Busted (19 page)

Joe and Steve each took an arm and walked Chris down the hallway. They made it halfway down when Chris stopped suddenly. The alcohol had slowed his feet more than his brain, and Chris had already gone past walking down the hall to humping in bed. He turned and gave Joe a look that was two parts lust and one part drunk.

"What?" Joe snapped.

"'M gonna kiss you," Chris said by way of explanation.

He moved in to try. Joe had an instinctive reaction from too many years of getting pawed in clubs. His left hand shot out and slapped Chris in the stomach. It wasn't hard, but hard enough to get his attention. Unfortunately Chris was drunker than the people Joe was used to dealing with. His eyes crossed once and then he puked.

Joe was lucky, Chris hadn't had much to eat, and he'd been asleep for a few hours. His stomach was empty.

Mostly.

The rest came up and splashed right on Joe's bare chest. Right down his shorts, over his shoes, and onto the floor. Chris had missed his t-shirt, tucked in the back of his shorts, but that was scant comfort since Toby hadn't.

Joe's eyes bulged. He was half-tempted to kill Chris right there and then. If Steve hadn't been there he might have. He might still.

"Get. Him. To. Bed," Joe snapped.

The incongruity amused Steve. Chris had been his friend for more than twenty years. They'd mostly grown up together, spent as much time in his house as Chris', and Chris' grandmother had been as much his as anyone's. He'd known Joe for less than two weeks and it was like he and Chris were married.

Still, he didn't laugh. He was pretty that Joe would've killed him if he had.

"Will do," he said, guiding his drunken friend to his bedroom.

"Get me a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, please," he said to Steve's retreating back.

Joe pulled his t-shirt out and wiped down his front, getting the worst of the spew off. Cursing the mess, he toed off his sneakers and dropped his shorts and t-shirt into the puddle on the floor. They'd soak up the worst of it, and it wasn't like they were going to get any more disgusting.

Naked and grumbling, he padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. There was a linen cabinet in the bathroom, with towels on the middle shelf, cleaning supplies on the bottom, and bed sheets on the top. He grabbed a clean towel out, stepped into the streaming water, and scrubbed himself clean.

Joe toweled off his hair as he left the bathroom. Steve was standing in the hall holding a bundle of clothes, a startled expression on his face. Joe dropped the towel on top of the pile of clothes he'd left on the hall floor. It didn't stop the smell, but at least it muffled it a little.

"Thanks," Joe said as he took the t-shirt from Steve. It was clearly one of Chris', and far too big for him. The sweats were too, but between the elastic at the ankles and the string cinch at the waist they at least stayed on.

Steve was just staring a little as Joe dressed. He'd not expected Joe to be so casual about nudity. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. Joe had enough confidence for three people, and wasn't shy about anything Steve had noticed yet. He was going to be good for Chris. Once he got his head together, at least.

Joe noticed the staring. "What? You're not ogling my ass again, are you?"

Steve chuckled. "I think we had that conversation already. You're going to need new material."

"Sorry. It's late and I'm pissed," Joe said. He opened up the linen closet and started rummaging through it.

"What're you doing?" Steve asked.

"Looking for something to clean up the mess," Joe said absently. "There's a washing machine somewhere, right?"

"Down in the basement. You don't have to do that," Steve started.

"It's not going to clean itself, and there's no way in hell I'm going to leave it. The place is going to stink. It's bad enough the living room smells like cheap booze."

"Pretty good booze, actually, we brought that Scotch back from Edinburgh. But what the hell are you talking about?"

Joe shot Steve an annoyed look. "I'm going to clean this up. Then I'm going to throw my stuff into the wash. Then I'm going to sleep on the couch downstairs."

"You don't have to do that," Steve said. Chris was his friend. By all rights he should be the one cleaning up after him.

"What," Joe snapped. "You think I'm going to leave Toby by himself?" he asked, misunderstanding Steve. "Not a chance. Someone sober has to be here."

Steve shrugged and smiled. He wasn't going to fight if Joe wanted to clean up. And in the morning, well… Chris really did deserve whatever he got. Steve had no doubt he'd have a hell of a hangover. He also had no doubt that Joe wouldn't cut him any slack for it, either.

He had planned on staying for a while, to make sure things were okay. There was a baby monitor in Toby's room that matched up to one in Steve's house, and if he wasn't at all sure Toby would have been fine, Steve would've taken the sleeping boy back home with him. Steve had seen how Toby had been with Joe, and how Stephanie had been. Joe clearly wasn't stupid. Anything that came up in the middle of the night he'd be able to handle fine.

"Okay," Steve agreed. "If you need anything, we're speed dial two on the phone in the kitchen, and I'll stick Chris' lockbox in the cabinet over the refrigerator." Steve went back to the master bedroom.

"His what?" Joe asked at Steve's back.

"Lockbox," Steve said. There was some muffled rustling, then he came out with a small fireproof box a foot square. "His gun's in it. You'd hate to get shot in the middle of the night."

"Yeah," Joe said weakly. He hadn't thought about that. He hadn't thought about what might happen in a few hours when the alcohol wore off enough that Chris might be up and not remember he was in the house. "Good idea."

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Steve said. "We're just next door if you need anything."

"Thanks," Joe said.

"He probably would shoot me, the bastard," he muttered as he started cleaning up the mess.

* * *

Chris' couch was damned uncomfortable. Joe had spent the better part of two hours trying to get to sleep on it, but he just couldn't. It was so old the lumps had lumps, and the ones that didn't had springs sticking through them. He had no idea how Chris had managed to lay on the thing, drunk or not.

Joe's anger had died down as the evening passed. He was still annoyed, but the cleaning had given him time to think. Chris
wasn't
his parents. He'd remembered what Steve had said, about Chris' divorce, and about what happened to cops that didn't have any support. It didn't excuse what he'd done, but it did explain it some, enough to temper Joe's feelings.

It was going on midnight, though, and he was still awake. Not that he had any place to be on Sunday, but it had been an active day and a crap night. He wanted to sleep, and he didn't want to be asleep when Chris got up in the morning.

On top of everything else, he had a headache.

Joe hoped there were aspirin in the bathroom upstairs. He didn't want to be going through all of Chris' cabinets, definitely not at midnight.

He made his way upstairs, trying to walk as softly as he could. The floors creaked a little under his feet, in ways he'd forgotten that older houses did. It brought back memories of sneaking into his own room, back before he'd left, before they'd stopped trying to make his life hell. He'd forgotten but his feet hadn't. He kept close to the walls and kept the floors quiet.

It was quiet enough that he could hear faint whimpers coming from Toby's room. Joe thought that the boy was having a nightmare, and cursed himself for not leaving a light on. While the night didn't hold any terrors for him any more, he understood being afraid of the dark all too well. He didn't want to turn the lights on and lose what night vision he had, so he pulled the door to the bathroom nearly closed and flipped the light on. A beam of light was cast against the hallway wall, enough to see by but not enough to blind.

"Toby?" he said softly as he entered the room. "It's Joe. Are you okay, Toby?"

In the faint light he could see that Toby was on his bed, huddled up in his blankets, pressed into the corner. He didn't say anything, but Joe could see him shake his head.

He walked slowly over to the bed. It was bright enough for Joe to see he was scared of something. Joe sat down next to him. "I'm here, Toby," he said. Joe slid his fingers through Toby's hair, trying to reassure the boy.

That touch was enough. Toby lunged over and grabbed hold of Joe as if his life depended on it. He could feel the boy trembling. Joe pulled him into a hug and stroked his back, humming a soft tune.

When Toby's shakes stopped, Joe let go a little. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked.

"Yeah," Toby mumbled into him.

"You going to be okay?"

Toby just shook his head no.

Joe was at a loss. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Monster."