by Lisa Henry
“That’s not on the list,” Hayden said, holding the piece of paper out to Matt to prove it.
“Grandad needs a new one,” Matt said. “The one he uses when he watches TV clicks. It’s annoying.”
He held Hayden’s gaze, but he didn’t say anything about their abrupt turnaround in the previous aisle. Hayden wondered if his thoughts had been broadcast clear across his face back there at the rope, if Matt had seen the connection he’d made, or if he had only been reacting to the sudden weird shift in Hayden’s mood.
“You know, it’s a twelve-dollar fan,” Hayden said. The bright lights in the ceiling gleamed down onto the glossy packaging of the fan. “It’ll probably fall apart in a month.”
Matt’s mouth quirked up in a quick smile. “I’ll risk it.”
There was a joke there, maybe, about Matt getting something cheap and shiny, and then having to deal with it when it broke. Hayden wasn’t sure he could pull it off though, so he just shrugged. “Your call.”
They headed down the next aisle.
Matt’s list of eight things had somehow turned into a trolley full of items by the time they reached the gardening section.
“I want to get Grandad a couple of new tomato plants,” he said. “The chooks broke into the vegie patch and ate the last ones.”
Hayden left him inspecting the available tomato seedlings, and wandered into the next row. The gardening section was outdoors, under shade cloth. It was damp and humid, and smelled like wet earth and tap water baking on cement. Vibrant green ferns glistened under the mist from a sprinkler array, and Hayden reached out to knock a droplet of water off the end of a tightly curled frond.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
Hayden’s head snapped up at the sound of that voice. Greg. He was wearing an old pair of shorts and a Cowboys t-shirt with three-quarter tear near the hem.
“You’re on sick leave,” Greg said, looking Hayden up and down. “And you’re shopping.”
“Stress leave, actually.” Hayden wasn’t sure how he got the words out.
“Right.” Greg shook his head. “Stress leave. Funny how I went to the exact same jobs, and I’m doing just fine. I guess I’m not chasing a compo payout though.”
Hayden lifted his chin, ignoring the sudden rush of hot shame that threatened to wash over him. Was that what people at work thought he was doing? Was that the shit that Greg was spreading around at the station? “Neither am I.”
“So you’re coming back then?” Greg narrowed his pale eyes.
“Yeah.”
That was the plan. That had to be the plan, because Hayden didn’t know what else to do. And he loved his job, for the most part, and he was good at it—he was a better ambo than Greg, although that wasn’t setting the bar real high—and he wasn’t Matt. He couldn’t imagine throwing his job in and being something else.
“Yeah, well maybe you should wait until Kate’s back on the road before you come back,” Greg said. “That way you girls can work together.”
Aaaand…fuck him. Hayden had put up with his homophobic bullshit for way too long. The low burn of anger he’d been carrying against Greg sharpened suddenly in a bright spark, and Hayden was swinging his fist before he even realised, relishing the shock on Greg’s face as he saw what was coming, and then—
Matt was hauling him back, and his fist swung wide.
“Don’t,” Matt said, and there was no mistaking that tone: Constable Dickhead was in the building. He kept a tight hold on the back of Hayden’s shirt.
Greg shuffled back a few steps, in an awkward little dance. There was an uneasy smile plastered to his face. “Come on, Hayden. It was just a joke.”
“Fuck you,” Hayden muttered, his fists still clenched as anger rolled over him in waves.
“Don’t,” Matt repeated sternly.
“Who are you?” Greg asked. “His keeper?”
Matt kept one hand clenched in Hayden’s shirt, and dug around in his pocket with the other one. “I’m his boyfriend,” he said. “We’ve never been introduced, and maybe you don’t recognise me out of uniform.” He held his ID up and let it drop open. “Constable Matt Deakin.”
Hayden almost laughed at the sudden expression of dread on Greg’s face.
“It was just a joke,” Greg said, his mouth twisting in strange ways as he tried to smile.
“I’m sure it was,” Matt said, his tone making it clear that he would brook no argument about it. “And I’m sure it’s not going to happen again.”
“Nah,” Greg said. “Nah, it won’t.”
“Good,” Matt said, finally releasing his hold on Hayden’s shirt. “Fuck off then.”
Greg scuttled away like a cockroach.
Hayden watched him go, breathing in the smell of petrichor. He felt cold suddenly, despite the humidity. He turned to face Matt, and found him gazing back warily.
“That was…” Matt cleared his throat. “That was me not letting you look after yourself again, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Hayden said, his heart racing. “But it was also you stopping me from punching that fuckwit in the face and ending up in worse shit than I’m in already, so thanks.”
Matt exhaled heavily. “I don’t want to fuck this up, Hayden.”
“You didn’t.”
“We’re okay?”
“We’re okay,” Hayden said, but he couldn’t meet Matt’s gaze when he said it.
All he had to do to make it true was to believe it, right? He was okay, and he and Matt were standing on solid ground. All he had to do was believe it. He was okay. He wasn’t drowning. Not anymore. He wasn’t. He forced a smile and ignored the sudden burst of panic in his chest that called him a liar, and caught Matt’s hand. He squeezed it, not caring if anyone saw. “Let’s get those tomato plants for Joe and then go home.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
On Monday morning, Matt and Sean hit the ground running.
Literally.
Matt had been anticipating a morning full of routine break and enter follow-ups. He’d been dreading it actually—a morning shift so slow that he would have had nothing to do except worry about Hayden and imagine a thousand different ways their fragile relationship could fracture and crumble into pieces. But the morning didn’t give him any time to brood, or to panic. Instead, his and Sean’s first job was an alarm at a seafood place in South Townsville, down near the port, and they turned up just in time to see some guy bolting out the side door.
Who the fuck broke into a business at a quarter past six in the morning? Most of Townsville’s brightest were still in bed at this hour. What was that joke? Crime doesn’t pay, but the hours are good. Clearly nobody had told this bloke he was supposed to be sleeping in. This guy was no shirker though—he was already scaling the six-foot chain link fence that surrounded the back yard of the business by the time Matt and Sean scrambled out of the car.
“Two-oh-six, VKR,” Matt called into his radio and he and Sean set off in pursuit. “Offender on foot, heading for the creek. Caucasian male, dark hair, wearing a blue shirt.”
Sean, with the enthusiasm that only someone new to the job could muster, hauled himself over the fence.
“Oh, fuck my life,” Matt muttered, following him over. Something caught as he swung himself over the top of the fence, and pulled him up short. His belt? No. His pants. There was a dry ripping sound, and then Matt’s momentum was carrying him forward again, and he barely saved himself from diving headfirst into the gravel on the other side of the fence. He landed awkwardly, his shoulders wrenching, and then he released his grip on the fence and raced after Sean and the offender.
They were heading for the mangroves at the edge of the muddy river.
“Police!” Sean yelled at the guy. “Stop!”
Like that was going to work at this point, but Matt admired Sean’s optimism.
The guy splashed into the river, and struck out into the water.
“Sean!” Matt yelled.
Sean was
halfway up to his knees in the water before he halted.
“VKR,” Matt said into his radio. “Suspect’s in the river. Can we get a unit on the Stuart side?” He didn’t listen for a reply. “Sean, get out of the fucking water!”
Sean struggled back onto the bank, his boots caked in mud.
They watched as their offender splashed across the river.
“You are carrying a firearm, a taser and a radio,” Matt said. “Also, and most importantly, there are crocs in that river.”
Sean’s chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. “What about him though?”
The guy was still splashing around in the water, headed doggedly towards the Stuart side, and the saltpans.
Matt sighed. There was no way they could leave the guy in the water, because Matt didn’t want to explain to Ethical Standards how he and Sean had managed to get a suspect eaten by a crocodile. And it wasn’t like the guy was going to want to be rescued, knowing he’d be arrested again the moment he was on dry land.
This job.
Nothing was ever straightforward in this job.
It was rarely boring, at least.
Matt reached for his radio, just as he heard the whoop-whoop-whoop of a siren, and a boat sped around a bend in the river. It was a rigid hull inflatable boat, small and fast, with POLICE emblazoned on the sides.
Perfect timing.
He and Sean waited while the water police wrangled the flailing guy aboard, landing him like a wriggling fish, and then they walked back toward the seafood place to check out the damage, and see if there was anyone there yet to take a report from.
“Hey, Matt?” Sean asked, squelching along beside him in his muddy boots.
“Yeah?”
“Nice jocks,” Sean said.
Matt ran his hands over his arse, feeling the massive three-quarter tear courtesy of the fence. “Shit.”
The owner was on scene by the time they got back to the seafood place—a middle-aged woman who tried very hard not to react to either the stinking mud covering Sean up to the knees, or the fact that Matt’s arse was hanging out of his pants.
Matt, for his part, tried not to laugh every time her gaze drifted down.
Grandad was going to piss himself laughing when Matt shared what sort of morning he’d had, and he hoped Hayden would too. He knew it wouldn’t be a magic fix—nothing was—but he missed Hayden’s wild, free laughter and the way it lit him up from inside.
His chest ached when he realised that Hayden probably missed it too.
The TV was on in the living room when Matt got home just after two. Grandad was sitting in his recliner, a small dish of red cocktail onions in his lap. His walker was at the side of the chair. He’d been favouring it over his cane lately. Matt wondered if he was getting frailer, or if he’d finally accepted the fact that the walker was a hell of a lot more stable than the cane.
The cricket was on.
“Hey,” Matt said. “You need anything?”
“Nope.” Grandad popped a cocktail onion in his mouth. “Me and Hayden had lunch a while ago. There’s some leftover ham in the fridge if you want it.”
“I’m good.”
“He makes a mean toasted sandwich.” Grandad picked through his dish for another onion. “You should hang onto him, Matty.”
“That’s the plan, I think,” Matt said. “You know if you eat too many of those, you’ll fart worse than Charlie.”
“I don’t tell you how to live your life.” Grandad shoved two in his mouth at once.
Matt snorted, and headed down the hallway.
He found Hayden in his room, stretched out on his bed. He was asleep. His shirt had ridden up, showing a band of skin above the waistband of his borrowed track pants. There was a book lying open, face-down, on his chest that rose and fell with every breath. The front cover looked like it had been torn off years ago, and the spine was too cracked to read. Matt remembered the stack of books that Grandad kept in the bottom the cupboard in the living room, and wondered if Hayden had found it there. Grandad had always referred to it as the kids’ cupboard as it contained books, and board games, jigsaw puzzles, and, for some reason, collections of old Footrot Flats comics. If a kid dared complain they were bored during a school holiday visit, that’s where they were directed. If they complained they were bored after that, they usually ended up pulling weeds in the yard.
Matt smiled at the memory. He crossed to his dresser, and pulled out a change of clothes. The old Goldfield Ashes shirt he’d worn home did little to disguise his police-issue cargoes, but Matt never wore his full uniform home. If he ever had to stop to get fuel or groceries, he preferred to do it anonymously. It was somewhat of a new concept for him. Up in Ingham, everyone had known he was a copper. Here in Townsville he actually flew under the radar when he was off duty. It was nice.
Matt crouched down and unlaced his boots, and then straightened up again and tugged his belt open. He drew it free, and left it resting in a loose coil on top of his dresser. Then he unfastened the button on his fly.
“Slow down,” Hayden said, his voice rough with sleep. “Let the anticipation build up a bit first. Where’s your sense of showmanship?”
Matt turned around to face him, eyebrows raised.
“You’d make a terrible stripper.” Hayden yawned and stretched.
“I’m pretty sure you’re only saying that so I’ll attempt to prove you wrong.” Matt unzipped his fly. “But you’re right. I’d make a terrible stripper.”
He shoved his uniform pants down, stepped out of them, and climbed onto the bed beside Hayden, who rolled toward him. The book slipped off Hayden’s chest and ended up somewhere between them. Their kiss was soft and sweet, and warm from sleep.
“How was your day?” Hayden murmured.
“Ridiculous. And I’m pretty sure Sean has photographic evidence.”
“There’s a story there.”
“There is.” Matt pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw. “But first, how was your day?”
“Relaxing.” Hayden ran his fingertips down Matt’s cheek. “Good.”
“Good,” Matt echoed back, kissing him again.
“I’m still sort of waiting for the next thing, you know?” Hayden’s smile was wry, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “And don’t say it won’t happen, because we both know it will. That’s the nature of the job. And I’m scared I won’t handle it.”
“You will.” Matt brushed his knuckles along Hayden’s jaw. He hated that Hayden felt like this, and that there was nothing he could say to fix it, but it was good that Hayden was talking about how he felt. Good that he was comfortable enough with Matt to open up like this. Matt just had to remember that there was a line, and that it was his job to support Hayden, not to push him. He had to accept that he wasn’t in control here. “I think you’ll be fine.”
Hayden pulled his mouth into a grimace. “It’s pretty fucking egotistical of me, isn’t it? To think that I’m important enough for the universe to want to shit on specifically.”
“Maybe.”
Hayden held his gaze. “I’m not cursed.”
“Nope.”
“Shit happens.”
“Yeah.”
Hayden narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure if fatalism should be that comforting.”
“Whatever works.” Matt rubbed a thumb against Hayden’s bottom lip.
“Whatever works,” Hayden repeated, and tilted his face for another kiss.
Matt rolled onto his back, pulling Hayden with him. The corner of the book jabbed him in the kidney, and he dragged it out and pushed it onto the floor.
Hayden straddled him.
God, he was beautiful. Just as beautiful now, with his messy hair and the shadows under his eyes, as he was with that brilliant smile he flashed in public. This was another side of him, a more vulnerable side, and Matt felt privileged that Hayden trusted him enough to show it. He didn’t doubt for a second that Hayden didn’t trust easily, and that even being here wi
th Matt was a display of trust.
“Did you call Kate today?” he asked.
“Mmm.” Hayden rested the heel of his hand on Matt’s sternum, and pinched up a section of his thin T-shirt to rub between his thumb and forefinger. “We’re going for coffee tomorrow, after my appointment.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line.
His first session with the psychologist.
“You’ll be fine,” Matt said.
Hayden met his gaze. “Yeah. Maybe.”
This is a process, Matt thought. It had only been three days since Isaiah hanged himself, and at least Hayden had slept, which seemed like a huge step in getting his equilibrium back. His ‘maybe’ might not have been the answer Matt wanted to hear, but it was sure as hell a better one that Hayden would have been able to give him three days ago.
Matt curled his fingers around Hayden’s hips. “I like you a lot, Hayden. I don’t think either of us were looking for a boyfriend, but I’m really glad I found one.”
Hayden stared down at him, colour rising in his cheeks. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I’m glad I found one too.”
Matt glanced at the door to make sure he’d closed it, and then slid a hand under the elastic waistband of Hayden’s track pants. Hayden shifted his hips, tilting his pelvis forward so that Matt could move his hand lower. His fingers hit underwear.
“What?” Hayden asked. “I’m not going to go commando in front of your grandad! These pants don’t hide a damn thing.”
Matt laughed. One day, for sure, he was going to tell Hayden that Grandad had seen the dick pic. “Fair enough!”
Hayden shimmied, shoving the track pants down his hips, and revealing his underwear to Matt’s gaze. “Not saying you can’t totally get me out of these though. Since you so kindly took your pants off first, and it’d be rude not to reciprocate.”
“Uh huh,” Matt said. “And you’re never rude.”
Hayden huffed out a laugh, and kissed Matt softly on the lips. Then he kissed a slow trail along Matt’s jaw and up to his ear. When he spoke, his voice was low, and his breath was warm. “I don’t know what you mean, Constable Deakin.”
