by A. R. Barley
That had been three months ago.
“No plans.” Ian swallowed down the rest of his wine. When he looked up, there were wrinkles around his eyes. When had that happened? “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something for a while. It’s important.”
He was so clean and familiar. Troy had the sudden urge to throw himself down on the ground and beg for help. It might not be what they’d learned in the army, but he’d almost been blown up. Was it too much for him to want to be taken care of?
But there was no mercy in Ian’s deep brown eyes.
“I’ve been seeing someone else. She’s pregnant.”
Troy felt like he’d been punched in the gut. No. He could take a punch and get right up again. He felt like he’d been shot by one of those special bullets the army wasn’t supposed to be using overseas, the ones that entered a man in one piece then splintered into a thousand tiny shards of shrapnel to tear up his insides.
His pain must have showed on his face because Ian started pacing. “Don’t act surprised. You know this was never meant to be permanent.”
“It’s been twelve years. That’s pretty damn permanent.”
“I’m not your boyfriend—”
“We just live together.”
“We’re roommates.”
“Roommates share a house. Sometimes they share a room. We share a bed.” Troy’s fist clenched. Their relationship had always been undefined. He’d never been stupid enough to fall for the sweet nothings and dirty promises Ian liked to whisper late at night, but he’d trusted him not to start something with anyone else while they were having sex. That was the deal they’d made, one Troy had taken as biblical truth. Ian had seen it as more of a suggestion.
Ian was still talking. Troy scrambled to keep up. The individual words were meaningless, but they all added up to one horrible, irrevocable truth. Ian had done a hell of a lot more than start something with Nicki from Smoke & Bullets, the bar that catered to cops and firefighters down in Hell’s Kitchen.
From the sound of it they’d been screwing around for months.
The baby wasn’t planned, but that didn’t make it any less of a blessing.
Ian repeated that word twice: blessing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ian flinched at the hard edge to Troy’s voice. So much for New York’s finest. “We’ve always said sexuality was a scale. What we had was fun, but Nicki’s the kind of woman I want to end up with. She’s smart and funny and—damn—she gets me going.”
“Goddamn you, Ian. I don’t care who does it for you. If flying pink elephants make you hard then good for you.” Whatever painkillers they’d given him at the hospital must have run out, because he could feel his knees buckling under the weight of his own body. Or maybe it was just under the weight of his emotions. He forced himself to stand a little straighter. He wasn’t going to fall in front of Ian. He still had a little pride. Not much, but a little. “I care when you start slutting around and don’t have the courtesy to tell me.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you for a while—”
“Not good enough.”
“I’m telling you now.”
They’d never been good about using condoms after they left the army. It didn’t make sense, not if they weren’t sleeping around. “How many other women have there been? How many men? Were you safe? Do I need to get tested?”
“You were the only man,” Ian said a little too loudly. His lips twisted like he was disgusted by the suggestion he might have slept with another guy. Was that the way he looked when he talked about his relationship with Troy? Except he’d never talked about it. Not really.
At least Troy couldn’t get pregnant.
Pregnant. Nikita was pregnant. “Like with a baby?” A roly-poly ball of pooping joy with Ian’s thick black hair and deep brown eyes. He tried to feel at least a twinge of kindness toward the sprog, but all he could feel was pain and betrayal. “I wanted to get a dog, but you said a cocker spaniel was too much work—”
“You just got off a twenty-four-hour shift. You’re seriously telling me you can run home to walk a dog in the middle of a fire?”
“And being a detective is so much easier? You’re going to be able to change a diaper in the middle of a homicide investigation?”
“Nikita’s going to do that.”
“Right, the badge bunny behind the bar is so responsible.” There was a sharp edge to Troy’s voice that he couldn’t blunt if he wanted to. “She must be something special to get you into bed. Let me guess: she’s double jointed?”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Ian said, and this time there was a finality in his voice. Like the twelve years they’d been friends—six on active duty—didn’t mean anything.
“When are you moving out?” he asked.
“My name’s the one on the lease.”
Because his credit had been better when they signed the lease six years earlier. That didn’t make it any more Ian’s apartment than Troy’s. “It’s a one bedroom with minimal storage space. You’re really going to squeeze in a woman—all her clothes—and a baby?”
“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it work.” Ian’s voice was firm. “She doesn’t know you’re gay. I told her you slept in the living room. I need you gone before she moves in. I don’t want there to be any awkward questions.”
All those years spent sharing a bed, and Troy had only ever been a placeholder. Ian hadn’t given a damn about him. Damn. He didn’t know whether to cry or scream. He wanted to hit something, but assaulting a cop wasn’t going to help him any.
“I thought we’d have more time to work things out, but Nicki’s been living in an illegal conversion. The city inspector came through two days ago and closed the place down.” When had Ian started wearing his cop face outside of work? Maybe the hard expression was the real Ian and everything else had been the mask. “I’m really sorry about this, Troy. You’ve got five days.”
Chapter Two
It had been a long shift but it was finally over. Thank God for small favors. Alex did a little cha-cha as he changed out of his stinky uniform and into his jeans. Between the fire in the warehouse—and the captain was still pissed that no one had told them about the whiskey being stored in the back—and a half dozen other calls, he was done.
Finished.
So long and thanks for all the fish.
He swiped some deodorant under his arms, tugged a gray City University of New York sweatshirt down over his head, and jammed his feet into his boots. Time to go home.
“Grrrh.” A snuffling sound filled the paramedics’ small locker bay, making him jerk up in surprise. His partner was still outside, finishing up the day’s paperwork. He should be alone.
The snuffling sound repeated itself.
Alex turned slowly, his eyes sweeping the room until they finally landed on the big lumpy body that had taken up residence.
Un-freaking-believable.
The firefighters had their own space upstairs that included little rooms with actual beds for napping between calls. They had pillows and blankets provided by the city. All the paramedics had was the little two-butt couch Alex had dragged in from his aunt’s place in Queens.
And now this intruder thought he could use it.
Nope.
Not a chance.
Not happening.
Alex raked his fingers through his hair, straightened his shoulders, and drew himself up to his full height of five feet nine and a quarter. Asshole firefighters thought they could push everyone around. It was time to start pushing back.
He stomped over, prepared to fight to the death for his right to the faded floral upholstery, but then the snuffling sound came again and the body on the couch shifted.
Soft brown hair cut unfashionably short.
Square jaw. Soft cushioned lips.
What the hell was Troy doing in the locker room? The last time he’d seen the big lug, he was at the hospital being wheeled away by a team of well-trained medical professionals. How the hell had they released him already? And why hadn’t he gone home?
He should let the firefighter sleep, but he wanted answers and the short couch wasn’t doing Troy any favors.
So, he poked him in the side.
Nothing happened.
He did it again.
A growl filled the room.
“Easy, Hero. I’m checking to make sure you’re okay.”
“Pregnant.” Troy dragged his body into a sitting position. Alex must have heard him wrong. “She’s fucking pregnant.”
“You got someone pregnant?”
“My roommate did.” Troy’s eyes cracked open. “We were friends for a long time—friends with benefits—but things were slowing down. Guess when he wasn’t fucking me, it gave him more time to screw some woman.”
Through the half-open door of the firehouse, Alex could hear the grunts and groans of the city in the morning. Rush hour was about to start and the streets were already filled with honking horns and rumbling engines. A lid banged down on a nearby Dumpster. A man was singing. The words were slurred and slightly out of sync, but he managed to hit every note.
Inside, Alex was losing his flipping mind. He’d gone on one too many nasty calls and downed one too many energy drinks. This was his body’s way of getting back at him.
It only made sense that Troy would be part of it. After all, Alex had been fantasizing about the big firefighter since his first day on the job. He was tall and dark with piercing green eyes, shoulders that could hold up walls, and that little V of hard muscle at his waist that made Alex want to lick him like a lollipop. Then there was his smile.
If some smiles could light up a room, Troy’s was a midnight stroll in Times Square.
It was a burst of sunlight between the shadows of mile-high skyscrapers.
He didn’t pull it out often—Alex could count on one hand the number of times it had been turned in his direction—but that didn’t change facts.
When Troy Barnes smiled, he was a heart stopper.
But straight guys could smile too, and Alex hadn’t been about to make a fool of himself over the wrong man.
Not for a one-night stand...
So, he’d locked up his lust in the same padlocked box where he kept his fear of disease and contagion, at least during work hours.
When he was at home, washing away the day’s dirt and grime, Troy always managed to escape into his dreams.
“You don’t want to hear about this,” Troy said.
“Sure I do.” Alex’s brain was fizzing and popping. Neurons weren’t quite connecting. Something important was happening, but he couldn’t figure out what.
“You want to know the worst part?” Troy asked. “Her lease is over at the end of the month. This month.” He scratched at his stained white T-shirt, his shirt sliding up his torso, revealing all those fantasy muscles. He was wearing green scrub pants and the hospital bracelet on his right wrist. There was tape on his arm from where they’d inserted the IV line. Dark circles clung to the skin under his eyes.
Maybe it wasn’t another exhaustion-induced fantasy. In his fantasies, Troy was always shirtless and gleaming. Like he’d just finished soaping down the big engine.
He didn’t look like he’d been run over by a fire truck—or a building. Damn, Alex had nearly swallowed his tongue when Troy had leaped from the burning building with the teenager wrapped around his shoulders. It had been freaking heroic, like something out of a Die Hard movie.
But Troy was hotter than Bruce Willis, and real heroes ended up with busted ribs and fractured shoulder blades. Alex’s gaze dropped back down to the hospital bracelet still wrapped around his wrist. Troy really shouldn’t be sleeping on an old couch in a chilly locker room. He needed to be in a warm bed with plenty of fluffy pillows and soup. Lots of soup.
“We’ve been roommates since the army, and now I’ve got five days to find a new place. Because sticking around would lead to awkward questions. Like why, if we’re two het guys living together, there’s only one bedroom—”
“You were in the army?”
Neurons clicked. Synapses fired.
This was real. Troy was actually there. Tired and angry, still rumpled from sleeping on the couch in the paramedics’ garage, talking about another man. His eyes were full of pain and anger, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t Alex’s every dream come true.
He was gay.
Not straight.
Not ace.
Not completely freaking unavailable in every possible way. He might be out of Alex’s league, but at least they were playing the same sport.
And he was single.
Too bad he was on the rebound, even if he seemed more broken up about losing the apartment than about losing his boyfriend. Alex didn’t do long-term relationships and he didn’t do guys fresh from a breakup.
Never again.
Of course, just because Troy was ineligible for hanky-panky didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. Relationships had never turned out well for him, but he could always use more friends.
“Soup,” Alex said. “You need soup, man.”
“Think they’ve got some upstairs?” Endless emerald eyes blinked up at him. “That’s where I was going last night—I don’t stick around where I’m not wanted—but I didn’t think I could make it up the stairs.”
Hell. Troy had gone straight from the hospital to getting kicked out of his place. He hadn’t even had time to change his clothes. Alex inhaled through clenched teeth. “I ever meet your ex, I’m going to kick his ass.”
Troy snorted. Probably because he’d met the douchebag in the army and Alex was a powder puff.
Too bad he couldn’t challenge the ex to a knock-down drag-out game of Scrabble.
“You’re going to have to get in line,” Troy said. “Five freaking days.”
“You’re coming home with me,” Alex said.
Problem. Solution. Troy needed someone to take care of him, and Alex had the next couple of days off. He’d promised to help his niece study for her anatomy final, but they could do that from his living room.
“I’ve got a recipe for tortellini soup that’ll make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Seriously. It was passed down from my mother who got it from her mother who got it from some rich lady’s cook on the Upper East Side.”
Troy’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”
Alex flipped him off. “I don’t do pity. I thought you needed a place to stay. Where else are you going to go? Some hotel in Queens?”
Nostrils flared. He considered the offer for a long moment. “You’ve got a spare room?”
“Sure thing,” Alex lied.
Of course he didn’t have a spare room. He lived in Manhattan. He’d been lucky to find a place with a closet, and he’d only been able to buy because he’d scrimped and saved and bought at the bottom of the market. Even then it had taken a year’s worth of overtime pay to turn the kitchen from a leaky sink with a hot plate into a usable space.
“Spare room. Spare bed.” Alex waited a beat to see if God would smite him. No lightning bolts. Clearly, the heavens were on his side. “No strings attached. If it makes you feel better, you can even pay me rent.”
“A business arrangement?”
“Strictly business.” At least that was the truth. Troy needed another six months on his own—and at least two additional sexual partners—before Alex would even consider dating him. Those were the rules.
And if Troy did end up sticking around? Alex brightened at the idea. A roommate. He hadn’t given the idea much thought before, but it had
a certain appeal. With a few hundred extra dollars a month he could stop picking up extra shifts at the firehouse—and working his side gig, selling terrariums with his cousin Jenny at the Brooklyn Flea.
“We got a deal?”
“Deal.”
Alex really hoped that Troy didn’t notice the shiver he felt when they shook hands. Callused fingers were like sandpaper against his skin. And when he didn’t let go? Yeah, that steely grip was going to take some getting used to. He planted his feet on the battered linoleum while he waited for Troy’s next move.
“One.” The word wasn’t audible, but there was no mistaking the silent count off. “Two. Three.” Troy lurched forward, putting all his weight on Alex. It took two tries to get his feet underneath him.
Normally tan skin was sallow and pale. “Let’s go.” Honey, baby, sugar, hero.
It took everything Alex had not to slide underneath Troy’s shoulder and help support him on the way to the street. He didn’t say anything. Not with Troy’s jaw locked in place and the eyes of the firehouse on them. Just because Troy had been willing to admit his sexuality in a moment of exhaustion didn’t mean he was willing to come out.
In the two years since Alex had joined the station, there hadn’t been a single murmur about Troy’s sexuality, and firefighters gossiped about everything. Luke Parsons was bisexual, Hoyt Brown spent too much money, and Cynthia Murdock’s husband was cheating on her. Troy had been discreet.
“We heading for the subway?” Troy asked.
“I’m two stops up.” Most of the time Alex didn’t bother with transit. It was only six blocks up, but today he eyed Troy’s wobbling form and stuck up a hand. “We’ll catch a cab.”
“Sure thing.”
The tall buildings on either side of the street formed a wind tunnel, sending the cool autumn air whipping through the corridor. Troy’s shoulders hunched forward against the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket. “You got any stuff?”
“I’ll pick it up later.”
Doubtful. Alex tugged his phone out of his coat pocket and thumbed it on to text. Come over later.