Faith and Fidelity (8 page)

He knew no sleep would come, so he fixed his eyes on the only picture of Sherri he'd kept in the living room, hidden on the corner of the console table, behind a lamp. His very favorite— Sherri in the green sweater that drove him crazy, posed on a blanket in Central Park, taken before he'd left for the Marines. She had wanted him to have a picture to remember her by, so he wouldn't forget how much they loved each other. As if he ever could. They didn't know it wouldn't be for long, that she was already pregnant with Miranda, that he'd be back and they would be married before the year was out. All their plans— his for a military career, hers of a college degree— waylaid. He'd thought that had been the turning point in his life. Trading glamorous plans for bills and parenthood and grown-up responsibility. It wasn't so bad for either of them. They'd realized through the years that as long as they had each other, things ultimately worked out the way they wanted.

But that life was past and this new one... well, it included things that Evan had never even imagined possible. He wondered what Matt would say when they talked tomorrow. Wondered what he wanted him to say.

So Evan passed the night staring at Sherri and thinking of Matt.

Matt couldn't sleep a wink. He got to work two hours early, scaring the shit out of the cleaning woman, and moved like a madman through his in-box and e-mail. Skipped lunch. Everyone commented on his Energizer Bunny state and asked what magic pill he'd found.
Uh, let's see... he's about six feet tall, muscular— with these silver-blue eyes that frankly make me harder than any rack I've ever laid eyes on. Go figure. I'm an eye man. And apparently a “man” man.

Every once in awhile he'd stare at the phone, wonder what kind of day Evan was having.
Good Christ, Matt, you've suddenly wound up in a fucking romance novel.

Evan got to work a few minutes after eight. The freak storm that had frozen the city for twenty-four hours was now melting under an unseasonably warm sun causing floods everywhere. Lovely. Helena was at her desk. She looked up and gave him a radiant smile before sticking out her tongue. Things were looking up— the Stepford Helena had not come back.

“Somebody's late.”

“Five minutes?”

“It's late for you. I win. Shut up.”

She waited until he took his coat off, sat down, rolled up his sleeves, and turned his computer on in typical Evan-is-anal-retentive fashion. The man was clockwork incarnate. A furtive look around told her that no one was close enough to hear so she leaned forward. “Well?!” she whispered.

Evan leaned forward and whispered back, “Well what?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don't even try that. What happened last night?”

Evan opened his mouth to say something but couldn't quite put the evening into words. He dropped his gaze to his blotter, didn't look up. He could feel her eyes burning into his forehead. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “We're, uh, going to have drinks this week, talk it over.”

“Oh. You didn't talk to her about it last night?”

“No.”

“Because it seemed like you were all gung ho on getting it over with.”

“I didn't get the chance,” Evan said quietly, thinking that it was sort of impossible, what with Matt's tongue in his mouth.

“You okay? Something's really got you dragging.”

“I'm fine.”

“Yeah right!”

“Listen— I don't want to talk about it okay?! I can handle it. I'll let you know if I need your input.” It came out sharper than he meant it to and he winced at the look in Helena's eyes.

“Excuse me. You wanted to talk about it yesterday.” She slammed around her desk for a moment, moving things that didn't need to be moved. “You don't want me to hover? Fine, I won't. I'm sorry if I'm concerned about you.” Obviously hurt and annoyed, she turned her chair around and began attacking a pile of folders.

Her parting shot hurt the most because it was the dead on truth. “You're full of shit when you say you're handling it. And if I was the one going through something this... big, you'd be crawling up my ass trying to fix it.”

They barely spoke for the rest of the day. Evan couldn't bring himself to say the words she wanted to hear.

At six o'clock, Matt cleaned up his desk and left the office. He thought about stopping for dinner but realized he wasn't hungry. He just wanted to go and sit next to the phone and wait.

At his apartment, he changed his clothes and lay down on the mattress. Stared up at the ceiling and thought, shit, I really do need furniture don't I? Waited, waited, waited.

And then the phone rang.

“Hey, it's me.”

“Hi.” Matt heard the kids in the background and ached to be there.

“Uh, sorry I fell asleep last night. I was exhausted.”

“Not a problem. I'm just glad you got some rest. I worry about you.”

Matt heard the pregnant pause through the line and held his breath; being the emotional one in this sort of situation was not his forte. He worried he'd crossed a line when Evan cleared his throat and started talking again.

“Listen, I think you're right. We should get together and talk.”

“Yeah.”

“So I talked to my sister-in-law and she's going to take the kids out on Saturday. She said she'd pick them up on Friday after school. So uh, does Friday work for you?”

Three fucking days. Matt thought he'd probably go crazy before then. “Friday's fine. I'll meet you at O'Malley's, eight o'clock?”

“Fine.”

“Great. So say hi to the kids. I'll see you Friday.”

“Yeah.” Another long pause in Matt's ear. “See you then.”

They breathed at one another for a long moment, then hung up.

Matt rolled over onto his stomach and tried to pretend he didn't care about how distant Evan seemed to be.

Evan and Helena maintained their cool attitudes for the rest of the week— they were all business. Everyone noticed and no one said a word to either of them. But it was the hot topic of conversation at lunch for the rest of the detectives. Good money said lover's spat— they'd assumed for months that Evan and Helena were— you know— Evan and Helena.

Matt realized on Thursday night that he hadn't had a drink in over a week. That seemed odd. He jogged every night when he got home from work because it made his body hurt so much his mind was blank when he went to sleep. The dreams of Evan had stopped— maybe because now he could spend all his waking hours tasting him, feeling him... who the hell needed dreams?

Friday crawled. He watched the clock until his eyes went blurry. At seven he stood up and headed for the ferry, anxious to get this over with.

At O'Malley's, Evan sat alone at “their” table, halfway through the pitcher that magically appeared before he could even take his coat off. He'd purposely come a half hour early, so he could steel himself for what happened next. The beer tasted bitter and comforting as it slid down his throat. It pooled in his stomach and sent a warm numbness through his arms and legs.
Just enough to make me calm and rational.

He sensed Matt before he saw him; his presence was unmistakable. He avoided looking up for as long as he could, but in the end he couldn't help himself.

The hunger in Matt's eyes made his stomach flip, and, without realizing it, he swiped his tongue over his upper lip... remembering.

It was Matt's turn to blush.

He slid into the other chair, not knowing what expression to lock his face into. He stretched his legs out, brushing them against Evan's, making them both jump.

“You been here long?” Matt finally said, pouring himself a beer with an unsteady hand.

“Nah.”

They each drank, staring off into opposite sides of the bar.

The tension did nothing to dispel Matt's need. He felt that old familiar recklessness rearing its ugly head. He wanted to touch Evan so badly his hands shook. Wanted him to remember how good it felt when they kissed.

So what the fuck, he thought, and he slid his hand under the table and onto Evan's thigh.

He didn't jump. He just closed his eyes, swallowed hard.

“Matt... ” His voice was low and ragged.

And all Matt's thoughts of rational conversation went right out the window.

“What are we going to do about this, Evan? What the hell do you want me to do? This whole thing is scaring the shit out of me, but I can't seem to stop... ” He leaned over until he was inches from Evan's ear, whispering frantically. “I can't think about... us... logically. I can't explain this away.”

His hand pressed down hard. He felt the tight muscles under the wool of Evan's pants. Felt the heat coming straight through his palm, burning a path to his groin. “I want you.” He said it into Evan's ear, said it tightly, loved the shiver that he felt a second later.

They sat in this insane tableau— Matt's hand moving in small circles against Evan's thigh, inching closer and closer to where he wanted it to be— sitting so close that he was sure Matt could flick his tongue and touch him. Evan let the dizziness overwhelm him, closed his eyes and let the protests sit in his throat.

When he opened his eyes, he locked onto Matt's almost desperate stare. And from nowhere he could have named he said, “Let's go somewhere... private, okay?”

Matt said nothing. He removed his hand, grabbed his overcoat, and put it on without standing up. Good idea, Evan thought, dazed. He threw a twenty down on the table and silently followed Matt out the front door, ignoring the bartender's confused look.

Matt stood on the sidewalk, waiting for Evan to catch up. They gulped in the cold air, watched a few people walk by.

“Where's your car?” Matt said roughly, turning to him— hands in his pockets so they'd both be safe.

“The lot.” He motioned across the street. “Should we, uh, drive to Queens?”

“No. My place.” Matt knew that being at the house would just make things more difficult. Too many memories. They needed neutral ground. “That okay?”

Evan was relieved. “Yeah.”

They walked across the street, waited for the car in silence. Didn't speak again until they were speeding toward the bridge. Matt cleared his throat.

“Are you sure about this?”

Evan let out a small, shaky laugh. “I wish to God I had an answer for you right now. All I know is that... I'm not turning this car around. I'm going home with you... and we'll see what happens from there.”

“Good.” Matt turned his head and watched the city turn into Staten Island.

Evan parked on the street. He grabbed his bag from the backseat and followed Matt up the stairs to his apartment. The building was small— a row house with four floors— old, but well kept. They walked all the way to the top, past the sounds of the evening news, the smell of something spicy and rich. At the top of the stairs, Matt unlocked his front door and stepped inside. He paused, flipping on the light, then waited for Evan to follow.

His look said it all— this was it. No turning back.

Without hesitation this time, Evan walked through the door.

“Studio Sweet Studio. Here's the tour. You're standing in the whole apartment. That door's the bathroom. That obviously is what passes for the kitchen. Tour over.” Matt threw his jacket onto the counter that separated the kitchen and the main room. “You want something to drink?”

Evan stood there dumbly, his coat still on, bag in hand. “I think I need to be a little drunk right now,” he said honestly.

Matt grunted and went to the fridge. “Throw your stuff anywhere.”

Considering this, Evan glanced around the big room. It was freshly painted and the hardwood floor polished. And there was absolutely not one stick of furniture— just a mattress in the center of the room, Matt's phone perched next to it on a shoe box.

“You don't— ”

“Have any furniture. I did some housecleaning last weekend.”

“No shit.” He took his coat off and put it over Matt's. The bag he dropped on the floor near the bathroom door.

“The new stuff is coming tomorrow. I'm sorry... ”

“Don't worry about it.” Evan didn't have a clue what to do next. He accepted the beer from Matt and stood in the center of the room, avoiding looking at Matt or the mattress.

Matt kicked his shoes off, threw his tie onto the growing counter pile. He was moving around almost angrily, taking long drags of his beer. He was also avoiding Evan completely, taking the long way around the room just to get to the bathroom.

Evan decided to follow suit. He got rid of everything but his shirt, pants, and socks, sitting down on the corner of the mattress to drink his beer and watch Matt move around the room.

“You want something to eat?”

“No.”

“Take a shower... ”

“Matt, please just sit down.”

Matt stopped, standing a few feet from Evan with his dress shirt open and his eyes wild. “No.”

“Why not?” Evan was growing weary of these repetitive conversations. “You wanted me here, didn't you?”

“I want you... here. I want you exactly where you are right now, but... I don't know what to do.”

Evan smiled sadly. “Join the club. I probably have even less of a clue.”

Matt clenched his fists at his side. “Finding myself turned on enough to cut glass and not knowing what the fuck to do about it is a new and unpleasant experience.”

“Matt, please.”

Matt waited for another moment, then pulled his shirt the rest of the way off, now in just his T-shirt and slacks. He watched Evan drain the rest of the beer— loved to see his mouth, his throat, moving, swallowing— then put it down next to the bed. Watched him slowly unbutton his own shirt.

“Come over here and sit down before I lose my nerve.”

Matt finally moved. He sat down a few inches from Evan, brushed his shoulder against him. Slid his hand behind Evan's neck and pulled him forward.

“Tell me to stop,” Matt whispered. “Last chance.”

Evan said nothing. Leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Matt's, picking up where they had left off a week ago. He was tentative, kissing him softly, teasing him with his tongue, startling a bit when Matt opened his mouth to join in. He kept going, kept touching his tongue to Matt's, tasted like beer, tasted so goddamn good it made him dizzy.