The Way Things Are (13 page)

Patrick’s hand shot out like lightning, stopping right in front of Jay. He flicked Jay in the forehead.

“I meant no,” Jay corrected himself, rubbing his forehead.

“All right then. It’s at the Eighth Street Gym. The Golden Gloves class starts at three thirty. I’d offer you a ride—” Patrick huffed out a soft chuckle. “—but I don’t have room for your dog, and it’s not safe to put them in the truck bed.” Patrick scratched the dog’s ears.

“She’s not mine,” Ken explained quickly. “She’s one of the shelter’s newest residents.”

“The shelter? Someone gave her away? But she’s beautiful.”

“Well, she’s not even a year old and already bigger than a German shepherd. She’s really sweet, though, so hopefully somebody will see past her size and give her a chance.”

Patrick dropped to his knees and held out his hand for the dog. She didn’t hesitate to go to him, planting her forehead in the middle of his chest in a gentle hug that would have easily knocked over a small child. “Oh, you are a sweet girl, huh? Somebody would have to see past the drool too, wouldn’t they?” Patrick rocked the dog’s head from side to side, and the drool coating the dog’s muzzle became all too apparent. “Do you want us to wait while you take her back? To give, uh”—he glanced up at Ken and grinned—“give you a ride?”

Ken wanted to groan, but he didn’t dare. His stomach felt like it was trying to flip inside of him. “No. I’ve got to go back into the office afterward, so I’ll meet you there. The Eighth Street Gym?”

“That’s right.”

K
EN
FOUND
the Eighth Street Gym eventually and parked near the white Chevy pickup he’d seen Patrick driving. Patrick was standing outside of the door to the gym, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Ken sat in his car, staring at the man and trying to force himself back into work mode. He was there to find out about the teen boxing class, not to drool over Patrick Connelly.

It would be so much easier not to want Patrick Connelly if the man didn’t have the body of a damn god. The innocent, fun-loving smile plastered on Patrick’s face didn’t detract from the strong, confident form; it somehow just accentuated it. Knowing just how much muscle his clothing hid didn’t help.

“Why the hell didn’t I just stay home last night?” Ken muttered to himself.

Not that he’d have ever imagined running into a man like Patrick who could actually be interested in him. The men strolling past Patrick into the gym were all just as fit as Patrick. Each one looked like they belonged in a weight room, with stacks of muscle, defined arms and shoulders, and a confident swagger. With his regular build and the extra pounds he couldn’t seem to shed no matter what he did, there was no way Ken could compare. Why bother with a middle-aged guy who was more chubby than muscular when he had his pick of muscle-bound men right in front of him?

Ken shook his head, knowing there was only one reason why Patrick might bother. Ken was Jay’s JPC. He hadn’t had too many mothers come on to him in hopes of getting him to overlook their children’s violations, but it had happened. Being gay, he’d always felt like he was safe from that particular form of manipulation. The thought was sobering and sickening at the same time.

“Professional,” Ken muttered to himself, then climbed out of the car. “Get this done, get out, be a professional.” And in six weeks, he could hand Jay’s case file over to Mary Anne and see if Patrick was still interested.

Patrick spotted him immediately and waved him over. “Hey! This is it. I sent Jay in to get changed, but I figured I’d wait for you. It’s not the easiest place to find if you’re not looking for it.”

“I can see that. You know, I’ve lived in Seattle since I finished college, and every time I’ve driven by here, I always figured it was a warehouse,” Ken said, taking in the dingy-looking brick building. Even if he’d known it was a gym, he wouldn’t have guessed the place was still in business.

“Yeah. Jeremy likes it that way. He doesn’t go in for a lot of the big chain fitness center stuff.” Patrick shuffled his feet, reluctantly meeting Ken’s gaze.

“Big chain stuff?”

“You know, being able to plug eight different gadgets into each treadmill. Of course, Jeremy doesn’t go in for treadmills at the best of times.”

Ken watched Patrick run his hands through his hair. For a moment he was struck dumb by the way the individual strands of red, blond, and brown sparkled in the afternoon sun. He’d been through enough law enforcement training seminars to recognize when someone was nervous, and his brain broke through his own anxiety to inform him the man in front of him was fidgeting. He couldn’t imagine Patrick being nervous about anything, especially not after last night. Ken wondered if he was being a bit too obvious and making the other man feel uncomfortable. He had to say something, but he couldn’t think of a damn thing.

“Hey,” Patrick said, scratching the back of his head. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday. And last night. I feel like I’m responsible for those people they found. Just thinking about it, I mean, five people trapped with three dead relatives on a container I moved… It’s enough to make me sick. I know no one believes it, but there’s not really any way to tell if a container is lighter or heavier than it’s supposed to be. I get a peek at the manifest for each container, but just for a flash, and just to know where it’s supposed to go.”

“You couldn’t have known those people were inside. It happens. And believe it or not, it could have been worse. About five years ago, a shipping container was opened up with over thirty stowaways, and none of them survived.”

“Did you watch the news?” Patrick asked.

“No. No time.”

“Lucky. I can’t believe the third guy was one of the cops who works at the Port, some dick named Nate Spidaro.” Patrick ran his trembling hands through his hair. “I’m just trying to say that I didn’t mean to act like an asshole yesterday at the docks. I’m sorry about the shit I said. And about last night,” Patrick said, reaching out toward Ken.

Ken stepped back, evading the touch casually. “It would be better for everyone if we forget about it,” Ken said quickly. “I should have left. The moment I saw you, I should have left. I’ve still got to be your son’s JPC, and I can’t let anything get in the way of that job. I can’t go easy on Jay just because we—”

Patrick’s carefree smile disintegrated. “You think I did that so you’d take it easy on Jay?”

“I don’t know. But I do know there are people out there who would. There are policies and procedures in place to address it, so it happens. For now, it’d be best if we both agreed it was a mistake. I can help your son, Mr. Connelly. Yesterday afternoon, you seemed like you sincerely wanted what was best for him. But last night….” He shook his head. “That isn’t what’s best for him. Not when I’m responsible for his supervision.”

For just a moment, Patrick looked as lost and miserable as Jay had that morning when Ken had tried to talk to him about his art.

“You, uh….” Ken grasped for anything that might distract him from the stunned and hurt expression on Patrick’s face. “You fought here as a kid?”

Patrick’s shoulders seemed to relax and he shrugged. “Yeah. Until Denise, anyway. It didn’t bring in a paycheck, and the friends I made here were apparently a bad influence, so my ex decided it was off-limits.” A sad grimace ghosted across his face for a moment, and it was somehow worse than the frown that had marred his features a moment before. “The teen program is an Olympic boxing program, and it includes sparring, weight lifting, and coaching up to the national level. For adults, there’s even a mixed martial arts class since the UFC became so popular.”

“Mixed martial arts? Do they actually produce any professional fighters?”

The grimace on Patrick’s face had degrees of misery, and it dropped down one more notch as Ken’s question hung in the air. “One or two, over the years. Personally,” Patrick said, kicking at the concrete sidewalk, “I think sparring is really good for boys Jay’s age. Believe it or not, I remember when I was that young. Just feeling capable, like there was something I could actually do, made all of that adolescent bullshit really come into perspective. I used to get so angry about everything, but now I think I was mostly angry about not being able to control the rest of my life, you know? Training here really helped.”

“Empowerment is all most teenagers really need, no matter what form it comes in,” Ken agreed, surprised by Patrick’s insight. “Most of my kids’ parents don’t believe me when I tell them their kids need a job training program and responsibility, but it almost always works.”

“I’m just hoping this helps Jay find that too.”

Patrick held the door open, shifting far to the side to let Ken pass without any contact.

“Have you ever done any fighting?” Patrick asked.

Ken swallowed hard. “No, I never have. I played football in high school, but I had trouble focusing during practice. Never made it past junior varsity. Granted, most of my trouble was that I couldn’t focus on anything other than my team’s quarterback.” Ken froze as he heard his own admission. “I’m sorry, that little filter in my head that tells me when something is and isn’t appropriate seems to have gone on vacation this week.”

Patrick shrugged again, but his expression had softened a little. “You should give this a try,” he said. “It’s a great workout.”

Ken thought he felt Patrick’s fingertips brush against his lower back, but the touch was so gentle Ken wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not. He sure as hell wanted to feel Patrick’s hands on him. But he was the father of one of Ken’s clients. He was good looking, in amazing shape, and he had no real reason to ever be interested in Ken. Everything about the direction Ken’s thoughts were racing was inappropriate, but he couldn’t stop obsessing over the way Patrick’s gaze and fingers both lingered on him.

“I’m nowhere near in good enough shape for something like this,” Ken said.

As Patrick nudged him through the door, he took in the busy gym, stunned by how much had been packed into the open warehouse. Most of the space was taken up by five Olympic-sized boxing rings, and a quarter of the building was filled with weight benches, barbells, and squat racks. An iron catwalk-style mezzanine ran along the outer wall of the building, and Ken could see people jogging and sprinting along it. Two of the walls on the first floor and the back wall along the mezzanine were all filled with built-in trophy cases. Most of the cases were full. There wasn’t a single treadmill or elliptical in sight. Altogether, it was a very different atmosphere from the YMCA where he usually worked out.

“You’re not in bad shape,” Patrick insisted. The man didn’t even bother to be subtle as he raked his gaze up and down Ken’s body. “Besides, it’s easier to get in shape if you’re doing something fun. I’m just starting back too, so since you’re here anyway, why not spar with me?”

“I would, but I don’t have….” Ken thought about the almost totally unused gym bag in the trunk of his car. “Gear. I don’t have any equipment or anything.”

“They’ve got gloves and headgear you can check out at the desk. Just fun, I promise.”

Ken stared up into Patrick’s face. His smile had returned, not quite as bright as it had been before, but it held a hope that cut through Ken’s common sense. As he watched the light in Patrick’s eyes grow, he realized he was doomed. With that damn smile, he’d do anything Patrick Connelly asked of him. He’d even make a fool out of himself trying to box if it meant pretending this wasn’t a horrible mistake for a little longer. “I’ve got to do the thing with Jay, the class. But maybe after.”

“Right over here,” Patrick said, steering Ken toward the closest ring.

Jay was one of six teenagers standing around the nearest boxing ring. Only one of the other teens seemed quite as confused, terrified, and skinny as Jay. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, sharing nervous whispers and watching an older man with a weathered complexion demonstrate a basic series of jabs. The old man was slender and short, but the men and boys around him paid absolute attention to the techniques he was demonstrating. He glanced at Patrick and Ken, grinned, and gestured for another trainer to take over.

The man rushed toward Patrick with a huge smile. “Hey, there he is! I wasn’t sure if you were just going to drop the kid off or come in and say hello!” He clasped Patrick in a tight hug that lifted him off the ground and then turned toward Ken. “Did you decide to drag a buddy down here to sign up?”

Ken shook his head quickly. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Bullshit. Pat here might have gone a bit soft, but he’s still got an eye for talent. He’s one of the best fighters I ever trained. Could have been the best, if he’d stuck with it.”

Ken glanced sideways at Patrick. “He doesn’t look like somebody who’s gone soft to me.”

Patrick shrugged and blushed. “More than I’d like to admit. I haven’t done a real squat in years. Any of the regulars in here could probably kick my ass. Hell, Corbin can kick my ass and he’s sixty pounds lighter than me.”

“He don’t count. There aren’t many people here Corbin can’t beat. There never were. If the brat just would have applied himself, who knows how far he might have gone.” The old man laughed and shook his head. “The rest of these guys? I think you could still hold your own. Experience in the ring counts for a lot, and it’s not something you lose. Instinct too.” Jeremy nodded toward Jay. “Your boy’s the spitting image of you, Pat. He might go all the way, if he’s inherited more than your hair. Can’t wait to get him in the ring.” The old man dusted off his hands and turned to Ken once more. “Ah, fuck it, where are my manners. I’m Jeremy Hollis. This is my place.”

“Ken Atkins,” he introduced himself.

“Ken’s helping me out with Jay,” Patrick explained. “And he’s agreed to go a round or two with me, just for a bit of fun.”

“Run him through the basics first. Ring five’s open for a few hours, so you’ve got time,” said Jeremy, nodding down toward the weight equipment. “Grab whatever you need from the front desk. I’ll send the brat down there when he finally shows up.”

Ken found himself following in Patrick’s wake, grabbing borrowed clothes, a protective helmet, and light boxing gloves, and practicing a series of basic jobs, blocks, and footwork. Soon, he was trying to dance around the ring with the larger man countering his every step. It only took ten minutes of actual sparring before he was out of breath, and fifteen minutes before he was drenched with sweat. But Patrick was sweating and breathing heavily too, so Ken didn’t feel so bad about it. Every time Ken thought he’d done something stupid, Patrick turned it into a joke and they both ended up laughing about it.