by Amy Lane
“Up late baking?” he asked with a wink. He stood up and stretched and accepted the mugs, then handed one to Kellan.
“Dad called up and asked us if we could come hang with Kellan until he was ready to come home with us.”
“With you?” Kellan yawned. Christi perched on the chair next to him, looking like a sweet and sleepy bird.
“Yeah. With us. Our living room. You, me, Schuyler, Kirby when he gets here. We’ll have a slumber party as soon as we find out Isaiah’s all right. You good with that?”
“I don’t have to go home?” he asked, plaintive and vulnerable and obviously afraid.
Christi leaned her head on his shoulder and snuggled like a little kid. “Nope,” she said, making it sound normal. “Because my dad is awesome.” She smiled winsomely at Schuyler. “And Schuyler’s folks are pretty decent too. They gave us hot chocolate, and since we had some time, we baked muffins. C’mon, eat. I know you didn’t get a chance to after the game.”
Schuyler sat on Kellan’s other side and plied the boy with muffins, and Aaron thought of the miracle of Larx’s daughter. Just like her father—spreading common sense and goodwill and genuine generosity.
You could read the man’s heart through his children sometimes, and right now his daughter was saying such wonderful things about Larx.
At that moment, the surgeon came through the double doors and became the most important man in the world.
He was covered in blood. It coated his scrubs, it flaked in the mask that hung from his neck, spattered across his clothing in the places it hadn’t saturated through.
Just looking at him made Aaron woozy, and he heard a soft moan in time to see Isaiah’s mother collapse into her husband’s arms. Pete Campbell caught her, held her close, and touched her hair gently like he was comforting an injured bird.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said, voice coming out in a rush. “But we’re not sure we got everything. You’ll have a short window to see him before we sedate him with painkillers, because he’s going to have a really bumpy night.”
He looked out at his audience. “Mr. and Mrs. Campbell? Would you like to go first?”
They looked at each other, and Lizzie Campbell held out her hand. “Kellan?” she asked in a small voice. “Would you like to come with us?”
Kellan nodded and wiped his face, and Aaron gave him a little shove forward. As the three of them followed a nurse through the doors to ICU, Aaron stepped up to the doctor, hating what he had to do next.
But the doctor got it.
“You need to find out who did this, right?”
“Yeah. Anything he can tell us. He got knifed coming out of the john. That’s….”
“Sneaky, underhanded, and cowardly,” the doctor said with stark anger. He was in his fifties and had what was probably gray hair tucked under his cap. “That kid had no business in a hospital for anything worse than a torn knee. That thing I just fixed?” He shook his head. “Fucking obscene.”
Aaron nodded, out of words. That about nailed it for him. For them all.
“Just let me know when I can speak to him,” Aaron said softly. “That would be a big help.”
The doctor gave a curt nod and disappeared.
They waited for about five uncomfortable minutes before Kellan and Isaiah’s folks stumbled through the door, looking like death. Aaron wanted to comfort Kellan almost more than he wanted to do his job, but Christi Larkin was on it, all over the boy like white on rice. Aaron didn’t care how gay Kellan was, he was mostly sure that a pretty girl making a big deal out of you when you felt at your saddest was one of the miracles of life. He left Larx’s daughter to her magic and followed the nurse past the double doors.
Modern-day telemetry was usually set so all the beeps and bells and whistles sounded at the nurse’s station and not in the patient’s room. Aaron sort of missed the regular beeping of those machines, because the quiet respirations that sounded from the room were just not active enough to reassure him.
But Isaiah was conscious as he walked in, breathing carefully through the oxygen catheters taped to his nostrils.
“Sheriff,” he mouthed. Well, his insides were mostly taped together with faith and glue. Aaron was pretty sure one of his lungs had been punctured. Breathing was going to hurt—Aaron wasn’t going to quibble about titles.
“’Kay, Isaiah,” Aaron said, keeping his voice gentle. “You’ve got limited chances to talk. Let me ask questions and if you can nod your head, do.”
Isaiah nodded just enough to see.
“Did you see who did it?”
He shook his head no.
“Well, that would have been too easy.”
A slight smile, and Aaron returned it. Brave kid.
“A girl or a boy?” Aaron asked, thinking he’d stick to basics.
Isaiah frowned, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “Girl?”
“Hard to tell?”
“Wearing. Black. On face. Think. I saw. Chest.”
He struggled for oxygen for a minute, and Aaron tried to put it together.
“So your attacker was wearing black clothing?”
Isaiah nodded.
“And something black around his face.”
Isaiah made a pained wheeze, and Aaron held up a hand.
“Around her face, and you know it was a her because she had boobs?” It was a rash guess, but Isaiah didn’t have much left in him.
He nodded, looking relieved.
“And you don’t know who it was?”
He shook his head, then spoke. “Wasn’t. Jule….”
Aaron sucked in a quick breath. “It wasn’t Julia Olson?”
Isaiah had the most remarkable brown eyes. They didn’t flicker or flinch as he shook his head no, and Aaron sighed. He’d gotten the text from Eamon Mills saying they had Julia in custody. This was not going to go well.
But that wasn’t Isaiah’s fault.
“You did good,” he said softly. He heard a tread behind him and looked up to see the nurse waiting to lead him back out to the waiting room.
“Kellan?” The boy’s voice throbbed with all the things Aaron knew but Isaiah couldn’t say.
“Is going to Larx’s place for the night. Don’t worry. He won’t be alone.”
Isaiah smiled just a moment before his eyes closed and he fell into a hopefully healing sleep.
Aaron followed the nurse out, texting at light speed, and what he got back didn’t reassure him.
We have the girl in custody. She was covered in blood.
Isaiah says it wasn’t her.
Odds are good she knows who it was. But you’ve done your job. Go home with Larx. Long day tomorrow.
Go home with Larx? Aaron stared at his phone, brain working muzzily as he entered the waiting room.
And heard Larx’s voice. “Okay, all. Time to shuffle vehicles. Christi and Schuyler in Christi’s car. Kirby, here are the keys to the minivan—I know where all the dents are, don’t add to ’em if you can help it. Kellan, I’ll let you decide who to go with. Everybody ready to go crash on my couches and eat my cereal in the morning?”
There was a general consensus, and then Larx hugged his daughter and her bemused friend in the purple Snoopy pajamas. Kirby stepped forward, a smartassed expression on his face, so Larx hugged him too.
And then he turned to Kellan and held out his arms.
And the boy went, clutching him fiercely.
“He’s going to be okay,” Larx whispered.
Aaron didn’t hear an answer, but he saw Kellan nodding against his chest before finally breaking away.
“Kellan,” Lizzie Campbell said, voice hesitant, and the boy looked up. “We’ll see you in the morning. Visiting hours are at ten, so, anytime around then.”
Kellan gave a brief smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Campbell,” he said. “I’ll be here.”
“Then you’d better go get some sleep,” Larx warned, nodding to Kirby, who took his keys like they were fragile gold.
The kid
s walked away, with Kirby giving his dad a nod as they passed. “See you at Larx’s,” he said casually, and then they were gone, leaving Aaron all but clinging to the wall in exhaustion.
Larx looked up, just as weary, and smiled, like seeing Aaron had given him some extra strength. “Deputy,” he said formally, “I seem to have just given my keys to a feckless teenager. When you’re done with your business here, I am going to need a ride.”
Aaron was too tired to laugh, but he did manage a smile before he turned to Isaiah’s parents. “You two get some rest,” he told them, knowing it would be futile. “They’ll bring you cots if you ask. That was really nice of you to invite Kellan tomorrow. Here’s my card. Text me if you need anything and someone will bring it when they bring Kellan. You keep me posted and I’ll do the same, deal?”
They nodded, and Larx appeared next to him, his own business card in his hand. “Same for me.” Then he paused to pull a pen out of his shirt pocket and write on the back. “And this is the district psychologist. She’s not just for kids. If you folks need to talk to her about anything, you give her a call, okay?”
Pete Campbell’s jaw worked. “Our son is gay,” he said gruffly, sounding lost.
Larx nodded. “He is. And really brave. And a beautiful football player. And a damned good scientist. And he’s an amazing stage director, according to Mrs. Graves, the theater teacher.”
Lizzie Campbell smiled like she got it. “All the good things that make him up,” she said, quiet pride in her voice. Her look to her husband was neither tentative nor frightened. “He’s still our boy.”
Pete shrugged and then folded her up in his arms, where the two of them had one of those wordless conversations that only a true couple could have.
It was time to go.
Aaron led the way wearily to his SUV, and he held the door as Larx climbed in, and then climbed in himself. He closed the door with a thump against the frosty night air, and it occurred to him that he was, at last, alone with Larx.
For a moment they regarded each other in the quiet dark, Larx’s eyes drooping at the corners with tiredness, the planes and hollows of his face stark and tight in the shadows.
Aaron wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but that quick he had Larx pinned against the back of the seat and was devouring him with insatiable hunger.
Aah! He tasted so good—warm and male, and a little like hot chocolate and muffins, but mostly just like strength. And acceptance. And oh God, someone who was there with him at the end of the day, strong and ready for the worst.
Larx groaned, his fingers tugging needily at Aaron’s hair, and the two of them battled for a moment over who would control the kiss. And then a wonderful thing happened.
Larx just conceded. Gave in, mouth open as he relaxed against the seat and let Aaron take over in a thorough, methodical ravaging of Larx’s mouth, his senses, his self-control. He shoved his hands under Aaron’s shirts and kneaded his chest like a cat, pinching nipples once in a while, but mostly just glutting his palms on Aaron’s skin.
His touch was like life force, feeding Aaron enough to wake him up, to give him hope, to get him home.
Aaron pulled back and rested his forehead against Larx’s, their breathing quick enough to steam the windows.
“What is this about me staying at your place?” he asked.
“Your boss’s idea,” Larx panted back. “Something about coming by tomorrow and wanting you to be drinking coffee in your pajamas.”
Aaron chuckled—a raw sound—and pulled back enough to start the car. “They’re going to have to be your pajamas, he knows that, right?”
“Well, apparently he knows something,” Larx said pragmatically, “because you don’t usually hear that sort of recommendation from an elected public official.”
Aaron couldn’t help it. His chuckle grew into an actual laugh, and he pulled out of the hospital parking lot, thanking God that he didn’t have to go home alone.
THEY BRIEFED each other on the ride, and Aaron paused when they got to Larx’s house, pulling in neatly behind the parked minivan.
“Do you see that?” he asked, pointing to the skewed back end of the van. “You gave your keys to a kid who can’t park worth shit.”
Larx chuckled, his voice raspy and almost gone. “Hey, you’re the one who taught him. You might notice Christi’s car is parked neat as a bug.”
It was too, a little red sedan parked almost razor’s-edge even with the side of the carport.
“Your kid is too perfect. I can’t believe she’s yours.”
“Me neither, but shh. I don’t want her to go looking for her real dad at this point. It would depress me.”
And Aaron had to kiss him again. And again. And again. He was getting hard—which was a pleasant surprise, but not the point.
The point was, he needed reassurance, needed his person, there in his arms, holding on tight, and Larx was not letting go.
Larx needed him too.
But Aaron was kissing slower and slower, and the risk of falling asleep in the front of his car while necking grew greater with every kiss. Finally he pulled back and they both yawned.
“Nice, but time to go be grown-ups again,” Larx murmured.
“Speak for yourself. I think grown-ups get sex.”
“Eventually. When they’re so old they’d rather sleep,” Larx said, sounding bitter. Aaron kissed a cheek rough with stubble, and then they climbed out of the car. Larx led the way into the front room, where they both stopped and looked, surprised.
Christi had gotten the big beanbag chairs from her room, and the two that usually lived in Olivia’s with the cats, and had spread them over the floor along with blankets. Christi must have given Kirby an old pair of her gym sweats, and Kellan was still in his scrubs, but they were all cuddled among the pillows with each other.
Kids—friends—giving comfort when they could.
Larx squatted near his daughter and shook her gently.
“Dad?”
“We’re home. I’ll wake Kellan in the morning when the sheriff comes by, but sleep until then, okay?”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “Kirby says his dad’s staying.” She woke up just enough to smile wickedly. “You kids better be dressed when I look in there.”
Larx rolled his eyes and tousled her hair. “You are a laugh riot. Go to sleep and save your strength for the comedy show.”
She giggled and Larx stood. After leaving the landing light on and turning off the kitchen light, he led the way upstairs to his room.
“Drop your clothes in the hamper,” he said quietly as Aaron looked around. A solid wooden bedframe dominated the room, but there was a large matching dresser on the far side. The carpets were plain beige, but one of the walls and trim was hunter green, and the effect was bold—and comfortable. Larx had put some framed prints up—Green Day, Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana—and Aaron had to laugh, recognizing the music of his twenties.
Aaron did what was asked, so exhausted it didn’t occur to him that he was standing in his boxers and T-shirt in front of a man he found attractive until that man threw clothes at his face.
“You get the shower first,” Larx said pragmatically. “I’m going to go….” He made a fussy little movement with his fingers, indicating his bloodied clothing. “Soak everything I’m wearing in cold water and baking soda.”
Aaron nodded. “Throw my stuff in the soak too.” Floaters were messy. Aaron had deliberately not thought about what was on his khakis for hours.
“Yeah.” Larx started to undress, and Aaron stood there, staring at him stupidly for a moment, thinking, C’mon, Larx, let me see your chest.
Larx stopped as he was pulling his T-shirt up over his head and caught Aaron’s eyes.
And smiled goofily, like a teenager. He looked away, biting his lip, and then studied his feet as he kicked off his tennis shoes.
“You’re, uh, gonna wanna get in the shower before I fill the sink,” he said. “Uh… you know. Water.”
; “Yeah.”
Larx snuck a look at him from under his brow, then went back to looking at his rumpled socks. “We’ll uh… you know. It’ll happen.”
Aaron felt his own neck heat, and his cheeks. “Promise?” he said wistfully.
“Oh yeah.” Larx met his eyes then, hunger so blatantly written across his features that even Aaron could see it. “I… oh yeah.”
Aaron watched as his chest started to pump, his breathing quickening just at the thought.
“Thank God.” And with that he gathered clean clothes and turned toward the adjoining bathroom, figuring everything he’d need would be there.
Well, everything but Larx.
SLIDING INTO Larx’s bed, under his green cotton comforter and the extra blanket, was almost surreal in its comfort. Larx’s smell—fabric softener, the same soap Aaron had just used, a little bit of sweat—permeated every thread of the weave.
Aaron closed his eyes and soaked it in, right up to the decrepit Siamese cat that curled up behind his head. He woke up a little when Larx—wearing sweats and a T-shirt—turned off the lights and nudged Aaron over so he could climb in. And then it was darkness, and the faint chill of Larx’s skin but the warmth of the flesh underneath. Aaron wrapped his arms around that tight, vital body and hugged hard until Larx went boneless against him.
“Alarm,” Larx muttered.
“Okay,” Aaron said.
Which was why no alarm was set and they were both surprised the next morning when Christi opened the door in her adorable jammies.
“Dad?”
“Wha?” Larx struggled out of Aaron’s arms and tumbled out of bed, looking dizzy and disoriented, his dark hair sticking up from his head in spikes, like a porcupine.
“Uh, calm down. We started the coffee. But Sheriff Mills is downstairs eating muffins at our kitchen table.”