by Xavier Mayne
“Thought so. I can spot the high school theater type a mile away.”
“Not all gay men have trod the boards, you know. It’s kind of a stereotype.”
Kerry sat back in her chair. “Wait, you did… musicals, didn’t you?” She slapped her hand on the table. “You did. You did musicals. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Sandler gave her a look that was frankly terrified. “How did you do that?”
“It’s been said that I have weapons-grade gaydar,” she said modestly.
“Said by whom?”
“Oh, that’s a long story. Bottom line is I told a friend in college he was gay before he’d realized it himself, and though he denied it up and down and spent weeks telling me I was wrong, he finally forced himself to try it. Ended up pounding on my dorm-room door at two in the morning, breath smelling like the soccer player he’d been chewing on, and he pretty much accused me of being a witch.” She shrugged. “You’ll be happy to know that he and his soccer player are happily married to this day.”
“That’s heartwarming, but I tend to agree about the witch thing.”
Kerry laughed. “I’ve been called worse by people I like less, so thanks.”
“So what’s this drama you’ve got planned?” He gave a movie-star flip of his hair. “What’s my motivation?”
“I need to work on the script a bit, so I’m a little light on the details. How’s your self-loathing? Got anything along that line?”
“There was a haircut in college that I regret. I looked like I escaped from a prison work farm in Alabama.”
“Excellent. Have that anguish in your back pocket when we go see the horrid Dr. Rauthmann. We may need it to seal the deal.”
“Like they say in bad movies, it might just be crazy enough to work. Or, you know, get us arrested.”
“I’m stickin’ with crazy,” Kerry said with a laugh. “You know I’m up for adventure, but spending time in a Swiss jail is going a bit far. Let’s just get your boy rescued, shall we?”
Sandler smiled, looking genuinely hopeful. “You know, I think we just might.”
The bedroom, Geneva
BRANDT PUSHED the door shut with his foot—his hands were otherwise engaged. They were, in fact, grappling with all of the parts of Donnelly’s body that he had been sorely missing for the last week. Now that they were finally alone together, Brandt felt Donnelly’s presence everywhere, coursing through his entire body and being. He had been missing the better part of himself, and his soul delighted in being reunited with its complement.
He pushed Donnelly back toward the bed, gripping him tightly around the neck as they kissed. Donnelly’s hands roamed his back, lifting his shirt, slipping into his jeans.
Donnelly pulled back and looked at Brandt, a twinkle in his eye. “A week in Paris with a girl sure got you riled up.”
“It was pure hell,” Brandt breathed. “It killed me not to be able to get to you.” He kissed Donnelly’s cheeks, his eyes, all along his strong jaw. “You are the only man for me.”
Something in the way he said that made Donnelly flash back to a horrible dream he’d had. Something in a meadow, someone named… Bryan?
“Can I ask you something?” Donnelly asked softly.
“Anything. Anything for you.”
“If you and I hadn’t…. If we hadn’t gotten together the way we did… would you be with someone like Kerry?”
Brandt froze, just for an instant. He willed himself to breathe, hoping Donnelly wouldn’t notice how the question startled him.
Donnelly noticed.
Brandt closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to get the words right. “Gabriel, when you came into my life, you changed me. I became something I never imagined I could be, because I never imagined I would meet someone like you. I’m not the same without you. That’s what this week showed me. I’m only the person I want to be when you’re with me.”
The words that were meant to reassure Donnelly only served to deepen his doubt. He released Brandt from his hold and sat on the bed. “Is that a good thing, really? That you’re a different person when I’m around?”
Brandt sat on the bed next to him. “Not a different person. A better one. The one I want to be.”
Donnelly looked into Brandt’s eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. If we weren’t together, would you be with someone like Kerry?”
“You mean, would I be with a woman?”
Donnelly looked down to the bed and nodded. He didn’t want to see the struggle on Brandt’s face as he tried to answer this question.
Brandt saw the pained mix of fear and uncertainty on Donnelly’s face. But he knew he had to speak the truth.
“Yes.”
Donnelly exhaled, feeling the life flow from him. “Then why do you want to be here with me?”
“Because I love you. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love someone. I’m here with you because I’ve spent the last week being without you, and if I needed any confirmation that with you is where I want to be, I got it. I was a mess without you, Gabriel, a complete mess.”
“But you weren’t a mess before we got together,” Donnelly replied, shifting on the bed. Saying this was awkward and uncomfortable, but not saying it was worse. “Did you ever think maybe you feel like a mess when we’re not together because we’re not supposed to be together? That by being with me you’re defying your own nature?”
“Gabriel, my love,” Brandt whispered, running his fingers along Donnelly’s jaw. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
As anxious as he was about this conversation, Donnelly had to smile a bit at Brandt’s ability to deliver that line with such sweetness. He really was a different person than he had been when Donnelly met him.
“Donnelly,” the sergeant barked. “Your new partner is here. Try not to break this one, okay?”
Donnelly grunted his disapproval of the joke the sergeant was trying to make. His previous partner had been placed on long-term disability after finding his way under a Rolls-Royce that had been stolen and taken for quite an elegant joyride around the greater metro area. His new nickname was Speed Bump, which he might appreciate if he ever returned to the force to hear it.
“If you’re worried, why are you giving me a virgin?” Donnelly asked. No one liked getting a partner fresh out of the academy, even one whose reputation preceded him like this Brandt guy’s did.
“He’s downstairs,” growled the sergeant. “Just go get him and try not to fuck him up too badly, okay?”
Donnelly got up from his desk, to which he’d been exiled for two months after the accident—the department wanted to be sure the horror of watching his partner slide under a three-ton car was compounded with the boredom of filling out three tons of paperwork. This Brandt would be his third new partner in two years, and he hoped he would be the last. Getting to know someone that well—during long days of utter boredom punctuated by random eruptions of sheer adrenaline—was exhausting. It would be nice to find someone… nice.
He walked out to the desk and saw the new guy immediately. He stood stick straight, uniform creased to a razor’s edge, hat tucked under his arm as if he were standing at parade rest. He didn’t move.
“Officer Brandt?” Donnelly said as he approached, though the blinding glint of light reflected off Brandt’s nameplate provided answer without the need for speech.
“Yes, sir,” Brandt said, extending his hand.
“I’m—”
“Officer Donnelly. Pleased and honored to meet you, sir.” His grip was steely, his smile bright.
“Yep, that’s me. And please, call me Gabriel.” Donnelly shook his head. He’d heard through the grapevine that Brandt was an overgrown Boy Scout, but this display of sheer eagerness nearly overwhelmed him. “Come on back, let me show you around.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Stop that,” Donnelly snapped.
“Sorry, s—” Brandt bit down and kept himself from saying it. He remained silent but still vibrate
d with enthusiasm.
“Here’s my desk,” Donnelly said, pointing to the battered metal surface by the window. He’d “inherited” it from Speed Bump, since a guy in traction doesn’t really need a desk. “And there’s yours.” He pointed to the one right next to his own, which used to be his before his sudden seniority bumped him up to a seat with a view.
“Thanks,” Brandt said, unable to disguise his excitement at the sight of the cracked oak surface of the ancient desk. He didn’t even seem to care that it wobbled precariously when he set his briefcase on it.
A briefcase! Donnelly shook his head. “I’ll give you a tour of the place first, and then we’ll head down to the range for weapons check.”
“I’ve passed all my checks,” Brandt replied, reaching for his briefcase.
“I know—I’ve read your file. But if we’re going to work together, I need to see you shoot first.”
Donnelly had indeed reviewed his file, and knew that his performance on the shooting range at the academy had been record-setting. But sometimes the best marksmen started to think they were simply gifted when it came to firearms and got cavalier when it came to handling weapons. He wanted to see for himself that Brandt was as good as his reputation.
Brandt nodded, and for the first time, Donnelly saw something under his eagerness to please—a little wrinkle of resentment at the corner of his mouth. This was a guy who, young as he was, wasn’t used to being challenged. The reaction, little more than a tic, a poker tell, vanished almost as soon as it appeared. But Donnelly was heartened to see it at all. It meant Brandt was more than a Boy Scout—there was assertiveness just under the surface. If Donnelly had seen no reaction, he would have worried that Brandt wasn’t ready for the street; a stronger reaction would have hinted at cockiness rather than confidence.
This guy’s got potential, Donnelly thought.
His performance on the range was, as promised, blisteringly accurate. Donnelly had never seen anyone shoot the way Brandt could. But he was no cowboy—his stance was steady, his breathing controlled; he blinked in preparation for a shot rather than in reaction to it. He was a consummate marksman, one day out of the academy.
A little later, as Donnelly settled into the driver’s seat of their cruiser, he took another look at the young officer to his right. Brandt was clearly pumped to finally get out into the real world, to wear the uniform among the people he was sworn to protect rather than amid a sea of blue caps at the academy.
Donnelly knew that Brandt was two years his junior, but already he projected an aura of calm capability. Donnelly realized as he watched the new officer that some part of him had been expecting to find Brandt too green, too eager, or too arrogant to do his job well, especially on the first day. But Brandt was none of those things.
Maybe Donnelly hadn’t drawn the short straw to replace Speed Bump after all. There was one way to know for certain.
“See the game last night?” Donnelly asked as he pulled the cruiser out of the lot behind headquarters.
“Hell yeah,” Brandt replied, grinning broadly. “Whoever said Warner is the new Sanchez didn’t figure on Johnston.”
“Right?” Donnelly replied. “That last inning was like a fire drill at the asylum.” He burst out laughing, and Brandt joined him enthusiastically.
The new guy was going to work out just fine.
At the end of their first shift together, Brandt buttoned up his uniform and picked up his briefcase. “Thanks for everything today,” he said to Donnelly, who was finishing up a report.
“Hey, I’m heading down to the gym in a couple if you’re interested,” he said, looking up from his computer. “I try to get a workout in every day. Helps put a nice close on the shift.”
“That’d be great,” Brandt said, but then seemed to have second thoughts. “I didn’t bring anything to work out in, though.”
“I’ve got stuff you can use. Just did laundry this weekend and brought in a pile of stuff. You’d actually be helping me—my locker barely closed this morning.”
Brandt beamed. “Thanks. That’s really…. Thanks.”
“No problem. It’ll be nice to have someone to work out with for a change,” Donnelly said as he closed his laptop and stowed it in his pack. Then he raised his voice so his nearby coworkers could hear clearly. “The rest of these dullards seem to think that lifting donuts is the same as lifting weights, which is why they’re all tremendous fat fucks.”
“Screw you, Donnelly” came the reply from more than one of the tremendous fat fucks.
“I work out with your mother plenty,” one shouted from across the room.
“Neanderthals,” muttered Brandt, low enough that only Donnelly could hear.
An officer expects his partner to have his back, but this Brandt guy was already protective. Donnelly, to his surprise, wasn’t bothered by this at all—in fact, he was touched by it. What’s more, Brandt had pronounced the term correctly—with a hard “t” rather than a “th.” Well, the guy had not slept through college; that was certain.
“Gym’s this way,” Donnelly said, leading Brandt out of the office area and down the stairs. “I’m the only one who uses it, even though the state outfitted it with brand-new stuff just last year as part of their initiative to keep us all from being tremendous fat fucks.” He switched on the light, and the small but very well-equipped workout room came into view. “Clearly, it’s not working. I don’t think anyone’s been in here since I turned out the lights last night.”
“You work out on weekends too?” Brandt asked.
“I’m currently between girlfriends—like, a long way between—so working out is kind of my only hobby these days,” Donnelly explained as he led Brandt into the locker room off the gym. “There’s a changing room without a shower on the other side of the hall for guys who don’t like to lift heavy things. This is kind of my own personal locker room.”
“I’m not intruding, am I?”
This Brandt guy was courteous to a fault.
“Not at all. I’m happy to share it with anyone who is willing to spot me on the bench.” Donnelly set his pack down, opened his locker, and whipped off his shirt. He reached into his locker and pulled out an extra pair of shorts and a shirt for Brandt and handed them over. It was only then that he realized Brandt was staring.
“What?” Donnelly asked. “Something wrong?”
“You must really be between girlfriends,” Brandt said, eyebrows raised.
Donnelly looked down at his admittedly ripped torso. He chuckled self-consciously. “Yeah, I’ve been working some stuff out.”
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working.” Brandt started to unbutton his starched uniform shirt.
Donnelly, used to having the locker room to himself, threw his clothes off and pulled on his workout gear in a blur of motion, not caring where things landed. Brandt, meanwhile, carefully folded every article, and even found an abandoned hanger in one of the lockers on which to hang his uniform.
“I’m gonna go warm up on the treadmill,” Donnelly said as he walked past Brandt on his way to the door. “There are socks and an extra pair of shoes at the bottom of my locker.”
“Thanks,” Brandt called after him.
Donnelly was already running his second mile when Brandt emerged from the locker room. He mounted the other treadmill and swiftly fell into pace alongside Donnelly, matching his stride exactly. They ran wordlessly for fifteen minutes, and then Donnelly hit the stop button and coasted back to the floor. “Let’s get to it,” he said as Brandt stepped off the treadmill as well.
It was only then that Donnelly noticed he had handed Brandt his most shredded workout shirt. It was sleeveless, and he had ripped the collar out last year after snagging it on the latch of his locker door. This Brandt guy was hiding some serious muscle under that uniform. Donnelly looked away before Brandt could notice his stare, but he couldn’t keep himself from checking out a few different angles in the mirrors that lined the free-weight area.
&nbs
p; They lifted for the better part of an hour, then stretched on the mats that occupied the far corner of the gym. Throughout, they said perhaps a dozen words to each other—they both approached physical training seriously. But as they stretched, Donnelly realized that simply having someone to work out with had made him push himself even harder than he normally did, and his muscles were already letting him know about it.
“Be honest—how much time did you spend in the gym at the academy?” Donnelly asked.
“Not much. Just the time that my squad spent out drinking, or watching porn, or shooting the shit about political stuff they didn’t really understand.” He smiled. “So, yeah, I guess you could say it was a lot of time.”
Donnelly couldn’t help it—he glanced down at Brandt’s brickwork abs, visible where the torn shirt gapped open as he stretched. “You can’t possibly be between girlfriends, though.”
Brandt rolled his eyes. “Not so much ‘between’ as ‘not ever.’ I don’t think a girl you date twice or three times counts, and that’s all I’ve ever had. Too busy cranking through school and the academy to have time for a girlfriend.”
“Plus all that time in the gym,” teased Donnelly.
“Exactly. Why spend time with a woman when a dank, smelly gym is waiting for you?” Brandt laughed.
“I’ve got some bad news. The dank, smelly shower was remodeled when they put in all the equipment, so instead of the festival of exotic mold that it used to be, it’s actually quite nice.” He got to his feet and stretched his arms one last time.
“Sounds great. I’ll catch one after you.”
“You’re in luck—there’s two stalls. No waiting.” Donnelly turned and headed back to the locker room.
Standing in front of his locker, he threw off his workout clothes and grabbed a towel. He tossed one to Brandt and walked past him to the tiled shower area. “Oh, huh,” he said. “That’s weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“They took down the shower curtains. They must finally have noticed that they hadn’t been cleaned since they were put up last year.” He cranked on the water. “Oh well. The shower still works, and that’s what’s important.”