilled his coffee too.

EVENTUALLY, we continued walking down the sidewalk, side by side.

It was easier to talk to him when I didn’t have to look him straight in the eye. “I was eighteen, Jame. I was just starting to figure everything out and accept it. I mean, instead of hiding from myself. I didn’t want to be gay. It scared the hell out of me to be different. I didn’t know what it meant yet, not really. I thought maybe I’d have to become a totally different person—maybe wear women’s clothes, or sleep with a bunch of guys, or go clubbing all the time. I just wanted… well, I wanted to be me. And I didn’t know how yet.

It seemed like the first step was telling somebody I trusted. That was Mason.

“But he freaked. He told me to stay away from you. And hell, kid, what was I supposed to do? I was scared. His reaction scared me more. I stayed the hell away from you.” I paused. “Was your first time really that bad?”

Jamie cleared his throat. “I don’t really want to talk about it. I wish you’d told me, instead of Mason. But you always felt like you had to l-look after me.”

“I still do,” I admitted. I bumped him softly with my shoulder. “Will you let me see some of your paintings sometime? Or one of your plays?”

Jamie reached into his pocket, drew out a tissue, and blew his nose loudly. “Okay,” he said in a stifled, choked voice.

I drew him into another hug, and we stood like that in the middle of the abandoned sidewalk, holding on to each other and regretting so many things about the past.

It was getting dark and cold by the time we walked back to his place. Rock was still playing his seemingly incessant noise. Somewhere, a dog barked and another howled.

Someone revved engines and drove by too fast, music blaring.

We walked inside, and Jamie took off his jacket. “I keep my art in here.” He cast me a big, bright, shy smile, and I returned it.

Jamie had always brought me his drawings so proudly when he was little. I don’t know anything about art, but I always thought he did really good for his age. His people actually looked like people, which was more than I could say in art class, and I was three years older. That was another class I struggled with; sometimes my teachers finally let me make it through with Popsicle-stick model houses. Even then, sometimes Jamie helped me. I never got better than a C in art class, which is supposed to be a cakewalk.

I followed him into his bedroom, abuzz with anticipation, looking forward to seeing stunning, lifelike pictures of people, or photorealistic landscapes, or fantastic, imaginary scenes of cowboys and spaceships, now even better than his youthful versions.

He flung the door wide and gave me a big, shy grin. He jerked his head for me to enter first. When I did, he followed me. “What do you think?” He shut the door behind us.

Big canvases propped against the wall. All of them were spattered or streaked with paint. I didn’t see a single human or animal figure, and not one landscape.

I stared. One abomination seemed to have teeth and hair, and looked like it had been made with a squirt-bottle of mustard. “Um…”

“See, I made this one just last week.” He walked toward a canvas and lifted it gingerly. It was mostly red and looked to me like something that belonged in a horror movie.

“Uh.” I scraped a hand back through my hair. “What happened to the things you used to draw, Jame? People and stuff like that.”

His smile slowly bled away to an expressionless, blank look. He put the canvas down.

“Sorry. I sound like an asshole. Forget I said that, all right? I don’t know anything about art. You know that.” I walked over and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Hey. All right?”

“Yeah.” He reached up and brushed off his shoulder. He gave me a pained, tight smile. “You don’t have to like them. It’s okay.”

It was too late to pretend, but I wished I’d bashed my head against the cheap plaster wall rather than say a critical word.

“C’mon, let’s go get something to eat,” he said in a gruff voice.

“My treat,” I said, shuddering inwardly at the thought of eating in that kitchen.

I wondered if I could convince Jamie to move in with me. I had the room, and I’d be a better roommate than Rock. Part of me knew that might not be the best idea, but I still wanted it.

“Hey,” said Rock, leaning in the kitchen doorway. He lacked a shirt now, and you could see the fine hairs climbing up and outlining his pale chest. He had two nipple rings and a belly-button piercing. He yawned and downed the rest of the milk from the carton. “The fuzz still here?”

“Yes, Max is still here,” said Jamie, brushing past him.

Rock didn’t move, so Jamie had to sort of shove his way past, bumping into him. Jamie grimaced at the touch.

I suddenly didn’t hate Rock nearly as much. I even gave him a smile as I walked past. I let my hand rest lightly on Jamie’s shoulder. “Get your jacket, babe. It’s cold.”

He got it and didn’t say anything until we were outside and getting into my car. Then he cast me an amused look.

“What?” I asked, concentrating on starting the car. I hoped he couldn’t see the heat I felt creeping up my neck toward my face.

“‘It’s cold, babe.’” He laughed a little, low and husky in his throat in a way that made it hard for me to concentrate on driving. The heat in my body climbed higher and lower at the same time. Jamie shook his head. “I never thought I’d see you jealous of Rock.”

“I’m not. By the way, who gives himself a nickname like that? It’s like if he played jazz and decided to call himself Jazz.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I suppose he could call himself Piercing. Or Plays Like Crap.”

Jamie shook his head and chuckled again. “Man, you’re bitchy when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not—”

“And where are you taking me to eat? Don’t say a fast-food place. I want some real food. Like, diner food. Something to dig my teeth into.” He bounced a little in his seat, wearing a grin.

“Steak suit you, your highness?” I pulled into traffic, unable to keep the grin off my face, heated cheeks or no.

“Now you’re talking, fuzz.”

WE SAT cutting up steak, and Jamie ate like he hadn’t had a decent meal in months, savoring the steak so thoroughly I almost didn’t need to eat it myself to enjoy it. I rationed and weighed my words, waiting for the right moment.

Jamie tugged off a piece of deep-fried onion and dipped it in steak sauce, closed his eyes and let the food roll around in his mouth. He tilted his head back. It felt almost indecent watching him.

“Move in with me,” I said.

“What?” Jamie’s eyes popped open, and he swallowed in a big gulp. Then he reached for his lemonade, drank some quickly, and pounded on his chest. “Gah!” he said. “Burns. Don’t—don’t surprise me like that!” He kicked at me under the table. “Why are you teasing?” He gave me a look that wouldn’t have seemed out of place on Alex’s face when she was trying to figure out some odd thing I was doing: head tilted, gaze curious and confused.

“I…. I meant it, bud. Move in with me. It’ll be cheaper. You can concentrate more on your art and acting and less on working crappy jobs just to pay the rent.”

“So….” His expression got cynical and a bit colder now, his face closing off from the innocent-puppy look. “You want me to live off you.”

“No, of course not. You’d pay rent. Just not as much as… as with Rock.” I gestured vaguely with my right hand and knocked over my glass.

Jamie gave me a stern glare and grabbed the cup before the rest of it could spill. He put one hand out to stop the spreading flow of water.

“Shit.” I grabbed the red-and-white towel from the bread bowl—spilling the bread out onto the table—and tossed it onto the wet spot, rubbing rather ineffectually.

“Give me that.” Jamie yanked the towel from me with a kind of stern affection and cleaned the mess up competently. “You want something done right, let the guy who’s had waiter experience do it.” He darted a look at me.

“You were a waiter?” If that was a distraction, I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I could suddenly picture him in a cute white apron, looking pulled together, polite, and so very competent.

He nodded.

“When?”

Jamie dabbed his mouth with a napkin, looking almost coy now in a teasing way. “College, maybe. You’ll never know, will you?”

“C’mon.” I snorted as if to say “Please, man. As if I care!”

Jamie put his napkin down and leaned forward over the table toward me. “What’s this about living with you, then? And the rent—how the hell could you know if it’s less than I pay staying with Rock?”

“So it’s… you’re staying with him, not… uh… renting the place together?”

Jamie’s gaze narrowed, and he sat back, crossing his arms. “What if I am?”

“Please, Jame. Just think about it, okay? I hate to think of you working horrible jobs to afford rent in such a bad part of town, when I’ve got a perfectly nice place and plenty of room. And yes, I can guarantee your rent would be less because I would make sure of it. Now will you promise me you’ll think about it? Please?”

Anybody who didn’t know us might think it was a little strange for a tough cop to be practically begging the bantamweight, underemployed artist to live with him for barely any rent. They wouldn’t have known us very well, though. Or how stubborn Jamie could be. Or how motivated I was to look after him.

Jamie leaned back and crossed his arms. He shook his head gently, his gaze meeting mine solidly. “All right. Damn it, I’ll think about it. But don’t expect me to say yes. I’m an adult now, Max. I need to take care of myself.”

Then why aren’t you doing a better job? At least I had the sense not to say it. But he looked hurt anyway; he always could read my poker face.

He looked away and then back at me. “I am taking care of myself, Max,” he said quietly.

“Jamie,” I said softly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? I’ve always been a kid to you, and apparently, I’m always going to be one. I can’t believe you!” His voice quavered beneath the incensed anger. “I thought things would be different.”

“They are. Jame…” I implored.

Jamie rose, balled up his napkin, and dropped it onto the table.

I watched numbly as he walked away from me, his strides long and his back rigid. I refused to make a scene by shouting after him. I tossed a large bill on the table. Defeat coursed through me, and I berated myself for everything I’d done wrong, now and from the beginning. But I wasn’t going to do it wrong anymore. I hurried after him. “James Wyzacki!”

I caught up to him with a fast jog. He had shorter legs, and I had police training. Even his angry power walk was no match for my loping anxiety-powered strides.

“Jamie. Don’t you walk away from me like that, you hear?” I caught up to him and tugged lightly at his sleeve.

He ripped it free from my touch and whirled on me, his gaze full of hurt. “Oh? Why not? That’s w-what you did to me!” His eyes were brimming.

“Jame.” I caught him to me before he could get away, and held him against my chest tight and close, rocking with him slightly right in the middle of the sidewalk. A ragged sob escaped him. I might have made a crooning sound in my throat. “Jame.” I let my fingers card through his hair but only briefly. I needed both arms to hold him so he couldn’t leave me again.

WE MOVED him that same day, under Rock’s bored but amused and cynical gaze. Rock didn’t lift a finger to help, of course.

Jamie didn’t have a lot of things to pack. Moving his bed was the hardest, even though it had a cheap, light metal frame. “You don’t have bedbugs, I hope,” I said as we maneuvered it past the doorway, straining to the sounds of Rock’s musical ramblings.

Jamie, who was already sweating, struggling, and frowning, stopped for a moment and gave me a glare. His Paddington glare, I used to call it. He liked me to read that story to him when he was a kid, and he liked to practice his stare.

We only brought along a few of the paintings. We’d have to go back for the bulk of the art later. I’d let him have the whole top floor of my place, so he’d have plenty of room for his painting.

Moving Jamie was hard work. We were gritty, tired, sore, and a little grumpy by the time we were through. I ordered pizza, he picked a movie, and we drank beer with it.

Jamie stretched out, hogging the whole sofa, resting his feet on the cushions without taking his shoes off. And I was so happy I didn’t care.

IT WAS strange to go to sleep with Jamie just a floor away.

Alex wanted to follow him up to bed, but Jamie laughed and said he wouldn’t steal my dog, and I held her collar and didn’t let her follow him.

Now she lay panting and sleepy next to me on my bed, wearing that smiling look Goldens so often have. My pretty girl. I reached over absently to scritch the soft fur on her head; she closed her eyes and panted happily. Up above, I could hear someone moving around: Jamie, still arranging his new room. Always busy, and so close now. How would I ever keep my hands to myself?

Jamie was here. It gave me such a feeling of contentment. I could keep him safe now. I wouldn’t have to lose him again.

THE creaking upstairs woke me a few hours after I drifted off. I lay in bed, feeling like a voyeur. Was Jamie…? But after a few moments, I realized he was walking around the room.

The sounds came from various spots. I hadn’t realized I lived in such a noisy house. I hesitated and then got up. My feet were bare, but my pajamas were decent enough. Hesitantly, I climbed the stairs. “Jame?” I called. “You decent?”

He snorted. “Yes, Max, I’m decent. What is it?”

“Heard you moving around up here. Everything okay?” I crested the top, and now I saw him, his hair stuck up like a crazy professor’s, his pajamas wrinkled, his eyes a bit wild.

He nodded, but his eyes looked huge in his pinched face.

“You sure?” I walked up to him and put my arms loosely around him. He moved into the hug gratefully, and I felt tight muscles begin to loosen. His breathing was still a little too fast, though. I rubbed his back. “Hard to sleep in a new place, huh?”

“Nah. Sometimes I just have trouble sleeping,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You don’t regret moving in?”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically against my chest.

“C’mon.” I patted his shoulder. “Come downstairs, and I’ll make cocoa and read you a story.”

“Would you?” Jamie drew back quickly, looking at my face.

I’d been more than halfway joking about the story, but seeing the tight, alert, needy look on his face, I smiled and nodded. “Of course. What would you like? The Plant That Ate Dirty Socks?”

His mouth curved up in a little smile. “Anything, Max. I’d like anything.”

Actually, I don’t keep a lot of books around the house. I didn’t realize just how illiterate that made me look until I tried to find something to read to him. I ended up reading him the Sunday comics. He cuddled up next to me, knees pulled toward his chest, and listened like it was the best thing in the world.

When he fell asleep against me, I moved his mug of cocoa from his hands carefully. But I didn’t wake him.

I didn’t need to, anyway. He woke up on his own a few minutes later, yawning, and giving me a sweet, chagrined smile. Then he padded back to bed.

EVERYTHING was new, yet sometimes I felt like we’d been roommates for ages. We fell easily into a routine.

Jamie worked, painted, and greeted me when I got home from work. When he was home and I was working, he looked after Alex, making sure she got a walk or two and enough bathroom breaks. I appreciated it more than I could say, and it was a load off my mind.

The long hours of a policeman aren’t always conducive to taking proper care of a pet, and many times I’d wondered guiltily if Alex wouldn’t be happier and better cared for elsewhere. There’s never a shortage of people willing to adopt a sweet-tempered, housebroken, good-with-children Golden Retriever. But I never could bear to part with her, and now I no longer felt as though I ought to. She seemed happier and more content, less franticly glad to see me at the end of the day. She still skittered out to the kitchen to see me when I came home, her tail wagging her whole body, but she didn’t have too much excess energy now.

“She stays in the same room with me most of the time, playing with her chew toys or sleeping on my feet,” Jamie informed me. “If the paint fumes get too much for her, she sneezes and moves to the other side of the room. But I keep a window open.” He smiled at me, so adorable in the paint-stained smock that hung below his knees, making him look smaller than usual.

Jamie even wore a beret, I swear. It was a cute little black number, paint-stained and ancient. He wore it while he painted, sometimes with a wooden-handled paintbrush stuck behind one ear. He gave me such a happy, whimsical smile I couldn’t help smiling back.

I’d never seen him so content as when he was painting.

It made me regret once again that I hadn’t been more supportive of Jamie’s art. I might think it was crap, but if it made him happy, that was all that mattered. I could’ve watched him for hours, engrossed and hard at work, and so beautiful to watch, like a piece of living art himself.

Some nights, Jamie had trouble sleeping. I didn’t always know; sometimes I only found out when I saw his haggard face the next morning. But if I heard him pacing, I always got up and spent some time with him. Sometimes we watched TV. Sometimes we talked. Jamie never told me about his bad dreams, or whatever it was that kept him awake. But he always seemed to feel better after we’d spent some time together.

I started cooking again on my days off, found I still enjoyed it. I also loved the way the smell of food cooking drew him away from his painting, no matter how taken up with it he was. Alex, of course, kept me company with great loyalty whenever food was involved.

I couldn’t be even a bit jealous of how much she loved Jamie because I loved him that much too, and Alex seemed glad to abandon her post whenever I appeared. She still looked forward to walks and treats and affection more than just about anything in the world. She slept on my bed every night and greeted me every day when I came home, and overall, the happy Golden became even happier because she wasn’t alone as much.

I worked long hours and often came home bone-tired, and more than that, soul-tired. You never know what kind of day you’ll have as a cop, except that you’re bound to be around people who are having a worse one. It doesn’t take many times of arriving at a homicide investigation or the scene of a domestic violence to make you feel downright weary.

In contrast, Jamie worked irregular hours and rarely.

He took me seriously about working on his art more and cut back on his already-slack work schedule. He worked hard at his painting, and if I still thought his art was useless and ugly, at least I had the sense not to say so now. He also spent a lot of time at rehearsals for his play, returning home energized and mumbling his lines.

Many nights when I had the time, we sat on the couch and watched a movie. It really didn’t matter what. I was never happier than with Jamie curled up beside me, smelling of soap instead of paint, the dog sleeping at our feet.

One night when we were watching a sitcom, Jamie with his feet tucked up on the couch beside him, his chin resting on my shoulder, he said, “Max? Will you come to my play?”

“Of course. I’d love to.” I reached up, scuffed my fingers into his hair, and gave him an affectionate little scalp massage. He leaned deeper into the touch and made a small, pleased, humming sound in his throat.

It was really hard to move my fingers away. I wanted to touch him more and more.

“LASAGNA? Really? You’re going to make me lasagna?” Jamie looked at me with bright eyes. “I love lasagna!”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” I said gruffly. “It’s a new recipe I’ve been wanting to try out. Grady uses it to get her kids to eat vegetables. So I—”

“You’re trying to get me to eat more vegetables?” He drew back, his eyebrows rising.

“No. I’m trying to get myself to eat more vegetables.” I rolled my eyes. “Not everything is about you, you know.”

“No, but most of it is.” Jamie walked up to me and slid his arms around my waist. “What sort of vegetables? Can I help?”

“Oranges. Purples. Uh….” I couldn’t think with his arms around me, his warm breath tickling me through my shirt.

He released me and laughed. “Oranges! Purples! C’mon, Max!”

“Uh, carrots and… and that… that purple thing.”

“Eggplant?”

“Yes! Eggplant. I have no idea why it’s called eggplant. Do you?”

“No, but I’ll look it up if you want. Can I help?” He reached out to snag a piece of mozzarella.

“I would love it if you helped. Can you put some water on to boil for the noodles?”

“’Kay.” Jamie moved away, eating the cheese he’d taken.

“Can you tell me about work today, or do you just want to forget it?” he asked as he worked. “I want to forget it. How’s the painting going? Sold any?”

Jamie made a face. “I got a question online, but nobody bid. The question was, ‘Do you paint horses?’”

“And do you?” I began to peel the carrots.

He snorted. “No.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at me. “I’d draw you a horse, Max,” he said softly. “But you’d have to really want it. I don’t do stuff like that anymore.”

“Maybe someday you’ll feel like it again,” I suggested. “But it doesn’t matter. Paint or draw whatever makes you happy.” Could his weirdly colored canvas messes really make him happy? It seemed they could.

“I like what I do,” said Jamie a little grumpily. He turned on the stove and added some salt to the pot of water. “And I didn’t go to school for years so I could go back to drawing horses like I did when I was ten!”

I didn’t say anything.

He came over and hugged me round the waist again.

“Let’s not talk about that today,” he said and nuzzled his face against me.

I stopped chopping. I closed my eyes. I barely breathed.

“Max?” Jamie said quietly. “You’ll still like me even if I’m never a big success, right?”

“Of course I will, babe.” I started chopping again. He sat down next to me, leaned forward, and snatched a tiny piece of carrot. He crunched it, watching me.

“MAX, would you like to go on a picnic?” Jamie looked up at me, his gaze bright and hopeful. “Hm?”

I kicked off my shoes and started to take off my jacket. I’d just got home from work. “Why?”

“Well….” He glanced at the kitchen table where a bright red cooler sat. “I made some sandwiches, if you do.” He smiled shyly.

I grinned. “A picnic sounds wonderful.”

We went to the park and spread out on a blanket in the grass, one of us holding Alex’s leash at all times. We munched sandwiches, fed the crusts to Alex, and enjoyed the sunshine.

At one point, someone set up an easel nearby to paint the landscape. I glanced at it and then brought my attention back to Jamie and our discussion, but his gaze kept wandering over, and he watched for a long time. Sometimes, he frowned. He crossed his ankles the other way restlessly.

I took the hint and let our conversation about trees die.

“You ever want to paint in the park?” I asked. When he didn’t move or respond, I reached over and nudged him gently. “Jame, you ever want to paint in the park?”

“Huh? No. Why would I? It’s not like what I paint is interesting to most people. I sure as hell wouldn’t just sit there and paint trees.” He gestured disgustedly toward the artist, absorbed and clearly enjoying herself in front of her easel.

I reached for a potato chip, nudged Alex’s nose away slightly, and crunched it. I reached for another and fed it to her, then scratched the short fur on her long nose. “I’m just saying, if you ever did, I’d drive you to the art store.”

Jamie looked at me, finally. He blinked, and then his smile came out, bright as the sun. He gave me a shove on the shoulder that almost rolled me onto my back. “After we rent a video game, right?”

“Right.” I reached over and gave him a push in return, not as hard. His gaze snapped at me, warm, competitive, soft, and friendly—so many things at once.

If I’d been a little closer, I’d probably have kissed him.

JAMIE began a guerilla campaign to seduce me. He never talked about it, but that was like him. I guess he already knew what I’d say.

So instead of a direct attack, he started slowly. But I was very, very aware of each step in the process. They were encroaching, insinuating. (Can I say that, when I wanted it too?)

It was always Jamie’s doing. But I didn’t stop him. I wanted him too much to trust myself with him, yet when he edged closer to me on the couch, I couldn’t bear to move him away. Besides, it was so little at first: brushes of the hand, longer eye contact. Tighter jeans. Curling nearer and nearer to me on the couch until his body bumped up against mine, and more often than not, stayed.

A teasing swat on the bottom while we got ready to eat breakfast. A quick, beautiful smile, all for me. A dirty joke, told with just the right naughty sparkle in his eyes, as if daring me to say something that meant I took it seriously.

And then, one night, the final move. Check and checkmate.

Jamie had left his doctor’s certificate of clean health out just that morning, casually, as if he wasn’t doing it on purpose; but it was quite blatant. He wanted me to see he’d been careful and taken care of himself and had nothing to hide.

“Oh, did I leave this out?” he asked, gathering it up at last. He leaned against the table with a provocative tilt to his hips. “Clumsy of me.” When he walked away slowly, I couldn’t take my eyes off him: those perfect, narrow hips, the lovely sway of his bottom. My mouth felt dry and my throat tight. My trousers too.

I hurried to work, but Jamie was in my thoughts all day. And when I got home, Alex was in the yard playing, which was unusual. She barked a greeting and came bounding up to the fence, waving her tail and panting. She always looked like she was smiling when she panted.

I greeted her, loved her up, and rubbed her ears until her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. Then I went indoors, leaving her to tussle with a rubber toy; she was flinging it up and then slapping her paws down and smiling at it.

The sight that greeted me took my attention elsewhere immediately.

Jamie stood in the kitchen, doing something at the stove, wearing nothing but a white apron.

Nothing. But. My. Apron.

I stopped dead and felt like my eyes were bulging out of my head, my cock telling me immediately and desperately to get down to business.

Jamie turned to me. “Oh, hey Max,” he said with blasé calm. “Thought we’d have mac and cheese tonight. That okay?” He flashed his grin. “It’s one thing I know how to cook.”

“Um. Yeah.” I set down my lunchbox and took off my jacket.

“Good. I’m glad you don’t mind.”

He turned away and sauntered to the fridge, and my mouth went even drier. His bare legs and bottom were even more perfect than I’d imagined, better than a dream.

“Jame….”

“Yes, Max?” He turned to face me, raising his eyebrows, almost managing to look clueless, innocent, and unconcerned. But I saw the truth in his eyes: saw his desire, anxiety, and a naughty look, mixed with hopeless longing.

And I couldn’t help myself. I reached for him.

We made it to the couch. I got the apron off him quickly, but my clothes seemed suddenly to have been designed by the most frustrating person in the world, they were so difficult to remove and required far more brainpower than I currently had.

I trembled as I touched him, ran my hands over his smooth, soft flesh. He was surprisingly fit, or perhaps not surprisingly: still in the flush of his youth, physically active, and a picky eater. He wriggled and writhed under my touch, his expression full of emotion and excited and hungry.

But I found myself hesitating after all, as we got my clothes off. Could I really do this? This was Jamie. Could I sleep with Jamie?

“Please, Max,” he said in a soft, breathy little voice with a catch in it, holding on to me with tender hands and then reaching up to gently stroke my chest. When I drew back, there were tears in his eyes, and he had such a look on his face….

I never could say no to Jamie.

“Of course.” I kissed him again and began to touch him.

And oh, we were so good together. It was like discovering something for the first time, being absolutely shocked at how wonderful it was. I didn’t know it could be like this. That sounds cliché. I guess it is; maybe for a reason: Jamie is absolutely the most beautiful man in the world to me.

But even that’s not the whole of it. The absolute trust between us made everything perfect. I honestly didn’t know anything could be so amazing.

But even so, even as much as he trusted me, Jamie was anxious afterward. His emotions had taken a hard hit; he was crying a little, still touching me as much as he could, even as sleep drifted near, like he couldn’t bear to stop.

“Again, Max,” he said against my ear; he took it between his lips and tasted my lobe. “Please. Let’s do this again.”

I could hear the agony in his voice, the fear that I’d leave him. “Shh, babe. Of course we will. Of course.” I held and soothed him, comforting him with little kisses, touching and murmuring to him until he fell asleep. He held on to me even then.

He couldn’t sleep until I promised we’d do it again, promised I wouldn’t leave him.

I WOKE to the smell of chocolate charring. I stirred lazily in bed, and then my eyes popped open wide. Jamie. Did I dream…?

I sat up in bed. The covers were disarrayed, with an imprint where another, smaller body had slept near me. I was naked. I shoved a hand back through my hair and blinked. It couldn’t have been a dream; it was all coming back far too real. After our time together on the couch, we’d headed up to bed, together.

Downstairs, I heard the sound of a spatula banging on a pan. “Shit!” said Jamie. Alex barked.

I grinned. He’s cooking me breakfast, the little ham. I pulled on my trousers and walked downstairs. The air felt tingly and new on my bare skin, the kitchen floor cool under my soles. I snuck up behind him, slid my arms around his waist, and kissed him on the neck. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jamie relaxed into my arms, leaning back against me. “Sleep okay?” He twisted a little to look up at me, his eyes shining.

He looked so proud and happy, I couldn’t regret it. We were a couple now. Maybe I could keep him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave me.

“Yeah, Jame. I slept great. Whatcha burning?” I nodded to the stove, rubbing my hands over his smooth stomach.

He scowled. “Oh, these pancakes! They’re much harder than they look. Did you know you need to add grease to the pan first?”

“Um, yes. I think most people know that.” I enjoyed the feel of him in my arms, his slim, lively, touchable, graceful strength. I bent to kiss his face again.

“Well I didn’t! You have the wrong sort of pans.” He thumped the spatula again in aggravation.

“They smell like chocolate.”

“They are. Double chocolate. I put cocoa in and then chocolate chips. And I was going to serve them with chocolate sprinkles on top, but now I don’t think they’re fit to eat.”

“Never mind,” I said lightly and lowered my head to nibble at his ear. “You are.”

EVERY day after that, Jamie greeted me with a big smile and a hug and kiss when I got home from work. Many times, he didn’t seem to want to let go. When we watched a movie, he cuddled up to me shamelessly, and I held him and rubbed his back.

Sometimes we ended up not finishing the movie or at least not knowing how it ended. We made love a lot, at least once every day after that first time, often more. His emotional intensity wrung him out, and he always needed to cling to me afterward, to be held and comforted.

It really didn’t take much foreplay to get him going—me either, if I’m honest—but he needed desperately to be cherished afterward. And oh, how I loved cuddling him.

Jamie was so trusting and warm and sweet, turning to me for comfort, letting me see his vulnerability and trusting me with every part of him.

We slept together in a tangled-limb pile every night, with Alex at the foot of the bed because now there wasn’t room for her.

We didn’t talk a lot about it; we just did it. Every night, and as often as we could on my days off. Jamie wasn’t as demanding as I thought he’d be, as he could be in every other area of his life, but sometimes he begged for more, for anything that meant I was there with him, touching him.

Often, I was really exhausted by the time I got to work, and I was nearly late more than once.

In a way, these were the happiest days of my life so far.

And they should’ve been: I had Jamie in every sense, the man I’d loved and wanted so long.

But even admitting that made me feel tense inside.

Jamie was an adult, so why did I feel guilty about sleeping with him? Why did I feel like I was making my long-illicit dreams come true? When we were young, I’d longed for him as more than my friend, and it had felt wrong. Why was it okay now? Maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, I lay awake wondering if I was betraying him by sleeping with him. Even though he wanted it.

Surely he deserved someone better.

But then I told myself, I look after him. I love him. Who could be better for him or love him more or take better care of him? Rock? Of course not.

And most of all, I just couldn’t bear to give him up.

But other times, I felt like I was clenched tightly inside, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I couldn’t possibly keep Jamie in my life this way, no matter how much I wanted to.

I didn’t deserve him.

Everyone leaves me eventually. My mom left me by

dying. My dad left me every day he chose to drink. Mason left me when he couldn’t take it that I was gay. Lincoln left because I was a cop.

I should be used to it by now. But I didn’t know if I could bear it if Jamie left too.

I WENT to Jamie’s play and sat transfixed in the dark room surrounded by strangers. Jamie came alive on stage, moving across it with a grandness and intensity of passion that made him seem eight feet tall.

I admit it: I cried through pretty much the last half; I tried to surreptitiously use my handkerchief. Jamie was brilliant. And oh, how his face shone when I told him so afterward. I took him out for ice cream, and he practically made love to me with his eyes while licking his ice cream cone in a way I’d no idea could be so erotically tempting. We hurried home afterward, and did it properly.

He still had trouble sleeping sometimes, tossing restlessly ’til we both awoke. But it wasn’t as bad now.

Often, before either of us woke completely, he’d move to me for comfort. I’d enfold him in my arms, and sleep would find us again, pulling us deeper than his restlessness and anxiety.

Once in a while, he did get up without me noticing him.

I’d find him in the morning, already paint-spattered and gray-faced with fatigue. But most of the time, I’d hear him starting to get restless and was able to soothe him back to sleep with me. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me, to be the one to comfort him.

But that doesn’t mean everything was easy. It wasn’t. I knew there’d be the piper to pay someday. I’d have to either break it off, somehow without hurting him—and I didn’t know how I could ever do that—or admit to him honestly that I’d been in love with him pretty much all my life. That I’d wanted him, even when I was supposed to be his trustworthy friend, nearly his older brother. I didn’t know how I could do that, either.

When we were small, it was easier—I just always had a soft spot for Jamie. He hadn't irritated me the way he irritated his brother. I'd loved to hug and protect him, and I had more patience for him than most people did. Sometimes, I liked to catch him close and plant a quick, playful kiss on top of his head. I knew I loved him; I just tried not to think about how it was sort of different from the way everybody else seemed to feel about their friends.

When I realized it was probably becoming sexual, not just really close friendship, I was sixteen and Jamie was thirteen. His voice had just started to change, and he hated it; it was almost enough to silence his chatter. He would get this consternated, really annoyed look on his face, like he was pissed off at his voice for not doing what he wanted. And then he’d shut up for a few minutes, unless I could gently distract him and get him to finish what he was saying. He was also starting to get pimples he kept trying not to pick at, and he was really proud of his three or four chest hairs.

And then one night I woke up in the middle of a dream about him—and I wanted to die. I was hot, sweaty, and hard with a dream ringing in my skull; Jamie’s face, close and cute, and me taking him in my arms, moving in for a kiss.

I flushed to the top of my head, panting, and swore quietly. Not that there was anybody there but me; I could’ve jerked off loudly, and nobody would know. But just then I thought I’d never touch myself again. My dream said what I hadn’t wanted to think: I wanted Jamie. And I couldn’t want Jamie. I just couldn’t feel that way about him.

I wanted to protect him. I wanted to hug him. I wasn’t allowed to want more—ever. But I did.

After that, I stopped hugging him. Just in case. I couldn’t stop noticing how cute he was becoming, though. I couldn’t stop feeling that tug of affection and warmth and longing when I looked at him, like I just wanted to take him in my arms and not let go for a long, long time, maybe ever.

I think he got a little pissed off at me not hugging him anymore, like he still needed my affection. But I no longer trusted myself to give it. And then later, when I told Mason I was gay, I ended up out of Jamie’s life for good. Or so I thought.

Every time I thought about it, I felt intensely guilty. It was so much easier to accept the here and now and not think about the past. My Jamie… he was a man now. He truly was. Passionate, clever, short-tempered, whimsical, tender, noisy, quiet… He was so many things, and he gave each of them, each part of his personality, to me and me alone. And I knew I could never deserve it.

We lay in bed, and I kissed him and kissed him, over and over, all over his face, his neck, his shoulders. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say, I love you, and I always have.

My dear Jamie. He was patient with me. I let my loving tell him the things I couldn’t. I hoped he’d understand, at least well enough. It was hard to be a zombie lately, and I didn’t want to be. But some traits still hung on. Some part of me was still afraid to be happy because the other shoe would drop: Mom would die; Dad would come home drunk; Mason wouldn’t like me anymore.

All those things had eventually happened, and some part of me still believed anything good would end horribly.

Childish, oh yes, but still more potent than I liked. Far too close and dangerous to my heart.

Just like Jamie.

JAMIE stood on his toes, and I bent down a little. He kissed me on the mouth.

“Have a good day at the office, dear,” he told me, a gleam in his eyes. His gentle hands smoothed down the front of my uniform.

“Yes, dear,” I said and rolled my eyes.

“Oh, listen, I have something to do this evening so I won’t be with Alex. I’ll still give her a walk, though.”

“Thank you.” I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. And he didn’t offer.

I was working some long and crazy hours lately. I didn’t expect to see him again until midnight or later, if then. He might be asleep by the time I got home, curled small on his side of the bed, lonely except for a large yellow dog sprawled out next to him.

I went back and kissed him again, soundly, lengthily, on the mouth.

“Oh, my, what brought this on?” He giggled a little and tugged me back inside. His gaze sparkled.

“No, I can’t, honestly. I’ll be late. Anyway, we already….”

“Awww. C’mon, Maxie. You know you love me.” Jamie’s expression flickered for a moment, but then he just grinned. He gave me a cocky look, as if challenging me to say something about what he’d just said. But he looked a little afraid too.

I pulled him closer by the shoulders and kissed him again. I put my hand down, unbuttoned his trousers, and reached in. “Shh,” I said against his mouth. He arched up against me. It was as if I could taste tears in his kiss, but he wasn’t crying.

I made it good for him, my fingers saying it back to him.

“Max….” Jamie said, holding on to me afterward, not wanting to let go. His mouth had gone all soft and his eyes large and emotional, and he had that desperate look he sometimes got, that pleading, almost frightened look. “Don’t go.” He leaned against my chest as I cleaned us up.

“I have to, babe. Shh.” I kissed the top of his head.

He made a small, hurt sound in his throat. “But I didn’t…. I didn’t….” He reached clumsily for my trousers, though he wasn’t yet completely recovered from his orgasm.

“No, no.” I caught his face and kissed him again, until he began to relax. “I have to go. Tonight, okay? Or tomorrow?”

I let go of him and went to the door.

“You can wait that long?” He hurried after me and remembered to do up his trousers on the way. He still had that needy look to him. I never should’ve touched him if I couldn’t afford the time for at least a few minutes of cuddling.

“Don’t, Jamie. It’s okay. I love you, babe. Shh.” I caught him close to me again and kissed him on the top of his head.

A sound like a tiny sob escaped him, and he held on to me. “Do you, Max?”

It just slipped out, but I was glad I said it. “Of course.” I petted his soft hair and held him close for a long moment.

He watched me the whole way out to my car, but he was happier now, his gaze wet but less insecure, more confident and relaxed.

I smiled the whole drive to work, sometimes humming along to the radio. I’d told Jamie I loved him, and the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it would be easier to leave in the mornings now. Easier for both of us. I could tell him I loved him, and he’d relax.

That day, I happened to get a call to provide backup at a party downtown. I didn’t know anything about it, but then, I’m not in the narcotics unit. They don’t exactly go around telling everyone about the people they have working undercover and when and where the bust will be. Sometimes the guys get downright paranoid, and I can’t say I blame them. It’s their lives on the line if anything goes wrong, if any hint gets out that they might not be kosher.

I was on patrol duty, driving around in a cruiser when the call came for backup. I wasn’t far away so I headed over to help.

They used to always partner cops up so we were safer on the street, but budget cutbacks mean I usually work alone now. It’s not exactly Starsky and Hutch. I also don’t get to drive a red car.

I pulled into the parking lot, the first squad car to arrive. The big, fancy building wasn’t the sort of place you expected a drug bust to happen. Cars that would’ve cost me a year’s pay sat around in the parking lot. I hurried inside.

A suited man with hard eyes holding a gun and a police badge gave me a tight nod. “Guests are getting rowdy. Hold them until more backup arrives to process the scene. Make sure nothing else gets flushed.”

“Yes sir.” I took over guarding the room full of angry, distraught, and frightened partygoers. They weren’t wearing very practical clothing, and most of them looked like they belonged in a film or something, not being arrested. I guessed most of them wouldn’t be, or else they’d be out before their lawyers had to do more than twitch. But you have to admire the narcotics unit when they’re willing to go after big fish.

“Now just stay calm, everybody. We’ll have this sorted out in no time,” I said, to keep things on an even keel.

Outside, more sirens pulled up. In the next room, the undercover cop was going through things.

“If you break anything I’ll have your head!” shouted an overwrought man with a balding head and expanding waistline. His suit looked like an Armani.

“Sir, please wait quietly,” I told him. The other officers would be there soon, and then we could start processing the scene properly.

Something caught the corner of my eye. “Jamie?” My voice rose in consternation before I could think.

He was there, trying to keep his head down; he flinched and looked up guiltily at the sound of my voice, his big blue eyes haunted and apologetic.

He wore an extremely tight red silk shirt that only buttoned about two-thirds of the way up, and it really showed off his physique. It looked like it belonged in an adult film, not on my Jamie, out here for everyone to see. He wore tight dress pants that showed absolutely everything and his best shoes. His hair was slicked up.

I might have taken a step forward, scowling. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to do this anymore? And if you think I’m getting you out of this one—”

“No, no! I d-don’t!” He tried to protest—and at that moment, a glowering man in a suit charged me.

“Stay away from him, piggy. He’s mine!”

I saw the flash of steel, and everything seemed to slow down. I swept the knife aside as the man lunged at me. My reflexes and training kept me from taking the direct hit. But he still cut through my uniform and into my arm.

One quick punch from me and the guy was down. The knife clattered from his hand.

I stood there bleeding. Several of the partygoers turned white at the sight; one had a vicious look on his face, as if he’d wanted the guy to stab me harder. I held on to my arm, dripping blood on the floor. The other police officers were there now; I could hear their footsteps on the stairs.

Jamie surged forward, his eyes huge and terrified. He tried to take my arm, to add his pressure to mine staunching the flow, but I shook him off.

“Wait there,” I ordered, and my voice sounded like gravel and stone.

His face was pinched and terrified. He took a step back and nodded jerkily, almost stumbling over his fallen “friend.”

“Seems to be the problem here?” asked O’Brien.

“Suspect cut me with a knife,” I said curtly. “I’ll need a drive to the hospital. It’s deep.”

I turned and started away from the crowd, dripping blood. I felt like a fool for letting him get the drop on me. I shouldn’t have been distracted by Jamie, shouldn’t even have spoken to him.

O’Brien gave me a quick, hard look, assessing me. Then another officer, Grady, helped me tie up my arm and drove me to the hospital while everyone else handled cleanup.

It was really starting to hurt by the time we got there.

But not as much as the fact that Jamie was still for rent.

WE HAD to wait a long time, and I got lightheaded with fatigue. Shannon Grady got me some candy from the vending machine twice. Words blurred illegibly before my eyes, my dyslexia made worse by exhaustion. I needed help filling out my forms, but at least I had the excuse of having my writing arm injured. If Grady guessed that wasn’t the only reason, she didn’t say anything.

I fell asleep on the ride home. When we got there, Grady cleared her throat to wake me and asked if I’d be all right.

I said I would. I got out my key, walked slowly to the door, and let myself in. Or rather, I tried to let myself in. The door was pulled open before I could.

Jamie. He stood there, his huge eyes terrified and haunted in his pinched, pale face. I guess he didn’t get arrested, then.

“Max.”

“Let me in, Jame. I’m too tired to talk to you.”

“Then don’t talk, just listen.” He followed me. At least he’d changed out of his sexy clothes into a more boy-next-door outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. “I’m really sorry. I’d already promised to go to this party. He’d paid me an advance. But I don’t have any more lined up, and I’ll never do it again. I promise. I’ll never speak to him again! I’ll testify about what he did, cutting you, if it’ll help. Do you think he was selling drugs? Do you think he was high? Maybe that’s why he attacked you?”

I made it to the couch, with Alex dancing anxiously around me and Jamie trailing us. I got the remote, settled myself gingerly, and turned on the television. “Jame, not now,” I said again, more softly. I sounded like the weariest man in the world.

He stood there awkwardly, looking down at me, his gaze wet. “I’m sorry, Max. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what to say. If there’s anything I can do—”

“There isn’t.” I flicked channels.

“Oh, okay, then.” He waited a moment and then moved away. I didn’t watch him go.

I SETTLED wearily onto my bed; it creaked. Alex wagged her tail uncertainly and then started to climb up. I shouldn’t let her. We were trying to get her out of the habit. But I didn’t say anything. She nudged my hand, and I turned it over. I stared down at her while she licked my palm.

The door eased open. “Max?” Jamie’s voice was very small. I could hear by the sound of it that he’d been crying, though he wasn’t now.

I didn’t look up.

“I know you don’t want to talk. I know you’re mad at me. I just… just wanted to say… do you want me to leave?”

I didn’t say anything for a minute. But I considered it.

Where would he go? Back to his rock-star-wannabe roommate and ex-lover? Then it would be my fault for driving them back together.

He came over and knelt on the edge of the bed; it creaked further. “If you want to hit me, I don’t mind.”

“What?” I looked up at him, honestly shocked out of my silence. Alex continued to lick my hand and up my wrist now, wagging her tail gently, trying to set things right for me.

She always knew when I was hurting, even if I couldn’t find the strength to reach out to her.

He shrugged painfully. “If it’s that or you never talk to me again.”

I sighed and looked down again. “I just need some time, okay? I thought we were… you know.”

He was silent a moment, almost holding his breath.

“What, Max?” he asked at last, in a small voice, very hesitant.

“I thought we were a couple. I thought we trusted each other. I thought you told me the truth.”

“I do. It’s—all those things. One mistake, honest, Max. Just one. I won’t do anything else. I…. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

I looked up at him, my gaze harder now, searching. “Did you have sex with any of those guys who hired you?” Maybe it shouldn’t matter to me, but it did. A lot.

Jamie shook his head slowly. “I didn’t, Max. Never. Not the ladies, either.”

“But you….” I had to stop and clear my throat. “You dressed like that for him.”

“He had a shirt he wanted me to wear. It didn’t seem like a big deal. Was it?” His brows rose. He still watched me cautiously, but the tension was leaving his posture and face.

He relaxed more, the longer we talked. The hunger and longing for me to forgive him was still there but without as much of a frantic, tearful edge.

I had to clear my throat again and look down. “It was to me.”

“Oh.” He relaxed a little further, shifting slightly on the bed, redistributing his weight. “Well, I can’t say I’ll never wear anything sexy again because I probably will, but I won’t be going to any more parties for pay, and I certainly won’t be wearing any more of his shirts.”

I nodded slightly, not looking at him again.

“Is there… is there anything else?” he asked quietly.

I hesitated for a moment, too long to deny it.

“There is, isn’t there? Please tell me, Maxilon.” He reached out and touched my cheek tenderly with his fingertips. “Anything.”

It made me a little sad to realize that when Jamie said anything, he probably meant exactly that. He probably meant we could have rough, kinky, humiliating sex if I wanted it.

That’s definitely not my thing. But had he given or offered that to every other boyfriend he’d ever had? To his first, the one where it was a bad experience? To Rock? Was my Jamie used to rough sex? And why couldn’t I stop thinking these thoughts that disturbed me? It shouldn’t matter who he’d been with in the past; he was with me now.

“Stay with me tonight,” I said finally, still not daring to look at him. The sight of him always softens me, and if I softened any more right then, something in me would break utterly. “No sex. Just… stay with me.”

“Oh, Max. Of course.”

He did. He stayed.

He held me all night, even when Alex kept trying to squeeze between us.

RECOVERY took some time, but I was back to work on desk duty before we started having sex again.

At least, until we were having it properly. Jamie gave me a few incredibly sweet blow jobs, but he didn’t push for more, and I wasn’t ready to offer more yet. I felt bad about accepting them, but he was awfully hard to resist when he offered, with his pretty face and that appealing little tilt of his head. Sometimes, Jamie could be the gentlest thing.

While I was off from work, when he took Alex for her walks, I went along. It was nice being home together. I felt more rested than I had in a while. Not how I’d have chosen to have time off from work, but the rest did me good.

Every day he did his painting and came thumping downstairs periodically, enthused, paint splotches on his face, hands, and clothes.

Jamie decided I needed a hearty breakfast every day before work, that coffee wasn’t going to cut it. He learned to cook French toast from watching YouTube and made it for me for every breakfast. Sometimes it burned and filled the house with smoke, set off the smoke alarm and made Alex race around sneezing. Sometimes it tasted so nasty I could barely eat it. But most of the time, it turned out good, and I made sure to tell him so.

We were quiet together. I don’t know how else to explain it. The first enthusiasm of being together was gone, but something else was there now. I liked being around him. If something was still not quite right for me yet regarding our relationship, most of it was.

The pinched, hurting, eager-to-please look was gone, and when he laughed, it was honestly without effort. When Jamie smiled, it was real. When I sometimes caught the look of wistful love in his eyes, I knew it couldn’t have been faked.

Jamie didn’t plead or hint or anything, but one evening I was finally ready. I shaved and took a shower at work and stopped at a drugstore before heading home. Clichéd as it is, I bought him chocolates.

Jamie opened the door to greet me, Alex dancing at his feet. I looked at him, smiled a little shyly, and bent to greet our dog.

Jamie didn’t say anything, just looked at me—the clean, slicked-back hair, the shaven face, the box of chocolates. His face filled with happiness, and he seemed to stand six inches taller. He held the door open for me, his smile growing, his eyes shining.

We didn’t get to the chocolates ’til later.

THE man who’d attacked me had been on drugs; he was being charged on both offenses, but we had no evidence of drug dealing or anything that would put him away for longer yet.

I caught Jamie looking at my stitches sometimes with a moody expression. They would be out soon, but I’d have a scar.

My boss called me into his office and told me I needed to be more careful. It was all well and good to be a wounded hero, he said, but he didn’t want any headlines in the paper like, oh, say: COP DISTRACTED, SEES BOYFRIEND AT DRUG BUST.

I told him yes sir, I would be more careful, sir, and my boyfriend wasn’t going to be at any more busts. I got a couple of funny looks from a few people who hadn’t known I was gay and seemed surprised. But that was it, really.

And life went on.

IT WAS my day off, and we were walking together on the small gravel road that ran behind the neighborhood where I live. Jamie held Alex’s leash. A bird sang in the bushes and then flew away as we got nearer. Alex’s tags jingled as she walked. She was moving at her steady pace that she could’ve kept up all day. Walking, for her, was going on a mission.

Jamie and I were just enjoying the day.

Except I could’ve sworn he was waggling his butt at me.

He wore his close-fitted jeans today and a tight T-shirt, and every once in a while, he pulled ahead so I got a really good look.

I didn’t want to walk home with a raging hard-on so I kept trying to pull even with him. But then somehow, he’d get a few steps ahead again. I couldn’t understand it. He was shorter; I was usually faster.

“Jame….”

“Yes?” Jamie turned to look at me, with that particularly innocent look of his.

“Oh. You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what?” He raised his eyebrows.

I looked away, trying not to smile. “You know what. Just quit it.”

“Oh, are you, um, getting a little hot? Is that it?” He tugged his T-shirt away from his chest slightly, a wicked grin turning up one side of his mouth. “It’s such a hot day, isn’t it? Almost don’t need to bother with a shirt….”

“Don’t you dare.” I caught his hands as he reached for the hem of his tee. “Just what are you trying to do?”

“What do you think, hotshot?” He nodded suggestively toward the tree line. The woods, only a few dozen yards away.

“What?” I asked, startled. Not that I hadn’t thought about it, of course, but…. Jamie patted his pocket meaningfully. I noticed the small bulge there now. His eyebrows rose entreatingly.

“Alex,” I said weakly.

“She can wait a few minutes. We’ll tie her leash to a branch. Hm?” His eyebrows rose in that eternally appealing look of his, his eyes shining with eager hope.

I hadn’t been able to say no to Jamie when he was a little boy and wanted to go to the video store; how could I say no now? Back then, I had to drive him and usually pay for his game too. Now, he wanted to sleep with me. And I wanted it too. Well, it was a quiet day and a quiet stretch of land.

Maybe….

“Yeah,” I said and put a hand on his arm.

We moved toward the woods.

Alex liked this. She moved forward eagerly, scenting along the ground, acorns and leaves and mud, probably picking up any recent animal activity. Jamie tied her leash to a branch on a fallen log. “Be good, girl.”

I patted her, tugged at the leash to be sure it was tied properly, and then followed Jamie, who was stepping lightly into the woods.

Jamie didn’t go far. Fallen oak leaves crunched beneath our shoes and would make a nice bed in the darkened, shady hideaway. My heart pounded fast. I kept looking around to be sure we were alone. Unless the squirrels were watching, we were.

I’d been back at work for about two weeks at this point, just about ready for active duty, and Jamie and I had been sleeping together again for about a week. Everything was going pretty well: me, him, work, everything. I should’ve been suspicious, I guess. But I let down my guard.

Jamie bent a little; he undid his zipper and shimmied out of his glued-on jeans. “Max?” he said over his shoulder, his voice slightly breathy and nervous. “A little help here?”

I moved forward, reaching for his slim, warm body.

A few minutes later we were both getting very—and I mean very—into it, when probably just about the only thing that could’ve stopped us, did.

Alex yelped.

No, it was more than a yelp: Alex screamed. There was a sickening thump, and Alex screamed.

I was on my feet in a split second, fumbling to shut my pants, turning to run. “Alex!”

“Wait!” cried Jamie. I heard him scrambling after me, but I couldn’t wait. I stumbled and bumbled through the underbrush, clumsy in my haste. Branches that had been friendly on the way in, lashed at me now.

“Alex!”

There. Ahead, not so very far, though it felt like an eternity, I could see the little road. The road almost no one ever used. The road that was supposed to be safe, damn it, and she was supposed to be tied up away from it anyway.

But there stood an open convertible, and, horribly, a shock of pale fur lay at the front, so very still….

“Alex! ” Not you too, Alex.

I ran to her. The driver was getting out of the car, tears streaking her shocked face. “I’m sorry! He just dashed out. I didn’t see him.”

I ignored the woman and knelt by my dog, feeling for life. Yes. Her heart beat. She knew me, tried to move, and cried again. Her leash was still tied to a piece of broken branch.

“Shh, shh. Hold still, baby.” I ran my hands over her lightly. Alex was trembling. She tried to move her head to lick my hand. “Don’t move, baby. Shh. Daddy’s here.” I’d never called myself her daddy before in my life, not even once.

Her big, chocolate eyes looked up at me, pleading for understanding, for something. Apology seemed mixed in there, too, and shock.

“Shh.” I forced myself to look up. “Drive me to the vet. I’ve got to get her there. She could be bleeding internally. We can’t wait.”

“Of course. Of course. Let me help.”

“Open the door.” Alex yelped as I lifted her. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” I was shaking damn hard too.

Then Jamie was there. “What can I do?” he practically screamed.

“Call the vet. Tell her we’re coming. Um. The number’s on my cell phone. My pocket.” He reached trembling fingers into my pocket and snatched it out.

A few moments ago, Jamie was the only thing on my mind; now he was the furthest from it. His hair stuck up funny, and he had some leaves plastered to his clothes. He looked like he’d been rolling around in a leaf pile. I probably looked no better.

“Bring the car. Meet us there,” I told him as we drove away in the open-topped convertible, the wind rushing to push the tears from my eyes.

I remembered when I first met her litter. Alex was so tiny she couldn’t open her eyes yet. I could hold her in my cupped hands, the blunt little snub snip of a dog, searching for something to suckle. I remembered when she was older, old enough to adopt. I brought her home, and she ran around and found all the corners I didn’t want her to find, and then fell asleep next to a puddle on the floor. I remembered everything. And now, again, I held my dog as gently as I could.

I SCRAPED my hair back for the hundredth time and paced the waiting room yet again.

The doorknob made a sound, and I whirled toward it, like a man gasping for breath. The vet emerged from the back room and gave me a tired smile. “She’s sleeping peacefully. I can’t promise anything yet, but I’m hopeful you got her here in time.” She put a hand on my arm.

And then I had to sit down fast because my knees gave out. Jamie caught me, helped me sit. We’d barely spoken two words to each other since he got here, listening numbly to the vet, waiting, and waiting some more for news of her surgery.

“Can I see her?”

“You may, but just briefly. She’s asleep. We’ll call you as soon as anything happens, all right? Try to get some rest.”

I nodded. I followed her in, Jamie on my heels.

We stared at my sleeping dog. She looked horrible, with shaved patches and a tube in her mouth, lying on her side so very still, her eyes closed. But she was alive, and she’d always had a great fighting spirit. She’d make it. She had to make it.

Alex. I laid a hand on her side, breathing my thoughts to her. The touch steadied me, steadied something yammering and terrified that hadn’t shut up since this whole ordeal started with that loud thump and her scream.

At last, Jamie touched my arm, and we turned to go. I barely remembered to thank the vet.

The lady with the convertible hadn’t stayed, but she’d left her number and some money with the vet and promised to pay more if needed. She felt terrible; and I never wanted to see her again as long as I lived.

We got into my car. Jamie drove. I rested a hand briefly on his strong, slim forearm and then withdrew.

“I’m so sorry, you know that, don’t you?” he said in a cracked voice.

I nodded. “It’s not your fault. I checked the knot too.”

“Yes, but….”

“It’s not your fault.” I spoke firmly, closed my eyes, and leaned back. The car carried me away. Behind my eyelids, all I saw was Alex: on the ground, in my arms, or with that tube in her throat.

When we got home, I slept. I didn’t think I’d be able to, but I slept and slept. Even asleep, I knew something was wrong. I knew Alex needed me, but I didn’t know any details.

It tormented me, but sleep kept folding itself around me.

Other arms did too. Jamie was near, holding me in my restless rest. I thought I heard the soft sound of crying, but I couldn’t wake up enough to be sure.

And then the phone rang. I sat up like a shot, reaching around blindly for it. I was alone now. I got the receiver to my ear and answered with a curt, “Yes?”

“She’s going to make it. I’m ninety-five percent sure,” said the vet without preamble, her voice a hymn of triumph.

“Thank you. Thank you! Jamie!” I cupped my hand over the receiver and shouted. “Did you hear that? She’s going to make it!”

No response. I didn’t wait but spoke to the vet again. “What else can you tell me?”

I WAS getting ready to go see Alex and being unusually talkative. I’d already told Jamie what the vet said three times, shared a few rambling memories of Alex’s puppyhood, and asked where my keys were twice. Jamie was being unusually quiet, for him, but rushing around and trying to help me find everything I kept misplacing. I felt like half my head was missing. I’d already taken the day off work.

Someone knocked at the door. “Get that, would you?” I asked. “Where’s my other shoe?”

“Um, on your foot?” suggested Jamie, his eyebrows rising. For the first time since the accident, he looked like he wanted to laugh.

“Oh. Thanks!” I moved away to put on the shoe I was holding as well.

Jamie reached up to scratch at his hair, smiling a little, head tilting to the side. He opened his mouth to say something, shook his head, and turned away. He opened the kitchen door.

“Jamie?” said Mason. “Out of my way. Where is he?”

“What?” said Jamie. Mason shoved past him, his body language shouting rage.

My head snapped up, but all the same, Mason barreled down on me before I could get to my feet.

He swung, and really, it’s no surprise he connected. He was always stronger when we were kids. He’d always won our mock fights before I stopped fighting with him in the first place. He’d thought it was because I didn’t like to lose; actually, I’d been afraid of how my body would react to another guy’s close proximity. And he was Mason; I couldn’t react that way to Mason. Even if he wouldn’t have hated me.

Which, of course, it turned out he did.

The punch caught me on the chin, and my head popped back. I saw black-and-white flashes. And then Mason wasn’t there anymore, and Jamie was screaming “Don’t you touch him! Don’t you dare touch him!”

I blinked, and when I could see, it was Jamie flailing on Mason, Mason trying to hold him off without hurting him.

Jamie was crying and shouting incomprehensibly. Every time Mason pushed him off and moved back toward me with that angry look in his eye, Jamie wrapped himself around whatever part of Mason he could reach and hung on, wailing incomprehensibly.

“Hey! Calm down!” I barked. I got to my feet, every inch the cop now. Jamie shut up for a second, but he didn’t stop clinging to Mason. He looked like his ten-year-old self for a moment, eyes gummy with tears, fighting with all his weapons and lack thereof, throwing himself at his brother with all his slight weight and yelling for all he was worth.

I pointed at Mason. “You want to get arrested for assaulting a cop? Sit down.” I pointed to a kitchen seat.

Slowly, reluctantly, Jamie released him. And wonder of wonders, Mason sat. Made me feel like I was in charge of a classroom and had finally found my inner scary teacher.

“Now, if you have something to say, say it.” I glared at him and rubbed my jaw. “Oh, and you get that one on the house. Next time, I’m reporting you for assault.”

“Yeah?” sneered Mason, that look of disgust and hatred returning to his gaze. “Well, maybe I should report you for raping my baby brother.”

“What?” shrieked Jamie. “He never!”

Mason was on his feet again, and both brothers were in each other’s faces. “You acted like you didn’t know he was even gay, but here you are, sleeping with him, living with him. Why’d you lie? What did he do to you when you were a kid? ”

“Nothing! He n-never touched me!”

I could see Jamie was losing it by the way he started to turn away, his voice trembling. Really losing it, actually breaking down, not just fighting the only way he knew how.

“Jame,” I said, trying to pull him away, get him out of this situation.

“Don’t you touch him!” screamed Mason.

“Mason!” Jamie’s gaze snapped back to his brother, his eyes narrowing, mouth shaking. “You think you know what’s best, huh? Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you let me go camping with your good buddy Clint. Oh, yeah, he was straight as a board. Loved to bang the chicks, ’cept when he could get an underage boy in his tent. Fuck you, Mason! You think you protected me by chasing Max away? Well, he’d never have let anybody touch me ’til I was older and ’til I was sure. You asshole! He protected me better than you ever did.”

Something like pain buzzed behind my eyes; for a second, I couldn’t see. Somebody had hurt Jamie. I wasn’t there to protect him, and somebody had hurt him.

“What?” Mason gaped at him, his eyes wide with horror. “Clint?” he said. “Clint did that to you?”

Jamie nodded and wiped his eyes. But the tears kept falling. “The guy you wanted me to hang out with—because he was a real man.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Mason. He’d gone chalk white.

“He fucking did. Anyway, y-y-you came here for nothing. I-I’m leaving Max anyway.”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean you’re leaving me?”

My hand closed around his upper arm. He didn’t look at me.

“Jame?” said Mason, sounding lost and scared.

Jamie glared at his brother. “Don’t you get it? It was me. It was all me. I’m the one that seduced Max.” He turned to me, his eyes full of tears and agony. “I got you injured. I almost killed your dog. I ruined your life!”

“No, Jamie!”

But he broke free from me and ran. He ran all the way out the front door, head down, sneakers pounding on the sidewalk. He didn’t look back when I shouted his name.

“Mason,” I said, turning and pointing a finger at my once-upon-a-time best friend. “I’m not walking away from him again. Once was too much. You can hate me if you want, but I’m not losing him again. We’ll decide what to do with Clint later.”

Mason looked like a balloon that had sat too long, lost most of its air, and now slumped forgotten in a corner. He sat down heavily, shaking his head. “It’s too late. He died in a motorcycle crash last year. I just can’t believe….” He brought a trembling hand up to his bowed head and closed his eyes. He looked so lost sitting there at my kitchen table, but I had no time for him now. I ran after Jamie.

I was faster; I had longer legs. But all the same, he nearly lost me.

I saw a flash of color flashing away at a fast pace, and I put the speed on. It felt like I might never catch him. Felt like I’d never catch my breath, either. I kept going. My jaw hurt from where Mason had clocked me, but my heart ached worse.

Jamie, I’m so sorry. Jamie, don’t leave me. Please, please don’t leave me.

I saved my breath; shouting would just make him run faster. At one point, he paused and leaned forward, hands on his knees, panting hard. A quick glance back and he saw me, then cut across someone’s backyard into a patchy meadow. The tall weeds slowed him down, and he was losing energy fast.

Grass slashed my legs. The sun was in my eyes, and Jamie bobbed ahead of me. If Alex was here, she’d be so happy to run with us. I could almost feel her beside me, keeping pace, urging me on.

Before long, Jamie would be at the end of his wild burst of adrenaline. But I was hitting my second wind.

I brought him down halfway across the meadow, just before the tree line. I tackled him and brought him down.

He struggled weakly beneath me, heaving for breath like a drowning man. “Ugh! Let me go.” He was still crying; I could hear it in his voice.

“No.” I pinned him with my greater weight, gasping for air.

“Max,” said Jamie in that trembling, querulous voice of his, the one I always obeyed. “Let me go.”

“No.” I leaned farther over him. It was an oddly protective feeling, pinning him, like I was Superman and protecting him from being hit by a car, instead of trapping him here against his will.

“I’ll b-b-bite you.”

A loud snort escaped me and a wheeze of laughter between my gasps for breath. “Bite away.”

He wriggled; he squirmed. The slippery bugger almost got away.

I tugged him back to the ground and crawled on top of him. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. “You’re not leaving me. Not ’til I tell you the truth.”

He went still under me. “The truth?” His chest still heaved mightily, but I could feel him getting back his strength. I could also hear the squeak of fear in his voice.

I nodded against the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Jamie. But if you want to leave me, you deserve a real reason. None of those other stupid ones will work. They’re just excuses, you blaming yourself for everything, and that’s not fair.”

I kissed the back of his neck lightly, and he went even more still. I could tell he was listening with all his being. I straightened up and pulled him to a sitting position beside me. But I didn’t let him go; I held on to his arm. We were covered in pollen, stickers, and bits of grass. He had a few grass cuts on his arms and hands, one on his cheek. His eyes watered in his red face, and he looked at me with huge eyes.

I glimpsed once again the little boy I would never forget he’d been. I could see now that I’d never really be able to separate the two: my grown-up Jamie from my little-boy Jamie. He’d always be a little of each to me.

I took a deep breath. “You should leave me because I love you. I’ve always loved you. Mason’s more right than you know. I never touched you, but oh, I wanted you. I couldn’t even admit it to myself, but I wanted you so much. I had these dreams about you. Scared me to death. I didn’t want to be some kind of pedophile.” I ran a hand down his arm, brushing off pollen, stroking him. “Walking away from you was the hardest thing I had to do. And I’m not doing it again. And you’re not walking away without knowing the truth.” It was getting hard to talk; my voice came out thick and heavy. “So if you want to leave, there’s your reason.”

“Max,” said Jamie, his eyes wide with wonder and a bit of fear. “You loved me all along?”

I could only nod.

“Why would you f-feel bad about that?” His smooth, pale brow wrinkled. “You were a kid too. Just because you turned eighteen first….”

“Three years first,” I reminded him, still with that miserable croak in my voice. My face was wet and not just from sweat. I didn’t bother swiping away the tears, just continued to look at him, the words pouring out of that secret place of agony in my heart, words that I’d held in for so long. “It was the hardest thing I ever did, leaving you. But I did it because I thought Mason was right, it was best for you. I never wanted to leave, baby. I never wanted you to get hurt. But you did, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from that guy.”

Jamie looked away, embarrassed. Then he gripped my arm, hard. His voice held a broken sort of wonder. “You love me, and I really didn’t ruin your life?”

“You didn’t,” I assured him. I tugged him closer awkwardly and kissed the side of his face. I nuzzled against him, smelling his sweat and the field we’d rolled around in, holding him close to me, one hand pressed against his chest, rubbing securely and gently, like I was putting Vicks on him.

“Even if Alex had died,” I whispered. “I’ve had Alex since she was a puppy. I’d die for her. But I love you more, baby. I love you more.”

And that’s when Jamie really lost it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard or seen anyone cry harder, sobs from so deep inside; gut-wrenching, soul-shaking sobs.

I didn’t understand a single word he said. But I held him ’til the poisons worked their way clear, ’til every last tear had fallen. He clung to me hard the whole time.

And afterward, he smiled, the brightest smile I’d ever seen, the rainbow after the storm. We helped each other up, and then slowly walked back home. Together.

Epilogue

WE ARE on a path, me and Alex. We walk slowly, because she still limps. My little puppy will never be as young or as fast as she used to be, but she’s still the best and sweetest dog I’ve ever known. If people’s dogs reflect any part of themselves, I must be the nicest guy in the world. But I think she just makes up for my deficiencies.

Alex picks up her pace as much as she can at the sight ahead. It’s Jamie, sitting at an easel in the park. He’s started to do other kinds of art recently.

I walk faster with Alex. She goes up to greet him, waving her tail back and forth, tongue lolling, smiling up at him.

Jamie ruffles her ears and then grins up at me. “Hey.”

“How’s it going?” I ask.

His face lights up, shy and embarrassed. “I sold two paintings.”

“Great!”

I’m always careful not to tell him how much better I think his old-fashioned, representational paintings are compared to his angry color paintings. But I think he knows.

At any rate, people are buying them, left and right apparently. Or possibly right and then left: I am still dyslexic.

Alex thumps down at his feet for a little nap, and I sit on the foldout chair for people who want their portraits or caricatures taken. I pose, clown around, and act silly in an attempt to distract Jamie—just a bit, but I’m learning to loosen up—and he tries not to giggle as he puts his finishing touches on his scenic painting.

He’s in an impressionistic period; he uses lots of big brush strokes. There’s so much light in his paintings these days. Happiness seems to burst from them.

After a while, he finishes. I help him pack up and carry everything, and we walk slowly home, with Alex setting the pace.

I nagged Jamie into going to some counseling, in case it would help. I don’t try to make him talk about Clint, though; I know he doesn’t like to. If he’s ever ready, he’ll tell me.

Jamie said I should really be going to counseling too, because of my parents. We’re still having discussions about that; I haven’t agreed yet, but I’m thinking about it.

We’ve registered everything so Jamie is my domestic partner, and I’m his. If I’m ever injured in the line of duty, he won’t have to wait in terror at the hospital without getting to see me. But as he told me, I’d just better damn well not get injured in the first place.

Everyone at work now knows I’m as good as married, would be married if it was legal in our state. And… it’s okay.

It’s fine. I mean, I guess a lot of the people I work with still aren’t too keen on “the gays,” but most of them know and trust me. Some of them seem confused when I don’t fit their idea of gays.

Though I think Jamie sort of does fit their ideas.

Sometimes, he does it on purpose, like when he brought me my lunch one day wearing his tight-ass jeans. We talked about that later; he won’t do it again. Probably. Most of the ladies in the precinct are still jealous of me.

Jamie’s mom knows about us too; we’ve gone round for dinner. The first time was awkward. After that, it got easier.

Even Mason has almost accepted us by now. It’s not that I ever want to be Mason’s best friend again. That ship has sailed, and we’ve both moved on. I don’t think I could ever trust him again the same way; I just don’t want him to make life harder for Jamie. So far, he’s handling it better than I thought he would, getting used to us.

Eventually, we get home from the park, feed Alex, and then make ourselves supper. Afterward, there’s a movie on we want to watch, but as sometimes happens with us, we don’t find out how it ends.