And I was scared as shit about what would happen when the training ended. I'd end up in another job, and he'd . . . what? Follow me? I didn't think so.
He might say he loved me when he was high on sex, but that didn't mean he'd change his life for me, did it? I tried to get used to the idea. Mostly, I tried not to think about it.
I had no business falling for him even this much, and if I wasn't careful, it would get even worse. I needed to back off and find a way to say goodbye to him without breaking my stupid, hungry little heart.
#
I wasn't crying, because I don't cry. Period — I just don't. I'm too tough, okay?
No, seriously, if you're my size, and trying to be a tough guy, and have a mouth on you and tend to piss people off . . . you learn pretty young to never cry. Because if you cry at all, over anything, people will find a way to make you.
But I was lying half on him, our limbs entwined, nothing between us, and my throat was tight as he held me, stroking my arm gently with his fingers, as if he'd forgotten he was even touching me at all but still couldn't stop himself.
When had I ever been with someone so tactile, who kept on wanting to touch me — and kept on liking me? I was so lucky.
But I didn't feel lucky right now.
A teacher had really bawled me out today, and I'd had word that a job opening was there for me. A police department job, skilled and important. I'd learned enough that I only had to take a few more lessons and tests — one practical on gun handling, and one written one — before I'd be allowed to be hired.
Starting salary a hundred thousand a year, full health coverage, and a fat paid vacation, sick leave, and possible bonuses at the end of the year. I'd be doing the same sort of thing I'd done all my life — knowing when people were lying — except I'd be paid for it, respected, listened to.
And it was halfway across the country from here.
Colin hadn't said anything when I told him, just drew me to him, kissing me, undressing me, taking care of me in that supremely relaxing way of his.
I felt better after the sex, but I still felt like shit. The trainer had really yelled at me today. I'd been having trouble sitting still and shutting up, after hearing about the job. I'd been bouncing off the wall with nerves, but I'd probably seemed like a class clown just trying to make trouble.
I could read him well enough by now to know just how close he'd come to popping me in the mouth, and how much he'd hated me during that class.
But I hadn't been doing it on purpose. And being raked over the coals for my one wrong answer — on a tough question that anybody could've gotten wrong — and then being sarcastically made a fool of for the rest of the class hadn't really cheered me up any.
I hated making enemies so easily, especially since I liked and respected the teacher. Or I had, until he'd pulled that shit on me.
Sometimes when stuff like that happened, I wanted to jump up and say, "It's not me! I'm not like this! I can't stop talking and sit still, okay?"
But now, with Colin, relaxed and drained, I was still and silent. And my throat hurt a lot but I was not going to cry, damn it, not for any reason.
It was going to be even worse than Jeff. Jeff had never said he loved me, had never stayed more than one night, had never touched me like I was the most perfect man in the world and he found no fault in me.
Jeff had enjoyed my ass, no strings. But Colin liked me. All of me.
He didn't try to comfort me now with words — words were never his strong suit anyway. He just held me, stroked my arm, and stayed close.
After a while, when we'd cooled off a little, he pulled a sheet over us, tucking it around me as best he could without disentangling himself. Then he gave me a gentle kiss on the mouth and fell asleep, still holding on to me.
I stared at him in the dark, my eyes hurting as well as my throat now. Wanting so much, and knowing I could never make it work. Even though I'd found a guy who really liked me, I still couldn't keep him.
It's always something.
#
"You look amazing," Colin promised, his hands on my shoulders. "A total professional."
He stood behind me, and we were both looking at my reflection in a full-length mirror. I'd just been fitted for my first ever custom-tailored suit — Colin's treat.
It fit me pretty well, and I must admit it made what I had look good. But I still looked like a short-ass with him standing behind me like that. Or, you know, just by existing.
I tried to smile. My throat was hurting a lot lately with repressed emotion. I was tough. I could handle it. But this extended goodbye to a guy I'd really let myself care about was getting more and more painful. Expensive parting gifts weren't easing the blow.
Now, Colin had by no means said goodbye, or "It's been nice. Have a good life." But it was pretty clear by his actions and the things he did say.
"I have some time off in six weeks," he'd told me quite seriously. "I'll come and visit you then. If you're settling in and like it there, I can start looking for a job near you." He'd kissed me after he said it. He'd seemed so earnest — seemed to really believe it himself.
But I didn't. I knew how this went. Touching goodbyes, plans for the future, sentiment and all that jazz, and a week after I was out of his face, he'd think, "What a lucky escape I had!"
Maybe less than a week.
Let's face it, Colin was a pretty classy guy. He was handsome and hot, and tall. He could do a lot better than me, and if he hadn't figured that out yet, he would soon. And that hurt enough already, thanks.
We had goodbye sex, and I didn't cry. He hugged and kissed me at the airport without the least bit of self-consciousness, like it was real.
It was to both of us — for now. But I figured this was my last goodbye after all, so I hugged him as tightly as I could, and very much didn't cry. I even managed a smile for him.
"Don't look so sad," he said. "I'll see you soon."
"Yep. You too, slugger." I gave him a light tap on the arm and another smile I tried very hard to make real.
I waved to him from the gate, and he waved back.
I sat through the flight feeling numb inside. He texted me halfway through.
Miss u. *sad face* Luv u . . .
My heart broke a little more, but I couldn't help it; I texted back. I told him about the quirky passengers in the row ahead of me, using lots of humorous emoticons and an upbeat smiley at the end.
Love you too babe.
I would keep saying it as long as he wanted to hear it. I just didn't believe it was really true — for him, anyway. For me? It felt all too true.
I was such a gigantic idiot.
#
At least a third of the officers at the Dunkolow County Police Department hated me right off the bat, before they even met me.
Something to do with the salary difference, probably. Or that I'd be able to tell when they were lying. Or something else — take your pick.
I doubted that anyone knew I was gay at that point, or that any police department worth its salt would be full to the brim with only homophobic officers. (For one thing, wouldn't they have requested somebody else if that was the case?)
But I'd been a private eye, and that was sure to put some people's backs up.
All this before they'd even met me and tangled with my winning personality.
However, I did my job with impeccable skill (even if I do say so myself), and ignored all the hatred and distrust regularly aimed towards me. I soon began to see why the position paid well, though. It would be difficult to stay in the job if it paid any less.
I worked with the police, who disliked and distrusted me, getting readings off deeply unpleasant people, most of them criminals. Even if I couldn't read thoughts, I could get enough off of them — their emotions, what they were lying about, how they felt — to go home feeling awful many nights.
And I was alone. So very, very alone. Even the cautiously pleasant officers, who didn't go by my desk thinking the most ha
teful things they could for me to get a glimpse of — even they had no wish to make me into a friend.
In between work shifts, I had a little room of my own at the police station. I could do as I liked — surf the internet, download music or watch movies (with headphones), read War and Peace — whatever I wanted, as long as it didn't interfere with my job. So in between the bouts of unpleasantness, I had a great deal of loneliness. Nobody wanted me in the main area, with the detectives and officers, the busy bustle of life.
Some of the cops found an excuse to brush past me quite close, thinking dark things about me, violent things, sharp thoughts with teeth and claws. I didn't have a strong enough talent to know what those things were, but like the essential truth or falseness of a person, I could sense the direction of their thoughts, the distrust and resentment, the hatred and rage, the desire to hurt and intimidate.
I was familiar with pissing people off just by existing, and I'd been through my fair share of bullying as a short, loud-mouthed guy who didn't sit still well and was good at annoying people without trying. I knew better than to flinch. But it didn't make my life any bed of roses.
One day I was heading back from the bathroom to my lonely little desk, feeling a dead sort of flatness inside, and trying extra hard not to be aware of the thoughts and feelings around me. And then I saw him.
It was Jeff.
He was standing at a desk, nodding, leaning against it slightly in that insolent way of his that seemed at home everywhere.
He didn't look like he had when I'd seen him last.
This time he was wearing ragged jeans and a ripped t-shirt under a battered leather jacket, and he had sunglasses pushed up into his wild hair and a big, rough beard grown over half his face.
He looked filthy, sweaty, and exhausted. And he was still as hot as ever. My heart stopped, then started again.
Had he gotten in trouble with the law? My first thought was dread for him. He'd had a rough past, everybody knew that, and I'd never inquired closely, but if he was in trouble now . . . maybe I could help?
I walked over, my feet taking control before the rest of me could think better of it. And that was when I saw the badge.
It was clipped to his jeans, like they do in the cop shows, the cool cops with their badges all shiny at the tops of their jeans — hot, masculine guys, ready to take on the world.
Holy shit. He was a cop.
I stared at him, too frozen to backpedal. My mouth might have dropped open. Undercover cop. What the hell?
His gaze rose, and his eyes met mine, cold, blasé, and with a warning in them. He pulled his sunglasses down and put them on again, shielding his eyes, and turned back to the man he seemed to be reporting to. It was a quick reporting, no doubt. He probably had to get back to his badass undercover work.
I wondered what he'd been trying to do when he was undercover near me. If that was why he'd . . .
I let the thought fall away. There was nothing here, nothing for me in this man. I hadn't even known he'd been lying. I'd never guessed he was anything but what he appeared to be, with a slight bit of secrecy in his nature.
True, I'd been untrained at the time, but I'd also gotten to know Jeff fairly well, and I'd liked him a lot. Hell, we'd had some amazing sex. But he'd slipped past my radar as a more or less trustworthy and truthful guy.
And he was definitely not that.
I walked away, back to my desk, reeling. Part of me wanted to make a scene, embarrass the hell out of him, but I knew it wouldn't get me anything in the long run. The ship of Jeff had sailed. Whoever he really was, he'd already tapped that, and didn't want anything to do with me now.
If he ever had. After all, he'd been undercover, and maybe it had helped to pretend to pal around with a down-at-the-heels P.I.
Oh, my life was a mess.
I plopped back in my seat and put my head in my hands and sighed.
It's hard for me to be still for long. In a moment I'd be fidgeting, making the rolling chair squeak back and forth, back and forth. I'd surf the internet or bounce a ball against the wall. Or I'd sneak out the back and go for a quick jog before anybody noticed I was missing.
I wouldn't even get in trouble for it, if I had my cell phone with me. The only time the captain of the precinct had scolded me was when I left the building without my phone. If I had it, I didn't get in trouble for anything, even if I was missing when they needed me and they had to wait till I hurried back, holding up a whole interrogation just for me.
I tried not to do it too often, but sometimes I just had to get out of that tomb, away from the depressing silence and the closing-in walls, and the people who were so alert and uneasy around me — and the ones who hated me, absolutely hated me, just because.
"Hey," said Jeff.
I'd been leaning forward, hands threaded into my hair, expelling air in a loud sigh, because I couldn't scream for no reason in my shitty cubicle in my little corner of this prison.
I sat up so quickly my chair shrieked and I almost fell off. I might have given a slightly unmanly yelp of surprise. I stared at him with big eyes.
He was standing in the doorway, his sunglasses pushed up again, as he gave me a slightly sheepish, almost apologetic look — but also trying not to laugh at my reaction.
"Um, hey," I said, trying to sound casual. I ran my fingers back through my hair. "Jeff, isn't it?" I tried not to sneer too much. Not sure how that went.
"It's not Jeff," he said. He didn't move into the room, but he looked at me rather regretfully. "It's Damon Mercer. I'm a cop, in case you haven't guessed."
Telling the truth, according to my talent. I gave a tight nod. I didn't really need my shiny, newly registered empath talent to know that, did I?
"I didn't expect to see you here," he went on. "And I can't stay. I'm working undercover on a new assignment now. Possibly even more dangerous." Then there was a pause while he waited for me to say something.
I didn't. I tried to look unconcerned, even blasé. Why should I care about his danger, then or now? He was nothing to me.
He smirked suddenly, and gave a half laugh. "Ha. You one of those gay guys who gets all offended when a one-night stand doesn't turn into something more? Your one true forever love, maybe?" His voice was heavy with cutting irony; he was laughing at me.
"Oh, go fuck yourself," I said tiredly. "You're just another asshole. I don't care what you do for a job, okay? Leave me the hell alone." I turned back to my computer for emphasis. Important work to do here, folks.
"Oh, sure," said Jeff with heavy sarcasm. He took a step into the room. The leather of his jacket creaked. My mouth went dry, despite myself.
Something he'd said caught up with me, and I looked up at him abruptly. He towered over my desk in a way that made my heart kind of sick.
Tall guys who get a charge out of towering over short guys tend to be assholes. He'd never done that before, but now he was smirking down at me, superior and so damned tall.
"Gay guys? You're not?"
He gave a grimace of distaste. "Hell, no."
I raised one very expressive eyebrow. "You're pretty good at it, for not being gay." I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Thanks," he said, his grin lazy and wicked at the compliment I'd just given him.
Shit. He was trash-talking me and I could still only compliment him. Well, it had been good.
He expounded, "Sex is one thing. It doesn't mean I fall in love with men or any such horseshit. And I still prefer a woman if I can get one."
He watched me closely to see how the words hit me. They did, each one on target.
I nodded, my face closed down, as blank as I could make it. "You shouldn't have any trouble here," I said. "Lots of chicks for you to bang."
He nodded, slightly self-satisfied, and watched me for another moment. "I'll see you around, then."
"Go ahead, then." I made shooing motions with my hands. "I'm not keeping you."
He retreated, his steps heavy and macho, his leather creaking
, his boots probably leaving testosterone footprints on the beige industrial carpet.
I tried not to think about how much that had hurt. On one level, absolutely none of it was a surprise. On another . . . direct hit, sir. He'd carpet-bombed me.
I reached for my phone, checked it again for a message from Colin Gillis. It's one thing to say I expected the relationship to die a quiet death with the distance, but it hadn't stopped me from checking my phone constantly for a message from him. He usually wrote me at least one a day, even if it was just a quick 'hi' and smiley face text, or a picture of a sunset he'd spotted and snapped a picture of quickly.
And yes, my silly heart beat faster every time his name popped up. And yes, I obsessed about my answers and took too long with them, second-guessing everything I said, trying to sound upbeat and happy to hear from him, but also casual and not clingy.
Not sure how well that went.
The phone was silent now. I opened up a draft to him and started picking out letters carefully, adding to it. I would never send it, of course. It was all about how I missed him, how I really couldn't wait for his visit, but I wasn't sure he should think about moving. Because I really, really hated this job.
It was far too honest for my own good.
Chapter four
Colin's work kept him busy. He had to put off the visit for another month — and then another two weeks. I could feel the distance growing between us, told myself I wasn't surprised, didn't care, had expected it anyway.
I very carefully kept myself from texting him more than he texted me. One text a day, carefully thought through, not too long or emotional, and definitely in no way blaming him for the growing distance. It hurt, and it was hard, but it wasn't like there'd been no warning when I got that last Skype call.
"I'm so sorry, Peter," he said, his handsome face rueful on my computer screen. "It's just not going to work out right now. I can't get away. They've promised me time off, but things keep coming up. Maybe Christmas? Or you could visit me?"
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