Twisted and Tied

by Mary Calmes

  She turned, looking hard at me, as though taking my measure. “I think if you wanted to be, you’d make a wonderful father, because you know what it’s like not to have one, and so because of that, you would be the best one you know how to be.”

  “Or, because I have a few abandonment issues of my own, I might be really smothering and drive my kid away,” I advised honestly, feeling sorry for myself in that fleeting moment. It never stayed; I was too happy with my life, with the people I had in it. But still, I had missing pieces that came from not having a family when I was young and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt there was no one in the world who cared. That all changed in college when I met Aruna and the rest of my coven, and then with Ian.

  But I was already a bit too possessive of Ian and could only imagine what that would look like if focused on a child.

  “It’s different than you think it is, and besides, you parent already.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the boys.” She meant Cabot and Drake and Josue. “You nurture them constantly.”

  “That’s different,” I allowed with a shrug. “They’re all grown-up.”

  She snorted. “They are so not grown-up.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Her phone rang then, and as she pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans to check the caller ID, she scowled. “Okay, this is Catherine, but just think about it, all right? Either way you go—have a kid, don’t have a kid—it works.” She finished with a smile that told me I was adored before she answered quickly, hitting the speaker button. “Hey, Miro’s here too. What’s the word on our girl?”

  “She seemed fine when I was there,” Catherine said from the other end. “I stayed three days, and she was mad at first that I showed up because he called, but then she let it go and was happy to have me visit.”

  “I missed something,” I said. “What’re we talking about?”

  “Janet,” Aruna said on a sharp exhale. “Ned thinks she’s got postpartum depression happening and he called Catherine, so she flew there to check her out.”

  “As a doctor or her friend?” I asked.

  “Yeah, see, that’s what she said,” Catherine sighed. “So you know her, she was annoyed that I would jump on a plane without talking to her first and finding out if Ned was full of shit or not, but once I was there, visiting, she was good.”

  “And did she seem depressed to you?”

  “I have to say that the only thing I saw her depressed about was how Ned’s mother was hovering,” Catherine explained, and I heard the sharp edge to her tone. “And admittedly, the woman is a bit intrusive. She was holding Cody and was worried that he was dehydrated, and I assured her that he was not.”

  “Uh-oh, I can hear your claws coming out.”

  “Well, she was all ‘And are you a doctor?’”

  I chuckled, and Aruna nodded and smiled.

  “And I said, ‘Why, yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact, I just so happen to be.’”

  “Did you snarl or just speak?” I teased.

  “I fuckin’ snarled, are you kidding?”

  I knew she had. I didn’t have to be told.

  “Fuckin’ cow, how dare she suggest that Janet, who we all know has wanted to be a mother probably since she herself was born, would not be totally on top of that kid’s every need. It’s insane. I mean, Janet’s already made arrangements to start telecommuting so she can work from home once her maternity leave is over, for fuck’s sake.”

  I glanced at Aruna. “She swears a lot for a doctor.”

  “No shit,” Aruna agreed.

  “No shit,” Sajani repeated, which sent me into hysterics.

  “Was that Sajani?” Catherine asked, which made the whole thing even better.

  “Oh goddammit,” Aruna groaned, looking down at her toddler, who was clapping her hands, realizing she’d done something great.

  “That’s it, add to her vocabulary,” I laughed, lifting Sajani out of the stroller and putting her down beside me so she could walk the rest of the short distance to the bakery with her little hand on Chickie’s head.

  It was an adorable sight, the werewolf and the tiny little girl.

  “Well, anyway, I think Janet’s all right, but we should go visit again soon. It was good we went when Cody was born, but I feel like she’s a bit alone there. She doesn’t have girlfriends or boyfriends around, and she has more trouble than Miro does making friends and trusting people.”

  “Hey,” I groused.

  “And next time when I say all, I mean you too, Miroslav,” Catherine scolded.

  “What? Babies freak me out.”

  “I don’t care. How’re you going to take care of your baby when the time comes if you don’t start practicing now?”

  “Since when am I having a baby?”

  “Ohmygod, that’s so funny, I was just telling him that he’d make a great father,” Aruna told her, wincing as she heard Sajani say “shit” again.

  “It’s true, you would,” Catherine agreed. “You’re a natural caregiver. You’re way more maternal than me.”

  And it was that, my two friends telling me how I would be with a kid, and the job change earlier in the day, as well as what Maureen Prescott had said, that prompted the response to Ian.

  “Do you really think that’s the best use of me?”

  “Use of you?” He was confused; it was there in his scowl and the instant crossing of arms. Ian wasn’t aware of it, but whenever anyone questioned him, he went instantly into his battle stance, bracing, feet apart, shoulders squared, chin up.

  I shrugged. “I’m not a kick-the-door-down kinda guy, right? I’m more the ‘Can I come in so we can have coffee and talk?’ guy.”

  “Yeah, but what does that matter? You go where I go.”

  “Oh?”

  “Is that not right?”

  “Well, no, not necessarily.”

  His eyes widened.

  “No, not like that,” I said quickly, realizing with the amount of alcohol in my system, this was perhaps not the best time to talk about this. “I mean, we’ll always be together, just maybe not at work.”

  “The hell is that supposed to mean?” he yelled. “I quit being a soldier for you!”

  The accusation hurt, and I took a step back, but more than that, I was annoyed because I’d thought we were done with this. “No, you quit being a soldier for you.”

  “No,” he argued, and I could feel the temperature of his voice drop by several degrees. “I quit because of our partnership at home and at work, so no, you don’t get to say now that you don’t want to be with me.”

  “You quit to be home, and you quit because you knew you could still help people as a marshal, but those two things aren’t inseparable.”

  “What?” he asked irritably.

  “I’m your home, yes?”

  “I already told—”

  “And your job can be done with or without me as your partner.”

  “That’s not what I signed on for,” he asserted, glaring at me, the muscles in his cheek working. “And I told you this would fuckin’ happen.”

  “The hell are you talking about?”

  “You’re sick of me being around, and you wanna get rid of me. You miss your time alone, and you wish I was off in some desert somewhere.”

  The gasp was involuntary, it was like he’d hit me.

  He looked startled, like he just figured out what came out of his mouth. “Wait,” he began, moving forward, reaching for me.

  I deflected, brushing his hands away, and when he moved again, I backed up several more steps, needing the space. “Make no mistake,” I said, hearing the freeze in my voice. “I do not want you anywhere but home with me every night. But you want to be involved in the high-profile cases. You like going in first, with SOG, like SWAT. And you like to lead. I know that. I’m not asking you to change that about yourself.”

  “Then what the hell are you saying?”

  “That we don
’t have the same skill set, and you know it,” I replied, shivering in the cold March air now that I was out of the club.

  “The fuck are you doing?” he said, releasing a frustrated gust of air.

  “You’re being an ass,” I told him. “How dare you say something so stupid to me, and if you really believe that you quit being a soldier for anyone but you—”

  “Miro—”

  “And if you’re gonna blame me for not doing what you love, then you should go back to doing it, and we’ll figure something else—”

  “No,” he barked, rushing forward, taking my face in his hands, holding tighter when I tried to lift my head free. “I’m sorry, all right?”

  Only Ian made sorry sound like he was doing me a favor and why was I being such a dick at the same time. It was impatient and growly, and fuck me, but I found it utterly endearing. He was not, as a rule, in touch with his feelings. They wandered all over the place, and trying to get them all together so he could speak definitively about them was like herding cats.

  “Are you?” I gave him the out because the way he was touching my face felt really good, and something about the hold was rough and tender at the same time. I had no doubt Ian loved me fiercely and truly and with just a trace of scary possessiveness that was very hot.

  “You know I am,” he grumbled, letting me go, scowling. “I just want to be home with you, not off wherever.”

  “Okay,” I said, grinning. “Then think before you speak, jackass, because you sound a bit muffled when you talk out of your ass.”

  “I just—if I’m not your partner, who’s gonna watch out for you, and look what happened today just because I was across town!”

  He was getting worked up again, so I reached out and cupped his cheek, feeling the rough stubble under my hand, seeing the laugh lines around his eyes and dragging my thumb across his bottom lip. “Baby, it’s the job. Even when you’re right there, I can still get hurt, yeah?”

  His growl as I dropped my hand was adorable, and the urge to kiss him in the middle of the sidewalk became almost unbearable.

  He closed his eyes a moment, raking his fingers through thick hair that had grown out quite a bit in the last few months. Normally for the Army he kept almost a buzz cut, but now it was longer, still high and tight on the sides, but longer on top so there was more texture and more to pull. My own hair never went back to its former pomp after I let it grow out during Ian’s last deployment. So now it fell below my ears in a tousled, layered mess I was honestly surprised Kage had not insisted I cut yet. Either he didn’t notice or didn’t care, but either was fine with me. Watching Ian tug at his, though, made me think about bed.

  “Ian,” I began, sounding breathy, needy, my voice almost a rasp. “Can we talk about the rest of this tomorrow?”

  “Miro—”

  “In the morning,” I pleaded, looking him up and down, hearing my exhale, feeling the tremor run through me.

  He glared at me. “I’m not going to—”

  “I drank a lot.”

  “So what? You can handle your liquor better than most people I know.”

  “Aww, that’s nice,” I placated, stepping in close and kissing the side of his neck, ending with a bite before stepping back. “But I want to get in bed with you now, and my brain is pretty much completely occupied with that.”

  He coughed softly. “So you’re asking me to table our discussion about life here so we can go home and have sex.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  He ran his eyes over me from head to toe. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

  It was nice he had it just as bad as me.

  Chapter 5

  AS SOON as we walked through our front door, after I turned off the alarm and hung up my coat, I took off my ankle holster and my gun and passed them to Ian. He ran our Glocks and his SIG Sauer P228 upstairs—the Glocks to the safe, the weapon into the top drawer of his nightstand. Until Craig Hartley was apprehended, I couldn’t imagine Ian not being able to roll over and be armed. Also, as a soldier, whether he was on active duty or not, being prepared had been drilled into him. Being anything less than ready was simply not an option.

  I checked my text messages, thanked Aruna for keeping Chickie Baby, our werewolf, for the night, and saw I had one from Kage that told me and Ian to report to his office the following morning. I turned to yell for Ian, but when I did, I found him frozen under the arch that led from the kitchen to the living room. It was new, Ian having made the slight home improvement himself. Now that he was no longer constantly deployed, he had a lot more time to devote to fixing up our Greystone.

  “You all right?” I asked. He was frozen in place, and his color was strange, off, a bit pale, waxen, like he was sick.

  “Jesus, Miro,” he said, sounding strangled, like he’d swallowed down a sob. “Your face.”

  It took me a second, but my mind jumped to where he was. Under the club lights and in the darkened street, apparently the stiches and bruises appeared bad, just not like they did in our kitchen. At home where I was sitting on the counter, Ian walked into the room and nearly puked.

  “We both know you’ve seen a lot worse than me at this moment,” I said, laying my phone on the counter, my entire focus on Ian.

  No sound, just him wincing as I saw the weight of guilt pressing down on him.

  “I’m fine. You can see I am,” I threw out, trying another tactic.

  The stricken expression on those gorgeous chiseled features of his didn’t change.

  Shit. “Oh, come on. I’ve been drinking all night. It doesn’t even hurt,” I said, giving him a game smile, trying my damnedest to lighten the mood.

  It wasn’t working. It was there on his face how twisted up he was inside.

  “I swear I’m fine,” I said, my voice gravelly as I opened my arms to him, seeing clearly the fear flickering there behind his eyes. “C’mere.”

  He rushed to my side and stepped between my dangling legs, wrapping his strong arms around me before crushing me to his chest.

  “It’s okay,” I soothed as he buried his face in the curve of my neck and shoulder, inhaling as he shivered.

  “It was just bad timing,” I explained. “You—”

  “I wasn’t there,” he whispered, and I could hear that he was ashamed and miserable and sad, and none of that was conducive to me getting laid.

  “Hey.”

  He lifted his head to meet my gaze.

  “You know what would make me feel better?”

  “A warm bath?” he offered, the sadness still all over his face.

  “No, stupid, you,” I said, smirking.

  The scowl I got made me laugh. Clearly I was not amusing. But the moan I got when I bent and kissed him, full of aching need, let me know how he really felt. Cheesy or not, acting like a doofus or not, he wanted me.

  Pressing my advantage, I slid off the counter onto my feet, hands on his belt as I began walking him backward toward the stairs.

  “Couch,” he whimpered, taking a step that way.

  “Shower,” I countered, spinning him around and steering him toward the steps. “I’m all sweaty and gross, and you came home and changed but didn’t shower, I’m guessing.”

  He grunted.

  “Yeah, so, let’s go get clean, Doyle.”

  Most nights, the loft—the half floor with our bed, master bathroom, and closet—was not an ordeal to get to, but at the moment, Ian didn’t seem like he was in the waiting frame of mind.

  “Now,” I ordered, my tone rough and low.

  He moved fast, checking to make sure I was following before he started up.

  I was right behind him, admiring the way his pants clung to his tight, round ass, and reached out to take hold of him.

  He stopped, gripping the railing on the left, and I moved up behind him on the same step, my chest sliding up his back before I kissed the side of his neck.

  “I—you,” he began breathily with almost a whimper, “didn’t want that guy at the club, did you?�
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  Amazing when everything gelled into place and you had the aha moment that explained what was going on.

  I got hurt, then Eli sent Ian pictures of me having a great time all night, getting wasted, dancing with strangers, and then when he finally got to me there, I was holding off a guy in the hallway outside the bathroom. From his perspective, I had instilled some questions. And not that he truly believed something so ridiculous, but he was human, after all.

  I slipped my arm around his chest, clutching him tight, and he let his head fall back, surrendering. “You know better than that,” I said, dipping my head and taking a gentle bite of the skin between his neck and shoulder.

  He jolted as I sucked and licked, moving slowly, insidiously, up behind his ear and letting my warm breath touch everything I had just made wet.

  I smiled against his skin, pressing another kiss there before turning his face to me so I could take his mouth.

  A whine slid out of his throat as I rubbed my tongue over his, opening him up, making him mine as he turned in my arms to face me, never breaking the kiss, wrapping his arms around my neck, ensuring I couldn’t get away.

  Ian used to tell me, when we were just friends, that he was often told he was a terrible kisser. I never knew that to be the case. Every one of Ian’s kisses had the same drugging, mind-numbing effect on me as the first one, and I didn’t see that ever changing.

  Rucking up the henley, I got my hands underneath, mapped skin and muscle, and was ready to put him facedown on the stairs as he broke the kiss to gulp some air.

  “I guess you have to breathe, huh?”

  He nodded and kissed me again, but I made it quick, leaning free seconds later.

  “No, come—what’re you doing?” he husked.

  “Shower now,” I commanded, manhandling him, uncoiling his arms, spinning him around and shoving him forward up the stairs.

  “I’m going,” he muttered, flopping on the bed to loosen the laces on his boots just enough to get them off before standing to work on his jeans.

  Watching Ian get naked was always a treat—miles of battle-scarred olive skin stretched over powerful carved muscle, his long and cut gorgeous cock, the heavy balls, and his perfect ass—him walking away always pulled a groan from my gut.