by Ella Frank
Fuck, Henri thought, as he tried to look at this from Bailey’s perspective. Does he really think that? And if he did, could Henri really blame Bailey, considering the circumstances they’d met under? The answer to that was no. But after everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, and where his mind was now, it was almost inconceivable.
Henri knew he had to tread carefully here. He had no idea what he had or hadn’t said while he’d been trying to claw his way out of this new reoccurring nightmare of his. But the main issue Bailey had was Henri’s past relationship with a man Bailey considered his friend, and that was an area Henri could clear up right now.
“Am I in love with Joel?” he said, and made sure to keep his eyes locked on Bailey’s. “Not anymore. But I was, for a long time.”
A flash of something—hurt, jealousy?—flickered in Bailey’s eyes, and almost had Henri regretting his words.
“You told me not to lie to you, remember?”
Bailey swallowed and nodded. “I know. That doesn’t make it any easier to hear.”
Henri shifted on the mattress, sliding one hand under the pillow where his cheek rested and reaching for Bailey’s hand with his other. Then, as they lay there side by side in the midafternoon sun, he entwined their fingers and said, “We knew each other when we were boys and met up again when we were in our twenties.” Henri paused and gave Bailey a half-smile. “It worked for a little bit, but then Joel met Julien and…”
“And what?” Bailey asked. “You broke up?”
Henri knew he could make it that simple, but some petty part of him decided it was time to tell this story the way it had actually happened. He was sick of always giving Priest the easy way out, of just disappearing from the picture because he’d known Julien was the better choice in the end.
Here, today, with this particular man, Priest could be the bad guy, because on that day with him, he had been, damn it.
“No. He met Julien while we were still—”
“Dating?” Bailey asked, shoving up onto his elbow.
And while he’d been about to say fucking, Henri supposed dating would do. “Yeah.”
Bailey’s mouth fell open, and he looked so scandalized that Henri chuckled.
“Careful there, officer. If the wind changes, your face will stay like that.” Henri winked. “On second thought, I kinda like you with your mouth open that way.”
Bailey’s mouth clicked shut and he lowered himself back down to the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m just… Priest cheated on you?”
“Well, to be fair, we weren’t officially a thing—”
“Fuck that,” Bailey said with so much conviction that Henri lost his train of thought. He couldn’t remember Bailey ever sounding so pissed off.
“I guess he did, yeah. But it’s ancient history now.”
“Except then he went and married Robbie recently and brought old feelings back?” Bailey asked, and while that was what had been bothering Henri the day they’d first met, it certainly wasn’t what was keeping him awake now.
“Bailey?”
“Yeah?”
Henri leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m not in love with Joel Priestley.” It took everything Henri had not to blurt out, How can I be, when I’ve fallen in love with you?
“Okay.”
“Okay? Just like that?”
“Mhmm,” Bailey said. “Just like that.”
And wow, didn’t that make Henri feel equal parts awesome and shit. On one hand, Henri was telling Bailey the complete and utter truth. But on the other, he’d managed to sidestep the original question of why he was having these fucked-up dreams in the first place.
One thing at a time, though. Bailey was dealing with enough right now, and while he was doing a stand-up job at finding a million other things to distract himself, it was time for Henri to check in on him.
“Good. Because it’s the truth.” Henri moved back to his pillow and eyed Bailey closely.
The stubble lining his jaw was much darker, thicker than Henri had ever seen, since Bailey hadn’t been home yet for a shave, and with that closely buzzed hair, those brilliant blue eyes were downright mesmerizing—even with everything he’d been through.
“Now, since we’re speaking truths, officer, are you going to tell me how you’re doing if I ask you?”
Bailey’s lips twisted and he rolled to his back, but Henri wasn’t about to let him get away that easily. He’d let Bailey have time to decompress, to gather his thoughts and have a moment where he didn’t need to answer to anyone. But Henri was done giving him space. It was time to see where Bailey’s head was, time to make sure he was ready to deal with things, because this morning would suggest otherwise.
“Bailey?”
“I’m angry.”
That answer was completely unexpected.
Not that it didn’t make sense—Henri would be pissed off too if one second his night was going nice and dandy, and the next some asshole got in his face with a gun. But that was him, not Bailey, and just as he was going to delve a little deeper, Bailey turned his head on the pillow and looked Henri directly in the eye.
“That’s pretty messed up, right? I shot a man, he died, and I’m angry at him.” Bailey grimaced. “I hate that I feel that way, but I do. I was having a good night…a great night, even, and now? Now I’m pissed off, because all I wanted was some chocolate, and if he’d just listened and put his damn gun down, he’d still be alive and I wouldn’t be feeling guilty for having done my fucking job.”
Bailey practically vibrated, his jaw tense as he stared up at the wood beams running along the bedroom ceiling.
“It’s not like I’m stupid or naïve,” Bailey continued. “I’ve trained for this, run through hundreds of scenarios just like it, and knew it would eventually happen. It’s a reality of the job. But…”
Bailey bit down into his lip, and when it seemed like he was about to draw blood, Henri said, “But?”
Bailey sighed and shut his eyes, and Henri wondered if that was all he was going to get, until Bailey said, “But no one trains you on how to feel after the fact.”
“Right.” Henri wanted to tell Bailey that he knew exactly what that meant, that he understood how it felt to relive a moment like that over and over and not know how you would ever un-see it.
But as he lay there beside one of the best men—possibly the best man—he’d ever known, Henri knew that his and Bailey’s stories were vastly different.
There was no way Henri could openly sympathize without trying to explain what had happened with Julien, Priest, and Jimmy that night. And considering Bailey’s profession, and the fact he was feeling guilt over killing some motherfucker who’d pulled a gun on him and an innocent bystander, Henri thought he was going to have to find another way to comfort and support his cop.
“I think that’s a pretty normal reaction, to be angry,” Henri said. “Your entire life changed last night because of his bad decision.”
Bailey nodded but said nothing, and as Henri continued to look at him, an idea formed—if Bailey was in the mood to leave the loft for a little while.
“Hey? You gotta be anywhere anytime soon?”
“No. I’ve been put on administrative leave until the case is cleared, whenever that is. Then, who knows.”
“So…” Henri brushed a kiss over the corner of Bailey’s lips. “What you’re saying is you’re mine to do with as I want for the foreseeable future.”
Bailey raised an eyebrow, but for the first time since they’d woken up, he smiled. “Is that what I said?”
“I mean, that’s what I heard.”
“Ahh, well. I guess that’s what I said, then.”
“Exactly. And I have a plan.”
Bailey’s eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, Henri rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Should I be worried?”
Henri looked over his shoulder. The covers had fallen down and were resting over Bailey’s hips, and as Henri thought over
his plan, he couldn’t help but run his eyes over all the smooth skin covering Bailey’s spectacularly built chest.
“You shouldn’t be. But ask me if I am when we get there.”
Chapter Twelve
CONFESSION
There’s something so cathartic and hot
about getting rough and sweaty with the right guy.
“BOXING?” BAILEY STEPPED through the grimy glass doors that had Frank’s Boxing Gym peeling off them and took in the large open space in front of him. When Henri said he had an idea of something that might take Bailey’s mind off things today, this was the last thing he’d expected. But as he walked further inside the gym, Bailey realized it was absolutely perfect.
The pungent smell of lemon cleaning supplies and sweat hit his nose, and Bailey felt his lips curve. This was like a big, warm hug.
Directly off to the left were two rows of punching bags suspended from steel beams—there were a couple guys making hard jabs at them—and at the end of those were several freestanding reflex bags and a sparring BOB for practice.
At the far end was a boxing ring, and there were red and black sparring mats off to the side for warm-up and practice. The ring was center stage, the heart and soul of the place, and it called to Bailey just as it had the first time he’d ever seen one at the annual Chicago PD vs. Chicago FD boxing tournament.
That year his father had won the championship cup for his station. Slammin’ Sam, they’d called him after that, a name that eventually became tragically ironic.
But Bailey wasn’t about to go there right now. He had enough on his plate without adding that as the cherry on top, so instead he focused on the gesture.
“This is perfect.” Bailey looked back to Henri. “How did you know?”
Henri gave a modest shrug. “Lucky guess, that’s all.”
Bailey doubted that. Henri had been listening, paying attention, because one of the things Bailey remembered mentioning briefly in passing was that he liked to box to keep in shape. He also did it to unwind, something Henri had clearly clued in to.
“Well, you guessed right. This is exactly what I need.” Bailey ran his gaze down Henri’s tall frame, and remembered Henri’s joke about being worried about what they were going to do today. “You ever done this before?”
Henri walked over, his eyes drifting past Bailey’s shoulder to the ring. “Not often. But I’ve been in a ring a few times. I’m thinking I can hold my own with you.”
The spark in Henri’s eyes made Bailey’s stomach flip, and he gave himself permission to forget everything that had happened in the last twelve hours and instead think about the last time he’d been with Henri. When they’d been planning their two days together after setting his kitchen on fire.
Bailey took another look at the ring behind him. “You think so, huh?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Bailey nodded. He’d never been able to resist a challenge, especially when it came to boxing. “True enough. Bring it on.”
Ten minutes later, they’d paid for a day pass and changed into the clothes Henri had brought from home. Bailey was in a pair of black sweats and a white tank, and Henri was in the same, but all black, of course. The Nikes Bailey had worn to the station worked out perfectly, though he would’ve preferred his lightweight shoes for a workout/sparring match. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and with all the years he’d been doing this, a pair of shoes wasn’t going to make or break him against someone who’d done this maybe once or twice before.
Not that it matters who wins. Oh, who am I kidding? With the way I broke down this morning, is it so much to ask that I be able to kick a little ass here this afternoon?
Bailey came out of the locker room and took a seat on one of the benches, then reached for the hand wraps Henri was just finishing up with. When he realized that Henri was quite proficient at that for someone who hadn’t done this “often,” he asked, “So, where’d you learn to box?”
Henri looked up, and when a piece of his dark hair flopped forward on his forehead, Bailey had the insane urge to reach out and push it back from his face.
The only thing that stopped him was the fact they weren’t alone, and Bailey wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop at just a touch from the man who had opened his door this morning, comforted him, fed him, and was now about to heal him.
“What’s that?” Henri said, snapping Bailey out of his trance.
Bailey looked down at Henri’s wrapped hands. “You’ve clearly done that before. So where’d you learn?”
Henri grabbed up one of the gloves next to him and slipped it on before reaching for the other. “Back home,” he said, as Bailey began to wrap his own hands. “I used to do it sometimes for money when I was a teenager. But also because I wanted to hit something.”
Bailey frowned. That answer was not what he’d expected. But then he thought about why he was there today, what he’d told Henri he was feeling—angry—and wondered if that was why Henri had wanted to hit things.
He’d once said he and his father hadn’t gotten along, and Bailey couldn’t help but wonder if that was why Henri was the way he was now. Had he been an angry boy, a sad one? Bailey wished he were brave enough to ask. He wished he knew for certain that Henri would tell him. But that was a conversation for another day.
Instead, he went with a simpler approach. “Did it help?”
Henri’s eyes darkened until it seemed they were almost black. He shoved the other glove on and said, “It did, for a little while. Until the pain of getting hit wore off and I remembered who I was again.”
The matter-of-fact way Henri delivered that sentence made Bailey’s heart ache, but before he could think of an appropriate response, Henri got to his feet and said, “Sparring mats or the ring, officer?”
Bailey was smart enough to know that Henri was done with that conversation for now. Grabbing the gloves from the bench beside him, Bailey put them on and said, “How about we stick to the mats.”
“The mats it is.”
AROUND FIVE MINUTES into their first go-around, Henri realized his mistake. Sure, Bailey had told him he boxed to keep in shape and unwind after work. But what Bailey didn’t say was just how fucking good he was.
They’d started out with some simple sequences, both getting in some light jabs here and there to each other’s gloves. But before long they’d grown tired of the one-two practice throws with no real challenge or threat and decided to really go after one another—or, as Henri was starting to discover, Bailey came after him.
With his chin down and his eyes forward, Henri had one hand level with his jaw and his other up in a basic guard pose. He was focused and ready, his eyes locked on Bailey’s, as his cop began to lead them around the mat in a dance that required a little more skill than Henri possessed. But it wasn’t until Bailey finally struck that Henri realized he didn’t stand a chance.
Quick as a whip, Bailey’s arm shot out and made sharp contact with the right side of Henri’s torso. The impact was noticeable, but not damaging, and Henri quickly sidestepped the next couple of throws.
Fuck, he’s sexy, Henri thought, and when Bailey smirked, Henri shook his head. I box to unwind. Yeah, right. Bailey knew exactly what he was doing, and Henri was about to call his bluff.
“You think you’re real clever, huh? Tricking me? Just remember, payback is a bitch, Bailey.”
A challenging light entered Bailey’s blue eyes and Henri’s dick twitched. Damn, it’d been a hot minute since he’d seen Bailey look anything other than sad, and it was nice to finally see a spark of life returning to his officer.
“Oh?” Bailey said as his eyes fell to Henri’s feet and he moved with him around the mat. “Is that a threat?”
“Just a friendly reminder that we won’t be in your domain all day.”
“Consider me reminded.” Bailey slicked his tongue over his lower lip, and when Henri’s eyes fell to the move, Bailey took full advantage.
Bailey’s arm shot out again and
his glove tapped Henri on the right side, once, twice, and then a third shot landed on his left. But this time Henri recovered quickly and got in a swift jab to Bailey’s upper torso.
Bailey grunted at the impact, and Henri imagined him making the exact same sound in his ear as he shoved inside Bailey in a rough move of possession.
There was a bead of sweat on Bailey’s brow now as he sized Henri up, and Henri couldn’t help but imagine Bailey’s built body covered in the same sheen—and licking it off.
“Ready to quit yet?”
The arrogance recaptured Henri’s attention and guaranteed his hard-on for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and when Bailey’s eyes lowered to his sweats, Henri knew there was no hiding it—so he didn’t bother. His back was to the rest of the establishment, and as Henri eyed his cocky opponent, he noticed that Bailey’s breathing was coming a little…faster now.
“Do I look like I want to quit?”
Bailey tongued his top lip, as though he were thinking over his answer. Then he raised his gloved hands in the universal signal of time and crossed the mat. “No. You look exactly the way I feel right now.”
Henri’s cock throbbed between his legs, but somehow he managed to say, “And how’s that?”
“Like you want to pay me back for kicking your ass.”
Henri’s fists curled in his gloves, his entire body vibrating with a hungry need. “Oh, I want to pay you back all right, at my place, alone. So what do you say, officer?”
Bailey’s breath caught, and he looked over his shoulder to the locker room and said, “How about we, uh…hit the showers first?”
If Henri hadn’t been so on edge he might’ve taken Bailey up on that offer, but he knew better. They weren’t the only two there at the gym, and it was best if he didn’t go anywhere near Bailey when he would be so…fuckable.
“How about you hit the showers,” Henri said, knowing that would give him a little time to get himself under some kind of control. “Go get all clean for me, so I can dirty you up when I get you back home.”