I'll Be Your Last

by Jane Leopold Quinn

  Before taking her hand, Woody caressed her cheek. He had to hold back his own tears at the thought of Evie’s pain if this had turned out differently. Then he gripped her fingers and kissed them one by one.

  Molly smiled. “Don’t do this again, little brother. I know your sense of responsibility. But just remember we want you here for us, too.” She kissed his cheek. “Let me take Evie so you can get some rest and blow this pop stand.”

  “Gimme a kiss, sweetie,” Woody said. In return, the child plastered his cheek with a big, slobbery little-girl kiss. After they left, he turned to his dad. “Is—I mean, is Mack—unh, is anyone else here?”

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  Charles nodded. “I saw him in the waiting room. Do you want me to get him?”

  “No. He’ll come in if he wants.” He yearned to see him, to assure himself—he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Everything was topsy-turvy right now. No matter what his feelings about Mack were, the man was real and solid. There was a knock at the door.

  “How ya’ doing, Woody?” asked Fred as he lumbered across the floor.

  “Okay, Sarge.

  I don’t want to be out too long.”

  “You’ll do what the docs say,” Fred responded brusquely.

  “Yeah, sure, Fred.” Woody was both amused and gratified at the concern shown. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “Just you, kid.”

  Was everyone going to call him that now? “Did we get ‘em?”

  “Yeah, we got the two in the shop and one out back in a vehicle.

  They’re in custody. I’ll be heading down to the station now. Shooting a cop wasn’t the smartest thing the scum ever did. He won’t be going anywhere but prison for a good long time.” Fred patted his uninjured shoulder.

  He winced.

  “Sorry, Woody. I thought you were shot in the other shoulder.”

  “It was the other one. I’m okay, Fred. You know, I don’t feel too bad now. How soon can they let me go?”

  “Not until tomorrow. Then I’m taking him home with me.”

  “Sounds good, Mr. Kane,” Fred said. “You’ll have your work cut out for you keeping him quiet.”

  “I’ve handled him all his life. I think I can manage a week or two more.”

  A nurse strode into the room. “Some more officers out in the hall want to come in, but it’s too many at one time.”

  “I’ll get out of here,” Fred responded. “Feel better, Woody.”

  “Thanks, sarge. I’ll be back soon.”

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  Two and three cops at a time trooped into the room to kid with him about having extra days off. He had no idea why Mack wasn’t among them, and no one gave him a clue.

  The evening of the next day, he was released, his dad taking him home. Being ensconced in his boyhood bedroom was pretty weird. At least it had been cleaned out and updated in décor and wasn’t a shrine to his youth. Posters, model cars, and sports memorabilia had been put away years ago. The walls had been painted and new bedding had been bought after he moved out. The room was ready for a guest, and he was it. It was kind of uncomfortable for another reason. The bed was a single. He was too tall and felt like he was going to tip out.

  And where the hell was Mack? He didn’t come over and didn’t call. Was he that wrong about the guy? Why hadn’t he cared enough just to check up on him? He and his dad talked about it. Woody tried to make excuses.

  “Mack wouldn’t be the first guy you wanted to take care of,” Charles reminded him. “You’re a fixer.” Woody nodded. “I know. Maybe I see more than there is in him, but I think he’s looking for something. He just doesn’t know what it is.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the recliner in the living room and thought about the fluffy adopted dog. But maybe he wasn’t as important as Kiki. His and Mack’s relationship had been all hot sex. Woody wanted more than that in his life.

  “Son, you’re the kind of man who loves. You deserve to be loved in return.”

  Woody felt his cheeks flushing hot. “I bet you still wish we were talking about a woman.”

  His dad leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and looked Woody in the eye. “Your mom and I accepted you long ago. We love you just the way you are, and the only thing we ever wished for you is to be happy. Whatever it takes.”

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  After a week at his dad’s, and as much as he loved him, Woody couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to get back to work, even if it was desk duty. Fred motioned to him.

  Perching on the credenza just inside Fred’s door, he said, “Sarge, I’m ready to come back to work, at least on desk duty until the doc clears me for the street.” Desk work was so boring compared to action on the street. Even being shot didn’t keep Woody from wanting to get back out there.

  “‘Okay, good. We need the manpower with one man short. Mack transferred out yesterday.”

  Woody let that settle a minute.

  “He gave me some cockamamie thing about being ready for a change. Do you know any other reason he’d want out? Were there any problems with him? With you? The other guys?” Crossing an ankle over his knee, Woody tapped the side of his boot nervously, his mind going from blank to bonkers. Well, hell, the son of a bitch ran. Hoping he was selling his expression of indifference, he lifted his gaze from his feet and shrugged. “I thought he liked it here, but you never know, do you.” He didn’t make that a question, hoping to forestall any more discussion. “Where’d he go?”

  “Shakespeare.” Fred shrugged. “As long as there wasn’t a problem I should know about.”

  Woody shook his head. “Nothing as far as I’m concerned.” After they set his work hours, he went back to his desk. Seething. What an asshole. The squad room was abuzz with the usual activities with an undercurrent of questions about Mack. Life would move on, though, and Mack was out of their lives. Woody shivered. They’d gone back and forth about who should transfer out. Now that Mack had made the move, he didn’t want it to be the end. They had a connection, a weird sexual one, but damn it, he wanted more as if the kind of passion they shared went beyond one-night hookups.

  Mulling that over, he shuffled papers on his desk, straightened already straightened folders. If Mack thinks he’s safe at Shakespeare 110

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  station, he has another think coming. Then he burst out laughing, drawing the gaze of his fellow cops. He’d told Mack they were done, but Mack wouldn’t have run away if his heart weren’t involved, even a little bit. He’d tried to tell himself that whatever it was between them was over, but had Mack run because he truly didn’t care or because he was afraid to care?

  He dug out the vibrating cell phone from his front pocket but hesitated answering. “Brad?” Shaking his head, damn it, he knew he should have removed the man’s number from his contacts list.

  “Ah, Woody, hi.”

  “Yeah, Brad, what can I do for you?” He didn’t like his little heart jump at hearing that voice. Brad had a sexy little purr that had driven him crazy when they were locked in each other’s arms. Unlike Mack, Brad liked to cuddle after sex. Woody shook off the memories. What the hell was he calling for?

  “I was wondering if we could get together for a drink or something. Um, I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about the way things ended.”

  “You just did, Brad. Getting together isn’t necessary.”

  “I heard you were shot, Woody. Are you okay?” He heard genuine concern, which touched Woody. Especially since his most recent lover hadn’t seen fit to call. “Yeah, I’m fine now and back on desk duty for a while. Thank you for asking, though.”

  “Please, Woody, let me buy you a drink tonight.”

  “What about the guy I saw you with the other night?” What the hell does Brad really want?

  “We’re not serious or anything, and this doesn’t have anything to do with him. I just want to talk to you, se
e that you’re all right. We were together for a long time. I’m concerned.” Woody speared his fingers through his hair and gazed across the squad room wishing for—for some way out of this. Right this very minute, he was tired of men, tired of trying to make a relationship work. Maybe I should just get a dog.

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  “Woody? One drink. Please? Just as friends.” Oh, fuck, what would it matter? I’m over Brad. What would just one drink hurt? “All right, Brad. MacAllister’s at six. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Great! See you.”

  Woody cut off Brad’s enthusiastic reply by closing the phone.

  Now he wished for someone to throw him more paperwork to keep his mind occupied the rest of the day.

  * * * *

  Mack had sworn he wouldn’t transfer, but here he was. Another district, another station house, another team. It would be best for Woody when he went back to work. He didn’t deserve to be hounded by Mack’s presence.

  The shooting had just about killed him, too. Asking hospital personnel and every other cop around about his condition had been all he could manage. To see him hooked up to an IV and heart monitor scared him half to death that Woody wouldn’t survive, even when it was clear he would.

  At the hospital, he’d had a close call. Evie. She’d run right to him and attached herself to his leg, clutching his jeans with her little fingers.

  “Uncle Woody was hurt by a bad guy! Did you know that?”

  “Yes, honey, but he’ll be all right now.”

  “He was hurt in duty. That’s what the policeman said.” He glanced at Molly, then hunkered down in front of Evie, held her shoulders, and put on the smoothest smile he could manage. “Yes, your Uncle Woody is very brave, but don’t you worry. He’ll be just fine in a day or two.”

  “Mommy said me and Grandpa are gonna take care of him.” He aimed a smile at Molly and said, “Great.” Molly asked, “Have you seen him, Mack?” 112

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  “I just looked into his room a few minutes ago. He’s asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Hospital patients are awakened all the time for something or other.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get there.” What he really meant was he’d have to get away from him. This shooting wasn’t his fault like the one with his former partner, but he needed to get back into his withdrawal zone. The zone was safe. For him and definitely for anyone stupid enough to get involved with him.

  After that meeting with Molly and Evie, he’d looked through the doorway of the room. When Woody stirred, he backed quickly away.

  He’d even broken down in the privacy of his apartment and wept, tears streaming down his face, Kiki cuddled next to him.

  Woody deserved so much more from life than a broken-down loner who couldn’t recognize when a man cared about him. Woody also deserved someone who didn’t run scared at the thought of losing him. Mack pushed his hurt far down inside. Better never to feel anything than to be that vulnerable. Woody was a loving, giving man.

  He deserved nothing less than the same in return. Mack couldn’t provide those qualities. They weren’t part of his makeup.

  One night after the shift was over, Mack went to the bar with his new team. Three beers later, he almost choked when Woody entered—alone. Jesus, he looked good—but thinner, a bit pale and gaunt, and he walked stiffly, holding his arm close to his body. Even a non-life-threatening gunshot wound hurt like the very devil and took lengthy recovery time, not to mention the emotional shock of it actually happening. Mack should know. Even peace-keeping missions had their dangers.

  Heat flooded Mack’s insides, his cock hardened, and he let out a little oompf. None of his companions noticed, thank God. Mack’s teeth clenched as images plagued him. He couldn’t stop them from coming at him like RPG rounds. He hadn’t had another ass since Woody’s. He’d tried, had gone to one of his favorite bars, and left I’ll Be Your Last

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  alone to go home and take care of matters by hand. He hated that, being attracted to one man and not able to fuck anyone else. Usually, he didn’t care enough.

  Woody took a seat at the bar, not giving any sign he noticed Mack. He wasn’t disappointed by that. Really. He wasn’t. Fuck. He was. This vulnerability was a new experience for him. God! You putz.

  Slowly drinking another beer, he checked Woody out. He’d shaved off the beard showing the strong, clean line of his jaw with thick, dark hair falling loosely over his cheek. When he’d rolled Woody over after fucking him with the dildo and filled his ass with cock, belly to belly, Woody had granted him a sleepy, satisfied smile.

  Son of a bitch. Wanting Woody, wanting his attention, Mack realized there was nothing to stop him from just standing up and going over to talk to him. He almost made it to his feet until…

  What the…?

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  Chapter Fourteen

  What the hell was that little wienie doofus he recognized from the other night, doing here? He joined Woody at the bar but wasn’t getting a warm welcome. They did an awkward little one-armed hug, and then Woody very clearly held himself away. Mack watched in curious fascination. The first time he’d seen Woody with another man, he’d turned out to be his father. He wasn’t going to make any more stupid assumptions. But who the hell was this guy?

  Woody and the doofus seemed to hold a very serious conversation, the doof leaning toward Woody and Woody leaning away. Mack liked what he was seeing. Until the guy placed his hand on Woody’s arm, the uninjured one. It stayed there a long, long time without Woody removing it. Mack’s blood boiled. Was Woody moving on? He suppressed a shiver. You’re an idiot. Of course he’d move on. That’s what people do when something is over.

  Woody’d been right about him. About being self-absorbed, anyway. But he wasn’t heartless. The fact that he hurt now—so much—should prove it. Because his damn heart was breaking. He’d been afraid all his life to be outed and had done everything he could to not appear gay.

  Shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes shut. God, he was a mess.

  Woody was right. He’d run from the truth all his life. He’d gone to men in secret, lying to himself, trying to believe, in the early years, that if he didn’t admit it, then he wasn’t really gay. Hiding this from other people didn’t mean he should hide it from himself.

  He owed Woody more than to be an asshole, shivering at the word he’d used so casually. It meant more to a gay man than just an I’ll Be Your Last

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  imprecation. Mack never let himself be fucked in the ass. He felt sweat trickle down his neck. So many years forcing back memories of the recruiter screwing him. So many years telling himself he’d been a victim, denying any pleasure in it. The revelation slammed through his thick skull.

  I’m homosexual. Michael Penchant is gay. Nothing would ever change that. And right now he was glad of it because he wanted Woody Kane. It wasn’t just sex. Woody was sure of himself, loving, and beautiful. Sure, he could let this go, let Woody go and start over with another man. But…

  He couldn’t stay there one more minute, not with the way his thoughts were going. He wouldn’t let the memories of his past push their way forward. If he let them, he’d be completely lost. Mack lurched to his feet. “See ya’, guys.” He had to get out of there. He glanced toward the bar. Woody’s head turned, trailing him with his surprised gaze. He obviously hadn’t known Mack was there.

  Mack stared back. Stared hard. He gave a tilt of his head toward the door as an invitation. Not very elegant, but they were two gay men in a cop bar.

  Outside, Mack pulled at the collar of his jacket and hunched it up over his ears. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he waited, hoping Woody got the message and would follow.

  He shivered. He always seemed to be standing out in the cold.

  Damn! He’d been on his own so long, had always resisted relationships except th
e shallowest kind. His life was cold. Woody’d brought him into the warmth. He’d always fucked and run, but if Woody came outside now, he’d do his damnedest to fix things.

  Would he know how? Hell, he didn’t have a lot of models for warmth and relationships. He searched for memories of his childhood.

  Had his mother ever shown any love or acceptance? Maybe before she became an inveterate alcoholic? Certainly not after. The Marine Corps had its fellowship, but he’d just kept his nose down and done his duty, so afraid his predilection for men would be discovered.

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  Panic crawled through him. If Woody didn’t show, he’d never know if he could manage it. Could he still have Woody, or was it too late?

  * * * *

  Woody’s former lover yammered on and on in sympathy over the shooting.

  “Brad, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine now. I’ll be out on the streets in a couple of weeks.”

  “When I found out, I–I just felt so bad. My feelings for you haven’t changed, Woody. I never stopped loving you.” Woody gazed at the man’s soft mouth, into his hazel eyes, and wondered where his own feelings had gone. It certainly couldn’t have been love if it was over this quickly. Now, all he could think of was black hair and blue eyes and a face all hard-lined rugged.

  He wondered about the man Brad was with the other night but realized he didn’t care enough to even ask who he was. “It wouldn’t have worked out with us anyway, Brad. We aren’t what either one of us was really looking for.”

  Brad’s head dipped, his eyes closed, lips pursed. He played with the napkin under his drink, eventually shredding it in the wet spots.

  “You’re still mad at me for the movie theater.”

  “Not anymore. I was at first, but you have to deal with what you are your own way.”