Loyal

by Hollis Shiloh

  "I'll get to re-interview, too!" he'd exclaimed, as if that was a special treat, going over old ground with suspects and angry, grieving family members, to piece together crimes from a decade ago or more.

  It sounded like a kind of hell to me, but he was in heaven.

  "Is Tomas treating you well?"

  "We're treating each other well," I said.

  We really were. Tomas was polite and gentle with me, looking out for me, not bowling over my boundaries or making me feel like an idiot by assuming I didn't know anything.

  It was an adjustment being here at the new job, new life, new home. At the precinct, I was surrounded by cops, my nerves wracked. But a lot of the time, we didn't have to stay in the precinct. Tomas and I spent a lot of time out and about, doing checks or waiting to be called. He'd worked it out with his bosses that I didn't have to clock too many hours at the station, as long as they could call me in any time to go sniff a crime scene or something.

  It was odd seeing crime from this side of the law. I liked it better so far, despite having to sniff out some things I'd rather not. At least I didn't have to threaten anyone, or, even worse, bite them.

  I had fewer sneezing fits with Tomas to run interference for me. If somebody wearing heavy perfume or body spray wanted to get in my face, he stopped them.

  Nobody made me go into laundromats or other places that set off my allergies, and the precinct had rules about that kind of thing already in place before I got here, so I wasn't sneezing wildly around the cops.

  Sometimes I still had to catch myself, remember I was here on purpose, that these were the good guys and I was, too. It was a difficult adjustment, but Tomas stuck close, and if anything, the trust between us was greater than ever. It was a steady thing, incandescent at the center of this new life, and it made the changes worth putting up with, the difficulties worth getting through.

  His friendship was a bright, pleasant warmth to me. Different from the sturdy comfort of Nolan's friendship, but just as sustaining. I was centered and calmer when I was around Tomas. I could breathe, do my job, and not flake out on anyone.

  If I couldn't bear any more interaction or stress, he saw it quickly and got me out of there, just as he'd done on graduation day. His sensitive nature was tuned to taking care of me.

  Right now, I took more than I gave, but I was committed to him. I was already fairly sure I'd have done anything for Tomas. I'd have taken a bullet for him, at the very least.

  And now Justin—Justin, who had skipped my graduation altogether and was bragging about interviews and dead bodies and such—had the nerve to ask if Tomas was being good to me!

  "I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me," said Justin after a brief pause. The animation was erased from his voice, he sounded cautious.

  No shit, Sherlock.

  I wanted to freeze him out. I wanted to make him sorry he'd missed the graduation. And I wanted to not be such a poor sport, to be nice to him, polite and friendly, but a little distant, putting up the space we needed between us to go on and live healthy, separate lives.

  It was confusing to want so many different things at once. There were more, as well, ones I didn't know how to name or guess at. I felt frustrated, itchy inside, and as if I might break down any minute and either yell or cry. I didn't want to do either. Why couldn't I just be normal, today and every day? Especially around Justin, who was too damned good at nosing out my failures and weaknesses.

  "Something about the job?" he asked, alert now. Great, time for Twenty Questions.

  "The job is great. Please don't do this."

  "Do what?"

  "Try to pry—" I had to stop and clear my throat.

  "Ah. It's me, then. I'm getting on your nerves. My apologies. I'll stop guessing."

  "Thanks." I felt humiliated all over again, naked in front of him. I was only being spared the interrogation because he was taking pity on me. He could've gotten anything out of me...

  "And I suppose I've told you enough about my job," he added reluctantly. "I thought you'd want to hear all of that, but I suppose I go into too much detail sometimes."

  Less of the CSI would be nice, yes.

  "Sorry. I always seem to be apologizing to you, don't I?" He didn't sound very happy.

  "Nobody's making you do it," I grumbled.

  "But if I hurt you, I should apologize."

  I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe evenly. Yes—yes, you should. You should apologize for not being there, and for—for—

  I didn't know what. I knew I was hurt and feeling stiff and formal and unhappy with him, and a lot of confusing things underneath.

  He sighed. "You've got to get Tomas to teach you how to Skype. I'm only getting half of what you're trying to tell me this way."

  "What?" For a second I thought he'd meant something dirty, but then I connected the word with a video-type phone call. "I don't think he does that."

  "He has some tech training, doesn't he? Of course he can Skype."

  "Are you looking into Tomas's background now? Oh, you can't spy on me, so you'll dig up everything you can on my partner?"

  "I did a minimal, bare-bones background and personality profile on him, after you let me meet him and I could see which way the wind was blowing. That's hardly invading your privacy, or even his. They go a lot deeper than that for the program itself. I just wanted to make sure—"

  "No."

  "What, just no? That's it?" He scoffed. "Just say no?"

  "Nobody ever tells you no, do they? You always get your own way, till there's nobody who can stand you. You'll probably lose that job in six months when they can't stand your smug, pushy, rotten personality a second longer, and good. I'm glad. Nobody gets their way forever, Justin Barnes, and someday, somebody is going to take you down a peg or two—and I'll be cheering."

  "What did I ever— What's brought this on? I've done nothing but—"

  "You've done nothing but be an asshole! You're always right, and you never listen!"

  "I always listen to you! I practically beg you to tell me what's going on with you, and you won't. You, Riley, are the king of mixed messages—and passive-aggressive bullshit. Yes. Bullshit. You expect me to guess, but get mad at me if I do. Now why don't you either fuck off for good or tell me what this is really about?"

  I was breathless with tears. He was right, we both were, and every word was horrible. Nobody should be able to make me cry anymore. I was a grown man, and I didn't even care what Justin Fucking Barnes thought of me.

  "I'm sorry," he said, voice low and miserable. "I shouldn't have said any of that. That wasn't—"

  "No. Don't be," I gulped. "I'm glad. I'm glad you got it out there. I don't think we should talk anymore. There's really no point. Don't call me. Is that message clear enough, or am I being too passive? Enjoy your job. Enjoy your dead bodies and ripping everybody apart to read their minds. Just don't call or text me again. I don't want to talk to you ever again, you hear me, Justin Barnes?"

  "Don't worry. That won't be a problem," said Justin stiffly. He hung up.

  TOMAS GLANCED AT MY face cautiously and slid into the passenger seat. I was driving today. He'd brought coffee.

  I stared straight ahead, hoping he hadn't seen my red, puffy eyes. "Thanks," I mumbled, accepting one of the coffees. I didn't know if I could drink it today, at least not without throwing up. I'd had a bad night.

  "Have you talked to him yet?" asked Tomas, watching me.

  "No. We—I said I never wanted to speak to him again."

  He knew this. We'd been talking about this on and off for the last week. I wasn't getting over the fight, and when I wasn't angry—at myself, at Justin, at both of us—I was miserable. Today, I'd barely been able to haul myself out of bed, and there was no hiding the fact that I'd been crying. I refused to put on any of those creepy reflective sunglasses.

  Before I could start driving us out of the coffee shop lot, Tomas put a hand on my arm. "Just call him, Riley. Say you're sor
ry and don't want to break contact forever. He'll forgive you. But he's not going to call and apologize when you specifically told him never to contact you again, is he? That's a little too close to being a stalker. Maybe he's eating his heart out as well."

  His hand on my arm felt solid, real. His advice sounded sensible. I considered it a moment, then sighed. "No. He's fine."

  Justin would always be fine. He didn't let anything get to him, not really. I'd never been an important part of his life, either. My absence wouldn't mean a damned thing to him.

  Sure, he'd been an interfering busybody and acted like he wanted to know my every secret and plan out my life for me, but that didn't mean anything. He was probably like that with everybody. These thoughts weren't exactly cheering me up.

  "You'll never know if you don't try. Maybe you could patch things up, or at least end them a little better than this. Honestly, it's like a bad breakup. Do you want to still be dealing with this in six months?"

  "No."

  "Then call him. Or let me, if you can't."

  Justin wouldn't have asked. He'd have walked all over me and done it, and probably done a bunch of other stuff I wouldn't thank him for. But I knew he meant well, and I should never have said all that stuff about being taken down a peg, or relishing dead bodies.

  I'd made him sound creepy; I'd been really unkind. In that moment, I'd wanted to hurt him, and I had. He'd never have said what he said to me if I hadn't lit into him that way first.

  He'd had the patience of a saint with me, back when I really needed it, and this was how I'd repaid him.

  "It wouldn't count, if you called," I relented at last, because he was still watching me, waiting for me to decide. Dear Tomas. Would I do the same thing to him someday? Yell at him, chase him out of my life, and be miserable without him? Maybe this was who I was now: the wolf who loses his temper and drives everyone away.

  "Let me try. It can't hurt to try. If he won't even talk to me, at least you'll know."

  I shut off the ignition. Wordlessly, I pulled my phone out and handed it over to him, not looking at him. I was ashamed to let him do this. It wasn't the sort of call you could do through proxy. But it had been a miserable week, and I wasn't sleeping well.

  Tomas would never have yelled at someone that way, especially someone who was supposed to be a friend. Or something. But he was still willing to try to fix this for me. I wanted him to.

  Shame roiled around in me, and an uncomfortable sort of guilt. It had been a relief to say those things at the time, but in the end, it had been so much worse than biting my tongue.

  Tomas looked through my contact list and found Justin's number. I'd thrown away the burner phone after our breakup—fight, that is—but I still had Justin's home phone number. He'd given it to me long ago, when I was staying with him those few days, and I'd memorized it, kept it, and put it in my next cell phone.

  Maybe, I'd thought, I could just leave him a message when he couldn't possibly pick it up, and then I wouldn't have to talk to him. But I hadn't been able to make myself do that, even with Tomas's encouragement and support.

  Surely he'd only get the answering machine. Justin had to be at work by now, didn't he? Or maybe not; he was in a different time zone, and we'd just barely—

  "Justin?" said Tomas, as the machine picked up. He used his smooth, calm, sympathetic cop voice. It was good to listen to him in action. I stilled, waiting for what he had to say. "This is Tomas Quiróz. I'm calling on behalf of—"

  There was a loud click, and then a breathless, "Tomas? That you? Is Riley okay? Are you at the hospital? He didn't hurt himself, or have an accident, or—" Wolf hearing gave me both sides of the conversation.

  "Riley is fine. He wanted to apologize for his part in the fight last week. Some things were said that, well, he—" He glanced at me, as if trying to figure out how I wanted him to word it.

  I watched him, wide-eyed and breathless, to see how he'd pull me out of the fire. He was so good at this, his voice so mellow. Tomas was the best partner a man could ask for.

  "Riley?" said Justin, the frantic edge leaving his voice as he became all business. "He's there, isn't he? He's with you. May I speak with him, please?"

  "I don't know what you mean," said Tomas. "I'm just calling to relay a message, so if you'll let me—"

  "Riley? Riley?" said Justin, impatient and certain. "I know you can hear me."

  Damn the man. Of course I could. That wolf hearing was no secret to him. Sighing, I held out my hand for the phone. He wasn't going to let it rest till I said it myself.

  Tomas hesitated, looking at me closely, his expression worried. Then he gave me the phone, his reluctance clear.

  "Justin," I sighed into my phone. "I'm here."

  "Oh hell. I'm sorry, Riley. I'm so fucking sorry. I know I keep saying that, but—I was a real asshole to you. I didn't mean it. At least, the parts I meant, I could have put them a lot better. Just because you come across as passive-aggressive to me sometimes is no excuse for—for how I treated you. I'm sorry for insulting you, truly sorry."

  "Me too," I managed in a hoarse voice. "For what I said, I mean." I cleared my throat, and closed my eyes against a fresh shimmer of tears.

  It felt so good to talk to him. To know that he'd been upset, too. "I said the meanest thing I could think of. I don't want you to get taken down a peg or two. Not really."

  I'd hated it the one time he sounded uncertain and lost.

  He laughed, a breathless, unexpected sound. "That's the worst you could think of? Really, Riley, you're a soft-hearted old thing, if that's true."

  "I'm sorry," I said helplessly. "I really do want to talk to you again."

  "Can I call you sometime? Or text?" He wanted me to take back my words, wanted to fix this as much as I did.

  "Yes. Of course. I—I didn't mean it about your job, either. I'm sure it's very...important, what you do, and—and they'll appreciate you there."

  He laugh was soft and pleased now. "It's okay. You don't have to like my job. I'm trying very hard to rein in the personality, though, so perhaps they will appreciate me here." His voice was soft and teasing, far too friendly for what we'd just been through.

  It was breaking me.

  "I've got to work," I told him helplessly. "I have to."

  "Okay. All right. I'll call you later this week?" It was definitely a question, not a declaration.

  "Yes. That's—I'd like that."

  "I'll talk to you later, then, Riley." His voice had gone silky soft and warm. Oh, how could he not hate me? Maybe he had fights like this all the time, but I didn't...and I'd been the one to start it, too.

  "Goodbye," he said, waiting.

  "Goodbye."

  Tomas took the phone from me and hung it up, because my fingers were trembling. He looked at me then, unhappy. "You shouldn't let him do this to you. Look at you."

  "I know. Sorry." I put my face in my hands, trying to breathe evenly. Tomas had seen me cry. That was a first. I wished he hadn't. I wished I hadn't done it at all...

  "No. I—I didn't mean it that way. Riley."

  He touched my arm, then reached up to squeeze my shoulder. His touch was, as always, very grounding. I took a few deep breaths, blew my nose, pulled myself together the best I could.

  He was watching me. "Justin is clearly a lot more important to you than you've let on. Maybe it's better to admit that?"

  His scrutiny made me uncomfortable when I forced myself to meet his gaze. "What do you mean?"

  "He's not just some friend, or some guy you know, or someone who got you interested in the program, is he? He really...matters to you. Does he know?"

  "I don't know." I stared at Tomas. He thought I was very attached to Justin. Was he saying...? He didn't think I should be this attached unless it...meant something?

  Could he be right? Even thinking about it made me feel wretched and vulnerable. If there was anybody in the world I shouldn't give my heart to, it was Mr. Confidence himself, Justin Barnes. I would nev
er pick such a thing on purpose.

  "Look, he had his heart on his sleeve too, right?" said Tomas. "He seemed really invested. I'm not saying go after him, if that's not what you want. I'm just saying...think about what it is you actually do want, okay?"

  His eyes were kind, but a little too knowing. Tomas saw a lot of me.

  "Okay," I said, because that seemed the quickest way to get him to stop talking.

  "I'm just saying. You really did act like you'd had a horrible breakup."

  "I guess I'm just an emotional guy."

  He looked at me carefully, studying me, till I had to look away. Yep, definitely saw too much.

  I gave up. "Justin's not interested," I told Tomas with a sigh. "There's no point even saying anything. He sees me as a project."

  "He didn't sound like he saw you as a project. When are you going to see him again? I'd like to meet him. Properly, this time." He gave me a wry little smile.

  I couldn't help but smile back. "What, are you going to vet my crushes for me now?"

  It felt surprisingly good to admit that out loud, even if nothing ever came of it: my feelings towards Justin, frustrating and painful and new, were not that of a friend. At least, not that alone. It was why I felt so angry and hurt when he saw me as nothing more than someone helpless and broken he needed to fix.

  Tomas smiled back, a very gentle smile, and shook his head. "I just think I should meet him properly. No matter what happens."

  "Well, he lives halfway across the country now, so I doubt I'll see him for some time."

  "YOU SURE YOU'VE GOT enough?" Tomas looked at the tray piled high with food. We'd stopped at the local mall's food court today for lunch, and I'd taken full advantage, loading up burgers next to Chinese food and a couple of smoothies, with some pizza to round out the meal.

  Tomas was only partly teasing me. By now, he knew I needed to eat an awful lot. I was a big wolf shifter, and I'd been pretty active lately. Tomas and I went on patrol occasionally, and I liked that better than being in the station. Between that and our workouts, I needed to eat when I had the chance and not hold back.

  "I do, but what about you?" I pointed a fork at his mango smoothie. It was a concern. He barely ate anything at lunch most of the time. "I hope you're not worrying about your boyish figure, because as a certified gay man, I can tell you it's just fine."