On Duty

by A. R. Barley

  “Before—” he cleared his throat “—you gave me time to think when I needed it. Now it’s your turn. Take some time, some space, and think about what you want. You need to be sure, because Ian wants you and he’s not going to stop unless you make him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The lights in Smoke & Bullets produced a low-grade hum that almost overpowered the music. Troy’d never been a day drinker before, but there was a first for everything. Hell. How had his life gotten so screwed up? For the second time in as many weeks he didn’t have an apartment, and this time there wasn’t even a baby to blame for it.

  Just Alex with a pained look. “Think about what you want.”

  And what the hell was that about? Troy wanted Alex. He’d made that clear.

  He joined Luke up at the bar. “You’re here early.”

  “My dad’s doing construction on the house. He redid the upstairs bathroom last year and now it’s the kitchen. It’s fancy. White subway tile, Shaker-style cabinets, gray quartz countertops, the whole shebang. Personally, I think he’s been watching too much HGTV, but harvest gold isn’t coming back into style anytime soon.” Luke nodded at the books laid out on the countertop in front of him. “I needed someplace quiet to study.”

  “Fire investigative techniques?” Troy frowned at the book’s title. “What the hell do you need that for?”

  “I’ve been watching the arson investigators working on the warehouse fires—guess they’re apartment fires now too. It’s actually a pretty interesting job.” Luke shrugged. “When I was a kid, I always thought I’d be a cop like my dad—solving crimes—but this is mostly math and science.”

  “That mean you’re not going to do it?”

  “I didn’t say that.” There was a hard glint in his eyes. “It’s just harder than I thought.” He tugged his hat down low over his forehead. “I haven’t done math since high school.”

  “You should ask Alex for help.”

  “He’s a science geek?”

  “Oh, yeah. Alex is smarter than the two of us combined. He got most of the way through med school before they pulled his funding.”

  “Fuck.” Luke blinked. Surprise filled his face followed quickly by respect. “What the hell is he doing as an EMT?”

  “Slumming.”

  “Guess that explains what he’s doing with you too.”

  “Guess so.” Troy waved down the bartender. “I’ll have a whiskey, neat.”

  Luke frowned. “Starting early?”

  The bartender’s hands moved quickly, methodically, pouring out his whiskey and placing it on the counter in front of him. Troy picked the glass up and took a long swallow. “Alex thinks we need some space.”

  Long black lashes fluttered down against warm brown skin. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.” It didn’t make any sense. Everything had been going so well. Better than that. Their relationship hadn’t been an overnight sensation brought on by chemistry and lust. It had been built slowly, snuggling on the couch after work, sharing takeout orders of dumplings, and listening to Alex gossip about his family.

  When they’d finally fallen into bed together—

  They’d finally fallen into bed together—

  Fuck. Troy couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He didn’t even try. They’d had sex. It had been good sex. Sexy sex. Mind-blowing, toe-curling, cry out to the heavens and spank the nearest God sexy sex.

  Alex couldn’t throw that away.

  It wasn’t possible.

  He needed some time to cool down—forget his crazy theory about Ian—and things would be back to normal in a couple of hours.

  Better than normal because they’d be together.

  He slid his empty glass back across the counter toward the bartender. “I’ll take another.”

  “No,” Luke corrected. “He won’t.” He elbowed Troy in the side.

  “Damn it!” Troy yelped.

  “Right, your arm. Sorry about that. Let’s go play some pool. Loser buys dinner?”

  “As long as it’s not from that crappy curry place you go to.”

  “It’s good curry.”

  “It’s a fire hazard. I’m pretty sure the sauce is eighty percent grease...and not the good kind either. Motor oil.”

  A few more drinks and Troy was willing to try playing pool with a broken arm. He could see a lot of epically bad curry in his future. The bar had started to fill, a dozen firefighters and cops leaning up against the counter and more at the tables near the door. He was lining up his next shot when the door scraped open behind him.

  Luke frowned. “We’ve got company.”

  Alex. Troy grinned happily as he turned his head.

  Not Alex.

  Ian.

  The source of all his problems.

  Troy turned back to the game. He slammed the pool cue forward and—nothing. He didn’t even touch the cue ball. “Fuck.”

  Troy refused to track Ian’s body as he made his way up to the bar for a drink. Not that it mattered. They were friends—they’d always been friends—he could look as long as he wanted.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  He didn’t want Ian and—fuck it—Ian didn’t want him. No matter what Alex said.

  He must have looked at least a little bit because Luke followed his gaze up to the bar. “So it’s Ian who’s got your panties in a twist.”

  “Alex thinks I’m still not over him.”

  “Wait.” Luke blinked in surprise. “Were you ever under him?”

  Troy shrugged. That wasn’t his secret to tell. “It’s complicated.”

  “And Alex? Are you under him?”

  “I was—I’d like to be again. We were dating. I think. Almost definitely.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  Luke was running the table when Ian finally made his way over to the pool table. He was carrying two frothy beers. He watched the table play for a moment before passing one of the glasses across to Troy. “You’re missing your shadow.”

  “Alex and I aren’t joined at the hip.” Troy kept it simple. “He’s got stuff to do.”

  “That’s the problem with dating someone else with our schedule. One of you is always going to be on duty.” Ian took a long drag on his beer. He picked up a spare pool cue, testing the balance. “I call next game.”

  Luke grunted his acknowledgement and continued beating Troy with an easy grace that reminded him of dancers at the nightclubs downtown. “Why don’t we make it interesting, Detective?” He reset the balls and the new game started. “Troy and I are ordering curry. You lose, you buy.”

  “And if I win?”

  “I forget you took a shot at a paramedic.”

  “Excuse me?” Ian said.

  “Hitting Alex? That’s a bad bit of business.”

  “I apologized for that.”

  “Not to me you didn’t. Cops need to know when they call for a bus, it’s going to get there. Fast. They don’t need to worry about some asshole starting a war between the departments. I’ve got family in the department. You get my brother killed, I’ll tell Nicki you’re a lying piece of shit.”

  Ian lunged forward to tackle Luke. Unfortunately, he still had a hearty mug of ale in one hand and a pool cue in the other. The beer splashed over the floor. The cue bumped awkwardly against the pool table and slammed into Ian’s knee. He ended up stumbling forward.

  “Easy.” Troy caught his former roommate’s arm, yanking him upright and back. “Come on, Ian. Don’t be a douche. Luke’s not going to say anything.”

  “Probably,” Luke said.

  Ian surged forward a second time.

  “Stop it. Now.” Troy refused to drop his arm—even if it sent a reverberation through his damaged body that had him gaspin
g for air and wishing for the painkillers he’d left back at the apartment.

  “He started it,” Ian and Luke said at the same time. Ian sighed.

  Ian stopped straining against Troy’s grip. “Fuck.” He dug into his back pocket without being prompted, pulling out his wallet and removing his credit card. “I might have deserved that. The next round is on me.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Troy said.

  “You’re kidding, right? Free drinks are always necessary.” Luke plucked the credit card from Ian’s hand. “And I’m ordering the good stuff.” He skipped up to the bar to put in their order.

  Which left Troy and Ian alone together.

  Troy swallowed hard. A knot caught in the back of his throat. “Thanks for the drinks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Ian shrugged. “I owe you one. I tried to tell you about Nicki sooner, really. I—fuck—I dropped so many hints, I was practically an Encyclopedia Brown novel. Then it was too late. She was pregnant, her lease was coming up, and—”

  “And you needed me gone.” Troy almost felt bad for him. “Don’t worry about it. We never made each other any promises.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay for me to be a total asshole.” Ian searched him for any hint at a response. “I missed you, the last few weeks. I’m glad we can still be friends.”

  “Nothing could change that.”

  “Good.” A warm hand slid its way around Troy’s wrist, holding him in place. His thumb reached out to scrape against the back of his knuckle. The move was soft and intimate. It carried with it an entire host of meaning. It was an invitation to something more, something dark and familiar.

  “I always liked being your friend,” Ian’s voice dropped half an octave. His words held a honeyed edge. “Things are so crazy with Nicki right now, it made me remember the good times. In fact, I was hoping we could meet up sometimes. Things could go back to the way they were.”

  The way they were: cold beer, football games on TV, and hot sex without any hint at affection. Damn. It had seemed perfect at the time. Then one year had turned into another. They’d grown further apart instead of closer together, but they’d still been friends.

  Except friends didn’t lie to each other.

  Friends didn’t try to use each other—for sex or anything else.

  Bile filled Troy’s throat. His stomach twisted.

  Alex hadn’t been jealous or paranoid.

  He’d been right.

  And Troy had treated him like he was paranoid. Fuck. He hadn’t taken his worries seriously at all. What if he’d really screwed things up between the two of them? The look on Alex’s face came back to him.

  He’d been hurt.

  Really hurt.

  “Think about what you want.”

  Troy pulled his phone out of his pocket. He needed to apologize, to do something. He texted Alex: I’m sorry about earlier.

  Ian was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

  “I’ve got plenty of friends.” Troy yanked his hand back. “You want somebody to be your afterhours fuck buddy, you can dial another number. I’m with Alex now.” If he was still interested. Damn, he hoped Alex wasn’t too pissed. Troy kept his voice steady, but inside he was a bundle of freaking nerves. “You know what hurt the most, Ian? You didn’t even tell me you were seeing someone. You say you miss talking but we hadn’t talked in months. You ignored me.”

  Alex had never ignored him. Not as a coworker, a roommate, or a lover. He’d given Troy the nickname “Hero” his second month on the job. It had been years and he’d never treated Troy like just another guy.

  He stared Ian straight in the face. “Understand?”

  Ian’s nostrils flared. Troy braced himself for another punch, but then his oldest friend in the world—the first one he’d made after leaving home—nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. With Nicki, everything got confused and then my best friend was gone. I want to talk. I mean, fuck, man, I’m having a son. You ever imagine?”

  “Poor bastard.”

  “I know. If he’s lucky, he’ll take after his mother.”

  For a long moment they both held perfectly still. Troy snorted. Ian laughed. The tension in the room bled away.

  Buzz buzz. Troy’s phone rang.

  He didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t stop him from hammering the talk button. “Alex—”

  “Not Alex,” Sammy gasped on the other end of the line. “The foster asshole’s back. She’s—she’s bullying the nurses into letting me go. I—” He squeaked. “I called Crystal and Roger, but they’re in mother-freaking Brooklyn. There’s been a breakdown in the subway. It’ll take them at least two hours to get here.”

  “Did you call Alex?”

  “He didn’t answer his phone.”

  Troy’s gut churned. It didn’t make any sense. Alex might be avoiding him, but there was no way he’d ignore a call from Sammy.

  Ten minutes. It would take Troy ten minutes to run home to the apartment to check on Alex.

  And even more time to go back the other direction to the hospital.

  It wasn’t enough time, and Sammy needed him.

  He needed them both.

  “Keep calling Alex,” Troy said. “Don’t stop until you get him on the line.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Damn it. Alex was so put out, he left the apartment without checking to make sure he had everything he needed.

  Keys, yes.

  Wallet, no.

  Cell phone, it probably wasn’t charged anyway.

  There was a subway pass in the pocket of his sweatshirt, so he took the train out to see his family in Brooklyn. He ended up down at the Brooklyn Flea with his cousin Jenny. They sold half a dozen terrariums and more air plants than he could count. She decided to close up early, and they packed the rest of the goods into the back of her old pickup. “You want to talk about what you’re doing here?” she asked as they slid the last plastic tub into place. “’Cause I remember getting a text message from you. Something about a new roommate and how you were never going to get your hands dirty ever again.”

  “You know I’m always available if you need an extra hand.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Jenny grinned. “Connie’s cheaper than you anyway. I can pay her in gourmet popcorn.” There was a pause. “She says you’ve got a boyfriend in the city.”

  “She’s got a big mouth.”

  “Yeah.” Jenny laughed. “She does.” She swung the lift gate up. Thunk. Metal hit metal and everything slid into place. “But she’s not usually wrong. Your guy got a name?”

  “Troy Barnes.”

  “Nice name.” She reached up to pull her hair into a neat ponytail. Her patchwork jacket got tucked into a bin, and her vintage T-shirt tugged off over her head to reveal a plain black tank top. Some more shuffling and arranging and her hipster saleswoman persona was gone, replaced by the down-in-the-dirt gardener who’d once given him a black eye in their grandmother’s tomato garden.

  “Is he cute?”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Does he treat you right?”

  “Maybe.” Alex sighed. Troy was drop-dead, trip on your tongue gorgeous, but none of that had to do with the sugar-sharp edge to his voice or the steel in his spine. Troy was one of the strongest men he’d ever met, and he always, always treated Alex right. “Definitely. I don’t think anyone’s ever treated me better.” Most men looked at him and saw a pretty boy to play with. Troy saw an equal. “I don’t know if anyone ever could.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “A somebody forgot to clean the omelet pan fight or a so bad you can’t make up fight?”

  “I don’t know.” Bile rose up to fill his mouth. May
be it would have been better if they’d never gotten together at all. Then he wouldn’t feel this aching, burning loss inside him. “It’s not up to me.”

  “You gave him some kind of ultimatum?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Ultimatums are for assholes.” Jenny pulled her keys out of her back pocket. “You want a ride back to Manhattan?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Uh-huh.” The truck doors creaked open and they climbed inside. The plastic trim was faded from the sun. The engine groaned as she threw it into gear. They pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, narrowly avoiding a pothole the size of Staten Island.

  A familiar song came on the radio. Alex didn’t know the name or who sang it, but he knew all the words. He nudged his cousin with his elbow. Jenny spun up the dial on the volume, and they sang along until the final riff, boogying the rest of the way back to Manhattan.

  “I’m dropping you at your apartment?” Jenny asked.

  “I’d appreciate it.” He needed to get his wallet so he could buy groceries for dinner—juicy steaks and something green like asparagus or broccoli—then it would be time to head over to the hospital.

  The truck slowed to a stop in front of his building, and he hopped out into the cold. The wind whipped past his ears. Crisp autumn air made his ears feel like they’d gone half a dozen rounds in a meat locker.

  He needed to get a hat or a scarf too.

  His breath was coming fast when he hit the apartment, but at least it warmed him up some. He looked for his phone first. It had been kicked halfway underneath the easy chair, and it didn’t have any power. He plugged it into the charger in the kitchen and went to change.

  He stripped off his sweatshirt and rifled through his closet until his fingers hit vintage wool. The old flannel shirt was faded blue and gold. He slid it on over his T-shirt, luxuriating in the warmth.

  His keys went in the back pocket of his jeans. He slid off his tennis shoes and pulled on solid leather boots. Time to go. He checked his phone. It still hadn’t turned back on.