by Rhys Ford
“Rey would eat a bowl of dog shit if you put it in front of him,” Ivo sniped, flipping the donut box open. “Your guy’s not picky. I mean, look at his best friend over here. Who the hell would pick Mace to be their wingman if they were picky?”
“Fuck you, squirt.” Mace grabbed the glazed donut Ivo’d been reaching for. “Way too slow.”
“Fuck me? Fuck all of you.” Growling, Ivo took a sugared twist from the depths of the box. “I want to know why the hell are all of you here. Because it sure as shit isn’t because I didn’t come home last night.”
“We’re worried—” Bear started.
“They’re worried,” Gus interrupted. “I don’t give a shit, but I came for the donuts. I had to get up anyway to drop Chris off at preschool. If I’m not going back to bed after taking care of the kid, I’m going to want a donut.”
“There you go. You’ve all got donuts.” Ivo bit into his, holding it in his mouth as he poured himself some coffee. Mumbling through the pastry, he said, “Now go home.”
“You look like shit,” Luke pronounced, his dark eyes filling with storms Ivo wanted to avoid at all costs. “And you never look like shit.”
They really needed to get a new couch. God knew how many asses had already flattened the cushions and worn down the frame, but Ivo felt every lump and brace along the length of his body. He was tired. The shot of coffee he’d sipped didn’t even touch the fog hanging around his brain, but it was a start. His brothers circling around him like a pack of wolves wasn’t helping, and the joy he’d felt pulling on Ruan’s T-shirt that morning was slowly leaching away, being replaced by hot anger and a feeling of helplessness. They weren’t listening to him. Actually, weren’t even making an attempt to hear what he was saying.
They’d always give him room to hang himself, and that was probably the biggest problem. He’d gone and done it, and there was no going back from the guilt and recriminations they beat themselves up with.
“I look like shit because I spent most of the night talking to a guy I really like about that day,” he began, shoving the rest of the twist in his mouth and chewing furiously, chasing it with more coffee. “I didn’t plan on sleeping there. And not that it’s any of your business, but we literally stayed up late talking. I got to spend the night being held while there was a rainstorm going over us and sharing a bed with a thirty-five-pound cat. We talked about a lot of things. I told him what it’s like to be fucked up in the head and he told me what it’s like being a Catholic-raised homicide cop. And Bear, I texted you so you wouldn’t worry. I did all the things I’m supposed to do so none of you worry.”
“He’s a cop,” Mace declared as if Ivo was supposed to understand what the objection was. Probably from the blank stare on Ivo’s face, Mace sighed. “Sometimes they’re not the most stable of people, and he’s got a gun.”
“You’ve got an ax. Doesn’t mean I’m good to go running to a hotel lobby and break through the doors while screaming ‘Here’s Johnny.’” His coffee cup was strangely empty, but Luke took care of that for him, adding cream and sugar before Ivo could. “I like him. And I think I’m falling in love with him. Now, before any of you start giving me crap about it, I’m going to point out you all aren’t exactly the poster children for healthy relationships. Gus over here was playing yo-yo with Rey. Mace, you had this whole Rhett Butler thing going on with Rob. Luke, you’re scared to death of hooking up with somebody, because you’re scared you’ll kill them if you get pissed off, and Bear—and I love you with all of my heart—but you’ve really got to get out and date. You’re not the Widow Hen. You don’t have to raise us chickens to full adulthood before you go out and get some.”
“Really?” Bear’s thick eyebrows rose as if Ivo couldn’t parse the thick sarcasm in his voice. “The Widow Hen?”
“It’s the first thing I thought of. That’s not the point.” Ivo was grateful he’d gotten the coffee from Luke before he started his little speech, because his brother was slumped back, his arms crossed over his chest and his sloe eyes glittering with menace. “And Luke, I just said that because… well, it’s true. You’re one of the nicest guys I know. You would probably be the nicest of us if it wasn’t for Bear throwing off the grading curve. What I’m trying to say is, I’m okay. I’m feeling my way through this, and I wouldn’t be in as good of a place as I am if it wasn’t for all of you.
“See, that’s what I realized last night. I’m lying there next to Ruan, and I’m listening to him tell me where he is in his life, and it humbled me. I never thought I would be the okay one in the relationship. Not that he’s screwed up, because I’ve got that down, but I have a fuck of a lot more in my life than he does.” The coffee was a bit too sweet, but he didn’t dare say anything, and there was no way of secretly adding more to the cup without insulting an already-pissed-off Luke. To their credit, they were at least tuned in, with the exception of Luke, leaning in to listen to him. “He doesn’t have anyone like you guys in his life. He doesn’t have the family I have. He’s got friends. One of his best friends is this old Merchant Marine who owns the house he lives in, and he’s got his partner. But family? Not like you guys. Last night, talking to him about what I did to myself, didn’t hurt as much as realizing Ruan’s a hell of a lot more alone than I am. That’s what hurt. I held him as much as he held me, and that was the best part of the night. Discovering I could be strong enough, okay enough to make somebody feel safe. Even somebody with a gun.”
“So it’s serious?” Bear murmured, the concern on his face less intense, easing in a thoughtful expression. “He’s a lot older than you are.”
“I would like to present Rob and Mace for the defense as evidence against that argument,” Ivo shot back, grinning when Gus snorted. “I get you guys are concerned because you don’t know him. Everyone else who’s bounced into this family has been people that have been around. Ruan hasn’t, so he’s something unknown, but yeah, the guy’s got a gun, but he’s also got a badge. He goes out every day and wades into other people’s shit, trying to make the world a little bit better. And he does it without having people like you in his life. I want to change that. I like how he makes me feel. I like how he calms the ripples in my head and how he makes me laugh because we are so different. We’re going to have to work on shit, but I can’t be worrying about you guys not being okay with us. If there’s going to be an us, because right now it’s so early, and I don’t know. But I can hope, and unlike some of you whose names will be mentioned—Luke—nobody in his life is going to threaten me to treat him like how he deserves. And that’s kind of sad.”
“I can do that. I’m more than happy to threaten to kick your ass,” Gus called out from his spot on the purple chair. “I’ve been doing it for years. Might as well be doing it for a reason.”
“Now, as much as I’m grateful for the donuts, this is supposed to be a safe place for me. Remember?” Ivo reminded them of the promise they’d all made the first time 415 Ink became a reality. “We weren’t ever going to bring any family shit in here. This has got to be a place where we don’t carry our stuff into, because I need—we all need—a place we can come to and create without family stuff piling on us. Or is that off the table now?”
Bear’s contrition was all Ivo needed, but his older brother nodded and said, “No, you’re right. But please understand, of the five of us, you’re always going to be our baby brother, and there’s no changing that. We’re going to worry, and not just because of your past, but because we want you to have a future. Okay?”
“Okay, I can understand that. I may not always agree, but I can understand it.” Ivo glanced into the pink box on the table, its contents suspiciously heavy with old-fashioned donuts. “If you guys are going to hang around, help me get set up so I can work on the piece I need to do tomorrow. And I’m going to need something to eat. Maybe a breakfast burrito, because that asshole over there doesn’t seem to understand when we tell him don’t get cake donuts.”
Sixteen
THEY D
IDN’T get their date that night. Death struck fast and hard, pulling Ruan into its grip like an old friend with a few stories to tell over bad coffee and greasy food. He and Maite caught a case nearly an hour after he dropped Ivo off at 415 Ink that morning, and he hadn’t been home to do much more than shower, shave, and catch a couple of hours of sleep. Talking on the phone patched in a few minutes of contact with Ivo and it wasn’t enough, but he’d come home to find his cat fed and sandwiches or tacos in his fridge every night with notes left for him in Ivo’s beautiful cursive, assuring him they’d connect once life settled down.
Life refused to cooperate, and Ruan raged silently about not being able to catch a murderer and losing precious time he could have been spending unpeeling Ivo’s layers and exploring his soul.
The bullpen was up to its ears in cases, drowning in death and destruction. Ruan no longer tasted the oily bitterness of the break room’s coffee, even going so far as contemplating adding a cup of water to the burnt remains left in the carafe just so he didn’t have to go through the motions of making another pot.
Luckily, a rookie came in and threw himself on the pot-renewal sword, and he’d walked away with a full mug of mostly okay java instead of the poison he’d been willing to swallow a few minutes before.
They were so close to eliminating a handful of suspects in their murder, whittling away alibis and digging through security-camera footage so bleakly gray Ruan’s eyes ached from the static-filled, jumping images. The main bullpen was windowless, buried in the middle of a maze of offices, cubicles, and interview rooms, so it was difficult to watch the day slip away. The rise and fall of voices helped, the grit in overheard conversations deepening as the sun ate its way across a dreary San Francisco sky, its passage unseen and certainly not missed when taking into account how sodden the afternoon wave of cops looked when they dragged in for change of shift.
“Vending machine’s out of chips,” Maite complained, plopping down in her chair with a thump hard enough to make its hydraulics squeal in protest. A candy bar skidded across his desk, disrupting the piles of papers he’d stacked up a few moments ago. “Here. I was forced to buy chocolate. If I have to choke down a dark-chocolate-covered coconut bar and wear it on my hips until I get to the gym, you’re going to do it too.”
“How come I got the peanut and caramel one, then?” Ruan picked up the candy, turning it over to inspect its expiration date. “And how long has this been in there? It’s probably old enough to buy me a drink.”
“You know nothing about cops and chocolate turnover in a vending machine,” his partner sniffed. “Trust me, there are days when some of us will cut our own mothers for a handful of M&M’s. Be glad I got you that one instead of the rice crackle one. That shit always goes stale and gets stuck in your teeth. Now let me see what’s next on the spreadsheet so I open up the right files. Unless you want me to go over a couple of the ones you’ve already looked at in case you’ve missed something.”
“Suppes, I’m at the point of not even seeing an elephant wearing a clown hat and juggling baby seals if one showed up on these damned videos.” He reached over to highlight the file he’d left open. “There. Take the one beneath it.”
He was halfway through the next mind-numbing hour of watching people fill their gas tanks at three in the morning when the bullpen began to buzz. The noise level rose and fell as detectives came in, usually dragging suspects behind them for a long interview in one of the cramped rooms down the hall, but the chatter rise turned electric, crackling across the murmur of muted conversations held over stacks of evidence. Not willing to risk missing anything on the screen, Ruan didn’t look up from his hundredth video until Maite nudged him in the ribs with a hard elbow.
“Captain on the floor,” she hissed. “And damned if he didn’t bring some fucking pretty company with him.”
“Fucking pretty company,” murmured Joan Castro, one of the female detectives Maite coerced into helping them review videos. “That looks like a whole bunch of trouble I’d like to try to tame.”
“The guy, not the captain,” Maite added with an eye roll. “Morgan’s wife would gut you like a fish if you even thought about what he looked like without clothes.”
“Can’t say I haven’t,” Joan confessed. “But yeah, the guy.”
Captain Donal Morgan filled the bullpen with his presence. A cop’s cop, he wore his gold star like a shield, protecting anyone and everyone who stood behind him. Followed into the force by a good portion of his equally charismatic offspring, Clan Morgan dominated the whispers and rumors scuttling about SFPD’s halls, building on their reputations as solid cops with a no-nonsense dedication to hard work and closing cases. And as lucky as Ruan considered himself to be working under the man whose star bore the scars and dents of a lifetime on the city’s streets, he was taken aback at the sight of Morgan leading Ivo through the gauntlet of uniforms and plainclothes cops stopping the captain to chat.
It was late, far too late for the captain to be at the station, but that never stopped Morgan. There’d been times when Ruan shut down his computer to stumble home for a few hours of sleep only to discover the lights were still on in Morgan’s office and him listening to another detective breaking down a case.
Ivo… he was sure as hell not expecting Ivo.
Mired in the stench of a detective bullpen, Ruan didn’t think anything could overwhelm the sinus-clotting smell of stale cigarette smoke, sour coffee, and the hint of sweat clinging to the walls and pillars, but Ivo’s presence broke through the tepid yellowness in the air.
The night rode in on Ivo’s shoulders, wrapping a cool breeze around his long body. Dressed in torn dark jeans and a buttery-smooth black leather jacket over a muscle-hugging 415 Ink T-shirt, Ivo was a mouthwatering vision of sensual heat walking toward Ruan in beat-up black cowboy boots. His deep blue eyes were ringed with kohl, and a pink flush spread over his tanned cheeks, probably from the cold wind whipping through the city streets. Morgan’s hand on Ivo’s shoulder was worrying, but the heavy plastic bags with one of Ivo’s favorite Chinese food places screened over their sides promised Ruan’s stomach a better meal than the chocolate bar Maite tossed at him.
Delectable and dangerous, Ivo patiently stood by Morgan as the captain stopped to chat with a detective, but his eyes drifted over to Ruan, and the cocky grin on his face only stoked Ruan’s apprehension. Everyone’s eyes were on Ivo, and if there was one trait every cop in the room shared, it was a rabid need to ferret out the truth. Ivo was a puzzle, a gorgeous, sleek, beautiful puzzle being escorted into a den of apex hunters left to wonder if the man was predator or prey.
“Nicholls!” Morgan’s Irish drawl cut through the bullpen chatter, a slice of whiskey through burnt coffee and thin milk. “Look who I found outside looking for ye. Thought I’d be bringing him in before heading home.”
The smile Ivo shot Ruan grew more wicked with every step he took, and Ruan guessed it would take them at least five minutes to get to his desk, barely enough time to shuffle Maite out the back door and shut it behind her. If she’d be willing to go. From the low murmuring growls coming from his partner’s throat, Ruan didn’t think he had a chance in hell of shutting down her curiosity.
“That’s your tattoo guy?” Maite whispered, digging into his arm with sharp fingers. “Jesus, why the hell were you holding out on me? Shit, he’s young. How the hell do you keep up? You need to start taking fish-oil pills and vitamins before you die from heart failure. Sheesh. Way out of your league there, partner.”
“Wait, Nicholls is dating him?” Joan’s whistle was a low, long, drawn-out, off-key chord. “I thought he just worked and slept.”
“I will give you both twenty bucks each to go away.” Ruan fumbled for his wallet, wondering if he had the cash on him. “Hell, forty if you take an IOU.”
“You don’t have enough money in your bank account to make me miss meeting this boy of yours,” Maite said with a broad, evil smile. “And you didn’t tell me he was this damned hot. Nop
e, not moving one inch.”
“I’ll take the forty,” Joan offered. “I’ve got a gas tank to fill. You owe me, Nicholls.”
Every eye was on Ivo’s progress across the bullpen, and Ruan pushed himself up, bracing for the impact of his personal life smack up against the star he wore.
Up close, Morgan was even more there than usual. There was something protective about his stance, a steely glint to his already-too-cunning gaze, and despite the warmth in his smile, a distinct chill lingered in his manner when he approached with Ivo a few inches behind him.
“I didn’t realize ye were seeing Ivo, here,” Morgan said softly. The steel in his eyes slid down into his voice, and Ruan was left with no doubt of its edge. “Good family. Known them for a long time.”
“Didn’t know you knew them, sir,” Ruan edged into the conversation carefully. “Ivo and I are… getting to know each other, but yeah, he’s got a good family. Haven’t met all of them yet, but the ones I have are solid.”
“Known Ivo since he could barely see over the shop’s counter,” Donal replied, each word a hard snick honing the metaphorical blade Ruan felt against his throat. “I’m heading out right now, but hope to see ye the next time we do a family BBQ, Nicholls. It’ll be good to catch up outside of work. It’s always good to learn about a man. Only way to do that is to see him with family.”
“Yes, sir,” Ruan replied around the pressure in his chest. Sliding an arm around Ivo’s waist felt natural, but the bags jostled loudly, and he pulled back, giving Ivo some room. “Looking forward to it.”
Ruan was not looking forward to it. They were on shaky ground, unfamiliar territory where the stable world he’d stood on for so long was now slipping and sliding out from under him.
He’d not done a relationship out in the open before and sure as hell never had a lover show up with bags of food in the middle of a gossipy bullpen while his supervisor and mentor stood over him like a disapproving uncle. Ruan didn’t know how to respond to Morgan’s uncharacteristic bristle. He’d always been the one Morgan stood up for, and Ruan was sure as hell not happy about being on the other side of the captain’s shield and sword. Kissing Ivo was the first thing to pop into his head, mostly because it seemed like the thing to do, but fanning the gossip fires burning on the tips of his fellow detectives’ tongues wasn’t something Ruan looked forward to over the next few weeks until something else caught their interest.
