Instead, he sat rigid, holding himself apart except for Destiny"s hand clenched in his. The closer he got to them, the more it hurt not to touch them. To hold them.
“Are you okay, Des?” Brandon asked, gently rubbing the back of her other hand.
Patrick stopped feeling sorry for himself and focused on her.
“Sure, I"m fine, Bran. I"m more worried about you. Are you okay?”
“Are you sure you aren"t upset?” Brandon asked again.
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Destiny looked confused. “Of course I"m sure,” she said, clearly exasperated that they were talking about her and not Brandon. “He was going to kill you. I"d shoot him ten more times if that"s what it took. Why? Am I in trouble?” A hint of anxiety crept into her voice.
“No,” they reassured her quickly.
“Then I"m fine. I"m just glad it"s over,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss it.
Turning to Brandon, she gently stroked his bruised cheek, her eyes searching his face.
“I"m more concerned about you.”
Brandon didn"t blink. He was still showing the world his calm façade. It hadn"t slipped in hours. Patrick was becoming increasingly troubled by Brandon"s complete lockdown on his emotions since the attack.
Brandon pulled her hand away from his face, tucking it safely on her lap before sitting back. “I"m fine.”
She obviously didn"t buy it any more than Patrick did. She reached for Brandon again and he shied away from her, dodging her touch. She let her hand drop, her face stricken.
“Don"t,” he said softly, his voice sad. He tried to smile, no doubt for the benefit of their audience, but failed.
Patrick"s stomach clenched.
“I can"t touch you?” she asked, bewildered.
“No, you can"t,” Brandon replied, his voice harder. “You didn"t do anything wrong, Des, but everyone out there thinks you"re Patrick"s girlfriend and I"m your friend the gay guy.”
Patrick tried not to wince.
Brandon, of course, saw it all and nodded. “That"s how it"s going to be, Destiny.
You can"t touch me, I can"t hold you. We"ve already created enough curiosity. Any more and they"ll start asking questions. Then what would Patrick do?” He let the question hang in the air for a moment, then sighed. “Let"s not muddy the waters more than they already are.”
Patrick scowled, even as he leaned back in his chair, moving farther away. The hurt on Destiny"s face dug at him, his stomach churning, but his hands were tied, goddamn it.
“Bran,” he began, unsure what to say.
Brandon shot him a dark scowl. “Look around you, Patrick. Look out there and tell me I"m wrong.”
He glanced over his shoulder and found dozens of eyes on them.
Christ.
He could only imagine what they were all thinking. What they were saying. He thought Brandon might be wrong about some of it. Some of their friends just looked 109
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concerned. Then Carter came into the room. He caught sight of the three of them together and smirked, heading directly to the coffee station and his buddies loitering there. Every head in the room turned when loud laughter burst from the group, making the hairs on the back of Patrick"s neck stand on end.
Turning away, he ached at the hurt in his friends" eyes but did nothing to change it.
Destiny"s stare begged him to tell Brandon he was wrong. It made him feel about an inch tall, like the total coward Brandon had accused him of being.
But it was nothing compared to the pain at seeing the quiet resignation in Brandon"s gaze.
Brandon watched Patrick"s face and felt his heart break.
Nice work, asshole, you kept your promise not to let yourself be hurt for exactly four days.
He was furious with himself, furious with Patrick and furious with their colleagues and their small-minded views.
He watched the bullpen and wanted to cringe. He didn"t know what the fuck Carter was telling his cronies, a group of officers he"d never been all that fond of to begin with, but he"d bet the fact that he"d been asleep in Patrick"s bed in his underwear was ranking high on the list of hot topics.
Hell, who could blame them? They were detectives, for Christ"s sake. It was their job to notice that kind of shit.
No, there was only one person to blame in this giant fiasco and that would be him.
He"d been so fucking confident that his sexuality was a secret he could keep forever, he"d never spent more than a millisecond thinking about what Destiny"s crazy idea could mean for Patrick.
And now look at them. The three of them sat, no one touching anyone else, no one offering comfort when so much was needed, because they"d managed to screw themselves, quite literally, into a corner.
There were no good choices left, it seemed, but he was going to make some of the hard ones. Maybe he could salvage his career. Maybe he couldn"t. But he sure as hell wasn"t going to take Patrick down with him. And Destiny…
Well, at least he"d had one night.
He stood and forced a smile. “I"m going to run down to my desk for some things,” he offered, needing an excuse to get the hell out of there, pleased and astounded that his voice didn"t shake. His legs sure as hell were.
Destiny looked as though she wanted to protest, but then Patrick stood too. “Okay.
I"ll check in with Sully. With Carter back, hopefully that means the house is clear of lab rats and we can go home.”
Home. Fuck, it hurt to hear Patrick call Aunt Ethel"s house that, because that was exactly what it was.
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Destiny sighed. “Okay, can one of you point me to the ladies" room? I need to powder my nose.”
He tried to smile at the euphemism, which they"d long teased her about, but his heart was dead in his chest.
Patrick ushered Destiny out of the office and Brandon followed, closing Farley in alone once more. As soon as Patrick moved toward Captain Sullivan, Brandon turned and jogged down the stairs.
He was in a taxi on his way to his house thirty seconds later.
He wouldn"t be going home again for a long time.
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Chapter Ten
Destiny stared at her reflection in the dim light of the ladies" room and marveled that she looked so…normal. Should she look different? She"d just shot a man, for crying out loud, so maybe she ought to look a little paler. A little more freaked out. But she didn"t. And she wasn"t.
He"d been trying to kill Brandon. She"d done what she needed to do.
It was strange to think she may have saved Brandon"s life. Too bad she couldn"t do as good a job protecting his heart. Of all that had happened that day, the single most upsetting moment had been ten minutes ago in Captain Sullivan"s office. Christ, it made her sick that they"d had to deny him the comfort he"d needed. That she couldn"t take the comfort she desperately wanted from both men.
They had so few choices. She wanted to howl over the unfairness.
The worst part was Brandon sacrificing himself for Patrick, never thinking of himself and what he needed or wanted. He"d been forced to reveal his private life, to out himself and be subjected to the scrutiny and judgment that others had no right to impose. And still he stood alone, stalwartly protecting her and Patrick.
So who the hell was protecting Brandon?
No one. And it just plain sucked.
She left the relative quiet of the bathroom and went in search of Brandon, hoping she"d be able to find somewhere private to hold him if only for a moment. With no luck, she slipped back down the hallway to check the bullpen.
Patrick stood with Captain Sullivan outside the door to his office, Farley on the leash at Patrick"s side. His boss said something, pointing at the main stairs and Patrick"s head shot up and he look around the bullpen quickly, his alarm evident.
Destiny bolted through the desks as quickly as she could. She was halfway to Patrick when his f
ace transformed into a smile and he shrugged. Slowing, her shoulders drooped, relieved that she"d misread his signals, his body language. It was no surprise.
She was getting paranoid about everything these days.
Patrick shook his captain"s hand and the older gentleman returned to his office.
When Patrick looked across the room at Destiny, her heart skipped a beat. Damn. She should have gone with her first instincts.
Something was very wrong.
To Destiny, the smile Patrick plastered on his face was just creepy, but she supposed the other officers wouldn"t know if it was genuine or not. Coming to meet her, he took her arm and pulled her toward the stairs. She was about to ask about Brandon but he silenced her with a quick shake of his head and a look.
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Oh damn. What had Brandon done?
Scanning the room as subtly as possible, Destiny couldn"t find him. He"d said he was going to get something from his desk, but that had been a while ago. Her alarm and suspicion mounted as Patrick led them down to the main exit and out to his truck.
The moment they were sealed in the quiet cab, she turned to Patrick. “Where"s Brandon?”
“He left,” Patrick said, his voice flat.
“What?” she asked. “Where"d he go?”
“I don"t know. He didn"t tell me he was leaving either. Sully saw him get in a cab out front.”
Destiny"s heart ached at the hurt in Patrick"s voice. Christ, she"d cooked up this idea because she"d thought it would be fun and sexy. Now, after only one night, it was complex and messy. And over.
“He shouldn"t be alone,” Patrick said, starting his truck and throwing it into gear.
She watched him and waited. He took a left out of the lot, toward Brandon"s house and not his. She smiled. “Is that because he"s in danger, because he"s hurting or because you want to be with him tonight regardless?”
“A, B and C,” Patrick answered honestly.
“For what it"s worth, I think you should tell him that,” she offered, gently.
“What?”
“That you want to be with him. Maybe that will make it…I don"t know…better.” Oh hell, that sounded lame. How could any of them make this better for Brandon?
Patrick seemed to be considering that for a minute. She let the silence stretch, surprised when Patrick pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.
“Maybe I should leave him alone,” he said quietly.
Even as the wave of sadness broke over her, Destiny knew Patrick might be right.
She wondered, though, what his reasons were. “Why?” she asked.
“I can see it, Des. I"m not blind to how much it hurts him that neither of us could acknowledge him. We can"t treat him like we do each other, even tonight when he needed us.”
She mentally took back the last ten times she"d called Patrick thick-headed. She reached out and took his hand, wishing she knew the right answer.
“He"s better off without me as a lover,” he continued as he stared out his windshield at nothing. “We work together and I can"t be out. Hell, I don"t know what"s going to happen now that he’s out and neither does he. If we keep going, we"re destined to repeat what happened tonight. To hurt him. What kind of friend does it make me to want something that could lead to that?”
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She wasn"t sure what kind of friend it made her either, because she too didn"t want this thing between the three of them to end tonight. It didn"t feel right. It didn"t feel finished.
She"d never meant to create such a mess.
“So it ends now?” she asked, her voice low.
“Yes.”
Patrick couldn"t believe he"d finally figured out what he could have with Brandon and it was over already. Destiny nodded her agreement, her face sad as she stared down at her hands clenched in her lap. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. It had been another of those days that seemed to take him by the throat and shake him. He still hadn"t fully processed the fact that Brandon had been attacked, again, and this time in Patrick"s own home, for Christ"s sake. He wasn"t thinking clearly.
“No.”
“No, what?” Destiny asked, her voice rough.
He opened his eyes and threw the truck into drive. “No, it doesn"t end now.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I was altruistic for exactly five seconds and now I"m over it. Fuck that. And fuck us for thinking this is something we can sort out without Brandon. Who the hell knows why he left? He could be waiting for us at my house, naked, for all we know. Or,” he acknowledged grudgingly, “he could be holed up in his own house, determined to never see us again.”
Destiny held onto her arm rest as he careened back into traffic. Her look said she thought he was nuts.
And she might not be wrong.
“Either way,” he continued, “we need to have a conversation and he owes us an explanation. Then we"ll figure it out. Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours and I"m not leaving it as it is.”
Destiny nodded, slowly. “Okay, you"re right.”
He shot her a glance. “I"m right?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling slightly.
He smiled, too. Going after Brandon was the right thing to do. They needed to know Brandon was safe. Patrick needed to apologize for shit he couldn"t control, damn it, and to know that Brandon wasn"t hurt.
That is, if he even let them in the door.
Patrick had a lot of confidence in his powers of persuasion, but he wasn"t kidding himself. They had an uphill climb no matter what they chose to do.
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All he knew was that Brandon was his best friend and he wanted him to the point of distraction. It was exactly how he felt about Destiny.
Destiny, who just a week ago he"d been gearing up to find a way to get her to stick around forever. Like white-dress, picket-fence, making-a-life-together forever. Was that what he wanted from Brandon?
The truck swerved hard to the left before he snapped his attention back to the road.
Oh shit. That was exactly what he wanted. Well, except the white dress part. Bran would look much better in a tuxedo.
He grinned, giddy with his own stupidity.
While his emotions rioted, he caught Destiny staring at him oddly and he schooled his features, clamping his mouth shut. One word of what he was thinking would send Destiny running in the opposite direction as fast as her wicked-sexy legs would carry her. He knew this with absolute certainty. Honestly, what he was thinking about would scare anyone away. Shit, it scared the pants off him.
Destiny patted his hand, offering her reassurance, no doubt in response to the distressed expression he hadn"t been able to hide. He threaded his fingers through hers.
“I know walking away would be the easiest thing to do, but goddamn it, Des, I can"t do it. I"m…” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “I"m not done with this thing yet.” She nodded. “Me either,” she admitted softly, her lip caught between her teeth, no doubt worrying over the truth of that.
It wasn"t a commitment, but from Destiny it was a step in the right direction, even if she didn"t know what direction he was taking them.
His new-found confidence lasted right up until they pulled into Brandon"s driveway and saw his front door wide open, lights blazing throughout the house and spilling out the screen door onto the porch.
Jesus H. Christ! Patrick was out of the truck the moment it stopped moving, his gun drawn.
“Get in the driver"s seat, Des. Be ready to call 9-1-1 and haul ass out of here.” He slammed the door before she had any chance to respond. He wasn"t going to negotiate one damn part of his demands.
Racing up the front walk, the image of Brandon in the hospital bed popped into Patrick"s mind and sent his blood pressure through the roof. His feet barely touched the steps and he flew up onto the porch. The screen door clattered against the wall as he ba
rreled into the house, his gun sweeping the living room, the stairs, what he could see of the upstairs hallway.
Nothing appeared to be out of place, but he kept moving deeper into the house.
Where the hell was Brandon? He wasn"t sure if he was going to kiss or throttle the damn man once he found him, but he was damn certain he would shoot anyone who got in his way.
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As soon as Brandon had climbed out of the taxi and staggered up his front steps, he"d known he was at his limit. He"d been holding onto his composure by a thread—
one that was rapidly slipping through his fingers without an audience to remind him to hold tight.
The swarm of cops was gone, the interrogation over, the report filed. Patrick and Destiny weren"t nearby. He stood in his house, where he"d lived on his own for more than eight years and he felt miserable and alone.
And scared.
Turned out getting your ass kicked twice in one week was really bad for morale.
Determined not to let fear rule him, he"d left his front door wide open. He needed to air out his stale house, anyway. It had been locked up since he"d left on his walk the night of the first attack and, rather unfortunately, there had been dishes in the sink and trash to be taken out.
Chucking the garbage, he started at a loud crash down the alley. He congratulated himself for not running back into the house like a little girl. Then he convinced himself it was perfectly natural, under the circumstances, to retrieve his gun from the safe and stick it in his utensil drawer.
That it didn"t make him feel any safer was probably bad news. That it didn"t make him feel any less alone was inevitable.
Hoping that keeping busy would take his mind off things, he began cleaning his kitchen, loading the dishwasher and scrubbing the counters. He worked furiously, though the images of Patrick and Destiny in his arms the night before, the memories of their kisses, their faces, were his constant companions no matter how hard he worked.
He was scouring the last pot when his screen door slammed into the siding on his porch with a reverberating crash.
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