Love Can't Conquer

by Kim Fielding

  “I guess so.”

  “I’m going with.”

  Jeremy had been facing forward, staring at the windshield, but now he turned to face Qay. “What? No! You don’t need to get all wrapped up in my shit.”

  “I’ve shown you the skeletons in my closet.” Not all of them, perhaps, but enough. “Something’s going on with you, and I want to hear about it. Unless you don’t want that cop to know about me.”

  Jeremy made a rude sound with his lips. “I was out long before I left the bureau, and who I’m dating is none of Frankl’s business anyway. Besides, I want people to know about you. You can be my trophy boyfriend.”

  A herd of tiny elephants galloped across Qay’s chest. “Boyfriend?” He’d never been that before. Not really.

  “Yeah, I know it sounds kind of lame at our age. But lover? That’s too… salacious. And we haven’t done more than kiss. Partner sounds like we’re in business or walking a beat together, significant other is awkward and long, sweetheart is something your granny calls you on Valentine’s Day, bae is out of the question, companion is your dog, beloved is from a Harlequin romance, paramour is—”

  “You’ve thought about this a lot,” Qay said, laughing.

  “It’s a serious question.”

  It was. “I can live with boyfriend, I guess.”

  “I can too.”

  “And your boyfriend is going with you when you talk to that cop.”

  Jeremy sighed loudly. “Fine. I’ll pick you up at eight forty-five. It doesn’t count as a date, though.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They were silent again. Qay didn’t want to get out of the car and return to his lonely, cat-piss-scented basement. But if he didn’t get his ass in gear, his resolve would erode and he’d end up rutting in the SUV like a teenager. “Our second date went well, I think.”

  “Me too.”

  “Pretty scenery. Partial nudity, but PG rated. A good meal.”

  “And no tantrums,” Jeremy added. Then he leaned over the console into Qay’s space.

  And Christ, Qay could only resist so far. He used both hands to pull Jeremy’s head closer so they could kiss. Maybe Jeremy tasted a little of elk—Qay didn’t know—but mostly his lips were sweet from the crème brûlée they’d shared, and his mouth was hot as a furnace, consuming until nothing remained of Qay but burning embers. Jeremy’s hands were hot too, even through Qay’s jacket and shirt, and his face was just a bit rough with late-night whiskers.

  Jeremy moved one huge palm from Qay’s back to his crotch. Qay would have been embarrassed by how quickly he’d grown hard, but then Jeremy whimpered—a needy little sound that made Qay shudder like he had the DTs. Jeremy broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against Qay’s. They were both panting.

  “I think we’ve earned an R rating,” Jeremy said hoarsely.

  “I’m… I’m going to go before we get to X.”

  Qay could feel Jeremy’s nod. “But I’m hoping we’ll get there soon anyway, when we both know we mean it. And I think it’ll be so, so worth it.”

  Qay thought so too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  QAY’S HEART lifted as soon as the familiar black SUV appeared on his street. He hadn’t expected Jeremy to bail on him—Captain Caffeine wouldn’t do something like that—but maybe he hadn’t believed in Jeremy 100 percent. But here it was, 8:50 on a Monday morning, and Jeremy had arrived. So had the rain, an impatient little patter that dripped from rooftops and danced up and down the sidewalk. Qay hurried over to Jeremy’s car.

  “Did you have sweet dreams?” Jeremy asked as Qay buckled up.

  “Want to know the truth? I jacked off like a fifteen-year-old.”

  Jeremy laughed so hard he nearly had to pull over. “Me too,” he said in between guffaws. “God, we’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  They were a pair. Huh.

  “Do you have to work today?” Qay asked.

  “Yeah. But I can be late. It’s a perk of being chief. You have another exam?”

  “Not until after Thanksgiving. I’m supposed to be working on a term paper right now, so I’ll need to get to school early.”

  “How come?”

  “No laptop.”

  “Ah.” They were at a red light, so Jeremy looked at him. “Must be hard to be a student without one.”

  “Eventually I’ll have to figure out how to swing one. If I don’t flunk out.”

  Jeremy blew a raspberry. “Right. Aren’t you the guy with the perfect test? You won’t flunk out.”

  Qay wanted to tell him that one good score did not a brilliant academic career make. Qay still had ample opportunity to choke. But he decided he’d only sound as if he were fishing for compliments or desperate for reassurance. Anyway, the computer issue was a serious one. His pay was enough to afford his apartment, bus fare, and the necessities of life, with, lately, an occasional restaurant dinner. A laptop was out of the question.

  The McDonald’s parking lot was almost empty. Jeremy pulled into a spot between a Prius and a primer gray muscle car and cut the engine. “Are you sure you want to subject yourself to this?”

  “Positive.”

  Over the years, Qay had spent a fair amount of time in fast-food restaurants. If you were quiet and relatively clean, usually no one cared if you sat there for a long time, nursing bitter coffee or a cup of Coke. The bathrooms were generally clean. And all fast-food joints had the same grease-and-sugar smell, the same plastic tables and chairs, the same noisy youngsters squealing over cheap toys.

  This particular McDonald’s was quiet. The kids working there looked bored, one of them wiping mindlessly at the stainless-steel counter while another refilled the straw dispensers. Three old men sat together near a window, arguing amicably in a foreign language, and a young guy with a lumberjack beard sat near them. He was reading a newspaper. An older woman shared a booth with a younger one who must have been her daughter, both of them looking tired and blank. Long night at work, maybe, or a long drive. Maybe a disaster in their lives. And at a table far from everyone else, a man in a sport coat watched Jeremy and Qay closely. Qay would have ID’d him as a cop from a mile away.

  Jeremy led Qay to the cop, who looked surprised. “Captain, this is Qay Hill. My boyfriend. Qay, Captain Frankl.”

  Frankl shook Qay’s hand and they exchanged some terse pleasantries. Qay would have been put off by the man’s close scrutiny—it felt as if he were psychically tapping into Qay’s entire rap sheet—but his head was still spinning from the use of the word boyfriend. Yes, he and Jeremy had discussed that magic word the night before, but it was one thing to joke about it in the privacy of the SUV and another to use it in public.

  He sat down as Jeremy took the chair next to him.

  “Are you sure—” Frankl began.

  But Jeremy interrupted. “He argued that if something’s up with me, he has the right to know. I think he’s right.”

  Although Frankl’s expression clearly showed his skepticism with this conclusion, he gave a weary shrug. “Suit yourself.”

  “How’s the kid?” Qay asked abruptly. They both stared at him. “The one who got beaten?”

  Frankl’s gaze shifted slightly, as if his opinion of Qay had just gone up two notches. “Not good. She’s just a baby. Docs say if she survives, she’ll have permanent brain damage.”

  Jeremy’s jaw was gritted so tightly, Qay could almost hear it creaking. Qay’s own fists clenched in his lap.

  “Is the DA going to nail the fucker?” Jeremy growled.

  “Probably. DA agreed to drop the drug charges so the perp would talk, but child endangerment is going to stick. The scumbag will plead it out, but he’s still facing hard time.”

  “Good.”

  Frankl nodded his agreement. “But in this case the scumbag’s been a stroke of good luck for us. Turns out he’s buddies with the man Donny crossed. Good enough buddies to know what the man’s been up to.”

  Jeremy relaxed and leaned back in his chair, as if
discussing this part was more comfortable for him. “Who is he?”

  “Guy named Ryan Davis. He’s not very bright, but his family has some money. He’s pretty high up in the food chain, but he dabbles—drugs, whores, gambling, ID theft. Wherever he can make a buck. Our perp doesn’t know exactly what Donny had going with Davis, but it wasn’t anything good.”

  “Figured that much.” Jeremy leaned forward, his eyes sharp and intent. He’d probably been a good policeman. Compassionate and not too quick to judge, yet also smart and focused. Qay had encountered a few officers like that during his drug years—cops who saw the human beings beneath the track marks.

  Frankl, on the other hand, looked as though he’d rather be doing something else. Golfing, maybe, or drinking beer and watching a game on TV. “What we do know,” he continued, “is that Donny stole something from Davis. Some kinda computer files that Davis doesn’t want anyone to see. Donny had ’em on a thumb drive, supposedly, and after he and Davis had a falling-out, Donny was trying to blackmail him.”

  “Shit,” Jeremy groaned, looking pained. He rubbed his forehead. “What a stupidass thing to do, Donny. God. So Davis was looking for this thumb drive at my place.”

  “Yeah. And our source says he didn’t find it. So you—”

  “Wait. If he wanted the thumb drive back, it seems like killing Donny’s not going to help matters. Not if Donny’s the only one who knew where it was.”

  “I told you he’s not exactly a rocket scientist,” Frankl said. He sipped his coffee and made a face. Qay considered buying coffees for Jeremy and himself, but he didn’t want to miss the conversation. Maybe when they were done at McDonald’s, he’d go to P-Town. He was looking forward to a reunion with Rhoda.

  “Our rat doesn’t know exactly what happened with Donny that night. He thinks Davis was supposed to meet him and give him some money, but Davis sent a couple of goons instead. Once they got there, maybe something spooked ’em. Maybe Donny had second thoughts and turned around to leave. Maybe the goons were just too damned stupid to follow instructions. In any case, they shot him. When they searched the body, they didn’t find the drive. From what we hear, Davis was not happy.” Frankl gave a death’s-head grin. “And I guess Davis figured out that Donny had paid you a visit and hoped maybe Donny left the thing with you.”

  Jeremy sighed and shook his head. “If he did, I don’t know anything about it.”

  “If he did, he hid it damned well, because Davis’s guys didn’t find it.”

  None of this was fair, Qay thought. Jeremy hadn’t done anything but be a stand-up guy, going way above and beyond for his fucked-up ex. He shouldn’t have gotten pulled into this mess. Jeremy deserved rainbows and unicorns and fireworks, not drug dealers and murders and burglary.

  “If you know so much, why isn’t Davis in jail?” Qay asked. He sounded hostile but couldn’t help it.

  “Because an informant’s tip isn’t enough,” Frankl answered, clearly irritated. “If we’re going to make a murder charge stick, we need more. And I’m confident we’ll get it. But while we’re working on it, we have to be careful not to tip Davis off. He already knows we have his pal in custody, and that’ll be making him jumpy.”

  That made some sense, but it sure as hell didn’t make Qay happy. He scowled at the guy with the lumberjack beard. He hoped one day beard styles would come back to haunt hipsters the way that mullets haunted some men Qay’s age.

  “So Davis is after me now?” Jeremy’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

  “We think so. You’re his best bet on finding that thumb drive.”

  Jeremy nodded and stroked his square chin. “I guess I am.”

  Qay’s head hurt, and he wanted to have a tantrum—to stand up and scream and kick things. He wanted to smash the stupid plastic chairs onto the tile floor, and he would have if he were younger and still using. After that, of course, Jeremy wouldn’t want him. But dammit, Qay was slowly cluing in that Jeremy might want him, which was a certifiable miracle. And now this bullshit with Davis was getting in the way.

  “I’ll meet you outside,” Qay said tightly. Without waiting for an answer, he fled the restaurant. Head bowed against the rain, he leaned on the SUV and tried to calm down. It wasn’t easy. His heart raced, his lungs felt too tight, and despite the cold air, he was sweating. It took all his self-control not to sprint out of the parking lot and up the street, running until he collapsed.

  “How can I help?” Jeremy’s voice was warm, and his hand was nicely heavy on Qay’s shoulder.

  Qay liked the question. Not What’s wrong? or Are you okay? but an offer of assistance.

  “Sorry,” Qay mumbled, not meeting Jeremy’s eyes.

  “Don’t be.” He clapped Qay’s shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Did Frankl—”

  “He told me everything I need to know. C’mon.”

  Qay felt like an idiot. He was the one who’d insisted on tagging along, and yet he ended up hyperventilating in the parking lot like a drama queen. Fortunately Jeremy’s presence had a calming influence, as if the gravitational pull of that big body was enough to counter Qay’s emotional tidal waves. And when they sat together inside the SUV for several minutes with the radio soft in the background, that was nice too.

  “Breakfast?” Jeremy eventually asked.

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “It can wait. It’s too wet for any park-related emergencies this morning.”

  They quickly agreed on P-Town. Qay sat back in the comfortable leather seat with his eyes closed and felt his frantic heart slow to a reasonable speed. The swish of the windshield wipers helped—back and forth, steady and even.

  When they got to Belmont Street, Jeremy found a spot close to the café. He didn’t get out of the SUV right away. “You good with being in public? If not, I can get us stuff to go and—”

  “I’m fine.” A firming of resolve. “I want to see Rhoda.”

  Rhoda greeted them both with a wide smile and added an enthusiastic hug for Qay. She smelled wonderful. Qay wondered why nobody sold eau de coffeehouse as a perfume. “I’m glad to see you boys worked things out,” she said. “Our Jeremy is pigheaded, but he’s not stupid.”

  Jeremy protested weakly while the three of them walked to the counter. Qay was a little disappointed that Ptolemy wasn’t working. Ptolemy was his favorite barista—interesting, funny, and whip smart. But the two kids on duty this morning were cute too. The boy had dimples, and the girl’s green hair was in pigtails. She poured coffee for Jeremy and Qay while her coworker heated some eggy things that Rhoda insisted weren’t quiches but sure looked like them to Qay.

  Rhoda joined them at a table. She tried to ask some serious questions about the Donny thing, but Jeremy derailed her, maybe for Qay’s benefit. “Have you decided what Qay should bring next week?” Jeremy asked her.

  It took a moment for Qay to understand what Jeremy was talking about, and then he was a little shocked—pleasantly so—that Jeremy had already discussed Thanksgiving with Rhoda.

  For her part, Rhoda looked pleased. “I’ve been thinking about that. What are you good at, Qay?”

  “You mean… cooking?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ramen. Which is about the most I can handle in my kitchenette anyway. But I can buy something to bring. I’d like to.”

  She looked thoughtful. Today she wore something vaguely steampunk in style, with watch-gear earrings and a magnifying-glass necklace. “How about if I put you in charge of entertainment?” she finally asked.

  “Um… what does that mean?” Because if he had to sing or put on some kind of show, they were all sunk.

  “Well, we don’t do movies because nobody can ever agree on what to watch, and the karaoke attempt of ought-nine was an unmitigated disaster. Generally we end up with some kind of game, although sometimes we do a craft project.”

  Jeremy nodded sagely. “Last year we etched designs on wineglasses. Mostly obscene designs. Mine got ruined
in the break-in.”

  Rhoda leaned over to pat his arm. “If you really want to, we can make more penises this year.”

  “That’s okay. I think Qay should be creative and come up with something new.”

  Qay shook his head. “I’m not sure I can outdo genital-themed stemware.”

  “I have faith in you, honey,” said Rhoda with a grin.

  After breakfast—the not-quiches were very good—Jeremy drove Qay home. Once again they paused in the idling SUV. Then Jeremy made a funny, hoarse sound. “How many dates do you think it takes before we can have sex? Not that this was a date. But I’m not up to saving myself for marriage.”

  “Little late for that, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I’m not eligible for a purity ring. But when you sleep with someone you care about for the first time, that’s almost like losing your virginity, don’t you think?”

  “Who did you lose it with?”

  Jeremy chuckled throatily. “Gary Baker.”

  Qay goggled. “Troy Baker’s little brother? But Troy Baker—”

  “Was a shithead. I know. He made my life miserable. But Gary was kind of sweet, actually. We were on the football team and—”

  “You played football?” It was a morning for surprises, apparently.

  “Qay, look at me. I grew eight inches during sophomore year and kept on growing after that. My parents just about went crazy trying to feed and clothe me. And since I somehow grew mass as well as height, Coach Williams decided he needed me for football instead of basketball. I wasn’t that great, but I was big.”

  Qay imagined Jeremy in a letterman jacket. Or better, in tight pants. “So Gary…?”

  “Was a year younger than me. And like I said, he was sweet. I was already fairly sure girls weren’t going to do it for me, so when Gary offered to go down on me in the locker room one day, I didn’t say no.”

  Locker room. Shit.

  “How about you?” Jeremy asked.

  And Qay had to answer because he’d raised the damn subject to begin with. “I was thirteen.”