“I’m so sorry, Loren. I tried—”
“It’s not your fault, El,” Loren exclaimed. “It’s not your fault.” But was it his? Had he missed something important that he should have noticed, having been so distracted with this fucking case? Loren bit back the sudden urge to sob from the guilt that surged through him, and when he spoke, his voice was shaky. “All we can do is see it through, baby. You’re not alone. I’m here.”
He curled around Eliot protectively, as if he could ward off the approaching storm with sheer force of will.
“Maybe it won’t be too bad this time,” Eliot whispered. “I’ve been doing everything right, Loren. I promise.” The faint note of pleading in his voice broke Loren’s heart. Did Eliot really think he would blame
him
?
“I know you have. You’re amazing,” Loren murmured, rubbing his hand up and down Eliot’s back. “Simply amazing. And we’ll deal with whatever happens together. I’m here.”
They sat for a long time like that, entwined, Loren whispering words of love and reassurance in Eliot’s ear, taking comfort himself in Eliot’s warmth and quiet breathing.
“HEADED HOME!”
“See you tomorrow, man.”
The squad room was a hive of subdued activity as the group of exhausted men and women packed their shit up and took off for a well-deserved evening at home. They’d been working almost nonstop for a couple of weeks now, and everything was just about in place, their timeline having been seriously derailed by Marshall’s injury last month. Informants were reporting in, surveillance intel was pooled together and analyzed, and finally the task force was just about ready to move on Cholito.
Loren had met the man who would play the undercover lawyer, a detective from Tucson named Joe Galaz. He’d never been on the job in Phoenix, so there was little to no chance his face would be known to Cholito’s crew. Informants had been busy planting a story of cocaine abuse, shady dealings, disbarment, and censure, an amoral man who would do anything for some ready cash to feed his habit. Cholito expressed an interest in a sit-down with “Jose” in the near future, and Loren would have to hit the lawyer prep even harder to get ready for the meet.
Trudging out to the parking lot, waving a weary good-bye to his colleagues, he got in his truck and headed home, the delicious smell of food greeting him as he pulled into the garage. He cautiously opened the door to the house and poked his head in, surprised to find lights blazing and some sultry music blaring. When he entered the kitchen, he stopped short. Every spare inch of the island was covered in food, and Eliot was in jeans and T-shirt, barefoot, stirring yet something else that was simmering in a pot on the stove, his body moving to the beat.
He turned and caught sight of Loren, dancing toward him, twining around him like Loren was a stripper pole. Loren gasped when Eliot bit down on the lobe of his ear, then soothed it with his tongue.
“Welcome home, darling,” Eliot purred, wrapping his arms around Loren’s neck and undulating against him. Loren put his hands on Eliot’s hips, his body reacting helplessly to the stimuli of their groins rubbing together and Eliot’s hot mouth on his throat.
“You need to eat, and then you need to fuck me,” Eliot said hoarsely. “Or eat me and then dinner. Would you like that? My ass for an appetizer?” Loren gulped, and Eliot smirked and pulled away, whispering, “Go wash your hands and then come eat.”
Eliot had been cooking for hours, apparently, and there were hors d’oeuvres and desserts, plus whatever was currently in the oven and on the stove. Cookbooks were scattered everywhere, and a lot of the dishes looked elaborate and difficult. As he went to the bedroom to wash up, his cell phone rang; it was Dr. Babcock.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Still mostly the same,” Loren replied, trying to hold his phone between his shoulder and ear as he shucked his trousers. “He hasn’t been escalating, as far as I can tell; it’s kind of holding at the hypomania. He’s pretty happy, sometimes agitated, but it doesn’t seem like a mixed state.”
“May I speak with him?”
Loren padded back out to the kitchen in his underwear, handing the phone to Eliot and mouthing, “Dr. Babcock.”
Eliot grabbed the phone and yelled, “Dr. B.!”
Loren listened to the one-sided conversation, leaning against the counter while he sipped some water. Eventually Eliot flitted back over and thrust the phone at him, turning back to the stove.
“Well, he’s pretty elevated, Loren,” Dr. Babcock said. “I’d like to increase his mood stabilizer a bit, and add in a couple of over-the-counter supplements that are known to have mood stabilizing properties. They won’t adversely interact with his existing meds, and I’ve seen some benefit in other patients of mine. It can’t hurt.”
Loren grabbed a pad and pen and wrote down “fish oil” and “vitamin B complex.”
“Let’s try that, and if there’s any change either way, give me a call.”
Loren blew out a breath. “Okay, thanks. Are you
sure
it’s okay to be leaving him to go to work?”
“You have a network of people checking in on him like I advised, don’t you?”
Loren thought of Rebecca and Donovan. At Dr. Babcock’s recommendation, Loren asked them both to make it a point to call Eliot in the morning and afternoon, and in the evening if Loren was going to be late getting home. Eliot had promised to answer his phone, and so far he hadn’t missed a call. Things were in a holding pattern, plain and simple.
“Yes.”
“And he’s not anywhere close to needing hospitalization. I know it’s hard to believe, but this is a fairly mild episode, Loren. His meds are supporting him, and like I said, sometimes he’s going to cycle even while taking them the way he’s supposed to.”
“I think we’re handling it,” Loren said, and it was true. Loren had panicked at first, rushing Eliot in to Desert Grove, getting a little belligerent when the staff wouldn’t admit him without an assessment. The in-house psychiatrist had come in and spent quite a bit of time with Eliot, then said he thought it was okay to take him home.
Loren demanded Dr. Babcock see him, and she arrived as soon as she could, in the end concurring with the other doctor’s opinion.
“He’s functional, Loren, and lucid,” she’d said gently. “He’s being compliant. This is his reality, and yours if you want to be in his life. What we want to avoid are the manic breaks, and so far so good.”
Loren had taken Eliot home, set up the support network, and life cautiously went on. He hated to admit it, and he never would say it aloud to another soul, but hypomanic Eliot was a heck of a lot of fun to be around. He was happy and energetic, funny and creative, and the sex was—well, it was raw, hot, inventive. Just as Loren completed that thought, Eliot was in front of him again, dropping to his knees. He pulled down the front of Loren’s underwear and nuzzled against him.
Loren gasped and sagged back against the counter, looking down at the carnal glint in Eliot’s eyes.
“Mmm. I think dinner is served,” Eliot murmured, and every vestige of rational thought fled as Eliot put his rough, wet, oh-so-
wicked
tongue to work.
“WE’RE WAITING
on
you
, Smith.”
Loren turned and looked at Levi, holding up one finger. He huffed in frustration when he got Eliot’s voice mail again, and he muttered after the beep, “It’s me. Text me, El.”
He hung up and headed back to his seat at the conference table. Despite Levi’s admonition, nobody was ready to start yet. Most people were still up refreshing their coffees or taking a smoke break.
“Sorry,” he muttered anyway, grabbing a bottle of water from a nearby credenza and flopping down into his seat. “Just checking on my roommate.”
“What’s the deal with the roomie?” Levi grunted. “Why you gotta call him so much?”
Loren swallowed and tried to shrug nonchalantly. “He’s going through some stuff, boss. Just trying to be there for him, that’s all.”
“Well, he can go cry on his girlfriend’s shoulder, or his mama’s, or a stranger on the street’s, but I need your head in the game. As long as he pays his share of the fucking rent, what do you care?”
Levi turned away, dismissing him. Loren clenched his hand into a fist under the table. God, he wished he’d come out on his first day of work like he’d meant to. Whatever furor that would have caused would surely be over by now, and all this time he could have been working on meshing his life with Eliot and his professional life together. He’d be able to worry about and check up on his boyfriend, not his “roommate.” He wouldn’t have to fucking explain himself.
Instead it was just like Oregon all over again, hiding who he was, pretending to be someone he wasn’t—living a fucking lie. No, it was worse than Oregon, worse since he’d dragged someone he was in love with into his lie. Eliot hadn’t asked for this; he hadn’t asked for any of it. Loren hated himself for his cowardice.
Eliot. The last few days, Loren had been eaten up with worry for him. He came home the other night and met Eliot trudging his way toward the house from the bus stop, and he was as subdued as Loren had ever seen him, uncommunicative and morose.
A quick call to Dr. Babcock: “He’s swinging between those poles, Loren. Ups and downs. Same thing as with the mania, we’ll keep an eye on the depression and address it if it gets worse. Keep me posted.”
Loren knew something would have to change. This job was going to suck the life out of both of them. Besides the pressure of living a lie, Loren wasn’t there for Eliot like he wanted to be, like he’d planned to be. He didn’t know how much longer Eliot would put up with this, and after this case was over, there was going to be some soul searching, some reorganizing of dreams. They both deserved more, and no job on earth was worth losing Eliot over.
The meeting was interminable, but finally they were all dismissed to go home. Loren headed out to his truck, his steps weary. Thankfully about halfway through the meeting there was a curt
I’m fine
text from Eliot to ease his worry, but Loren was having trouble thinking about anything else except being with him, holding him.
The traffic was stop and go, typical rush-hour shit, but the long drive gave Loren time to start thinking over some of his options. He’d have to discuss it all with Eliot, of course, but there had to be jobs out there that would allow him to serve the public but have more set hours, more nine-to-five. He just needed to see this fucking case through and then things were going to change.
Loren pulled up into the garage at last with another weary sigh. He found Eliot out on the back patio, sprawled on the porch swing, rocking it gently back and forth with one foot planted on the ground and one crooked along the padded back.
Loren pulled up a chair close to him before reaching out to brush Eliot’s hair off his forehead.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Eliot shrugged. “Yeah. I told you, I’m fine.”
“Want me to take you over to the park to see Sam? It’s been a few days since you’ve been. Or I thought maybe we could go get some stuff from your old apartment. Your mom said the lease is up next month, so if we go over there and move things over little by little, we won’t have as much to do later on.” Eliot didn’t say anything, and Loren said coaxingly, “C’mon, baby, we’ll go to dinner. Talk. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.”
“Like what?” Eliot’s head swiveled toward him in some alarm.
Just then Loren’s phone vibrated in his hand, and he mouthed at Eliot, “Just a minute,” before answering tersely. “Smith.”
“Smitty! Ginny was found DOA in an alley off Van Buren about an hour ago.”
Loren caught his breath. “Jesus. How was she killed?”
He listened as Levi told him it appeared she’d been beaten to death, and there were already rumors circulating on the street she’d been caught trying to help some of Cholito’s captive girls escape.
Loren scrubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, boss, I’ll meet you at the scene. You clear it with homicide?”
“Yeah, I filled them in briefly, told them we’d had contact with her not too long ago. They said head on over. This case has just become a clusterfuck of epic proportions, man. See you in a few.”
Loren hung up and dropped his head into his hands. Clusterfuck indeed. There were now potential murder charges to be added on, and homicide detectives to be brought in and up to speed. The feds would now get fully involved, not just provide peripheral support. The dynamic would change, and tension would be running even higher. Loren could see his future: Cases growing tentacles and spinning off into endless tangents.
Eliot was still watching him with anxious eyes, and Loren knelt next to the swing.
“I’ve got to go back in, Eliot, I’m sorry. I’ll—”
“To a murder scene?” Eliot’s voice was tense, a little high-pitched.
Loren nodded. “Yes. Someone we talked to a while back was just found beaten to death in an alley. I’ve got to go get in on this, help bring homicide up to speed, see how this is going to affect our case. It’s not going to be pretty. Jesus.” He pushed wearily to his feet. “I’ll take a rain check on dinner, babe.”
He headed back into the house, Eliot on his heels. Loren snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged half of it before grabbing up his keys.
“I’ll check on you same as usual, or your mom and Donovan will. Oh, and hey, the keys to your old apartment are in this drawer.” He waved at their designated junk drawer. “Maybe you could head over and go through some stuff, get rid of things you don’t want to bring over here.” He pulled Eliot to him and kissed him, murmuring against his lips, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Then we’ll talk.”
It was hard to let him go, even harder when Eliot clung to him briefly before stepping back, his face drawn, tense. Loren reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down Eliot’s cheek, then reluctantly turned around and left.
ELIOT STOOD
in the middle of the kitchen with his fists clenched, listening to the garage door rumble down. The silence was deafening, and he finally forced himself to head into the living room.