Cop Out

by KC Burn

  “Bye, Davy.” Kurt leaned in a fraction, almost like he was going to kiss Davy. Whoa. He backed out of the house, quick as he could. Davy didn’t look surprised or shocked or anything, so maybe the miniscule movement hadn’t been obvious. He hoped.

  Sliding behind the wheel, he cranked the A/C and sat there for a moment while the car cooled down. What the fuck was that? Why the hell had he almost kissed Davy? Not kissed, kissed, like with tongue, but a simple good-bye peck. Even still, he’d never thought about kissing Davy—or any man—before, but something about the moment made him think of his parents and he’d been going to give Davy a good-bye kiss like his dad gave his mom all the time. Fucking weird. But if Davy didn’t notice anything, Kurt wasn’t going to bring it up. Had to be some sort of mental aberration due to exhaustion.

  He really was tired. Picking up his phone, he pressed his quick dial for Finn’s. “Hey, mom,” he said when she picked up.

  “Hey, baby. How are you? We haven’t seen you for a few days. Are you coming by? Do you need some food?”

  Oh my God, he so didn’t need any more food. Not right now, and maybe not for days. He’d eaten far more cabbage rolls than was wise, but they’d been so damned good. How come Ben hadn’t been a fat, slovenly cop with Davy cooking for him all the time?

  “No, mom, I’m fine. But I’ve got....” Kurt glanced in the rearview and did a quick count. He’d even had to put the seats down. “Eight bushel baskets of tomatoes. Think you can use them up? They’re pretty ripe.”

  Even if she couldn’t, he’d find a dumpster somewhere. He wasn’t leaving them for Davy to deal with.

  “How on earth did you end up with that many tomatoes?”

  “I was helping a friend of mine with his garden, and he didn’t know what to do with them.”

  “They’re good, then?”

  In the right hands, they sure were. “Yep. I think I ate half a bushel myself just now.”

  His mom laughed. “Sure, I can change up some of the specials for next week. Bring them by.”

  Kurt put the car into gear, and with a last look at Davy’s house, he pulled away.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey, man, I’m glad you’re here.” Simon opened the door and let Kurt step inside. Ever since Simon had told him Jen had invited a lot of people, including a few single girls from work, Kurt had considered cancelling. Simon wouldn’t have held it against him, but he didn’t want Jen to feel bad. After almost three months as partners, Simon stopped asking if he wanted to bring anyone special to their quiet, weekly dinners. But he didn’t think Jen stopped wishing he was dating someone.

  The swell of jumbled feminine voices broke, and Kurt’s heart sped up. He could have used a wingman, and he wished he’d thought to ask Ian or Davy to come with him. Which was stupid. He’d never needed a wingman before, but the disturbing little incident at Davy’s front door a couple of weeks ago convinced him he needed to get laid. Dating still sucked, but he needed to spend some time with a girl.

  Standing by the snack table, Jen beckoned to him. Kurt smiled and joined her. After a quick hug, Jen turned to a perfectly groomed blonde woman.

  “Kurt, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine from work. Tiffany, this is Kurt.”

  Tiffany’s smile was full of nice white teeth, but Kurt couldn’t help being reminded of a documentary he’d seen about lions. A chill of dread settled in the pit of his stomach, but he forced himself to smile back. Tiffany was pretty, shapely, and Jen liked her. And he’d already decided he needed to get laid. With a deep breath, he groped for a conversational opening as Jen disappeared.

  “So, how’d it go with Tiffany?” Simon said with a grin as he slid into the desk across from Kurt on Monday morning. Kurt slid a furtive glance over to Christa, thankful she hadn’t noticed. After Ian had pointed it out, he noticed she paid a lot more attention than she should to any conversation revolving around his dating habits, or lack thereof. He shrugged and changed the subject. “C’mon. We’ve got a scene to get to.”

  “Oh, sure, man. Why didn’t you call me? I could have met you there.”

  “Just came in a minute or two ago. Figured it could wait until you got here.”

  “Right, let’s go.”

  As Simon pulled out of the parking lot, he cleared his throat.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I pried. It’s none of my business… or Jen’s.” Sheepish was an odd look on such a large, imposing man.

  “No, no, it’s not that. Ben never asked me about dating and stuff.” Or anything else non-job related, for that matter, but he didn’t want Simon to know how much that still bothered him. And Ben sure as hell never tried to set him up. “And my brother said Christa, was, well, into me.”

  Simon took his gaze off the road to glance at Kurt. “Oh, man. Why didn’t you tell me you and Christa—”

  “No, not me and Christa.” God, this was fucking embarrassing. “I just noticed she’s overly interested in any conversation about me dating. Dating never works out well for me, and when it all goes to hell, I don’t want to work that closely with the girl, you know? I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “That’s nice of you. But I’m sorry things didn’t go well with Tiffany.”

  “If you knew, why did you ask?” Dear God, had Tiffany spilled every single embarrassing bean for Jen? He’d never had such a humiliating experience before.

  Simon laughed. “I’m a detective, same as you. You’d probably be a lot more optimistic about dating if things had gone well. Honestly, Tiffany’s not my favorite person. I find her a little much, but I thought you went for that type, since you made a date for the next night.”

  No, Tiffany wasn’t really his type, but he often had a hard time saying no to pushy women. Was that because he was so used to his forceful mother and sisters? Or was it just easier, somehow, to give in?

  “But that’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it. I understand.”

  Suddenly, he had a flash of how reticent he must sound to Simon. The last thing he wanted was to end up in another stilted, uncomfortable, and—he had to admit it now—friendless relationship with his work partner.

  “Simon, I’m still a little fucked up.”

  Simon frowned at the road, and Kurt realized his words could be taken in a number of different ways. Hell, he’d probably used the exact same words in college when he’d gone to class in the morning, drunk from the night before.

  “Sorry, I need to explain. I don’t know what Inspector Nadar told you about Ben, but I was thankful I didn’t have to explain about him to you. I mean, I went to see the shrink about his death, all part of my return to work, but a bunch of stuff… well… I wasn’t ready to tell anyone.”

  Simon parked the car. Were they there already?

  Dark brown eyes gazed at him, serious and sympathetic, also unexpected for his easy-going partner. “Job comes first, eh? But hold that thought. We’re going out for a beer tonight, and we’re going to pick this up. Because you’re hurting, and I don’t want that for my partner or my friend.”

  Acid boiled in Kurt’s gut. He really didn’t want to talk about this, but he had a feeling Simon wasn’t going to let him out of it. His new partner was nothing if not stubborn. And he liked to talk—a lot.

  They’d managed to knock off at a reasonable hour, and Kurt reluctantly followed Simon to their new favorite watering hole, the Beer Bar. Kurt had never gone out for a drink with Ben, but he’d gone out with a few of the other detectives, and this was the place Simon liked best. One night, he’d have to take Simon to Finn’s. He’d love it.

  Instead of bellying up to the bar, which gave the best view of the televisions, Simon ordered a couple of beers and weaved around tables to one of the booths in the back.

  “This okay? You’ll be able to talk here?”

  Kurt slid into the booth. “It’s fine, Simon, thanks.”

  He toyed with the condensation on his glass, tracing patterns in the wetness. Simon sat quietly, waiting.

  Be
gin at the beginning, his mother would often say. After a deep breath, he did just that. “I never went for a drink with Ben. He never asked me about my dates, or anything about my family. We never had a meal together if we weren’t working. And I thought we were friends, if not exactly typical, but I didn’t question it. Ben was a good cop. I learned a lot from him. But I realized after he died that I didn’t know him at all. We weren’t friends, and I found out some things that made me wonder if I’d even like him outside of the job.”

  Gulping at his beer, Kurt couldn’t bring himself to look at Simon. What would he see in his eyes? Just saying the words aloud made him feel so damned disloyal. And he hated it.

  Simon huffed out a breath, and Kurt dared a quick look. There wasn’t any censure in Simon’s expression.

  “I’m sorry, Kurt. We can’t always get along with our partner, but I think you and me are a good fit, you know? Ben may have been a good cop, but there are plenty of good cops who aren’t necessarily the best people. You can’t feel responsible for that.”

  “But… but… I feel so disloyal.” He dropped his gaze again.

  “What, you’ve never known anyone to ask for a transfer? Ask for a new partner? People don’t all get along. How can you feel disloyal? I haven’t heard one bad thing about Ben, which means you haven’t told anyone about your issues… even when you probably should have. I think your sense of loyalty is more overdeveloped than most. And that’s why this is so painful for you.”

  Really? Some of the knotted tension in his chest melted away. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered.

  “Feel free to tell me anything. Because I’ll probably end up telling you more than you want to know about me. I want to be friends with my partner. In fact, I’d say we’re already friends.”

  Kurt relaxed further. He took a leisurely sip of his beer.

  “So, anything you want to get off your chest about Tiffany?”

  Oh, God. Tiffany. He didn’t really want anyone to know about it, but he didn’t know who else to talk about it with. His partnership with Ben affected him even more than he’d thought. He’d bottled up a lot of his personal stuff. Even if he were inclined to put up with the teasing he could expect from his brothers, he’d stopped confiding in them a long time ago, his professional relationship spilling over into his personal ones. Fuck. If Ben were still alive, Kurt might even punch him. He sure as hell wasn’t telling any of the other guys on the force about this, and Davy probably couldn’t offer an opinion.

  He lifted a shoulder, and he really couldn’t bear to look Simon in the eye. “We went back to her place. We both thought we were going to have sex, but I… I couldn’t.”

  “You didn’t want a one night stand? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “No, I mean I couldn’tgetitup.” He spoke the last four words fast, blurring them together in the hopes of hiding their true import. Sure, he’d heard it happened to guys sometimes, but he’d never had an issue before.

  “What? Oh…,” Simon said as he deciphered Kurt’s words. “Hey, that can happen.”

  God, he was such a loser. “Ever happen to you?”

  “Well, once when I was really drunk.”

  Of course. Kurt grimaced. He didn’t even have that excuse. He’d drunk more now than he had the night of his date. Dinner had been far too quick, Tiffany apparently eager to get him back to her place. But there hadn’t even been a twinge of interest below his belt.

  “Then again, if it were Tiffany, I’d probably have the same problem. Man, she can be really annoying.”

  Kurt had to smile at Simon’s transparent effort to cheer him up.

  “So, nothing? At all?” Simon asked after taking a sip of his own beer. Kurt shook his head.

  “Why’d you go out with her, then? I mean, she’s nice looking, but like I said, annoying.”

  “I wanted there to be something. Anything.”

  Simon looked thoughtful. “When was the last time there was… something?”

  When was the last time? Sex was often more work and less reward than using his own hand. But then, he didn’t even think he’d used his hand since… since…. “Before Ben died.” Oh, holy shit. Almost four months. At first, he’d assumed it was the painkillers. But he’d not been on those in weeks. In fact, the closest he’d come was in Davy’s fucking shower. Maybe he should have rubbed one out, since apparently it was a rare commodity.

  Simon nodded like he’d just revealed the secrets of the universe. “Now, I’m not a psychologist or anything, but everyone grieves in their own way. I’m guessing losing interest in, uh, sex is part of your mind’s healing process. Now that you’re thinking about it again, and wanting it, it’ll come back. Don’t rush it. I’ll have Jen lay off the set-ups, because I think she has a list of women in mind for you.”

  Well, that was possibly the most embarrassing thing he’d ever had to say or hear, and judging by Simon’s pink cheeks, he hadn’t escaped entirely unscathed. And he did feel surprisingly lighter. He’d almost died, he’d found out some very unsettling things about himself and his partner, and there was the overarching stress of knowing the man who’d killed Ben was still walking the streets free. Putting pressure on to date was exacerbating the issue. Simon was right. It would be back soon enough, and he could wait until then to dive back into the shark-infested dating pool.

  “Thanks, man. I feel a little better.”

  “Good. Want to come watch the game on Thursday? I promise it’ll just be you, me, and Jen.”

  “No, thanks, I have plans that night. But I appreciate the offer.” It had been too long since he’d been able to unwind and watch a game with Davy. Despite the recent weirdness, Davy’s place was comfortable and relaxing—he missed hanging out with his friend.

  Simon held his glass up in a toast, and Kurt clinked his glass. Talk turned to less personal topics as they finished their beer.

  Kurt brought snacks again, but Davy had frozen several servings of cabbage rolls, and he offered those for dinner. The first inning had barely started by the time they finished eating and doing the dishes.

  Davy curled up on the couch, legs tucked up to his chest.

  “Are you cold? If you don’t want to fix the thermostat, why don’t you grab a blanket?”

  Without a word, Davy scampered up and scurried into one of the bedrooms. Within seconds, he’d returned with a wildly colored quilt, one Kurt thought he recognized from the closet of hidden treasures.

  There was a sudden warmth to the sterile room that had nothing to do with temperature. Davy must have felt it, too, because he smirked at him.

  “Rooting for the Jays again?” Davy asked.

  “Of course, why?” For a change, Davy might stay awake for the whole game.

  “I’m rooting for the Yankees today.”

  Kurt clutched his chest as though mortally wounded. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  The devilish look was softened and tempered by the quilt, making him look like an impish child. The shrug was muffled too. “Dunno. Because they’re better.”

  “They are not.”

  Davy rolled his eyes. “Sure they are.” Okay, now Davy was being obstinate. Kurt knew it, but it didn’t stop him from rising to Davy’s bait.

  “Fine. What do you want to bet they’ll lose?”

  “Loser buys beer for the house for the next month.”

  “You’re on.”

  Kurt never had so much fun watching a game with someone rooting for the other team. Every time the Yankees did something well, Kurt almost expected Davy to stick out his tongue. He’d seen hints of this playfulness before, but between this and the tomato fight, Davy’s natural feistiness was returning with a vengeance.

  The bottom of the ninth, the Yankees scored three runs, giving them the win, and Davy sprang up, quilt forgotten on the couch.

  “Oh, yeah. I told you they were better.” Davy’s victory dance was hilarious, but Kurt bit his lip and tackled Davy, wrestling like he would with one of his brothers.
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  Davy yelped, eyes wide, muscles locked, panic stealing over his face until Kurt laughed and rubbed his knuckles in Davy’s hair. He lay, braced on his arms, over Davy, but no longer restraining him.

  “Fine, you win the bet,” Kurt said, pretending to be upset.

  “This how you act at home with your brothers?”

  “Absolutely, if they had the dismal taste to root for someone other than the Jays. But they put up a better fight than you.” He grinned as he said it. Living with three older brothers meant he probably did a lot more roughhousing than most. And he learned how to fight dirty from his three older sisters. Didn’t look like Sandra had taught Davy that, though.