by KC Burn
Kurt laughed. “I could eat. There’s a lot of good places within walking distance. Anything you feel like?”
“Greek?”
“Yep, just a few blocks over.”
“So, what made you transfer from the RCMP?” Law enforcement was law enforcement, but there was a certain mystique about the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, even if they rarely rode horses anymore.
“I got married a couple of years ago. Jen, my wife, wanted to move back to the city, and I wanted a change, so I applied to the police force here and in Vancouver.”
Kurt’s eyebrows rose. “So, any city would do?”
Simon speared another roasted potato. “No, but Montreal was out, because I don’t speak French, and I was stationed in Halifax. A move’s a move, right?”
“How are you liking it so far?”
“It’s good. Faster paced, though. We’re getting settled in, and Jen started her new job this week too. We don’t know many people, though. Hey, did you want to come over for dinner sometime? If you’ve got a wife or girlfriend, bring her along.”
If he needed company, he could probably convince one of his brothers or Davy to come along, but the offer melted away tension Kurt didn’t realize he was carrying around. Simon had already opened himself up to Kurt more in the past few hours than Ben had done in three years.
“No wife, no girlfriend, but I’d be happy to come over, thanks. Just let me know when and where.”
Simon smiled, pleased by Kurt’s response. He’d known Simon for half a day and already knew the dynamic of their partnership would be different than his previous one. With Ben so much older and experienced, they’d fallen into a novice-mentor relationship, but with Simon, it would be a partnership on much more even footing.
Chapter Six
August was hell. A month of heat-wave-related violence and murders kept Simon and Kurt hopping—lots of overtime and not as much progress as either of them hoped. Kurt had been following the investigation of the guy who’d killed Ben, but they weren’t any closer to any kind of arrest or sting. He owed it to Ben, and himself, to put that fucker behind bars. Unfortunately, as soon as they realized who was behind it, the investigation had moved out of homicide. Not that Kurt was under any illusions—his boss would never have allowed Kurt to remain involved in the investigation.
Closing this case would be beneficial for Davy… help him heal a little more. Kurt had a chance to take Simon up on his offer for dinner only twice, and visiting Davy had been reduced to once about every ten days or so. Maybe Davy was already doing better. Last time they spoke, Davy was supposed to meet up with some of his old friends, including Jon. Kurt had been so pleased.
“Whew. I think we can knock off for the night, eh?” Simon leaned back into his chair. “Want to grab a drink, unwind a bit? There’s bound to be a game on we can watch.”
Kurt checked his watch. It was too late to visit Davy anyway. Also too late to take Simon by Finn’s. If they went in now, they’d be there all night, and Kurt needed a decent night’s sleep. But he wasn’t quite ready to go home to his empty, lifeless apartment. Tomorrow, though, there were two games on TV. If nothing came up, and it better not or he might commit homicide himself, he could go by Davy’s.
Armed with an assortment of snacks from the local convenience store, Kurt was prepared for the double-header. It was the last weekend in August and the heat wave had finally broken, giving the police a bit of a breather.
His brothers had been surprised he wasn’t going to watch it with them, which he usually would if he had the day off during one. Ian, especially, had been annoyed and tried to invite himself along with Kurt’s plans. Kurt managed to put him off, but lying about it bothered him. Revealing the secret Ben guarded so zealously seemed disloyal somehow. Davy wasn’t ready for his family anyway. They’d spoken a couple of times about family, and Davy was alternately wary and fascinated by how many people were in the O’Donnell family. Having spent years just himself and Ben, with Sandra and Mrs. Kaminski their only living relatives, Kurt didn’t blame him. Times like this, when one of his siblings harassed him, Kurt imagined it might not be as lonely as he usually assumed.
Good. Davy’s car was in the drive, so Kurt wasn’t going to have to go back to the noisy pub. He loved the noise and the hubbub, but he was coming to appreciate the peace of Davy’s home. He should have called first, but his work so frequently interfered with plans, he liked that Davy didn’t mind his surprise visits.
Knocking and pressing his finger on the doorbell availed him nothing. He was unpleasantly reminded of the first couple of times he visited Davy where his arrival had shaken Davy out of his depressed state. He dropped the bags of snacks and peered through the window, cupping his hands around his eyes to cut down on the late summer glare. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Davy could be in the shower. He patted his hip reflexively for his weapon, but he wasn’t on fucking duty. Still, there was no reason to assume the worst. There were no signs of forced entry. Hell, the man could have gone for a walk. The need to protect Davy had been strong from the very first day, over and above the expectation that came with his job. Something about protecting Davy made him feel a hundred feet tall and assuaged the frustration of his family treating him like a kid; he wasn’t going to stop unless he had to.
Then there was the crushing disappointment he might not be able to spend the day in the cool comfort of Davy’s place, catching up with him and watching the game. Reminded him of the time in high school when his parents grounded him, making him miss out on the biggest party of the year. Why hanging out with Davy should make him feel that way, he didn’t know, but he hadn’t spent a lot of time cultivating friendships outside of work or family, which might explain it.
Maybe Davy was out in the yard. He’d seen the overgrown jungle from the kitchen window, but never commented on it. Davy had other things to worry about besides the state of his backyard, but perhaps he was tackling it today.
The tall privacy fencing didn’t surprise Kurt any, given Ben’s obvious paranoia, but he was surprised the door to the yard gaped wide open. The expanse of grass was a good bit bigger than he’d realized. It wasn’t often homes had this much property this close to the downtown core. Davy told him they’d bought the place about a year after he and Ben got together, and they were one of the few on the street who retained the large yard, instead of tearing down the house and rebuilding with a much larger one. Kurt approved of the decision; Davy’s house had a lot more character than the enormous new homes.
On the patio, four chairs and a table sat, months of disuse obvious from their grimy state. After a small patch of grass, the jungle began. Right at the demarcation, a large green plastic bin sat beside a stack of weathered bushel baskets. Kurt approached, and saw Davy on his knees amidst the rows and rows of tomato plants, a half-full bushel basket to his right. His back was to Kurt, and his shoulders were shaking.
Kurt walked around the bin, a few dried leaves crunching under his feet. His approach didn’t go unnoticed, as Davy’s back stiffened, and he turned toward Kurt.
“Jeez, Davy, what happened?” Davy’s shirt was streaked bright red, and the sight made his heart pound and reach again for a weapon that wasn’t there. Kurt skidded around and knelt before Davy, inspecting his shirt. “Where are you bleeding?”
Davy’s eyes flared before he let out a watery snuffle. “It’s tomatoes.”
Oh. Tomatoes. Kurt’s cheeks flamed, probably about the same color as the few round, ripe tomatoes in the basket. A cool, clammy dampness seeped into his pants, and he stared down at the tomatoes he’d kneeled in—and squished. Ugh.
“And tomatoes are that upsetting, are they?” They did feel pretty gross, though. Maybe he’d cry too. But it had been a long time since he’d seen Davy this upset, and it constricted his heart like he failed somehow. Then again, most people seemed to agree there were lots of bad days in the first year while the wound healed. It had only been about three months since Ben died—he co
uldn’t expect miracles.
“I can’t do it, I just can’t do it.”
“Do what?” Davy was scaring him again. He never would have forgiven himself if Davy had harmed himself in those early days, and now—what if Davy slid back to his early despondency?
“This. Ben loved this stupid garden, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.” The venom in Davy’s voice was a shock, as was the swearing. Davy didn’t swear often. “I ignored it. I didn’t want to look. Ben planted these the weekend before… before….”
Kurt nodded. He didn’t need Davy to spell it out. “And? Can’t you just pick them?”
“Ben picks… picked them. I’d make tomato sauce and cabbage rolls, according to his mom’s recipe, and freeze all the leftovers. How can I do that this year? I didn’t even want to come out here. But I left it too late. Can’t you smell it?”
Sniffing, Kurt was able to smell a sweet, almost sickly scent. Rotten tomatoes. Kurt’s head swiveled, taking in the sheer number of tomato plants, many of them drooping and trailing along the ground with the weight of the fruit. Shit. Ben must have really liked tomatoes… or cabbage rolls. Christ.
“I tried picking them, but I can’t even lift the fucking basket. How the fuck am I going to get rid of them?” Davy’s voice rose, almost shrill in his distress.
“Hey, calm down.”
“That’s all you ever say!” Davy flung a soft, squishy tomato at him, and it broke open on his shirt with a wet splat. Not rotten, but very, very ripe. Still… Kurt raised a brow and reached out slowly for another super-ripe tomato. Davy’s mouth rounded in an “O” of surprise before Kurt threw a tomato in retaliation. He snorted. Davy glared at him, and he scrambled away, arming himself with a tomato in each fist. Standing, Kurt made himself a target before he bent and grabbed several tomatoes, lobbing them at Davy’s ducking and weaving form.
After several minutes of chasing and, well, food fighting, they collapsed to the ground, panting. Davy was more relaxed, his entire face and body were covered in tomato juice and seeds, and Kurt’s clothes were in a similar state of disaster.
“Do you want any of these tomatoes? Because I know my mom could use the ripe ones at Finn’s.” He didn’t want to upset Davy again, but the initial problem remained. It wouldn’t be healthy to leave the crop to rot on the vine.
“Do you like cabbage rolls?” Davy asked shyly.
“Yep, love them.” Kurt liked all kinds of food, including cabbage rolls, but he would have said yes to anything at that moment.
“Then maybe I could keep some.”
Kurt dragged the half-full bushel basket to the kitchen door. “Okay, I’ll work on the rest. You shower and make cabbage rolls.”
“Deal.” Davy gave him that almost-smile. One day, Kurt was going to see a real smile from the man, and he’d fall over in surprise.
Kurt spent hours picking tomatoes. The ripe ones went into the bushel baskets, the over-ripe and rotting ones went into the composting bin. He loaded up the car with the bushels and dragged the bin to the curb. It was a couple days early for organic waste pick-up, but with his work schedule he couldn’t guarantee he’d be back on garbage day. The bin was fucking heavy, and he didn’t want Davy to hurt himself.
Letting himself into the house, the fragrant scent of cooked meat, cabbage, and tomato overpowered the sweetish smell on his clothes.
“Smells great, Davy. You mind if I borrow your shower?”
Davy wandered out of the kitchen, oven mitts on both hands, and glanced at the bag Kurt gripped. “You brought spare clothes?”
He shrugged. “I learned early on at a particularly messy crime scene never to go anywhere without at least a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt in the car.” Oh, that had been miserable. He thought he’d never get the smell of rotted flesh out of his car—even the relatively short ride to the station wearing those clothes had been enough to transfer the stench to the upholstery. He’d had to drive with the windows wide open all winter.
Davy opened his mouth as though he were going to ask a question, but thought better of it and closed his mouth again. Which was good. The description wasn’t pleasant, and he didn’t want anything to detract from the fantastic smells emanating from Davy’s kitchen.
“Shower?” he asked again.
“Oh, yes, sure. There’s towels in the hall closet, and the shower’s in the master bath.”
Kurt grabbed the towels and passed through the bedroom to the master bath. He’d showered at places besides his own apartment, and when he’d asked, he’d forgotten the only shower was through Davy’s bedroom.
He stripped and made sure his splattered, sweat-soaked clothes touched only tile and not the white bath mat or rug. What the hell was with the white in this place? The kitchen and the bathrooms were like hospitals, and the rest of the house was aggressively neutral.
He stepped under the spray, soaking himself. The water pressure was fantastic. Kurt hadn’t had a shower this good since… how long had it been since he’d had a vacation? Two years? Three years? The last time he’d been in a hotel, at any rate. The pressure at his parents’ house had always been for shit, and it was only marginally better in his apartment, as long as he didn’t shower when everyone else was getting ready for work.
Hopefully, Davy had a big water heater. Kurt looked around for a bar of soap but didn’t see any. Instead, Davy had body gel of some sort, a brand he didn’t recognize, not that he was likely to. Soap was soap as far as he was concerned.
A clean, almost citrusy scent spilled out when he flipped open the lid. He lathered himself up, almost surprised at how good it smelled. Not girly like he’d expected, and he should be ashamed for even thinking that for a minute. Davy was gay, not girly. Kurt used the same stuff to wash his hair, not caring if Davy had something different. His hair was short enough that it didn’t matter.
Still, something about the smell got to him, because his cock twitched. Maybe it was just a conditioned response because he frequently jacked off in the shower—but never in someone else’s. Not even some of the girls he dated. He grabbed the bottle of shower gel and read the label. Lemongrass. Well, he did love him some Thai food, but he’d never got an erection over it. Must be just habit. He made quick work of cleaning, because he sure as shit wasn’t rubbing one off in Davy’s shower.
He finished the rest of his shower quickly and dried off. He looked around the bathroom.
Shit.
After wrapping a hotel-quality white towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and poked his head out.
Shit and damn. He’d left his clothes by the linen closet. And there was no way in hell he was going to let those other ones anywhere near his clean skin.
He strode out into the hall and grabbed his duffle bag.
“Are you done?” Davy called.
Kurt whirled, clutching the duffle, as Davy stepped out of the kitchen.
Davy’s eyes widened. “Uh, I guess not quite,” he said.
“Forgot my clothes out here. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.” Back straight, Kurt walked back through the bedroom to the bathroom without looking at Davy again, the tips of his ears heating.
He shut the door firmly behind him. Catching a glance at himself in the mirror, he groaned. The towel clung obscenely to his package, and his bare chest was slicked with moisture. He’d showered in many locker rooms, been naked in front of men before, but parading around half-naked at a gay man’s house just wasn’t right, especially since his cock hadn’t fully deflated from the shower. Then again, Davy hadn’t taken it as a come-on or anything. Maybe there was nothing to be uncomfortable about. Probably Davy hadn’t thought anything odd about it at all.
Dressed, he stuffed his dirty clothes in a plastic grocery bag before he zipped them away in the duffle. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his embarrassment aside and went to join Davy for dinner.
Kurt pushed back from the kitchen table, belly full of cabbage rolls. “Davy, that was fantastic. I know you’ve got
your fancy chemistry degree and all that, but you ever thought of becoming a chef?”
Color blossomed on Davy’s cheeks. He must have hit a bull’s-eye with that one. “I’ve thought about it. But I don’t know if I’d like it as much, cooking for lots of people I didn’t know. Besides, the hours are terrible.”
True. Might even be worse than a cop’s. “Well, I hate to eat and run, but those tomatoes aren’t going to improve by sitting in my car in the heat. I’ve got to get them into the cold storage.”
Davy followed him to the door. “I’m sorry about the game. Games.”
“No worries. This had to be done.” Kurt stretched, his muscles creaking. Maybe not all in one day, though. “There will be other games.” And it was nice to take care of someone else, rather than everyone thinking he was so fucking fragile because he’d almost died in the explosion with Ben.