Cause and Effect
Page 15
“Danny’ll be back tomorrow,” Kay says, and a smile curls the corners of her mouth. “You can punch him for sucking at relaying information back, I promise I’ll deny seeing anything.”
Cohen can’t hold back the snort of laughter, and Kay’s smile gets wider. She slides off the table and pats him on the shoulder on her way to the door. “You did good, rookie,” she says and disappears into the bullpen.
Still shaking off the indignity, Cohen barely hears the first call of his name. The second is louder, and closer to him. Kay’s head and shoulders appear around the door. “Someone’s here to see you, Officer Bailey,” she says, and one eyebrow lifts as she smirks. “Requested whoever is dealing with the Bartlett case.”
It takes a second for Cohen to realize that that’s him. With Daniel still in Albany and Rhys off-shift today, anyway. He shoots to his feet, the chair spinning away from him in a slow, wobbly arc. Kay rolls her eyes and jerks her head toward the bullpen before disappearing again.
Cohen makes it to the doorway at the same time as a tall redheaded man in an ash-gray suit. His eyes are clear and vaguely gray too, and Cohen clears his throat, tugging at the bottom of his uniform shirt before squaring his shoulders. “Cohen Bailey,” he says and reaches out. “How can I help you?”
“Brock Hart, Assistant United States Attorney,” the man says, and he ignores Cohen’s outstretched hand to point into the conference room. “I’d like to know everything you know about Jake Bartlett.”
Epilogue
Peter hadn’t lied when he told Daniel that he’s never been out of the city. He catches glimpses of towers of green out of the windows as they head north on the Thruway, like the skyscrapers but alive and without the smog. They’re in a rental SUV with four other people that Peter only knows tangentially and who, logically, all belong in the car. Derek’s sister and brother-in-law, and James’s son and his girlfriend. Ben—Peter thinks that’s his name anyway—had been driving it when it picked them up, and Daniel had looked like he wanted to fight for the driver’s seat. He knew Lara slightly better than the rest of them, and her glare had made him want to shrink even from half-behind Daniel.
Daniel had backed down, and Peter had dragged him toward the middle row of the SUV. Sam and Lydia were huddled in the very back together. Lydia had Sam’s head cradled against her chest, her fingers carding through his short hair, and a thunderous expression on her face. Daniel had reached over the back of the seat and ruffled Sam’s hair over Lydia’s hand, saying something too low for Peter to hear. One of Sam’s hands had darted out and grabbed onto Daniel’s, white-knuckled, for a few seconds as he mumbled something back.
When Daniel had settled into the seat, both of them occupying half of the middle to stay pressed against each other, he’d been slightly less rigid against Peter’s side. Peter thanked the universe that the seatbelts accommodated the position and settled in for one of the most somber car rides of his entire life. Daniel’s hand stays warm and steady and slightly sweaty in his, and watching the cars and trees whip by is a decent distraction from the fact that Daniel still smells faintly of gas and smoke. Lara’s phone rings maybe an hour into the journey, and Peter doesn’t even pretend not to listen as she talks to her parents. Daniel leans against him
Peter’s considering asking for a bathroom break when they start to hover around the two-and-a-half-hour point. He knows they’re almost in Albany itself but has no idea past that.
“Exit twenty-three,” Lara says suddenly, still sitting ramrod straight in the passenger seat. Peter doesn’t think he’s seen her even slump the entire drive. “We need Southern Boulevard onto McCarty. Mom said we have to cut straight through Hoffman Park.”
“I know where I’m going,” Ben says. His shoulders have been as rigid as Lara’s throughout the drive. “I lived here when we met, Lara.”
Lara slumps, just barely, at those words. Daniel moves at Peter’s side, the motion making their shirts ride up and pressing bare skin together. “I don’t think you should be telling anyone where to go,” Daniel says while Peter tugs his own shirt down, willing away the heat in his cheeks. “I’m sure Ben remembers Atlantic City as well as I do.”
“That was nearly a decade ago, Danny, are you sure you want to get into this with me with your boyfriend in the car?” Lara says without turning around.
Ben snorts. “Seven years ago, actually.”
Daniel leans into Peter with a satisfied sound. “I wasn’t the one who ended up blacklisted from a casino, two bars, and a 7-Eleven, so go right ahead.”
“I need to hear about this now,” Sam croaks from the back seat. His voice is rough and wobbly but the amusement in it sounds genuine. “How do you even get blacklisted from a 7-Eleven?”
The laughter goes on for longer than the story probably deserves, Peter will admit, and by the time they pull into a parking space at Albany Medical Center, he genuinely needs to find a bathroom urgently. A uniformed officer meets them at the doors, Daniel shaking his hand firmly, and they follow him through a maze of corridors until he leaves them in a small waiting room. A couple is already in the room, and Lara wraps herself around them with a strangled sound. “James is out of surgery,” the man says, beckoning to Sam and Lydia, who approach him with wary faces. “Bad leg break, but he came through well. They said they’d come back when he starts coming around.”
“Derek?” Daniel asks, his hand shaking as he reaches back toward Peter blindly. Peter grabs it and squeezes tightly.
The man, Derek’s father Peter thinks, looks up. Calling the expression on his face a smile is generous, but not a lie. “Danny. He’s still under sedation,” he says. “Got another good knock to the head so they want to be careful. Better than it could have been, though.”
Daniel’s fingers tighten around Peter’s as he nods. “Good news!” Peter blurts out as the worry eases, right as the pressure in his bladder reaches critical levels. “I’m just—I’ll leave you all alone for a couple of minutes, okay?” He yanks his hand out of Daniel’s and scrambles for the door, feeling all the confused gazes on him.
There’s a bathroom a hundred yards down the corridor, and Peter sprints toward the sign. He doesn’t even look behind him as he hears the clatter of footsteps, swinging wide around the first doorway and already undoing the fly on his jeans as he wrenches the next door open. The urinal is blessedly empty. The relief is almost instantaneous, and he can’t even muster up embarrassment at the sound he makes or bring himself to look up when he hears the door open again.
“Have you been holding that since we left New York?” Daniel asks from somewhere behind Peter. His voice is soft and fond, obviously amused. “You really do make the most interesting first impressions.”
“Don’t ruin this for me,” Peter says, tipping his head back with a sigh. “I thought I was going to wet myself, but I couldn’t make everyone stop to find a bathroom.”
Daniel laughs, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. “Of course not,” he agrees, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “Are you done? Wash your hands so we can leave and I can kiss you somewhere more sanitary.”
“So demanding,” Peter says, shaking his head as he does his jeans back up and goes for the hand basins. “I’m glad it seems to be good news, right?”
“Not bad news is probably more accurate.” Daniel’s breath comes out in a rush and his voice picks up speed. “I don’t think Sam’s going to feel better until he gets to see his dad for himself, and Derek—I just—”
Peter doesn’t bother drying his hands when Daniel’s voice cracks, whirling around and crossing the room until he can wrap the other man in a tight hug. “He’s going to be fine,” he says, bringing a hand up to the back of Daniel’s neck and squeezing. “You can apologize while he’s still groggy so neither of you can actually confirm it happened, and he can apologize with his eyebrows so there’s no words involved, and everything will go back to normal.”
Daniel barks out a surprised laugh, the sound vibrating against Peter’s s
houlder where his face is pressed. “You’ve sure picked us,” he says after a moment, picking his head up.
Peter ignores the slight sheen over his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees, squeezing once more and then dropping his hands to dry the last drops of water against his jeans. “That totally wasn’t pee, I promise. Let’s go back and see if I can erase that horrible first impression.”
Daniel laughs again, echoing, and takes Peter’s hand. “You’ll grow on them, I’m sure,” he says and opens the door. “You grew on me, after all.”
Acknowledgments
This goes out to Morgan, my astrological twin and forever bulls of a feather. It never would have been finished without Anita, who whipped me into shape whenever I wavered, or without Angelique and Meg and Kiyle, who inspired me every day with their dedication and passion. As always, my undying gratitude to Susan, for her special brand of spit and polish.
About the Author
Brooke Edwards is an Australian LGBTQ+ author and dreamer, slowly working her way through the stories that keep demanding (loudly) to be told. She’s hopelessly obsessed with procedural law enforcement shows, flawed humans being and coffee – not necessarily in that order. Brooke’s first books were released through Dreamspinner Press in 2015/2016, and she also began self-publishing in 2017. Her self-published works are exclusive to Amazon.
Author contact:
www.brookeedwardsauthor.com
www.brookeedwards.blog
Other books by Brooke Edwards are available at her Amazon page.