Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (24 page)

Choreographed chaos that resulted in Nathan on top of James, their hard cocks aligned, rubbing between their taut bellies. The rightness of it, the pure bliss of doing this with Nathan, speared James in the gut, and he shouted through his release. Nathan came not long after, and they dozed awhile, their bodies sealed together with come.

It was fucking perfect.

Until James’s left leg cramped, and they resigned themselves to leaving bed long enough for a long, hot shower. James added an impromptu number six to his date plans by turning Nathan toward the spray and washing his hair.

Thick, silky black hair that had grown out over the past few months. It glided between James’s fingers, helped along by the shampoo. Nathan relaxed into the tender massage to his scalp and neck, temples and jaw. Around the shells of his ears. Tension seemed to melt away, washed off by the soap and water, leaving Nathan droopy-eyed and swaying while James turned him again to rinse the shampoo. He ignored the semi that had awoken, too tired to do much about it tonight.

“Feels so good,” Nathan whispered.

“I like taking care of you.” James dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Don’t ever want to lose you again, Nate.”

“You never lost me. I just…hid for a while.”

“No more hiding.”

“Not for either of us.”

James tensed. “What?”

Nathan opened his eyes and blinked away the peace the massage had left behind. He watched James with an expression stuck somewhere between annoyance and grief. “Why did you need those drinks last night?”

James was a little surprised it had taken him so long to ask. And confronted with the question, he couldn’t make himself lie or minimize it. He didn’t have to with Nathan. “I was restless. I couldn’t sleep.”

“What about the nights you came over and we went straight to bed?”

Shame heated his skin, which was already hot from the shower. “I keep a flask in the trunk.”

His dark eyes flickered. “I didn’t smell it.”

“Breath Savers.” That shame dug deeper, making his insides curl. “I already use them when I smoke. I didn’t want you to know.”

“You didn’t have to hide it before I came back.”

James couldn’t stop a derisive snort. “Babe, I’ve been doing this for years. You really think I’ve been able to handle my mother’s depression parties stone sober?”

Nathan tried to step back, but he ran into the showerhead. James took pity on him by retreating to the rear of the tub, the cooler air chilling his wet skin. Instead of replying, Nathan turned off the water, then reached beyond the curtain for towels. He tossed one at James and used the other to dry his own hair.

Always his hair first, then down his face. He skipped his torso and did his legs next, dragging the terry upward to capture falling water. Odd method, but he’d always done it. Even in the college dorm showers. A little quirk that made Nathan Wolf the man James loved more than his heart could contain.

James took his time. Nathan was in boxers and a T-shirt by the time James made it into the bedroom, towel cinched around his waist. Nathan stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out into the night. James kept his distance.

Have I wrecked this already?

“Talk to me,” James said.

“I don’t know what to say.” Nathan spoke to the window, and the inattention hurt.

“Years?”

“You said yourself that I drink myself into a blackout when bad things happen, and that I’ve done it since college.”

“That’s not having a drink every night just so you can sleep. This is a completely different kind of addiction, Jay.”

James flinched. “I don’t know when weekend partying leaked into the work week. I really don’t.”

Nathan pressed his forehead against the window frame. He looked small and upset, and
God,
James wanted to hug him. But he didn’t think his touch would be appreciated, or even welcome. Nathan’s mood had never been so hard for James to read, and he couldn’t blame it all on the hair and beard. The assault had changed Nathan. Maybe more than James wanted to acknowledge.

Maybe more than even Nathan could see. Changes that had nothing to do with being in a gay relationship.

I wanted tonight to be perfect. The joke’s on me.

“Do you want me to leave?” James asked.

Nathan’s head jerked, as though he’d been lost in thought. He blinked owlishly at James.

“Why would I want you to leave?”

Seriously?
“Because we’re talking about my excessive drinking while you’re standing on the other side of the room, except we aren’t talking. You’re staring and silent and it’s freaking me out a little bit.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you admit to being freaked-out before.”

“Well, I freaked out more than a little bit that night at the hospital, and probably several times daily for at least a week after.”

Nathan’s eyes flashed with pain. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“A better friend would have noticed.”

“You’d just been beaten up and stabbed. You were in no position to notice shit about me, even if you’d let me see you.”

Nathan waved both hands in the air. “Not then, Jay, before. I should have noticed the drinking problem.”

“That was kind of the point, Detective. I was a pro at hiding it.”

“You’re my best friend. I thought I knew all of your secrets. How could I not see the signs of alcoholism?”

Ice skated down James’s spine. He abhorred that word. “I’m not an alcoholic.”

“I’ve been a cop almost as long as I’ve know you. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

“If I asked you right now to go one solid week without a single alcoholic drink, would you be able to?”

The idea of facing his mother without that barrier, of trying to sleep without the pillow of numbness, made James’s insides squirrelly. He didn’t know because he’d never tried. He’d never had a reason to try. The nightcaps were part of his routine, something he didn’t think about. It only seemed a problem when he blacked out.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” Nathan said.

“I don’t know if I could. Don’t you have to want to quit?”

Nathan winced. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

“What if I promise to cut back?”

“I don’t have the right to make you promise anything. Like you said, Jay, you have to want to do it.”

“If it makes you happy, I will. I’ll do it for you.”

Nathan walked to him, his shoulders hunching a bit more. He stopped just out of arm’s reach. “Don’t. If you’re going to quit drinking, you need to do it for you. No other reason.”

“But—”

“No. I don’t ever want you looking back on that decision and resenting me for forcing you into making it. For you, not me. Okay?”

James nodded, his throat tight.

“I will ask one thing, though,” Nathan said.

“Anything.”

“Don’t hide it from me anymore. No more flasks in the car, no more breath mints. If you’re ashamed of it, don’t do it, but don’t fucking hide it.”

He didn’t want to make that promise because sometimes the need for a drink did shame him. Infuriated him on occasion. He wanted to be stronger than that. Stronger than his addiction, and Jesus Christ, what if he was an alcoholic?

I do not deserve this man.

“I promise,” James said.

“Thank you.” Nathan deflated even more. “Let’s go to bed.” The soft way he said it meant bed and nothing else.

James didn’t blame him. He was too turned around to even think about sex. Turned around and confused in a way that would normally have sent him off to the Rusty Nail or Pot O

Gold in search of a mojito and a willing guy to fuck. He burned away his emotions with liquor and sex, but there was no quick fix to this problem. This time the fix was his problem.

He put on boxers and a T-shirt before sliding into bed, feeling too damned naked to go bare skin like Nathan. They didn’t spoon. Nathan faced him, his cheek cushioned on a pillow, the very picture of exhaustion. James stroked a light touch over his chin, hating that Nathan thought he had to hide behind the beard.

Like you hide behind the bottle? And your mother? And your job?

Nathan closed his eyes first. James watched him in the dim room. Watched his breathing even out and sleep steal him away for a while.

Nate woke to an empty bed, confused and exhausted from the previous night’s confrontation. He hadn’t intended to bring up James’s drinking, not after such a spectacular date, but the hair washing had let his guard down. It had slipped out. He’d hated seeing James so caught off guard and angry, but it had cemented something for Nate: James had a problem, and he didn’t want to fix it.

In his job, Nate dealt with addicts of all stripes. Meth, cocaine, heroin, speed, E, alcohol.

He’d seen sniffers, huffers, smokers and people who would drink cough syrup for a high because nothing else was available to them. Experience warned him that the user had to want to get clean, or no amount of rehab or AA meetings would help.

James was a functioning alcoholic. He went to work, helped his clients, hung out with his friends, and then he went home and drank. Not always into a stupor, but Nate had given him enough rides home from clubs and parties to identify the pattern.

Why didn’t I see it sooner?

He hadn’t wanted to see it. From the day they met, James had been the center of his attention, the fun best friend who understood him better than anyone, and who just happened to be gay. In some ways he’d worshipped James—the guy who lived his life by his own rules, truly cared about his friends and did everything he could to help his patients. It wasn’t a total shock that he’d been blind to James’s worst secret. He wouldn’t have wanted to see the gray parts.

Ever since the assault, Nate could only see the gray in everyone. The potential danger and the sharp edges. He could look at his best friend and admit that James wasn’t perfect. No one was.

Footsteps on the stairs directed his attention to the open bedroom door. James walked in a moment later, balancing a big tray that smelled like coffee and cinnamon. Nate sat up and pulled his legs beneath him, giving James room to settle the tray on the bed before carefully sliding on, opposite Nate. Two coffee mugs, two plates of French toast, butter, syrup and a bowl of orange segments.

“Breakfast in bed?” Nate asked, impressed by the thoughtfulness.

“An improvised part seven to our date.” James was trying to hide his embarrassment, and Nate couldn’t figure out why.

“Thank you. It smells great.” Wait. “Last I checked, we only made it to part five.”

“Well, part six was washing your hair.”

“Ah. That felt fantastic.”

“Good. I wanted to start the morning off on a fresh note. And I’m not ignoring what we talked about last night, or pretending the conversation didn’t happen.”

Therapist talk for “I know we said it but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“I’m glad you aren’t ignoring it,” Nate said.

They ate in a companionable, nonawkward silence. James made fantastic French toast, and he knew exactly how Nate liked his coffee. James teased him when he squirted orange juice into his own eye. Nate took his revenge by dunking a segment into James’s coffee.

Thank God some things never changed.

Returning to work on Monday morning was less anxiety-inducing than Nate had expected. After a brief chat with Lieutenant Danvers about what desk duty actually entailed—as well as a warning about watching his stress levels—he’d sat at his desk, done his best to ignore the occasional look thrown his way and read. A lot. Current cases as well as cold cases, and near the bottom of the stack was the case file he wanted to see the most.

Mitchell Spokes was over four months dead, and they still had no leads in his case. No new evidence, no progress in tracking the purchase of the murder weapon. No family had shown up with questions, demanding answers for their loved one’s death.

It was fucking sad, and it pissed Nate off. The boy deserved justice.

They both did.

The one file he’d been told he could not have any access to was his own case, and while Nate understood the reasons for that, he didn’t have to like it. His case was as unsolved as Spokes’s. Hell, his case only existed because Spokes was dead and Nate had been too sure of himself, too proud to get backup before going out and questioning people on the street. He knew better, but he’d ignored his instincts because he’d been pissed off at James.

He wasn’t angry at James anymore, but the extent of James’s drinking habit still lingered in the back of Nate’s mind, like an oil slick on moving water. He hadn’t brought it up again all weekend, not even when James had two fingers of whiskey during a movie on Saturday, and again Sunday while they made fun of people on some Food Network competition show.

He’d told James not to hide it, hadn’t he?

Nate studied the Spokes case file until he’d committed the details to memory, and then he moved on. Looking at cold cases was something he’d cleared with Danvers, in addition to his other duties: paperwork for active detectives and answering the phone when the desk clerk out front wasn’t able to manage all the lines. He didn’t mind the secretarial work, even though he wasn’t the best typist on the planet. He was back at the job, doing something besides cleaning his apartment.

A little after lunchtime, Wallace Carey stormed into the bullpen, a cloud of anger hanging off him that sent the other uniforms scurrying out of his way. He plunked down at his desk, which was across the aisle from Nate’s, and loosened his necktie. Fancier suit than regular duty, which meant a court date. Something had obviously gone wrong with one of his cases.

Nate risked getting his head chewed off and went to lean against the corner of Carey’s desk. “Something you need to get off your chest?”

Carey grunted. “You know those cases that seem pretty cut-and-dried at first, and then you peel back layers, and it keeps getting uglier?”

“I’ve had a few of those. That happen today?”

“Yeah. Should have been a pretty clear case of vandalism and assault, and that’s what the bastard was tried and convicted for.”