by J. P. Oliver
“Yo, Ryder.”
I heard the voice but barely registered what direction it came from; all I could seem to focus on was the tic in Ryder’s sharp jaw before he looked away.
“Yeah?”
“The guys in the garage need to go over some paperwork with the new guy before he takes a spin in one of the cruisers. You wanna show him where?”
“Sure thing.”
Ryder stood, sparing me only a passing glance, and wordlessly I followed, feeling more cautious than ever, the word echoing: ride, ride, ride, ride. I’ll give you a ride.
My visit to the garage was a short one—something about needing to take a look at my license and make a copy of it for their files—but I was finding it already impossible not to focus on just one thing with Ryder’s voice in my ear.
“Looking good today, Bowers,” he said to one of the garage men.
I glanced up quickly from the papers they’d given me in time to see Ryder with a washrag, snapping it at another man’s ass. The pen was held tight in my hand. I felt my breath held again as I watched the two of them, waiting for the man—apparently named Bowers—to reprimand him. But it never came.
Instead they all laughed.
Bowers tossed his own washrag at Ryder with a familiar fondness, shaking his head.
“Get outta here, Playboy.”
I felt frozen, but they all seemed fine.
No, I told myself, head turning down again to the paper. That’s probably because they’ve worked together for so long.
I tried to imagine myself as part of their gang. Envious of their camaraderie, I knew it was never something I could have. No matter the reason, I just couldn’t imagine myself ever being that comfortable with another man.
3
Ryder
He’s uncomfortable.
I frowned, trying not to look at Ace too obviously; something was off. It was written in his sour expression and the tension in his…well, his entire body, really. He looked like if you tried to touch him, he’d collapse like a shifty, fragile sandcastle.
There was the definitive possibility that he was just plain old shy, and didn’t really know how to interact with folks in a new precinct, which was understandable, but…it was more than that. My detective’s hunch told me so, and that shit was rarely wrong.
Maybe it was what I’d offered earlier. Well, I could always give you a ride.
My lips twitched. All right, definitely not my most subtle line, but, hey, I didn’t think I’d mistaken the look he gave me when I came into the precinct that morning.
I would know that little spark of interest anywhere.
I glanced over at him as he moved his hands over the garage paperwork, brows knit tight as he ignored all of us messing around; no matter how hot I thought he was, if he wasn’t interested or receptive or comfortable, then I’d have to remember to tone it down a little. Which…would be work. Flirting came naturally to me—always had, always did. I didn’t earn the nickname Playboy for nothing, you know. It wasn’t something I was too used to thinking about or shielding, but if it bothered Ace…well, that was just what needed to be done.
After all, the last thing I wanted to do was scare the newbie and ruin my prestigious reputation as Harlan’s one-man welcoming committee.
By the time lunch rolled around, most of his official on-boarding paperwork was wrapped up.
With nothing at the precinct left to tour, the next logical step was Harlan herself.
“C’mon,” I said, hoisting my jacket over my shoulders, hanging over his desk where he was busy looking at something of no real consequence on his computer.
He frowned up at me. “What?”
“You didn’t bring a lunch, did you?”
“...No.”
“Then I’m taking you out,” I told him. “My treat—but don’t expect anything fancy, though. I’m talking, like, we’re eating in the squad car.” When he seemed skeptical still, I clicked my tongue. “Plus, you said you didn’t get a chance to get a good look around Harlan. Now’s as good a time as any, right?”
Ace looked at me a moment, hesitating, apparently thinking hard about saying yes or no.
I shot him a grin and nodded. “C’mon, man. Grab your coat. We’ve got a saying here: before you work Harlan, you gotta at least see Harlan.”
Ace stood, swinging his coat off the back of his chair, eyes narrowed. “That’s a saying?”
“No, but….” I gave a helpless shrug. “I’m saying it now, so.”
We picked up sandwiches from one of the little mom-and-pop joints on the main strip and I did all the driving (and talking) while he sat mostly silent in the passenger seat. Even if he wasn’t saying much to me, he at least seemed to be taking note of all the things I pointed out: the different neighborhoods and where the lines of them fell, a few sites of interest for work, places we’d busted in the past, and plenty of spots he could stop by outside of work: all the high-end bars and little dives, and—
“That right there,” I said with a swing of the wheel, “is the Sit and Sip, owned by one of my very good friends, Mr. Gavin Joy, where you can sit and sip—it’s like a coffee shop mixed with a book shop, if that’s your cup of joe.”
“Hm.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye; his own were trained on the Sit and Sip as it rolled by his window.
“What about you?” I asked. “What’s your cup of joe?”
“Isn’t the expression cup of tea?”
“Tomato-tomahto.”
Ace’s lips pulled into a tight line. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know.” I waved a hand. “You into bars or are you more of a sit-in-a-coffee-shop kind of guy?”
I probably could have guessed, but I wanted him to talk to me.
“I guess I’m…more of a homebody.”
Ace shifted pointedly in his seat. A cold front swept over the squad car, more intense than I was used to. Normally it was just Eli who was the stubborn pain-in-the-ass in my life, but Ace was different. He was colder, and could definitely give Eli a decent run for his money.
There was a small part of me that was almost offended, because, damn, I was a charming guy and I knew it. Maybe it was cocky, but I had a longstanding record of making friends out of even the grumpiest of people, and here was Ace, a perfectly hot new coworker who seemed determined to ignore my charm!
I clicked my tongue and grinned at the street in front of us.
Like I said: almost offended.
I wasn’t gonna take it personally.
“What kind of music you like?” I tried, flipping on the radio.
“I’ll listen to whatever.”
I shot him a wry look and picked out my favorite station. I didn’t care if he loved it or hated it; I just wanted a response. He’d be a tough one, but I had a feeling Ace would crack eventually.
Ace Payne, I thought cheerily, a real pain in my ass.
“Well, well, well, do my eyes deceive me?”
The station was full of surprises today; when the office doors were pushed back, they opened up on Tyson Rowe—Eli’s fiancé and one-third of the people who I called my best friends. Just about half the office was crowded around a desk when Ty looked up and smiled that megawatt smile of his.
“Hey, Ryder,” he said, letting himself get pulled into a side hug.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, man. Where’s Eli been keeping you, huh?”
Ty’s smile turned a little crooked.
“Never mind,” I teased. “I don’t wanna know the details—”
“Shut up,” he said lightly. “I’ve been busy with these night classes.”
“Yeah, and planning a wedding.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Yeah, that, too.”
Ty was looking better these days. Healthy and happy—a far cry from when we found him almost two years ago, emaciated and bruised, collapsed on the side of the road with nowhere to go. Thinking of Ty then and seeing him now, it was li
ke two different people; like comparing a husk to a fully blooming flower.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “Almost forgot—Ty, this is Ace Payne. He’s Harlan’s newest boy in blue.”
Ty’s smile lit up his face as he held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Ace.”
“Likewise,” Ace said, seeming a little less tense for the moment. “Do you work here?”
“Me?” Ty chuckled. “No, no way. My stomach’s not strong enough for a job like this.”
Shockingly, Ace actually smiled, shy and handsome.
I grinned. If my charm couldn’t cut through someone’s shell, Ty’s easy kindness could usually melt it away.
“Don’t let him fool you,” I said to Ace. “He’s tougher than he looks.”
“Well, help yourself, both of you guys.” Ty gestured to a tin container on the desk, surrounded by several of our chatting detectives, including Eli, who looked particularly soft as he laughed at something, cupcake in hand. “I made enough for everyone, so.”
“You made these?” Ace asked.
I clapped my hands. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I plucked one out for me and one for Ace, who took it gingerly, glancing thoughtfully at the frosting.
“Yup.” Ty sighed wistfully. “Eli’s seemed real stressed lately, so… I thought I’d surprise him.”
“You’re too good for him, Ty,” and we both laughed at how untrue that was. It wasn’t that either was too good; it was that they were fucking perfect for each other.
As if he was tuned into Ty’s laughter, Eli joined us, and, while I was used to it after literal decades of pining, Ace’s face seemed to morph into one of confusion at how soft our notoriously stern lead detective looked.
“Thanks,” Eli said, keeping close to Ty. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
Eli cracked a grin. “You’re full of shit.”
“Maybe.” Ty reached up and brushed a chocolate crumb off of Eli’s cheek. “I gotta get going, though. I’ve blown Gavin off one too many times—I think he might start taking it personal.”
I wasn’t a voyeur by any means, but sitting back and getting to watch them be happy with each other filled me with the same kind of affection as being asked to be Eli’s best man did.
“Yeah,” Eli said, head bending just enough to meet Ty, who tipped his head upwards, the both of them meeting in the middle in a chaste and practiced kiss. It lingered a moment, and when they broke apart, they were smiling.
“See you at home, officer,” Ty said.
“Detective,” Eli corrected with a grin.
“Sappy, right—” I started, turning towards Ace with my own smile, only to feel it fall into my stomach at the look of total disgust that was smeared over Ace’s face.
Alarms were going off in every corner of my head, defenses raised, and, with a hand on his shoulder, I wheeled him quickly away from Ty and Eli, not wanting either of them to catch wind of whatever Ace was thinking. It wasn’t a mystery: we’d all seen that look at one point in our lives.
Perverted. Disgusting. Unnatural.
“Hey—” Ace started.
“Come with me,” I said, the both of us walking until we were out of the happy couple’s sight.
Ace pulled his arm away from me, disgust turning to anger, then confusion as I pushed him to the wall.
“What the hell’s your problem—”
“Look, if you’ve got a problem with gay people, then you came to the wrong town, okay? Because Harlan and this precinct are fucking loaded with them, myself included, so if that’s your issue, then you need to make a decision right now: either get with it or get out of here because that homophobia shit? Not gonna fly here.”
Okay, maybe I was raising my voice, but I was pissed.
Ace’s eyes were wide. He looked…terrified.
Something else was going off in my brain; a different kind of alarm that was like turning up a dimmer switch, illuminating something: we were close enough that I could feel his heavy breath on my cheek. I had him pinned. The fear in his eyes was diluted by something else and his pupils were dilated—before they flickered to my parted lips.
The internal struggle was suddenly plain as day.
Ace wasn’t a homophobe.
He was closeted.
Not just your regular level of closeted, either; he was deep enough to have his own adventures in fucking Narnia.
I’d always been out. I knew I liked boys from a young age—the fact that I used to pin up pictures of Uncle Jesse from Full House instead of Aunt Becky on my bedroom wall was probably indication enough—and it was never a secret. My mom knew because I came home one day in elementary school to tell her I wanted to marry my teacher because he made my pants feel tighter, and she understood, so there was never a time where I had to hide who I was.
This was something I remembered in Eli from high school, and I had stood by him then while he discovered his sexuality, but Ace was a totally different story. Eli didn’t fight it once he’d figured it out.
Feeling his gaze on my lips, I took a step back and sighed.
It looked like Ace wasn’t going to be that easy to crack, after all.
4
Ace
If I thought my first, eventful day at HPD was awkward, the rest of the week proved to be way, way worse.
Things between Ryder and I were tense and uncomfortable. He treaded lighter since our confrontation and I noticed, my stomach sick with the idea of being thought of as a homophobe. Would he tell the other detectives? Would they hate me for something that couldn’t be further from the truth?
I felt the words stuck where they’d been stuck in my throat my whole life:
I’m the same.
It wasn’t homophobia, I was just surprised. I’d never seen gay men express affection so openly and without consequence. No leering or yelling or looks of disgust—except from me.
It wasn’t helping our partnership either now that I knew that Ryder was gay, too.
Keeping my attraction to myself was easier when I could tell myself that he wasn’t an option; that he was straight and I shouldn’t even waste my time thinking about barking up that tree. But now it was a whole different ball game. Mr. Playboy was gay and I was spending every day in close proximity with him.
I’d always been attracted to men. Always. I was never able to act on it, though, thanks to my parents—Paul and Margaret Payne—who were extremely avid churchgoers with a very black-and-white list of all the wonderful things that would get you sent straight to hell. Being gay practically topped that list. My soul would be condemned to eternal hellfire, they’d tell me, if I ever strayed, so I got real good at hiding.
Those feelings and attractions were packed away and kept shut with a padlock not even the devil could get rid of.
Any space I could get from Ryder was like taking a big gulp of much-needed air. Being around him made me feel smothered, so the hours I had at my desk were a gift.
“Payne,” I heard.
When I poked my head up, I saw Captain Asher hovering in his office doorway.
“Sir?”
“Can I see you in here for a minute?”
With a curt nod, I followed his invitation, my heart nearly leaping out of my mouth when I pushed the door back and saw that Asher wasn’t alone in his office. Ryder was watching me, leaned too casually against the wall.
“Have a seat,” Asher said, standing behind his desk.
Feeling very small between these two—not to mention sheepish and nervous—my mind was already going crazy with ideas: I was here because Ryder had ratted me out to our lead detective. This was it. A week in and I was going to get the boot for something that wasn’t even true about me.
My stomach twisted itself into knots as I said, “Sir.”
I waited for the words You’re fired, but they never came.
“I’ve been talking with Detective Mueller and Detective Mack,” he said, “and I think the best place for you
on the team is sticking with him.”
I swallowed. “Oh.”
“Damn, don’t look too happy, rookie,” Ryder said, sitting down in the chair next to mine, arms crossing. “Or should I say partner?”
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t getting fired but this somehow seemed worse.
“Detectives Mueller and Mack were initially working a case—string of robberies that were happening in the more affluent neighborhoods around Harlan, and there was a minute where we thought we might have gotten him, but they’ve picked up again in the past year. Whoever he is, he’s slippery and his arrest is long overdue.”
“Should’ve seen it,” Ryder said. “Eli took a bullet from the guy.”
My eyes widened. “Really? The suspect’s armed and dangerous?”
“And desperate, it looks like,” Asher said. “He’s starting to hit targets more often again, so we need more men on the case. Detective Mack will still be handling it, but as lead, he’s got more to do at the precinct than the two of you, so I’m partnering you two until he’s apprehended.”
Captain Asher’s word was law.
I wasn’t in any position to tell him no, that wouldn’t work because I didn’t feel comfortable working with the guy I’d been trying very hard not to jerk off to every night when I got home feeling confused and frustrated.
I expected some sort of teasing from Ryder or an encouraging smile—maybe he’d try to bond with me again or something—but instead, Ryder didn’t seem wildly happy about it. In fact, he seemed just as put-off as me.
“Of course, Captain,” Ryder said, and it was easy to forget that even though he was goofy and a flirt, he was still a dutiful cop.
But the smile on his face didn’t reach the rest of him.
It looked forced.
I mirrored it, equally as fake, wishing for death.
On the way out, I was happy knowing I could go back to my desk and probably not socialize with anyone for the rest of the day, but Ryder had other plans.
“Meet me in the conference room,” he said, undoing his tie a bit as he made for his desk. “I’m gonna catch you up on the details of the case before you go home.”