The Way Things Are (18 page)

Ken could only shrug. “He’s still talking to the investigators.”

“Seriously?” Brandon whispered. “Is that the kind of guy you go after? Because if it came down between him and that giant Connelly,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “then what do you…?” Brandon kept his voice low, but Ken was pretty sure, from the way Corbin’s grin grew into a leer, that the other man heard every word.

On the other side of the glass, Corbin shook with laugher. “I’d make a joke about how he’d be playing the same position, whether it was me or Pat, but I doubt it’d be appropriate.”

Ken dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Then his brain processed what Corbin had said. He brought his head up fast.

The smile that met his shocked expression was gleeful and wicked. “Pat’s open to just about anything, but he could rock these pants better than me, if they came in his size.” Corbin spun around to show off the glittery blue letters TWINK printed across his ass.

“I was warned about those pants,” Ken said, fighting to keep his tone serious.

“You like? The fabric’s totally synthetic too. It’s cheaper than leather, cruelty-free, and you can clean it with Windex. How awesome is that? In my line of work, you’d be surprised at some of the interesting things that end up on my pants in a given night.”

Brandon looked horrified. “What exactly is your line of work?”

“I run a bar. It gets a bit rough sometimes, and sometimes it’s just plain messy.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to own a bar?”

Corbin splayed his fingers across his chest. “You think? Oh, you’re sweet.”

Brandon turned his head to read the letters. “So the pants are….”

“Fabulous, right?” Corbin turned toward Ken again.

Ken laughed. “They’re something else.”

“Do you have any sense of propriety?” Brandon asked.

“A little,” Corbin insisted. “I never grope people I fight with. But that’s because it’s just not my thing, not really because it’s inappropriate.”

Brandon’s eyebrows knitted together. “People you fight with?”

“What? I don’t look like I can fight?” Corbin giggled. “It’s the outfit, isn’t it? Nobody takes me seriously in bright colors. And in fishnet, people assume when I talk about smacking them around, I’m offering to set up some kind of BDSM scene.”

“Please stop traumatizing my baby brother,” Ken begged.

“Then give me an answer. Am I off the hook?”

“Yes. I’ll make sure Pat gets home okay. Can you shove his clothes through the pass-through box?”

It took a bit of effort, but Corbin eventually managed to shove a bundle of clothing into the small sliding metal box meant to be used to pass bail money to the guards.

“Do you think Jay will be okay at home?” Ken asked.

“He’s at a friend’s house, so I expect he’ll wander home when it’s dinnertime. You don’t think this will take that long, do you? Because my dad can put the kid to work if this is going to take all day.”

“I’ve got no idea,” Ken said. “But I’ll stay, regardless.”

“Tell him to call if he needs anything?”

“Sure.”

As Corbin left with a wave, Ken collapsed back into the office chair and avoided looking at his brother.

Brandon looked exhausted and overwhelmed. “Nothing?”

“Bran, I’m not going to lie to you. This guy is hot. Plus he’s nice, funny, and I think he might like me.”

Ken knew that didn’t even begin to explain the spark he felt every time he looked at Patrick. Just remembering the way Patrick had looked at Ken in Corbin’s Attic made his brain shut down. The lingering touches when they’d sparred together the next day had been enough to make him feel giddy.

“It’s bad enough that the guy has a kid, but that kid is one of your clients. And he thinks it’s okay for his son to be around guys like that….”

“Hollis,” Ken filled in on cue. “Corbin Hollis. He’s a good guy. And Jay is an awesome kid. The reason he’s an awesome kid is because Patrick is an amazing father. If no one ever dated anybody else because they had a kid, do you think our mom would have ended up married to Mark?” Ken saw regret darken Brandon’s face at the question. The three of them had always agreed their stepdad was the best thing that’d ever happened to them. Not only had he become the father they’d all desperately needed, but he’d managed to coax their mother out of a depression they hadn’t even realized she’d been in. The memories Ken had of his mother from before her second marriage seemed like a dark shell compared to the vibrant, happy woman she was now.

“What about the kid’s mom?”

“They don’t talk about her.”

“So you don’t know anything about her?”

“I didn’t say that. She’s not a part of their lives anymore.”

“Don’t you think she’d be upset to find out that her son is being raised by—”

“Bran, if you finish that sentence, I
will
take it personally.”

Brandon just shook his head. “I’m just saying I don’t get what the attraction is here, Kenny.”

“I don’t get why you’re attracted to women, so we’re fair.”

“Fine.” Brandon squeezed his shoulder again and collected the clothes Corbin had passed to them. “Poor guy’s been stuck in a jail jumpsuit for the last couple hours because he managed to get some blood from the scene on his clothes,” he explained, heading back to the interview rooms. “Mal was going to loan him some sweats and a T-shirt, but they didn’t fit.”

He came back a moment later, escorting Patrick through the booking area. Patrick was dressed in the clothes Corbin had brought, tight pants and a polo that clung to his chest and shoulders.

“Hi,” Ken said, standing up.

“Uh, hi,” Patrick said, running his hands through his hair.

Ken nodded toward the door. “Come on, I said I’d give you a ride home.”

“A ride? I called Corbin for a ride hours ago.”

“He was here, but he left. The poor guy looked like he’d been awake all night. I told him I’d make sure you got home okay.”

Malcolm, looking more exhausted than Ken had ever seen him, trailed behind Patrick and Brandon. “I really think you need to reconsider, Mr. Connelly. We’ve interviewed every single one of your coworkers and none of them are admitting to seeing this guy. Whoever killed him had to have access to the docks, and every guy there except you is protecting him.”

“They’re not protecting anybody,” Patrick insisted. “They just hate cops. And anybody who fucks with the terminal schedule. And assholes in suits. You’ve got all three of those bases covered. And to be honest, this guy didn’t seem like the type of person people like. Whether he was going to rape that kid five weeks ago or just beat the shit out of him”—Patrick shrugged—“I can’t say I’m sad he’s dead.”

Brandon snorted quietly.

Malcolm huffed. “You really think him attacking that boy was random? You think somebody was willing to kill him for fucking with the terminal schedule? You can’t just go back to work like this!”

“Sure I can. He’s dead. You’ll figure it out because that’s your job. I’m going to trust you to do it. I’m just a crane operator. Nobody gives a flying fuck about me except in terms of how much I can contribute to their year-end bonus. Besides, you guys got there in the middle of the shift, so I doubt anybody even knows I found him.”

“You can’t rely on random chance to keep you safe,” Malcolm hissed.

“I’m relying on you. And the vague possibility that there are other guys at the dock who figured this guy deserved what he got. Maybe guys who took it upon themselves to sort it out. I can’t see what problem they’d have with me.”

“He became a liability and someone shot him! Given the amount of food and crap in that container, Immigration and Customs estimate that there were over a dozen people inside. They didn’t kill him and wander off on their own. I don’t see why whoever capped this guy would hesitate to hurt you. Or your kid.”

Patrick sighed and shook his head. “There are no other options. You’ll catch whoever killed him and we’ll be fine.”

“I’ll find who did this,” Malcolm promised. “But….” He shook his head frantically, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Whatever, you’re not going to listen to me.”

“I’m not going to run away and hide. I don’t do shit like that. And sending my boy to his mom’s is out of the question.”

“If it’s out of state, it’s—”

The look on Patrick’s face was almost a grimace, but he laughed. “If I have to choose between my ex-wife and dealing with whoever killed that gay-bashing dick, I’ll take the killer any day.”

Ken saw Brandon’s head snap toward Patrick in surprise.

“Can I go?”

“Can we get out of here, Mal?” Ken asked, trying not to think too hard about Malcolm’s arguments.

Malcolm fumed. “I can’t stop you,” he said. “Kenny, come here a minute?”

Patrick headed toward the door without a word.

“Uh, I’m his ride.”

“Try to talk some sense into him. The guy from last night…. Fucking hell, I wish I could talk to you about this shit. Just tell him he needs to listen to me. Please?”

When the door buzzed, Patrick rushed through it, not looking back.

“I’ve got to go,” Ken said, hurrying after him.

He spotted Patrick stalking toward the parking lot and tried to race after him. His knee twanged with each stride, so he ended up moving in a shuffling limp rather than sprinting.

When he got to Ken’s car, Patrick stopped and stared at him, his normally smiling eyes empty and tired. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Ken shuffled toward the driver’s side door. “That was supposed to be my line. You’re the one who had a shitty night.”

“You’re walking different.”

“My knee hurts. It always hurts, though. You okay?”

“I….” Patrick ran his hands through his hair again and Ken saw he was trembling. “It’s cold out.”

“They sent all of your clothes to forensics?”

“Yeah. My coat and truck too. Apparently the puddle I fell in was actually blood. I thought it was just mud and even got into my damn truck before I noticed. I let them take it to see if they could get anything useful. Your brother let me take a shower, but they didn’t have much for clean clothes that fit.”

“Hop in—the heater works.”

He started the car and blasted the heat while Patrick climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Atkins, is this…? I mean, I’m sorry for bugging you last night. I saw your last name in my contacts list, and I just hit the icon. I’m grateful for the ride and all, but I think I’ve bothered you enough.”

Ken stared at him for a minute and sighed. “You didn’t wake me up, you didn’t distract me from anything important, and I’m happy to help. I’ve normally got Sunday and Monday off, so it’s no big deal. Am I taking you home?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Patrick muttered.

“Is Jay home?”

Patrick shook his head slowly.

“You want breakfast?” Ken asked, backing out of the parking spot.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I’m starving. And I’ve got to eat in order to take something for my knee. Would you mind if we stop on the way?”

“Whatever,” Patrick muttered.

If Patrick hadn’t looked quite so lost, Ken would have made a joke about just how much like his son he looked when they were both pretending to be indifferent to the world falling apart around them. Ken wondered if either of them realized just how similar they were.

“What?” Patrick glared at him. “You’re grinning.”

“I can’t smile?”

“I’ve seen that grin. It’s the look you get on your face when you’ve spent twenty minutes getting Jay to remind himself about all the reasons he shouldn’t get arrested again.”

“I was just thinking that he gets that pouting thing he does from you.”

Patrick folded his arms across his chest and glared at him. “I don’t pout.”

Ken slapped the steering wheel and pointed at him. “Just like that. He even does the arm thing.”

Patrick was about to argue; then he deliberately unfolded his arms. “He does, doesn’t he?” He tilted his head back to rest against the upholstery. “Sorry. Rough night.”

“Yeah, it sounded like it. You are okay, aren’t you?”

“I’m okay,” Patrick whispered in a tone that made it very clear he was anything but.

Ken drove toward Patrick’s apartment and stopped at a small downtown diner when they came to Patrick’s neighborhood. “At least let me buy you a cup of coffee?”

Patrick met his gaze for a moment, then turned away. “Yeah, okay.”

Patrick didn’t even seem to notice when Ken ordered two breakfast specials and two cups of coffee. When their waitress set a warm cup of coffee in front of him, Patrick wrapped his hands around the cup and took a deep breath, but didn’t take a drink.

“So Jay’s got his last status hearing Thursday,” Ken said quietly. “I can still reschedule it, if you like.”

“I’m not going to run away,” Patrick whispered. “I don’t need you to reschedule anything because of this mess.”

“I meant because of work. You work Monday through Thursday night, right?”

“Oh.” Patrick lifted up his cup as if he might take a sip, then set it down again.

If the rumors he’d heard about last night hadn’t been so horrible, Ken would have been thrilled to see Patrick nervous around him. Now, though, he suspected all of the nervous gestures he kept picking up on were the shock setting in as the adrenaline of the night, and the questioning that had followed, finally faded.

“I can be there,” Patrick said. “I usually only sleep a few hours each day during the week. Then I switch back to a regular schedule on the weekends.”

“Really? You switch back every week?”

“Yeah. As much as I can working swing shifts at Corbin’s. If I sleep each day away, I feel like I’m wasting all of my time off. What time is the hearing, again?”

“Four o’clock. After school is out.”

“That’ll be perfect.”

“How’s Jay’s boxing class going? Is he getting into it like you hoped?”

Patrick just shrugged. “He’s made friends. He hates it, but he likes the kids he’s met there.”

Ken argued with himself about whether or not he should point out that Jay wouldn’t be his client anymore after Thursday, but he couldn’t do it. He’d rehearsed ways to ask Patrick out a dozen times in his head, each time leading up to asking Patrick if he had any plans for the following weekend, but it was always easier in his imagination. Nothing in his imagination could have conjured up all of the complications that had cropped up in the last twelve hours.