Like Father, Like Son

by Sarah Masters

  Then again, maybe it wouldn’t.

  For once, in that single moment, Matt didn’t give a toss and, while he stared at his weathered-looking self in the glass, he cleared his mind. Breathed deeply. Told himself he’d be on a beach soon, getting a suntan and relaxing with Aaron.

  The sound of Gromwell’s voice broke into his thoughts, alerting him to the fact that he’d been standing there a good while. Aaron touched Matt’s elbow, and Matt turned to give Gromwell a fake smile and a rundown of what had happened tonight. Then he walked away, sick to his stomach of this sort of crap.

  Murder. It wasn’t for the faint of heart.

  He left the house, Aaron by his side, and once they were in the car, Matt in the passenger seat, he glanced across at his bloke.

  “What a fucking day,” Matt said.

  “Yep, and it’ll be the same kind of fucking day tomorrow. And the one after that. Paperwork coming out of our ears, the chief chasing us to tie everything up in a neat bow. Let’s hope Gromwell makes some headway on it being Fox who did Starky over, because to be honest, I’m tired of this case. We’ve had our eyes on Starky and Fox for too long now. It’s over, and I’m bloody glad.”

  “It’s never over, you know that.” Matt could have kicked himself for being so pessimistic, but his trip down memory lane had soured his mood. “We should be buoyant, celebrating in the pub with the rest of the team. Instead, we’re morose, sitting in the car like the world’s about to end.”

  “Tiredness, that’s what it is.” Aaron started the car. “We’ll celebrate tomorrow, after work. And we’ll finish on time.”

  Matt managed to laugh at that. “Yeah, on time. Whatever you say.”

  But Matt didn’t know the meaning of finishing ‘on time’. Not when it came to work. Too much to do, too many people to apprehend.

  No, it was never over.

  Pointless kidding ourselves that it is.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With murder, Matt normally got so caught up in catching the killer that it was all he thought about. This time had been the exception. Katrina Starky’s death had been pointless—unless your name was Damien Fox—and it had drifted into the background somehow, almost looking, to the outsider, as though it didn’t matter to him. That it was secondary to making sure Robby and Mrs. Zeus got away to safety.

  He supposed that was the case here. Matt had been consumed with helping Robby out, plus apprehending the man who had stolen his fingertips so callously. The fact that Fox had done it to show himself he could be just like his father was sickening. That and covering his arse with Starky so he didn’t know what Damien and Katrina had been up to. And that was a weird one to fathom. Killing Katrina so she didn’t tell Starky what she’d been doing with Damien, only for Damien to kill Starky, anyway. Yes, Katrina’s death had definitely been pointless.

  He thought about Catlow and whether his wife had swallowed the creepy man’s lies. One thing was bothering him now. With Starky dead, would the witness protection team feel Catlow and his family, Robby and Mrs. Zeus, and Lee Livingstone didn’t need to be placed in total hiding? Would they understand that even the new leader might take offense on Starky’s behalf and mete out their own form of justice? All right, the witnesses had been spirited away already, but would new names definitely be given or would they just be relocated?

  Perhaps in Lee’s case he’d be allowed to remain incognito. He had, after all, given a statement implicating so many gang members that they’d be out for his blood should they ever manage to be given their freedom by a jury. Or out for it, anyway, the remaining gang members who hadn’t been implicated, wanting to deal with him.

  Will there even be a Hardarms gang any longer? Have The Jugulars won all the city patches by doing absolutely nothing to earn them? Lucky for them…

  Damn it. Matt had to switch his mind off from it all. He’d done what he could and he had to be happy with that, so Aaron had reminded him.

  Easier said than done, though.

  The conscious thoughts only get switched off if the subconscious chooses that route.

  In his kitchen, while Aaron was in the shower—he’d hopped in after Matt had finished in there—Matt stirred the Bolognese sauce. It had a calming effect, watching the food churning with each circular swipe of the wooden spoon. It seemed madness to be cooking so late at night, but a takeaway hadn’t appealed and he was too hungry for just a quick sandwich or the go-to chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle. Matt fancied good old-fashioned comfort, and thankfully, Aaron was always happy to eat whatever Matt put in front of him. The spaghetti was simmering, the garlic bread baguette browning in the oven, and the red wine breathed in its bottle on the counter. All in all, things were segueing from work into home life. If his thoughts about the case could be switched off he’d be in Heaven.

  Matt’s skin felt fresh, his recent shower scrubbing away the taint of crime that seemed to seep into his pores every day while he was on the job. Most of the time it was like he carried around an extra layer of skin, each cell loaded with angst, confusion and the filth of a criminal’s actions. It had been heavier this time, that layer of skin, because this case had affected him on a personal level. He supposed it was inevitable that at some point he’d have to fully face what his father had been, what he’d done.

  May as well be now.

  ‘No, he was as bent as you are, just in a different way.’

  Matt couldn’t even begin to comprehend how his father had led such a dual existence. It was exhausting enough for Matt to just live the life he did, let alone another one running parallel to it. The man must have been on pins and needles all the time, wondering when his chief would catch on to the fact that, as well as acting like an upstanding police officer, he had been feeding information and had also been helping out the leader of one of the local gangs.

  As Matt knew it, his father’s ‘disappearance’ had been put down to a man just walking away from his life because he’d had enough. Some policemen did that. But when Matt had become a copper and had listened to conversations he wasn’t meant to be listening to, between old timers discussing the ‘good days back then’, he’d quickly come to realize that there was disappearing and there was disappearing.

  So why hadn’t he ever done anything about it? Probed deeper to discover the truth? Why had he chosen to push it into the back of his mind?

  Because the truth hurts? Because skeletons, when they come rattling out of their hidden places, make more noise than anything else on the planet?

  Of course, it was all out there now, those skeletons doing a mad, macabre dance, everything laid bare by Fox’s confession, and although Matt’s father couldn’t be held accountable now for what he’d done, there was still that stain that could be passed on to Matt. There had been times where he’d been looked at funny by his colleagues, viewed with suspicion maybe, and perhaps that had been because some folks were aware of what his father had been up to. Now the truth had been revealed and everyone would know about it in short order. Would Matt forever be watched, as though he, too, led a double life and so far no one had been able to catch him at it?

  The sins of the father had a lot to answer for.

  Was it time for Matt to move on? Find a new career?

  He wasn’t sure he could stand doing security or bouncing on nightclub doorways, or even start his own P.I. business. The police force was all he knew, and if he were honest, it was all he wanted to know.

  Maybe it’s time to step away from being a detective and go back to walking the beat.

  He shrugged, unable to pinpoint what his problem was. Perhaps such high-profile cases were becoming too much. Too consuming. Perhaps, with his emotions being involved this time, he needed a while to process everything, then, once he had, things would return to normal.

  The Seychelles holiday had been booked for just the right time. With the case paperwork to finalize, and loose ends being tied up before their departure for calmer shores, he could go on holiday knowing Gromwell was well able to
deal with anything left over.

  Aaron appeared, startling Matt out of his musings. His man had nothing on but a cream-colored towel wrapped around his hips. He’d dried himself off already, so no glistening droplets on his chest or arms, but just the sight of him almost naked was enough to give Matt a warm feeling. God, he didn’t see Aaron like this enough. He didn’t allow himself to just be enough. There was always something else to do. The phrase ‘stop and smell the roses’ came into his head, so he inhaled the scent of shampoo and shower gel wafting off Aaron and locked it in his mind so he’d never forget it.

  “Something smells good,” Aaron said.

  Matt silently agreed, although the aroma from the Bolognese herbs and the garlic drifting from the oven were poor seconds compared to Aaron. “Thought we’d eat something home-cooked for a change. Too many takeaways make Matt a portly bastard.”

  “I like you portly.” Aaron took two wineglasses out of the cupboard.

  “Wrong answer, that.” Matt continued to stir the sauce. “You’re meant to have said that I’m not portly, I’m just right, or at the very least you love me whatever way I come.”

  “Oh, you know that’s true. On the bed, on the floor, whatever way you come is fine by me, just so long as you do.”

  Matt sighed—a happy sigh, though. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “I know, but it would have been a wasted innuendo if I’d ignored it.” Aaron poured some red, filling their glasses almost to the top. “Are you doing okay? Winding down a bit now?”

  “I’m all right.” Matt balanced a colander over the washing-up bowl in the sink and began draining the spaghetti. “I’ve had a think, put some things to bed—don’t even go there—and now it’s time to enjoy the rest of the night. Or the early hours of the morning, whichever way you want to look at it.”

  “I prefer night. Early hours sounds daunting. It reminds me we have to be awake again in a few hours, ready to face another busy day.” Aaron sipped some wine and closed his eyes. “Man, this taste has been begging to be on my tongue for ages. Among other tastes, but you told me not to go there, so I didn’t.”

  “In effect, you still did.” Matt smiled. He dished up some spaghetti, the starchy steam billowing onto his face.

  “Ah, so you spotted it.”

  “Of course I did. Anyone would think you had a one-track mind. One or two spoons of sauce?”

  “Sauce. Hmm. Two spoons, or more if you’re in for a few sessions.”

  “Aaron, I’m talking about food here.”

  “So am I.” Aaron reached into a cupboard to take out a tub of dried parmesan. “What on earth did you think I was talking about?”

  “Sauce. Rude things.”

  “Good Lord, I never would. It’s clear you’re the one with a dirty mind, not me.”

  Matt laughed. This. This was what he missed when they were so wrapped up in cases they forgot the simple things in life—like easy conversations that went nowhere much, circling around and around the fact that soon they’d be in bed, getting some of the very sauce they discussed. Verbal foreplay disguised as everyday chatter. It had been this way from the start of their relationship, and Matt was thankful it hadn’t changed. He needed some stability, something static he could cling to when things went tits up.

  Don’t let it back into your head when it’s nearly all gone…

  With their meals on plates, Matt took them to the table, a small one with only two chairs, the size of it perfect for his tiny kitchen. They ate opposite each other, sauce splashing, spaghetti slapping chins, garlic bread crunching, and it didn’t matter, not now they’d been together for so long. Gone were the days where they’d eaten with caution, worried about what the other would think. They were at the stage of being comfortable as their real selves, and that alone was a balm to his soul.

  “There’s some lube with your arse’s name on it,” Aaron suddenly said. “You know, for dessert.”

  Matt just about stopped himself from choking on a piece of bread. He sipped some wine to help the food go down and to give him a second to form a witty reply. Sadly, he didn’t have one waiting in the wings, so he laughed instead—a proper belly laugh that erased the last prickles of tension that had insisted on living on his nerves rent free.

  “It’s nice to see you laughing.” Aaron smiled, looking wistful, as though he wished he could take Matt’s emotional burdens on himself and deal with them so they’d never haunt Matt again.

  If only I could just hand them over like that.

  “It’s nice to be laughing,” Matt said. “I haven’t exactly been a bundle of joy the past few days. Sorry about that.”

  “Why be sorry about caring?” Aaron shrugged. He got up and took their plates away. A spot of spaghetti sauce marred the towel, right where Aaron’s cock rested beneath it.

  “I suppose.”

  Matt joined Aaron in front of the slimline dishwasher, and together they loaded it, no words necessary. With everything cleared up and the dishwasher humming, Matt took his wine into the living room and plopped onto the sofa. His bones seemed to melt, his muscles thanking him for taking a load off at last. And his mind, that was thankful, too, nothing in it now except for the knowledge that Aaron sat beside him, their thighs close, elbows within brushing distance.

  “Nice, this.” Aaron rested his head back. “To just chill.”

  “Shame we don’t have Netflix,” Matt said.

  “Now who’s being saucy?”

  “What?” Matt grinned, feigning innocence. “I was just saying it because we could have watched a movie.”

  “Yeah, so you say. Nothing whatsoever to do with the phrase ‘Netflix and chill’ then?” Aaron lifted his eyebrows.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “No, of course you don’t.”

  They sipped wine in easy silence, Aaron’s hand creeping over to rest on Matt’s lounge-pant-covered thigh. It brought warmth, and not just the body heat kind. A swirl of contentedness settled inside him, and he rested his head back, too, closing his eyes to savor the moment.

  He sensed Aaron moving closer a second before his lips touched Matt’s cheek. The kiss was the soft lingering kind, the type to ignite passion just by being so simple. Matt turned his head, going by instinct to find Aaron’s lips and fuse them with his own. Again, a simple kiss, and it reminded Matt of their first one, where the excitement of it had exceeded every other kiss he’d ever had. Where the knowledge that they were meant to be together had cemented itself in his mind and heart. Where he’d known that no other mouth would fit against his so perfectly.

  Wishing he wasn’t clutching his wineglass and that he could sift his hands through Aaron’s hair, Matt threw that thought aside and opened up. Their tongues were tentative, as though neither of them knew quite how to play it. It wasn’t awkward, just slightly unsure, and Matt opted to go with sensual over frantic. It was so nice to just kiss gently, without the issue of time on his mind, their usual kisses and fucks based on them being needed somewhere quickly, therefore hastening any sexual activity and making it something that seemed sordid somehow, a quick coupling that scratched the itch but didn’t give that deep satisfaction or emotional connection. Not the emotional connection two people who loved each other needed, anyway.

  Aaron drew away first, and Matt kept his eyes shut, the wineglass leaving his hand to be replaced by Aaron’s palm pressing against his. Then their lips were together again, Aaron straddling Matt’s lap. Lifting his free hand to rest it on Aaron’s chest, Matt enjoyed their kiss as it deepened, his cock getting harder with every sweep of their tongues. Aaron cupped Matt’s cheek, the gesture more cherished than anything, and a mewl of longing built up in Matt’s throat.

  He wasn’t ashamed to say he felt like crying, the tenderness of what they were doing a tad too much given his frazzled emotions of late. He held back the tears, though, and as their kiss progressed and hands explored bodies, Matt concentrated on relearning all Aaron’s dips and swells, ack
nowledging that even though he’d touched him everywhere before and knew him intimately, he’d somehow forgotten—or had taken for granted—the uniqueness that was Aaron. No one else Matt had been with had had such a deep indent at the base of his spine. No one else had the same shaped cock—broad and long, the head more flat than domed, the rigid vein down the middle more pronounced.

  No one else would ever suit him better.

  “I love you,” he blurted, needing to say it as well as show it.

  “Love you, too.”

  And so it went on, until just from exploration alone Matt was ready to come. Aaron took hold of Matt’s cock, and it only needed a couple of up-and-down massages for him to spill, his back arching, hips rising, the soft mewls that had been building pulsing out of his mouth one after the other. He reached out mid-orgasm to pump Aaron’s dick, and within a second his lover was coming too, jets of liquid heat landing on Matt’s belly, as warm as the pleasure spreading in Matt’s groin.

  Nothing could beat this. Absolutely nothing.

  As the aftershocks rippled, Matt kissed Aaron, a little more intensely this time, to convey all the words he hadn’t said in too long. That he appreciated Aaron in his life and didn’t have a clue what he’d do without him. That just by knowing he was there—always there—Matt could live his life with confidence. Aaron being his anchor was the mainstay of Matt’s existence, the one thing he could count on no matter what scenarios presented themselves. However bad things got, if he had Aaron, Matt would manage to get through.

  There was so much to be grateful for. The past might harbor hurt and betrayal, and he was sure there would be plenty more of it in the future, too, but not in their relationship. That was as pure as it had ever been.

  A lighthouse, that’s what Aaron was. Matt’s guiding light in stormy waters. Standing tall and solid on the cliff top whenever Matt’s boat threatened to capsize, the waves ready to devour him whole. Whatever the weather—rain, snow or sunshine—with Aaron by his side, Matt could do anything.