by Rhys Ford
“So it’s kind of like an emotionally evocative phantom limb sensation?” Quinn mused. He leaned into the heat of Rafe’s body against his, the warmth building up between them in more ways than one. “There is a word that I can’t remember so it’s going to bother me until I do, but it’s an irrational, overwhelming emotion to passively die when a person is in a certain situation. Something like there’s a train coming and it would be pretty easy to fall down in front of it. The person doesn’t really want to commit suicide or even die, but the brain grabs at that dark thought and chases it down to where it lives.”
“Yeah, exactly like that.” Rafe chuckled. “So instead, I went to a meeting, then drove up to your parents’ house and weeded the fuck out of the vegetable garden in the back. Which reminds me, I owe your dad a few tomato plants, because they kinda look like weeds for a moment, and then they looked like pot, so I thought maybe someone planted them as a joke, because why wouldn’t you plant pot plants in a police captain’s garden? So I pulled them out.”
“We could just blame the dog. He periodically goes into the garden and pulls things out indiscriminately.” Quinn made a mental note to either concoct a story or purchase plants. “So then you came home?”
“Right after I bundled everything up into the greens bin and paid your sister Ryan forty bucks to say she’d seen nothing if your parents ask. You know, Riley and Kiki were a fuck of a lot cheaper to bribe than your younger siblings. It’s like with each batch, they get more greedy and cunning.” He shook his head. “So I worked past the stupid need to wreck my brain and came home to be with you. Because I love you. And you being here with me is a damned good incentive to keep clean. I never ever want to come home to you smelling like Brad, acting like Brad. I love you too much for that.”
“I’m glad to be here.” Quinn stole another kiss and whispered, “What do you think about taking the cat inside, feeding her, and maybe we find someplace flat and soft to work off the rest of your energy?”
“Are you trying to seduce me, Doctor Morgan?” Rafe’s grin was wicked and sexy. “Because I’m not that kind of boy.”
“Grab the cat, Rafe,” Quinn growled, gathering up his things. “And you’ve been that kind of boy for as long as I’ve known you.”
Of Cats and Queens
San Francisco—Kane Morgan and Miki St. John
THERE WERE very few times in his life when Miki was by his side as he strolled past the Fisherman’s Wharf sign. That path was usually reserved for Rafe, Sionn, and Connor, especially when they were on a run or hitting up the old crab shack for lunch. It seemed odd to have his rangy, too-pretty rock star of a lover walking next to him in bright daylight and not be headed to Finnegan’s.
Even stranger were the stares Miki pulled in as he walked by small crowds of people. He knew Miki was famous. He couldn’t turn on a radio without hearing Miki’s voice rotating through a song list, and there’d been more than a few times when they were out and someone approached cautiously, eager to get Miki’s attention but reluctant to interrupt.
That was when Kane remembered he shared Miki with the world. It wasn’t a bad thing, especially when he watched his prickly lover turn bashful and shy. He could talk music for hours—and had, blowing their reservations at a dinner once—but just like the star Kane wore, Miki had a calling, and enthusiastic fans were simply part of it.
Even if Miki hated the attention, he always stopped and listened, smiling when Kane knew he wanted to die a little bit inside when all eyes were on him and he could see their faces. It’d taken a long time for Kane to understand the difference. Up close and personal was hard, but on stage, Miki saw nothing but heard their voices, a chorus chanting back the band’s words, filling in the silence Miki often nursed inside of himself. Performing was a way for Miki to bathe in the music and touch the stars.
“You always stop. You have to stop.” Miki snorted with disgust when Connor innocently suggested the band excuse themselves from fan encounters. “They’re the reason we’re up there. Somebody worked at a shitty job so they could see us up on stage. They might have eaten ramen for a month for those tickets, or even that album. Yeah, they don’t own us, but they’ve invested in us. And all I’ve got to invest in them is time, so I’m always gonna stop.”
While Kane agreed with the sentiment, today he hoped no one reached out to touch his rock star. Today was a long day coming, a gift he’d promised himself years before. Today was the day he would finally become a Morgan cop.
“It’s rainy as shit and the damned parking garage’s so far away.” Miki shivered a bit, ducking his head down when the light turned green and they had to dash across the street through the chilly rain. “’Course I guess I should just be fucking glad there’s covered parking. Remember when you had to circle around a lot? And we used to have this beat-up old van that was bigger than a Cadillac, so we’d have gigs down here at eight but came down to park in the afternoon and feed the meter just so we had a spot.”
“You know, that’s one of my biggest regrets… not seeing you guys play before…back then.” Kane snuck a look at Miki’s pale face, worried that he was setting too hard of a pace for Miki’s blown-out knee. “You must have had some really kick-ass shows.”
Miki wrinkled his nose, as if he’d just been served a large helping of bitter melon stew. “Not back then. I mean, there are a lot of places down here that have good music, but the ones that hired us were just looking for some background noise while everybody drank. We played covers mostly, and there were some nights we drank more than what we were paid, but it was fun. Mostly. Sometimes not so much, but that’s what happens when you’re in a band. This is the same place that we went to for Ichi, right? They’ve got a dog named… Earl.”
“Of course you remember the dog.” Kane chuckled. “Yeah, this is the place.”
“I remember the guys. We partied with them a few times, and Damie wants one of them—Gus—to do the artwork for our next album.” Another light with three more to go and the cold drizzle turned into a downpour. “Fuck, we’re going to be frozen by the time we get there.”
“Well, I know that they’ve got coffee going, so we’ll get some in you,” he said, reaching for Miki’s hand. The open intimacy wasn’t something they did often, and for a moment Kane wasn’t sure if Miki would let him, but Miki didn’t hesitate, threading their fingers together. “I really appreciate you coming down here with me. It means a lot.”
“Duh, why wouldn’t I? It’s really important to you,” Miki scoffed. “Like your—our—dad says, this thing is a two-way street and sometimes both of us have to drive, but we should always be willing to be the passenger for the other’s dream.”
“My da said that?” Kane slowed his stride as the sidewalk turned uneven. “Most of the advice I get from him is a reminder to breathe and to not try to cage you in.”
“Okay, so yeah, he says that more to Damie about me, but the sentiment’s the same. D gets a little hyper focused on the shit he wants to do and forgets about the rest of us, but I can usually yank him back.” Miki shrugged and edged in closer to Kane, an elegant feline grace to his walk. “Here, right?”
“Yeah. Here.” Kane stopped in front of the tattoo shop’s door to catch the moment before it passed. “Jesus, I’ve been waiting to do this for years.”
“Okay, so how about if we get the fuck inside and out of the cold?” Miki shivered again despite his heavy leather jacket. “I really need some coffee, and you really need some ink.”
It was a shock to see his father and older brother there in the shop. Kane couldn’t speak… couldn’t think past the bright sparkles of sentimental joy flowing through him. The hug from Connor was appropriately manly and brotherly, a bruising, rib-cracking moment; then came his father’s more gentle embrace.
Being held by Donal with Miki’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades brought Kane to tears. He should have been made of sterner stuff, but the Irish in him was strong, and his family cried… with sorrow and with joy.
It wasn’t simply the hug. Everything about Donal wrapping his arms around him broke Kane’s soul open. It was the familiar scent of Irish Spring soap and the scratch of his father’s knuckles on his cheek where Donal brushed away a tear. The hint of butterscotch on his father’s breath was achingly sweet, a candy habit he never intended to break and one that always ensured he had a handful of treats in his pockets for his children. And it was the smoky echo of peat and fresh green in his father’s rumbling voice that always took Kane’s heart home.
“I’m glad the two of you are here,” Kane mumbled around his burgeoning emotions. “Funny, I just said that to Mick. Thought you guys had to work.”
“Yer better half gave a sound argument for us being here even after ye told us not to come down.” Donal’s chuckle was as rich as the whiskey he liked. “So it was either respect yer wishes or listen to him. Ye see what we’ve chosen.”
Kane cocked his head. “What did he say?”
“He told us to get the fuck down,” Connor interjected. “He seemed pretty serious, so I canceled my training session. And well, he’s right. This is something we should do together. Like the first time.”
“You three about done? Because you’re standing in the middle of the doorway, and I need some coffee,” Miki grumbled, trying to get past them. “You guys are like mountains.”
Bear was waiting for them once they actually got through the door and into the shop itself. If Barrett Jackson had looked a bit more Irish, he could’ve passed for one of Kane’s brothers, especially once Kane heard a sigh of exasperation when Ivo, one of Bear’s younger brothers, came out of the back room followed by a very wet shaggy mutt with the tips of his ears dyed blue.
Miki of course headed for the dog, and from the sounds of it made fast friends with Ivo and Earl.
“You ready to do this now?” Bear asked. The stencil in his hand was a familiar one, and Kane grinned at the stupid look on Connor’s face. “It’s been a few years. You sure you haven’t changed your mind?”
“No, I promised myself this,” Kane replied, stripping his shirt off and ignoring the mocking wolf whistle he heard from the other side of the shop, mostly because he wasn’t sure if it came from Miki or Ivo. “Let’s do this. Time for me to become a real Morgan.”
“You’ve always been a Morgan,” Miki said as he approached Kane, the scruffy wet dog trotting behind him. His lover’s fingers were tinted blue, and the coffee cup he held in his hand let out a steam that promised the brew inside of it was strong enough to strip off paint… just the way Miki liked it. “The best fucking Morgan there is. I’m including Donal in that.”
The kiss he got from Miki was as hot as the coffee, and Kane had to lean his head back when they were done, willing his body to calm down and fighting the instinct to drag Miki to the back of the shop to find anyplace flat enough for them to have sex on.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, a ghra,” Kane whispered into Miki’s ear. “The very best damned thing, and I’m so fucking glad your dog is a thief.”
A Cop and a Drummer
“YOU READY to do this?” Rafe peered out over the balcony to look at the crowd gathered in the hall below. “It’s crazy packed down there.”
Forest didn’t dare look down. The noise level was enough to unnerve him, and the lilt of Irish mingled into the chatter only drove home the importance of what was about to happen. There were too many things to worry about. Did he make the right choice, going with a mandarin collar tuxedo, especially when the guests appeared to be all wearing ties? Did he make a mistake putting his groomsmen in silver waistcoats when he was wearing a blue one? Did he forget to put someone on the guest list? And as his fingers sought to turn the gold band he’d been wearing for the past few months, panic swelled through his chest.
“Fuck. The ring.” He sucked in a hard lungful of air. “Who’s got my ring?”
“I’ve got Con’s. Kane’s got yours,” Miki drawled softly, picking through the bowl of peanut M&Ms left for them in the waiting area. “Get a grip. Not like you haven’t done this before, dude.”
“And it’s a small crowd,” Damie interjected, joining Rafe at the balcony. “Shit, smaller than what we played in New Jersey. You’ve got this.”
“Breathe into a bag or something,” Rafe tossed over his shoulder. “That way, if you’re going to puke, it’s already there near your mouth.”
“You’re standing up with me. You’re supposed to help.” The bag thing wasn’t a bad idea, but Forest didn’t know where he could get one. Instead, he began to plop on the settee with its one hundred pillows, then caught himself in a flailing stop before he sat. “Shit, I almost wrinkled the suit.”
“They’re not going to kick you out of your own wedding if you’ve got a wrinkled suit.” Miki popped a piece of candy into his mouth, then grumbled at Damie, who nudged him with an elbow to open his hand and share. “There’s a whole fucking bowl of them over there. Why do you want mine?”
“Because they’re better that way,” his brother replied, plucking out the yellow ones. Chewing, the guitarist perked up as the music from the speakers changed. “Shit, that’s our call. Gotta head down, guys.”
“You’ve got this,” Rafe echoed Damie’s words, patting Forest on the back. “We’ll be there holding your place in front of the altar. Just remember, don’t lock your knees, and if anyone offers you a pale white cookie, don’t get it stuck to the roof of your mouth or you’ll be digging at with your tongue through the ceremony.”
“Wait, no. There’s wafers?” Forest’s panic rose again, and he struggled to recall that part of the rehearsal. “We weren’t doing anything like that. Were we? Don’t say shit like that unless someone’s changed something. Suppose they bring out the wafers?”
“He’s being an asshole.” Miki shoved the last of his M&Ms in his mouth, chewed furiously, then swallowed. “We’ll be downstairs. I’ve got the ring. It’ll be fast. Just… don’t puke.”
“You’re not helping,” Forest ground out, suffering through Damie adjusting the buttons on his tuxedo to show more of Forest’s deep blue brocade waistcoat. “I’m so going to puke.”
“Well if you do, there’s mints on the table someplace. Swallow a handful after you hurl or that first kiss is going to really suck for Connor.” Miki stood at the top of the back stairs leading down to the main ballroom. “Hurry up, D. Priest wanted us there before they opened the doors to let people in. Brigid’s going to skin us if we fuck this up.”
“You can do this,” Damie whispered, pulling Forest into a quick hug. “’Sides, your guy’s here to keep you company. Why don’t the two of you just kick back here while everyone goes to find a seat, then come down when you’re ready.”
“Come down when the fucking music starts like they want you to or Brigid’s going to yank you two down there by your ears,” Miki shot back, nodding at Connor coming up the stairs. “Yeah, we’re going. D, come on.”
If Forest’s heart was skipping from nerves before, it went into overdrive at the sight of his husband striding across the carpet dressed in his crisp dark blue formal uniform. There were flashes of gold, medals, and a hat Connor had tucked under his arm, but beneath the gilded navy and embossed star lay the man he’d fallen in love with.
“Hey, babe. You look good.” Con gently tossed his hat onto the settee, then gathered Forest up into a tight embrace. Angling his head, he stole a soft kiss from Forest’s open mouth, deepening it as the music swelled below and the sounds of people moving into the ballroom reached them. “God, you taste good too.”
He leaned into Connor’s chest, hooking his hands behind his husband’s back, and exhaled, forcing all the tension out of his body. From the chatter and clinking of glasses, it sounded as if their guests were slow to trickle in through the doors, but at that moment, Forest wouldn’t have cared if it took them forever to find a place to sit. He was wrapped up in a hug with his favorite person tucked against his heart while the world waited for them to speak their vows
.
Again.
“You know, we can slip out while they’re all busy and just elope,” Connor suggested, snuggling his face into the crook of Forest’s neck.
“That’s what got us into trouble the last time.” He laughed under his breath. “Now we’re standing in front of a million and a half people—”
“Three hundred.”
“Three million—and my stomach’s eating itself.” Connor’s chuckle rumbled through his chest. Its deep roll lightened the pressure building up behind Forest’s temples and he exhaled again, grumbling at having to let go of his anger. “Miki’s right. We should have just said no.”
“Miki’s fearless and can stare down a T-Rex, a ghra,” Con reminded him. “You and I are mere mortals, and that’s my mum we’re talking about. I’m man enough to admit I’ll never say no to her.”
“Yeah,” Forest admitted softly. “I wouldn’t either. She just wants to be there to see us happy. I get that. This is… we can get through this, then go stuff ourselves with cake. Guys were right. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
“Last time Elvis married us. This time we’ve got a rogue Catholic priest, a rock band, and my Irish clan behind us. I think we’re doing better this time around. At the very least, we’ve got better whiskey and music.” The music shifted once again, cycling into a classic Irish love song, warning the couple they had five minutes to get to the now closed double doors. “Ah, they’re almost playing our song, love.”
“Almost.” He tightened his arms around Connor’s waist, holding still for a moment longer. “I love you. I can’t imagine loving anyone else but you.”
“Can I tell you the truth?” Connor leaned back slightly, meeting Forest’s gaze. His lilt was thick, spurred on by the emotions running through them both. “Every day I wake up and I think, I just can’t love him any more than I do today, and every night when I go to sleep, I discover I’m wrong. You, a ghra, are my universe. You hold every bit of stars, suns, and life in you, and until I found you, I was stumbling around in the dark. So remember that when we go downstairs. Today’s just the day we tell them down there that we’ve found one another and shall stand strong against it all.”
