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“Uncle Woody doesn’t either.”
His heart thumped. It felt like his head might explode. She couldn’t possibly know the truth. Could she?
“I’m in preschool. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t. That’s great.” Mack felt more comfortable with this line of conversation. “What have you learned so far?”
“Oh, I already knew lots of things. My mommy and grandpa taught me stuff before I started school.”
“Can you count to ten?”
“Oh, way higher. Do you want to hear it?” Woody interrupted, “Now, Evie, don’t brag about your accomplishments, even though they’re good ones.” Mack glanced up at Woody, whose lips curved up proudly. His smiling features were familiar at the station, but not so much when they were in bed. He realized he liked looking at a happy Woody.
“Evie, I’d love to hear you count. As far as you know how to.” He nodded at the little girl and threw a smirk at her uncle.
But Evie was called into the kitchen to help. She scrambled off the couch. “Here, Mack, you can hold Stephanie till I get back. Okay?” Handing him the grown-up-looking doll, she looked like she was offering him a million bucks.
“Sure thing, honey.” Gingerly holding his prize, his smirk turned to chagrin when he and Woody exchanged glances.
“You look very natural holding that doll.” Mack’s eyes narrowed in warning.
Molly joined the two men. “She likes you, or she wouldn’t have entrusted Stephanie to you.”
“That’s nice.” He smiled with true amusement. “I guess.”
“It is nice. I’ve never brought a friend here before. She’s not used to more than just the three of us.” Woody’s voice faded off.
“I really meant it. She’s a sweet kid.” And Mack surprised himself, realizing how comfortable he felt here. He was determined to 96
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banish the painful memories. His childhood was history. Old history.
But he’d never had a holiday dinner like this.
Charles’s voice filtered through the kitchen door. “Dinner in five minutes. Get cleaned up, guys!”
Molly burst out laughing, and Woody joined her. “Like we’re still ten years old and have been outside playing in the yard.” He lifted his hands, turning them over to look for dirt. “Mack, your hands clean?” Mack looked at his, too, then met Woody’s gaze, a gaze suddenly full of hunger—for more than turkey.
“Well, I’m washing mine,” Molly said.
He heard Molly’s stifled chuckle and responded to Woody with a lift of his lips. Charmed by this family, all he could do was stand up and go in to dinner. This home was a good place to be. He envied Woody, but it wasn’t a place he’d ever fit.
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Chapter Twelve
Woody could hardly stand it. He struggled to hide the big fat heart on his sleeve. Mack had looked amazing sitting there cuddling Evie and her doll. He tried to envision what his family must look like to an outsider. As kids, he and Molly had fought just like any siblings, but they had nothing to argue about anymore. And he loved Evie more than he’d ever thought possible. Mack watched them interact as if he was at a play where he wasn’t sure of the lines. He’d never said anything good about his mother, and with no brothers or sisters, his childhood must have been desolate.
At times, Mack looked so uncomfortable. Woody wished he could just hug him. There it was—his need to fix someone. To make him happy. It was so simple and so dangerous. Especially if the other person didn’t want to be made happy. But he looked like he wanted to enjoy Woody’s family, plus he had Kiki. So maybe there was hope for Mack Penchant after all.
He motioned to Mack, and they headed to the dining room together. “Samantha made the turkey, but my dad makes the best dressing ever. You’re in for a treat.” Mack gave him a sweet smile that shot his heart to his throat. It’s just Thanksgiving dinner. Don’t get your hopes up that he’ll turn into the man you’d like him to be. With that warning to himself, Woody directed Mack to the chair to Samantha’s right. “Hey, squirt.” He turned his attention to Evie. “Let me fix up your plate.”
“I can do it, Uncle Woody.”
“Okay, then I’ll hold the dishes ‘cause they’re hot.” 98
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While they ate, Charles asked Mack about his time in the Marines, and Woody began to learn a little more about him.
“Where’d you live when you were a kid, Mack?”
“I grew up in Rogers Park, went to Lake View High.”
“Did you play a sport?”
He snickered. “He—heck no. I was one of those moody, disaffected youths who just slouched through school and couldn’t wait to walk out the door at three.”
“Then you hung out and got into trouble after school?”
“Yeah, something like that. I imagine Woody was an exemplary student,” he said with friendly sarcasm.
“Yes, I was,” responded Woody. “Good at everything.”
“Oh, come on, little brother. That’s not quite the way I remember it.”
“Well, it’s the way I’m telling it.”
“You always told me you got As and Bs, Uncle Woody.”
“Thank you, Evie.” He directed a pointed look at Molly. “See, she knows the truth.” Then he glanced at Mack. Suddenly, Mack’s gaze met his and held a moment longer than was wise. To his chagrin, he really liked looking at the man. Shit. There I go again. Wishing for more than there can be.
“We lived on the southwest side,” Molly offered. “At the time, we didn’t even know there was a Rogers Park in Chicago.”
“Yeah, they can be worlds apart. I live in Uptown now, near Lawrence and Sheridan.”
“How’d you get to be a Sox fan, then?” Woody asked. “I would have thought Cubs.”
Mack laughed. “Yeah, I had a lot of trouble in high school because of that, but I was a big Frank Thomas fan. Every chance I got, I went to Comiskey. I’d hang around outside unless I could sneak in.” He flicked an apologetic glance to Evie. “Not that it’s right to sneak in.”
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Woody felt his cell phone vibrate in his pants pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. “Hello, Fred.” Holding the phone to his ear, he listened, his gaze snapping to Mack.
“Is Mack still with you?” Fred asked.
“Yeah, he’s here. What’s going on?”
“One of the guys you caught spilled that there’s going to be a drop at the flower store tonight. We’ve got to set up there.”
“Yeah.” He held Mack’s gaze and got up from the table. “Sorry, folks. Mack and I have to deal with this.” When they got into the living room, he relayed the information to Mack and continued,
“What do you want us to do, Fred?”
“I need you guys in ASAP.”
“We’re on our way.”
* * * *
Posies Galore. It was quiet and dark in the back room of the flower shop where Woody and Sam were hunkered down behind open shelving. Mack, Rich, and Arne were outside in cars with eyes on front and back doors. It seemed like an eternity but was probably only a half hour before they heard soft noises outside the back door. “This might be it,” Woody murmured into his mic. He and Sam slowly rose, pulling their guns. They had to wait until the door opened and the intruders entered. A sliver of light shone from the alley.
Sam shouted, “Police! Drop your guns.” All of Woody’s focus centered on the black muzzle pointing right at him.
Crack.
He felt the slug dig in. Pain plowed a burning path through the flesh beneath his armpit at the side of the Kevlar vest. Shit. He saw a flash from Sam’s weapon.
The last thing he heard was, “Officer down.” 100
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* * * *
Mack heard shots from inside the store, then “Officer down” and
“Clear” through the com line
. His gut wrenched. Woody was back there. He sprinted the few yards to the store and heard the radio call for EMTs. The backroom lights were now on, and for a moment his vision blurred. Trying to jam his panic down, his brain went on autopilot. He knelt and yanked off his jacket to staunch the blood flow from Woody’s chest. The bullet had missed the Kevlar. Jesus. He was shot on the left side. Too close to the heart. Autopilot flipped off, and his own heart thudded so hard he was afraid he’d pass out. Taking some deep breaths, he knew it wouldn’t do anyone any good to go to pieces.
Paramedics elbowed him out of the way to begin their work.
Mack’s gaze flicked to Woody’s closed eyes. God. Open them. He wanted to see those warm brown eyes with all their life and humor.
Needed to see them. His gaze tracked down to Woody’s chest. The vest had been peeled off, and his chest rose roughly in and out, but at least it was moving. He was alive.
He watched them strap Woody to a gurney, resettle the oxygen mask and IV, and get him out the door and into the ambulance. It roared off, siren screaming. He needed to follow. He didn’t care what people thought, but cops always hung out in the hospital corridors when one of their own was injured. All he could think of right now, besides his fear for Woody’s life, were the feelings that had built in his heart all day. Spending time with Woody’s family, seeing their love and acceptance for each other, being part of that had almost made him feel like he belonged, too.
Maybe he didn’t. It had been just one dinner. He’d been invited because he was the only one at the station who had no other plans. It wasn’t something he should get used to. But while he was rubbing his arms, his response to the cold wind blowing down the street, he knew I’ll Be Your Last
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that chill contrasted with the heat he felt when he was with Woody.
He’d never felt anything as good as being with Woody.
And Woody was a good cop as well as a good man. He’d done his job before he was hit. This wasn’t like his former partner being shot.
It wasn’t his fault this time. He searched the faces of the other cops in the street, spotted Fred, and went over to him. “I’m going to the hospital.”
“Okay, I’ll be along soon. How was he?”
“Breathing.” Mack’s heart took a nosedive. “But there was a hell of a lot of blood.”
“Okay,” Fred repeated. “Call me if anything changes before I get there. And I’ll call his father.”
Mack headed back to his car and to the hospital, lights and sirens all the way. Unreasonable fear for Woody’s life was all he could think of. He’d been shot in Somalia. He knew recovery was possible, probable, and he’d gone back to his unit after he recovered. But fighting his dread for Woody, he welcomed the bitter pinging of sleet hitting his face as he raced toward the ER doors. He pushed his flannel shirt aside to display the badge hooked to his belt and approached the first hospital staffer he saw. “Kane. Where is he?”
“In there.”
He slipped inside the cubicle and stood quietly in the corner, his fretful gaze not missing a movement by the medical personnel. They were trying to get Woody to say his name. Woody cracked his eyes open, blinked.
“Mack?”
Mack was at the side of the table like a shot. “Woody. You’re gonna be fine.”
“My dad…sister.”
“They’re on their way.” He was sure Fred made the call.
“Tell them not to worry.” Then his eyes closed again.
Mack was urged, not very gently, back out into the hall. He glanced toward the waiting room to see Fred.
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“His family is on their way in. What’s going on? Will he be okay?” Fred asked as Sam and Rich rushed through the ER doors.
Just then, the gurney rolled out of the cubicle, and they all got a quick look at Woody. His white face contrasted with the dark hair and beard. His eyes were closed. Mack froze and had to be elbowed out of an orderly’s way. He felt Fred’s hand on his arm.
“Come on, Mack. They’ll take care of him. He’ll be fine.” Mack could tell by the quietly gentle way he spoke that Fred knew something. At the moment, he didn’t give a shit who knew what.
What had been bedeviling his thoughts lately, what he’d never believed would happen, suddenly became clear in his mind. He had strong feelings for Woody. Heat washed through his body like a sudden fever. Son of a bitch. Someone had gotten through to his heart.
He cared for another man.
He felt himself sway, then felt a hand on his shoulder pushing him into a chair. It was still Fred next to him, his hand helping to ground him, helping to keep the panic down.
“Pull it together, Mack.”
Mack didn’t know how long he sat there, hospital sounds ebbing and flowing around him. Deep cop voices and squeaky squawking of the police radios were added to hospital sounds of rolling carts, medical lingo, and paging. He nodded at other team members but didn’t enter into their conversations. Not that there was a lot of talk.
Everyone was on edge until they were certain of the outcome of the surgery.
Woody. What was he going to do about him? He had a life, a normal life with a family. Why would Woody want someone like him? He’d already told Mack things were over between them.
Thanksgiving dinner had just been a pity invite. Woody would be better off without him. And the truth was Mack would be better off alone. Again.
* * * *
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So much going on…can’t keep track of it all…why can’t I open my eyes?
He felt cool air on his skin and sensed his shirt was gone. Heard beeping, quiet voices giving orders. His arm rose, someone pushed it back down.
“Don’t move, officer. You’re all right. We’ve got you.” Got me? Where? “Wha’ happen—?”
“You were shot, officer, but you’re okay. Tell me your name.” His mind cycled through the information at the forefront. His name? “Unh—um.” Come on, you know this. “Um, Woody, unh, Kane.”
“Good. How old are you?”
“Ah, twenty-six—I think. How bad…”
“The bullet didn’t hit any major organs. We’ll get it out, but it’ll hurt like the devil for a while.”
“Anyone else hurt?”
“No. Don’t worry.”
He heard another voice, “Open your eyes, Woody.” They felt heavy, sticky, but he cranked them open a slit and was blinded by the bright overhead light. Someone encouraged him on. He blinked a few times, then opened his eyes, completely taking a breath and filling his nostrils with oxygen from the tubes in his nose. There were only two people hovering over him, down from the bustle he’d felt before. A dark, drab figure stood in the corner with a knit cap, old brown leather jacket, white face. A worried-looking face.
“Mack.” He heard his voice croak the name through a parched throat. Suddenly that face was above his, blue eyes tracing his features.
“Woody,” Mack began, then had to clear his throat. “You’re gonna be fine.”
“My dad…sister.”
“They’re on their way.”
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He nodded, eyes drifting closed. “Tell them not to worry.” I’ll Be Your Last
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Chapter Thirteen
Woody’s next reality was waking, turning his head to see his dad sitting next to the bed. He felt his lips lifting in a smile. His family had always been his support system, steady as the Grand Canyon, in getting him through all the confusion and angst of accepting his sexuality, not to mention every other aspect of his life. Sure they’d been surprised and probably a little disappointed that there’d be no wife or grandkids, but their love for him had never wavered.
His dad’s face looked gray, strained. “Dad?” Charles’s head swiveled around. He pushed himself out of the chair and leaned over Woody, pushing hair off his forehead with a warm palm. “You’re going
to be all right, son. The bullet didn’t hit any major organs. You’ll be good as ever in a few days, and you’re coming home with me.”
“When will they let me go? How long have I been here?”
“It’s only been about five hours. You’ll probably be here for another day or two.”
Woody was taken aback when his dad suddenly kissed him on the cheek.
“Don’t do this to me again, young man. Your sergeant’s call took twenty years off my life. Not that I wouldn’t wish to be younger. I just don’t want it this way.”
Woody patted his dad’s back a couple of times. “I’m sorry to make you worry like this.”
“I know that most cops never even shoot their guns, let alone get shot, but I still worry.”
“Molly? Does she know?”
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“Yeah, she’s just out in the hall with Evie for a minute.”
“I don’t want Evie seeing me like this. It’ll scare her.” He knew he had to look a fright hooked up to machines. “Can they turn off the heart monitor? The IV I can take, but hearing that beeping is driving me nuts.”
Charles pushed the call button for the nurse. Molly and Evie returned to the room, Molly with tears in her eyes, and Evie looking as shy and scared as Woody feared.
“Oh, Woody, are you all right?” Molly asked.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry to scare you like this. Evie, do you want to hold my hand?” His eyes were on the little girl. This was too frightening for a child to see.
“Uncle Woody.” She sniffled and rubbed her eyes. “Were you shot by a bad guy?”
“Come here, sweetie. I’m okay now just seeing you.”
“But does it hurt?”
“Just a tiny bit. If you give me a kiss, it’ll feel better.” He held out his free hand.
Molly hoisted her daughter up to the edge of the bed. “Sit quietly, honey. If you don’t wiggle around, then you can hold Uncle Woody’s hand.”
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