Cop Out

by KC Burn

  As he’d done the previous day, he used his cane to knock on the door. Again, he waited. Again, he rang the doorbell.

  When Davy opened the door this time, there was recognition in his eyes, and a wary welcome.

  “Hi, Davy. Feeling better?” There was a hint of color in those pale cheeks, and the purple shadows under his eyes had faded a bit. He wore the same blue pajamas he had on yesterday, though.

  More than a hint of color flashed into his face, and he looked down. “Yes,” Davy whispered to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Unless you’re not gonna ask me in.”

  “Oh, right, yes.” Davy stepped back.

  Kurt smiled, hoping to put Davy more at ease and headed to the kitchen. Probably the living room had more comfortable seating, but most of his family hung out in the kitchen, and Davy needed to spend more time near food if he was going to put a few pounds back on.

  “Thanks for the stew, it was very good.” Davy sat at the kitchen table across from him, looking like a lost little boy, for all that he might be a few years older than Kurt.

  The Crock-Pot, minus the removable liner, sat garishly on the pristine white counter. Which was a good sign. If Davy had dumped the stew, uneaten, he’d have cleaned the liner and had both parts together.

  “Did you make it yourself?”

  “No, my mom did.”

  “Oh.”

  They sat, staring at each other. Kurt didn’t want to start any involved discussions, since he was waiting for a delivery. Davy cocked his head to the side, a faint frown creasing his face.

  The doorbell rang, and Davy’s frown got deeper. His gaze shifted from Kurt to the door and back again. “Who is that?” Davy’s voice was heavy with suspicion.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Kurt sprang to his feet and headed to the door, trailed by Davy.

  “I don’t want any visitors.” A hint of hysteria replaced the suspicion as Davy’s voice rose.

  Kurt opened the door and showed the grocery deliveryman where to deposit the groceries, ignoring Davy’s half-uttered protests. When the guy went out for the second load, Davy finally got out a whole sentence.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Davy patted down his pajamas, as though he was going to find something in his non-existent pockets. “Who is going to pay for all this?”

  Ah. Davy was looking for his wallet.

  “I am.”

  “I can’t let you do that. Tell him to take it all away.”

  “And let you starve? I don’t think so.”

  “I can get my own groceries.”

  Kurt snorted. “Well, you haven’t.”

  The deliveryman returned and began hauling in the next load. “Kurt!”

  “Jesus, Davy, why don’t you go take a shower and let me take care of this.” He sniffed exaggeratedly and wrinkled his nose.

  Davy’s eyes flared open in anger. Kurt didn’t know if the crimson flush coloring Davy’s face and neck was from fury or embarrassment, but showering would keep Davy out of his hair until the groceries were dealt with.

  “Why the hell would you say that?” Davy hissed at him, with a furtive glance at the guy setting a plastic crate on the floor by the kitchen.

  Kurt rolled his eyes. “Because you were wearing the same pajamas yesterday. Isn’t it about time you got out of them?”

  “Shut up! You’re going to give him the wrong idea.” Davy’s voice somehow got more forceful and more quiet at the same time.

  “What? Hold on a second.” Kurt turned his attention to the delivery guy who needed his signature for the credit card slip. The door shut, and Kurt went back into the kitchen. It would take him awhile to put the groceries away with his bum leg and arm. Then he could start making lunch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Putting away the groceries. I thought you were taking a shower.”

  “I… I…,” Davy sputtered. “Aren’t you worried about what that guy thought?”

  “Am I worried the delivery guy thinks… what exactly?”

  “That, you know, we’re together.” Davy whispered the last word. Kurt’s heart broke. What had Ben done to this poor guy with his secrecy?

  “So what if he thinks we’re together? He’s the grocery delivery guy for God’s sake. It doesn’t matter.” Kurt wasn’t gay, but there was no shame in having a gay relationship, and he sure as shit didn’t care whether the delivery guy thought he was in one. If he even had. Whatever Davy thought, the guy was more interested in a tip than speculating on their love lives.

  “It doesn’t?” Davy didn’t appear to understand. Kurt wasn’t sure he did, either. Ben didn’t have to take out an advertisement in the newspaper, but shit, there were other gay men on the force. They were younger than Ben, but gay marriage had been legal for years. Why had Ben been so secretive about it, and by extension, forcing Davy into hiding as well?

  “I guess I’ll go shower, then.”

  Kurt waited until he’d left the room before starting on the groceries.

  By the time Kurt had the groceries put away and prepared omelet fixings, Davy returned, smelling of citrusy soap. Kurt smiled when he saw the worn T-shirt and jeans Davy wore. He’d been half-afraid Davy would return wearing another pair of pajamas.

  “Have a seat.” Kurt turned up the heat on the burner. “These will be ready soon. You like eggs, right? I don’t know how to make much else.”

  “Eggs are fine. I can cook for myself, you know.”

  He twisted around to stare at Davy. “Really? When was the last time you ate?”

  “Yesterday.” A smile didn’t quite curl his lips, but the intention was there.

  A chuckle escaped. “Before that.”

  Davy’s amusement fell away. “I don’t remember. I like to cook. A lot. But it’s hard to do, just for me. I couldn’t be bothered.”

  “You can cook, can you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool. How about you make me lunch tomorrow? If you can cook, you can probably whip something up with the random groceries I ordered.”

  Kurt dished up the omelets and slung them on to the table with the panache of a seasoned waiter. Like the rest of his siblings, he’d worked a number of shifts at Finn’s, but not as a cook.

  Davy poked at the eggs with his fork.

  “There’s nothing wrong with them, you know.”

  “Kurt, what are you doing here?”

  Throat suddenly constricted, Kurt put his fork down, his own eggs untasted. “Ben and I worked together for three years. I trusted him with my life. I knew he had my back, and even though he didn’t seem to think so, I had his back. That includes making sure you don’t starve to death for God’s sake!”

  “Ben knew you had his back. He said you were the best partner he could have hoped for after Ed died. He talked about you all the time.”

  “He never talked about you.” His previous anger swiftly morphed into regret, and tears, never far from the surface, threatened to fall. He stared down at the plate.

  “I know,” Davy said softly. “That was just Ben. But I don’t want you here because you feel sorry for me.”

  “Fuck. I don’t.” Kurt lifted his gaze again. “But you need some help. Your friends should have been here. Or your sister.”

  Davy shrugged. “My sister… well, she’s having a hard time. Her husband is stationed in Afghanistan, and she’s having a high-risk pregnancy. I didn’t want to burden her.” Davy stabbed his fork into the eggs, but didn’t take a bite.

  He’d accept that for now. He wanted Davy to eat, and this topic wasn’t helping either of their appetites. There would be time later to find out where Davy’s friends were.

  “Eat, Davy.” Hoping Davy would follow his example, Kurt stuffed a large forkful into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I manage drug trials for a pharmaceutical company.”

  “Oh, a smarty-pants, eh?”

  Davy hung his he
ad, but the compliment clearly pleased him. “Not really.”

  “Uh-huh. I bet you’ve got a graduate degree at the very least. In what, chemistry?”

  “Close. Biochemistry.”

  “See. Smarty pants. Tell me about it.”

  Davy was sufficiently distracted that he ate every last bite of his omelet as he talked and gradually grew more animated. But it soon became clear his professional life was as lonely as his personal one. He managed a large number of people, but had few peers. No work friends to help him.

  When they were done, Kurt cleared the table and made quick work of the dishes. “Right, well, I better get going. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  He made sure to program Davy’s number into his phone before the taxi arrived to take him home.

  “Baby, you’re going out again?” Kurt’s mom hovered as the taxi pulled into the drive. “You’ve gone out for lunch every day for two weeks. When do I get to meet her?”

  “Mom, I told you. I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m just hanging out with a friend.” Shit, he could walk without the cane, and his stitches were out, but he wasn’t up to full strength. He couldn’t imagine trying to have sex in this condition. He should be cleared to drive at his next appointment, though, and he was going to move back to his place as soon as he was driving again.

  She sighed like a mom humoring her son.

  “Are you sure I can’t drive you? I’m worried about you, and a taxi driver won’t help you get in and out of the car.”

  What the hell? He hadn’t needed—or wanted—help getting out of a damned car since the day he came home from the hospital. Yet his mother hovered like he was made of spun glass, practically cut his food for him, and wiped his butt. He wasn’t a fucking infant, he was recovering, and well, from an injury.

  “The taxi is fine, Mom.” She was hurt by his sharp tone, but enough was enough. Kurt hadn’t told anyone about Davy—he didn’t know why—but when his family treated him as helpless, he found strength and purpose in helping Davy, aside from the simple enjoyment of his company. He’d have to give up these daily lunches when Davy went back to work. Davy only had a few more vacation days left, so he’d be going back to work before Kurt’s disability leave was up.

  “Bye, Mom.” He kissed her cheek in apology. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Kurt’s phone rang in the taxi, and he didn’t recognize the number appearing in the display.

  “O’Donnell here.”

  “Oh, uh, hi, Kurt?”

  “Davy? Where are you calling from?”

  “The convenience store on the corner.”

  “Is something wrong?” Davy had never called him before, and Kurt didn’t know why he wouldn’t call from home. But it might be the first time Davy had left the house since the funeral, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

  “Oh, uh, no. Look, were you planning to stop by today?” Like he hadn’t stopped by every day so far. Visiting with Davy made his own days go by faster, and he was much happier making sure Davy wasn’t slipping back into the dangerous depression he’d seen the first day. One day, Davy wouldn’t be so hesitant when he spoke with Kurt, but he had kind of bulled his way into Davy’s life. Being the youngest of seven kids meant he had to work extra hard to get his own way. He wasn’t always successful, but he was always determined.

  “Yep, I’m on my way now.” Tomorrow, God willing, he’d be driving his own damned car.

  “Oh, I, uh… don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  What? “Why?” At least the cab driver was ignoring him, because Kurt’s face suddenly heated. Maybe Davy was tired of him hanging out. His lunches with Davy were the single best thing helping him work through Ben’s death, and he thought his presence helped Davy a bit too. If nothing else, the guy was eating once a day. But he hadn’t considered he might be irritating Davy more than helping him.

  “I’m sorry. I’m wearing out my welcome, aren’t I?”

  “No!”

  Oh. “Then?”

  “I’m… not feeling well.” Davy was lying. Kurt could tell, even through the phone. Which only made him more determined. Something wasn’t right, more than Kurt being an annoying, single-minded son of a bitch.

  “Davy, I’m going through a tunnel. I’m going to lose my signal. See you soon.” Kurt stabbed the off button on his phone. He was more likely to get answers seeing Davy in person anyway.

  Chapter Four

  He instructed the cabbie to drive past the convenience store first, but he didn’t see Davy anywhere.

  Minutes later, the cab drew up to Davy’s house. It wasn’t Ben’s house, and hadn’t been since the first day Kurt had visited. Despite Ben’s car in the driveway, Kurt didn’t have a picture in his mind of anyone but Davy living there.

  And Davy better be there now. Kurt hopped out of the cab and threw a twenty at the driver. He moved as fast as he could up the drive. Not as fast as he’d like, but he carried the cane now as a just-in-case and didn’t want to go back to needing it.

  Finger pressed on the doorbell, he waited. The annoying ringing he’d expected to hear wasn’t audible, so he pounded on the door with his cane. Davy yanked the door open, annoyed and sweaty.

  “What?” The irritation faded, a bit, when he focused on Kurt.

  “Hey, Davy. What’s up? Ready for lunch?” Tomorrow, he was going to bring his car over, and they were fucking going out for lunch.

  “I told you I wasn’t feeling well… and wait. There aren’t any tunnels around here.”

  Kurt shrugged. “I lied.”

  Davy’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. “But… but… how could you?”

  Tempting as it was to laugh, Kurt refrained. “You lied, too, you know. You look like you’re feeling just fine.”

  Red climbed Davy’s throat and stained his cheeks a fiery pink.

  “Can I come in?” A rhetorical question, since he pushed past Davy, much the way he had the first day. At least Davy wasn’t wearing pajamas again.

  Dear God. It was hot as the fires of Hades. “Davy, what the hell is wrong with your air conditioner?” Should he offer to take a look at it? Of course he might make it worse.

  He walked into the kitchen. “At least open some windows. It has to be cooler outside than in here.” And brighter too. Wrestling with the window over the sink, it opened with a pained screech informing Kurt the windows were rarely, if ever, opened. A slight breeze, warm and humid, wafted in.

  “That’s better.” He’d been here enough, and been pushy enough that he didn’t wait for Davy to offer him a drink—he’d waste away from dehydration if he did. Davy didn’t talk a whole lot, and he clearly hadn’t quite figured out what to make of Kurt’s daily visits. But there hadn’t been a sign of the scary, sleeping-all-the-time, prelude-to-overdosing Davy displayed the first couple of days.

  Opening the fridge, the light didn’t come on. But one came on in Kurt’s brain. Turning on his heel, he let the door swing shut behind him. Davy had followed him into the kitchen but stared at his bare feet.

  Suspicion filling him, Kurt stalked closer to Davy and flicked the light switch behind Davy’s shoulder. Off. On. Off again. On again. Nothing.

  A power outage wasn’t unusual. Brownouts were a regular occurrence when the temperature rose above a certain point, but it wasn’t that hot out. A brownout wasn’t a good reason for the shame skating across Davy’s face, even though Davy wouldn’t look at him.

  “Davy, what’s wrong with the power?” Kurt clenched his fists to keep from shaking the man. Was he trying to kill himself by slow roasting? Since Kurt hadn’t let him starve himself?

  Then he saw the drops hitting Davy’s feet. Tears. Dammit. He wasn’t going to do this in the kitchen, though. He was practically still bruised from the day Davy had cried in his arms—those kitchen chairs were instruments of torture.

  He stalked past Davy to the living room. At least it wasn’t white, but the monochrome beige made him feel like he was inside a mushroom. Thankfully t
hese windows opened more smoothly, because he had a twinge in his left arm from opening the window in the kitchen. It was getting better, but he didn’t want to piss off his physiotherapist or she wouldn’t let him start driving tomorrow, or go back to work soon. The light levels improved significantly with the blinds open.

  Turning back, he saw Davy standing in the doorway in that same whipped posture. He pointed at the plush, nondescript couch. “Sit.”