“You're my hero, did you know that?”
“Thank you, Tristan,” he said thickly. “You don't think I'm a hyper-vigilant pain in the ass?”
“No. I think you're one of the good guys.”
“I'll have to go in a few minutes; my shift gets out there before the drunks and sleepers hit the road,” said Michael.
“Could be another bad night,” said Tristan. “Michael, do you see things on the job that you don't tell me about? Bad things?”
Michael looked at Tristan for a long time in the dying light. “There's some stuff I don't tell you, if that's what you mean. No point in carrying it home, is there?”
“Yeah, but you carry it, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I always thought your job was, you know, chasing down upper middle-class white kids like me who were violating safety laws.”
“Really?” asked Michael. “That's what you thought? I wish my mom thought that. She sees me doing the road show of
Serpico
every night.”
“What's the truth, Michael?”
“We live in a dangerous world, Sparky.” Michael put his arms around Tristan. “People hurt each other, they want things they can't have, they steal, they lie…they kill. At the best of times, I get to run after a fast kid who needs to put on a helmet. At the worst… I don't bring that home.”
“But you do.”
“Yes. I do,” said Michael. “But not to you. Where's this coming from?”
“The other day was my dad's birthday.” Tristan wondered if Michael would understand. “I lost the most important man in my life two years ago. I don't know…”
He heard the boys come out with Julia and Emma. “I think we'd better go down.”
“Wait, Sparky,” said Michael, concerned. “What did you mean?”
“Look,” Randy was saying. “I'll bet that's the fastest we ever put up the lights.”
“It's awesome,” said Edward, looking up.
Michael took the opportunity to brush Tristan's lips with his, deepening the kiss when Tristan sank into it. “We'll talk later,” he whispered against Tristan's lips. Tristan nodded.
“Yeah,” said Devon. “And ours is the only house on the block that has gay guys kissing on the roof. Won't we be the envy of the whole neighborhood?”
“I'll go down first, and then you can arrest me for fratricide when you get there, 'kay?” said Tristan, heading down the ladder, rung by careful rung.
“Take your time,” said Michael. “I'm not on duty yet.”
Tristan and Lily were putting the finishing touches on the glassware as they replaced it in the china hutch in the dining room. They worked in relative silence, since Devon and Randy were sound asleep in the living room a few feet away. Julia was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to squeeze thirty days' worth of leftovers into one relatively small refrigerator.
“I thought Michael was nice,” said Lily tentatively. “He doesn't seem like the Officer Helmet you always complained about.”
“I've made my peace with Officer Helmet,” said Tristan lightly, putting in the last of the white wine glasses and getting started on the china.
“He's younger than I thought,” she said. “I mean, you know, to be a cop and all.”
“Yeah,” said Tristan. “He's only twenty-seven.”
“And he said he went to school at CSUF?” asked Lily.
“He majored in communications,” said Tristan.
“Why on earth did he become a cop?”
“I don't know. He said that's what he wanted to do.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“The hours are long, and people use you for target practice. That's what.”
“Lily!” said Tristan.
“I guess Fullerton isn't so bad, though. Not like L.A.”
“I'm sure Fullerton is nowhere near as bad as L.A.”
“Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, I just…”
“Michael is smart and strong, and he plays it safe.” He threw down the towel.
“I'm sure he does.”
“And it's not like anyone is perfectly safe, is it?”
“Tristan, what's…?”
“I have to go.” Tristan said good-bye to his mother and caught up his keys. “I have my cell, if you need anything.”
“Mom,” said Lily. “When I'm Tristan's age can I spend the night with my boyfriend too?”
“Oh, hell no, honey,” said Julia, giving Tristan a hard stare. “Tristan's ship sailed a long time ago. Yours? Isn't going to get out of the harbor. Ever.”
Tristan practically ran out the door before he could be subjected to Lily's eruption. He could hear her as he ran toward his car. Good thing he'd placed a change of clothes and a toiletry kit in the back earlier. He started the car, listening to the engine rev as the cool night air sank into his skin.
Tristan started the short drive across town, still dazed by his good fortune. Michael loved him. They'd kissed on the roof. Their families had met, and it hadn't sucked. He drove down Chapman carefully, thinking the last thing he needed was to get a ticket from one of Michael's coworkers, or worse, Michael himself. The man would never let him live it down. He pulled into Michael's driveway and could tell that Emma was still up watching television. The blue light glowed from her windows, and she frankly had it on way too loud. She was watching a ball game, or the highlights of one, because he could hear marching bands and cheering every so often as he walked to the front door of Michael's house.
As soon as Tristan entered, he turned off the alarm using the code Michael had given him. He switched on lights, feeling a little easier in his mind every time he did it. As he came to this house more often, usually in the night without Michael, he became more comfortable and familiar with it. It seemed less like someone else's home and more like a place he belonged. The first time he came here to surprise Michael, he'd hardly dared to heat up water for tea. Lately, Michael had taken to leaving things around that made him feel welcome, a note here, a photograph there. Things that made the place seem more like theirs, rather than simply Michael's.
Today, in plain sight, was a note from Michael, welcoming him home and telling him there was pie in the fridge if he wanted it. Earlier in the day he'd told his mother he wasn't ready for something like this, but that wasn't strictly true. He was torn by his love for Michael and the love he felt for his family. He felt that his mom still needed him to be there for her. At least the next day he didn't have to drive his brothers to school, so that meant a whole lot of snuggling and whatever else came to mind.
The heavy futon made a dragging sound on the floor as Tristan tugged it into place in front of the fireplace. It wasn't long before he lit a fire, added another log, and had the chill off the room.
This close to the college and downtown, Tristan could hear the emergency vehicles racing up and down busy Harbor Boulevard. He found himself holding his breath, waiting for sirens to get closer or farther away. He had to tell himself to breathe again, even if it was Michael's siren, and even if Michael's job was a dangerous one, because it wasn't helping Michael any for Tristan to be lying in front of the fireplace holding his breath.
On nights when fear churned in his stomach, he tried to remember that a policeman's job was dangerous, and an architect could die talking on the phone to his wife. He worried that loving his family and Michael as much as he realized he did and thinking about it consciously was going to make him a nervous wreck. He drifted off into the first beginnings of an uneasy sleep, realizing that if anything, happiness was a damned double-edged sword.
* * *
Driving his patrol car up Harbor by Hillcrest Park, Michael gave a last look around to see if any of the homeless people he knew were camped out there. It was chilly out—he could see his breath, and when all was said and done, he hoped most of the folks he was looking for would have tried the shelter on a night like this. Ever since he'd taken this job, he'd had a particular affinity for the small, constantly changing group of homeless men and women that regularly wound up in Hillcrest Park. Mostly they were just lost, damaged people who didn't have anywhere else to go. Recently, he'd had a talk with some of them, and they'd agreed that they needed to be indoors when the temperature got cool like this. One of the older women, Mary, came from San Francisco and always laughed at the idea of what she called “LA cold.” Even if the climate was temperate, he reminded her, there were things out there worse than the cold. Better to be safe. It was one of the things he charged himself with, checking on these people. His gang.
Michael didn't see anyone in the usual places, so he hoped they'd all had a nice meal and a good night's sleep, and started back to the station. He looked forward to seeing Sparky, knowing that when he got home there would be a fire, and his boy would be waiting for him.
Something about that made his heart so full and warm he was afraid to trust it. He knew they hadn't been together very long, but already he'd placed his heart and his home completely in Tristan's freckly young hands. He'd taken to leaving little notes and trinkets around for his boy to find. When he rattled around the house alone, he always knew Tristan was just a short drive away and that any moment he'd arrive and make the house
feel
like a home again. He wanted Tristan to move in permanently, but knew just from talking to him that he wasn't ready yet. His own family needed him. No way would he be comfortable abandoning his mother, even for love. And that conversation on the roof… What had brought that on?
Finishing up his paperwork, Michael said a tired goodnight to his friends. Some of them were just going on shift, and they laughed at how bleary-eyed he looked. He headed for his truck, his Tristan, and his home. His head felt like lead, but his heart was light.
* * *
Tristan felt rather than heard when Michael came through the door. The flames danced in the fireplace, and the cool air blew across his skin. He turned, still a little dozy- feeling as he lifted his arms for Michael to come to him. Michael didn't hesitate, dropping onto the futon beside Tristan, his weapon stored safely in a case in the closet, the only part of the uniform he'd removed.