by Nic Starr
“Of course I’d wait for you.”
I wonder if it’s because it’s his job? Finn pushed the unwanted thought away. “Well, I appreciate you being here. I don’t want to be alone.”
Mitch pulled him in tight. Finn sank into the hug, melting into Mitch’s firm body. “You’re not alone. Not tonight,” Mitch whispered against his ear.
Finn wished that were the case all the time, not just tonight. At some point Mitch would move on, and where would that leave Finn? But he’d worry about that later. Right now he had Mitch, and he’d make the most of every moment. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
Mitch drew back and looked him in the eye. “To bed?”
“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”
He tugged Mitch from the kitchen and flicked the light switch on his way past, plunging the room into darkness. Their boots echoed on the floorboards as they made their way up the hall, relying on the small amount of moonlight that outlined the bedroom door. Once inside, Finn turned on the lamp, bathing the bed in a warm golden light. The bed looked so appealing that he wanted nothing better than to climb between the sheets, and knowing Mitch would be beside him all night reassured him he’d sleep easy. With a smile, Finn emptied his pockets and finally turned to face Mitch, who stood just inside the bedroom doorway. He was looking at Finn as if he was waiting for something.
“Mitch?”
“Sorry.” Mitch’s deep voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Do? Do what?”
“I need a cigarette.”
Mitch turned on his heel and left Finn standing there, wondering what on earth was going on. His earlier happiness fled in a heartbeat. He stood frozen for a second before hotfooting it down the hall and finally catching up with Mitch as he exited the back door. The sound of the screen door slamming was loud in the quiet of the evening.
Finn pushed through the door, slightly pissed off that Mitch had left him without explanation. Mitch was leaning against the patio balustrade, the flare from his Zippo lighting up his face for a moment before it plunged back into darkness. But even in that brief moment, the grief was plain to see—the tremble in his hands where he cupped the flame, the tremor of the cigarette that hung from his lips, and the shine to his eyes.
As Finn neared, it was clear Mitch was close to tears and straining to maintain control. Although it had been a day from hell, Finn was surprised because Mitch was usually so calm and collected. He remained rigid when Finn wrapped him in his hold again, making no effort to return the hug, only turning his head to blow a stream of smoke toward the garden. Finn held tight, running his palms along Mitch’s back. Eventually the muscles under Finn’s fingers began to loosen, some of the tension evaporating with each drag of the cigarette. By the time it had burned down to the filter, Mitch was breathing normally and had placed a hand on Finn’s hip to hold him close.
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need,” Finn whispered. Somewhat reluctantly he moved back and gave Mitch some space. Mitch ground the butt with the heel of his boot, and when he made a move to bend and retrieve it, Finn stopped him with a hand. “Leave it. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning on the railing and staring across the backyard into the bush beyond. The full moon gave the whole area a ghostly appearance, casting long shadows across the lawn. The croaking from frogs was a constant chorus, punctuated occasionally by the call from a tawny frogmouth—the ordinary night sounds in the area. Where the noise of the frogs usually annoyed Finn, who had become more used to the constant buzz of traffic in Melbourne, tonight the regularity was reassuring. Or maybe the reassurance came from the warmth generated by Mitch’s arm pressed against his own.
“We were close. Pete and me.” Mitch’s voice broke the silence between the two of them.
“Yeah?” Finn responded but kept his gaze on the garden, not on the man he hoped would open up to him. Mitch would speak in his own time. A minute ticked by.
Mitch cleared his throat. “We were together for a while.”
There was the usual flare of jealousy at the thought of Mitch with another man, but Finn knew it was ridiculous. He had no control over Mitch’s past and didn’t even harbor any real hope he had rights to Mitch in the future. However, at the same time, it meant so much that Mitch was sharing this piece of his life with him.
“I figured as much.” Finn kept his voice low.
“You did?”
“A couple of times…. I don’t know, a couple of things that were said, the looks that passed between the two of you, I guess. I don’t think anyone else would pick up on it, but knowing what I know about you both, it isn’t a real surprise.”
“What do you mean? Knowing what?” Mitch turned to face him.
Finn thought for a moment, unsure how to proceed. How much of Pete’s story was his to tell? But it sounded like Mitch knew a lot of it already. “When we met in Melbourne, Pete and I became friends. Well, not exactly friends, at first, but we started to get close. We had a number of things in common, and staying under the same roof for a couple of weeks forced us to talk. We discovered we had some similarities. Come on. Let’s sit down, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Finn took Mitch’s hand and led him into the living room. They sunk onto the shitty couch, Finn holding tight to Mitch’s hand, needing to keep the connection. Mitch’s hands were warm, and Finn toyed with his strong fingers as he began his tale. He gave Mitch the key highlights of his time with Pete in Melbourne, mainly the revelation they were both gay.
“So you were never together?” Mitch asked.
Was he jealous? Jealous of the idea that Finn and Pete had been more than friends, and if so, who was he jealous of? Me or Pete?
Finn shook his head. “No. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. Just friends. Although we have grown closer since then. I think it’s because he’s the only one who knows how I feel about Rocky.”
Mitch gave a wry smile. “Not anymore.”
“No, I guess not.” Finn squeezed Mitch’s hand. “I know Pete has his issues, but his heart’s in the right place. He’s trying to make amends for what he’s done wrong.”
The sadness in Mitch’s eyes was evident. “I know.”
Finn couldn’t help himself—he had to ask the question. As much as it would hurt, he had to know the answer. “Do you have regrets? Do you want to get back together with him?”
“What? No.” Mitch let go of his hand and sat up straight. His words were what Finn wanted to hear, but Mitch’s reaction wasn’t. He was pulling away, his body language closed off. Finn reached for him again, Mitch’s arm tense under Finn’s hand.
“It’s okay, Mitch. I know it can’t be easy to have someone who means a lot to you in the hospital. I’ll give you some space, but I want you to know I’m here for you if you need to talk. If you need anything.”
“It’s not like that. I care about him, but….”
“I know. It’s still hard. How about we both go to bed, huh? Some sleep will probably do us both good, and there’s nothing more we can do tonight. We can call the hospital first thing in the morning and head over there, if you like. But first sleep.”
“Thanks, Finn.”
“You’re welcome. Now come on.” Finn pushed Mitch toward the door. They retraced their steps toward the bedroom, and stopped outside the door. “You go wash up first.” Finn flashed back to Mitch standing motionless in the bedroom only a short time earlier. “You can sleep in the guest room, if you’d feel more comfortable there,” he reluctantly offered.
Mitch tilted his head. “You don’t want me in the guest room?”
“No. I want you to be wherever you need to be.”
“You want me to stay?”
Finn nodded. More than anything.
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
FINN WAS relaxed as he slept, the tension that was evident yesterday temporarily at bay. His lips were slightly parted, soft and pink, and his br
eathing was slow and even, with his eyelashes fanned against his golden skin. It amazed Mitch that someone with such fair coloring and clear blue eyes could have such a tanned natural skin color—and Mitch knew it was natural because Finn didn’t have a hint of a tan line, and Mitch felt fairly certain that wasn’t because Finn sunbaked naked.
The close distance allowed Mitch to see the dark blond stubble along Finn’s jaw, the morning growth only enhancing his looks. For a moment Mitch was tempted to wake him, but he vetoed that idea as he thought of the late night they’d had. First they stayed up for a long while talking before finally going to bed, where Finn fell asleep in his arms. Or maybe it was the other way around. No sex, just quietly lying against each other. Funny how that memory flooded him with warmth. It was such a long time since Mitch allowed himself to succumb to his emotions and take comfort in someone’s arms. Finn seemed to bring out a part of him he kept hidden, not only from the world but from himself.
Sometime during the night, they separated. Finn was now on his back, one arm flung loosely in Mitch’s direction and with his upturned hand resting on Mitch’s chest. Even his fingers were relaxed in sleep, and Mitch was reluctant to disturb him, preferring to give Finn a reprieve from the fucked-up shit that was going on around both of them.
Reluctantly he slipped from beneath Finn’s hand and from the warm bed. Finn mumbled in his sleep and rolled onto his stomach, stretching out across the sheet where Mitch just was. The movement, so trusting and comfortable, as if they’d been sleeping next to each other for years, not just weeks, resulted in a dull ache in his chest. Waking up next to Finn was a habit Mitch could definitely get used to.
Mitch drew on some shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed his phone from the bedside table, and, with a last parting glance, headed to the kitchen to get his day underway.
He started with a quick text and was pleased to see the fast response from Judith Crowley, Pete’s mother. She was cautiously optimistic and pleased to hear from him. Pete was stable, and Mitch breathed a sigh of relief at the good news.
A short while later, Mitch groaned in appreciation at the first sip of coffee. The drink was hot and strong and bitter as hell—perfect. He perched the cup on the railing of the back balcony and fished his iPhone from his pocket. For a moment he thought about the pack of cigarettes on the kitchen bench but pushed aside the intense surge of agitation that accompanied the craving.
Damn smokes.
He unlocked the mobile and pressed the button to make the call, but it went to voicemail. Mitch bit back the frustration as he hit End and swung around to grab his coffee. His elbow caught the handle of the coffee mug and sent the whole thing crashing down. Coffee splashed his legs, and broken fragments of ceramic stung as the shards flew everywhere. Jesus Christ! He jumped back and looked at the mess on the decking. If this was an omen, things didn’t bode well for the rest of the day. The only positive was it was one of the crappy old mugs that had been already in the house and not one from Finn’s set. Somehow that small thought cheered him up.
Ignoring the spreading puddle and fragments of old mug, Mitch focused on his phone again, breathing a sigh of relief when Ross answered on the first ring this time.
“Just calling with an update,” Mitch growled.
“Are things okay?”
“As fine as can be, I guess. Finn’s still asleep, and Rocky messaged last night that he wants to catch up this afternoon. I guess I’ll know more then, but hopefully the plan won’t be too far derailed.”
“I wasn’t talking about the case.”
Mitch knew Ross was concerned about him and the effect Pete’s injuries was having but ignored the unspoken question. Mainly because he had no fucking idea how he really felt about the whole thing, with his emotions flip-flopping all over the place. “I imagine Rocky won’t let this stop his plans, but if I hear of any changes, I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”
“It’s okay to be upset by what happened to Pete—”
“I know that!” Mitch kicked at the handle that had broken off the mug. It slid across the timber with a grating sound and came to rest against an old terra-cotta pot that held the wilted remains of a half-dead succulent.
Ross spoke after a brief pause. “Do you need to come in?”
“No!”
“Mitch, talk to me. I need to know you’re really okay and not just spinning bullshit.”
Mitch sucked in a lungful of air and blew it out his nose before answering. He had a job to do. He took a deep breath. “I’m okay. Honest to God. You know me well enough to know I won’t do anything stupid. Seeing what happened to Pete was fucked-up, and dealing with the police afterwards wasn’t where I wanted to be. But I’ve got a job to do, and that needs to come first. That shipment comes before anything else, even Pete.”
“I’ll keep checking in on him and let you know what I find out, make sure he’s getting the best care,” Ross promised.
“Thank you.” Mitch blinked against the stinging behind his eyelids, grateful to have a partner—no, a friend—like Ross.
“That’s okay, mate. And what about Finn?”
“What about him?”
“Is there any risk there, what with everything that’s going on between the two of you?”
“I’m not going to let Finn fuck anything up.”
“We’re so close, Mitch. So close to bringing over a year’s worth of investigation to its proper end, bringing these guys down. There’s a lot of people with skin in the game, and that shipment is our big opportunity.”
“I know. The shipment comes before anything. The drugs come before both of them.”
The screen door slammed, and Mitch swung around to see Finn, sleep rumpled and only wearing a pair of underwear but looking at Mitch in confusion.
Fuck!
How much did Finn hear? How could Mitch have been so stupid to not even consider that Finn could come outside at any moment and overhear his conversation? His head was all over the place, and he needed to pull himself together before he fucked up this operation, not to mention his job. Suddenly he didn’t feel so confident in what he’d just told Ross.
“Sorry, mate, got to go. Work calls.”
Without waiting for Ross’s response, Mitch ended the call and shoved his phone away before squatting to pick up the fragments of ceramic from the boards.
“Who was that?”
He looked up to see Finn’s face. His jaw was tight as he waited for an answer.
“Just work,” Mitch said. He stood and went inside, followed by Finn.
Finn lifted the lid off the bin so Mitch could drop the remains of the broken mug into the garbage. “Rocky?”
Mitch didn’t want to lie directly, so relayed the info from the text conversation he had with Rocky last night. “Rocky wants us in the office after lunch. He wants to discuss updated plans, but it’s still all systems go. So we’d better get organized and head back into town.”
“Can we stop by the hospital on the way?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“What? Last night you seemed really worried about him. I thought Pete was your friend.”
“He is. But Rocky wants us there, and that needs to take priority.”
Mitch turned and crossed the room.
Finn’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “You’re putting Rocky before Pete? Soldiers’ business before checking to see how your ex… your ex-whatever is doing? Whether he’s even made it through the night?” Finn voice rose with each question he asked, and Mitch spun around to face him.
He clenched his teeth and slowly exhaled through his nose before feeling calm enough to speak.
“I’m doing my job, Finn. Just doing my job.”
Chapter TWENTY-SIX
“DO YOU want another beer?”
“Sure,” Mitch replied, leaning forward and taking the cold bottle from Rocky.
Rocky dropped in the chair opposite and studied Mitch closely.
Mitch drank from the bo
ttle and focused on maintaining a casual posture. He glanced around Rocky’s living room, with its evidence of last night’s partying, then through the floor-to-ceiling window to the garden outside. It was a spectacular Sydney summer day, and the backyard and pool looked like a resort: the sparkling blue of the pool, the brilliant unbroken azure of the sky, and the deep green of the lawn and hedges all contrasted with the cream travertine paving. Inside was a different story, with the chill of the air-conditioning, the debris of empty bottles, and tension in the air.
Mitch finally turned his attention back to Rocky in front of him. Rocky stared, unblinking, arms folded across his broad chest. What the fuck is he thinking? Mitch gulped at his beer again.
“Shame about Peter,” Rocky finally said.
“Uh-huh.” Mitch swallowed the mouthful of beer, along with the pang of regret that hit hard. Just the thought of Pete lying in a hospital bed, waiting to see if he’d survive a brain injury, was horrific. “Have you heard anything about how he’s doing?” he asked, keeping his voice steady.
Rocky shook his head. “It’s hard to get any info from the damn hospital. They do every fucking thing by the bloody book. Stack went over there earlier today but didn’t want to make a scene. Regardless, it doesn’t look like Peter will be up and around anytime soon. Puts a fucking spanner in the works.” It was clear Rocky’s care factor was nonexistent, at least where Pete was concerned.
“Where is Stack?”
“He’ll be here soon.” Rocky took a cigarette from the deck on the table and held out the pack to Mitch.
The first drag was bliss, sending a hit of nicotine through his bloodstream. No guilt this time; he needed that goddamn cigarette.
Rocky snapped the lighter shut. “You did good the other night.”
“Yeah?”
“Dealing with the cops, taking the shit. Things could have gone to fuck, but they didn’t. I appreciate it, man.”
Mitch inhaled another lungful of smoke, holding it before letting it out in a long, thin stream. He already felt a lot calmer, more in control. “Didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done. Didn’t want to fuck up the operation and bring down any more heat on the Soldiers than there already is.”
