The Way Things Are (19 page)

Ken remembered his brother’s warning. “You know, I’ve never heard my brother worry about his witnesses before. What did he want you to do?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Patrick huffed. “His concern is going to have to take a back seat to reality. I’m still broke from moving this summer. I can’t afford to just walk away from my job.”

“That’s fair,” Ken said. “I suppose Mal might have just been acting paranoid.” He’d never seen Malcolm act any more paranoid than every other police officer, but it was remotely possible.

When their waitress set down two matching breakfast platters, Ken dug the tiny bottle of muscle relaxers out of his pocket. He ate a few bites of scrambled egg quickly to make sure it wouldn’t upset his stomach. He broke one pill in half with his teeth, swallowed one piece dry, then dropped the other half back into the bottle.

“I hate these things,” he said, watching Patrick’s eyes follow the small pill bottle back into his pocket. “I only take them when my knee is so stiff it’s hard to move.”

“Do they make you tired?”

“A little. I can only take half of one when I need to drive.”

“Will that be enough?”

“It’ll help.”

“I could drive you back to your place and take a cab, if you want.”

“That’s not quite how I imagined dragging you home with me,” Ken said before his brain could stop the words from escaping. “Half of one of those will more than take the edge off,” he lied.

Across the table, Patrick stared into his coffee. Ken bit his bottom lip to keep from chuckling at the way a solid line of red rose up from Patrick’s neck, through his cheeks, and finally ended at the tips of his ears. He wondered if every part of Patrick turned red when he blushed. The only thing he regretted about their night at Corbin’s Attic was that he’d been too drunk to take in many details about Patrick during sex.

After a long moment of staring into his cup, Patrick glanced up at him, finally smiling again. “You’ve imagined dragging me home with you?”

“Quite a bit. I enjoy my imagination,” Ken said slowly. He scooped up a mound of scrambled eggs and stared at Patrick. “But I would love to find out how reality compares.”

Patrick grabbed the fork beside him and nudged some of the food on his plate to one side, then nudged it back again. “But there’s Jay.”

“Yeah. After Thursday, that won’t really matter anymore. Jay’s officially done with intensive supervision after his hearing.”

“Yeah, I suppose he is.” Patrick crunched into a piece of bacon. He stared down at his plate as if noticing it for the first time. In what seemed like seconds, the plate was empty and he’d drained his mug of coffee.

“Sorry.” Patrick sheepishly set the coffee cup down. “Guess I was hungry after all.”

“I ordered it for you.”

“So why did Corbin leave? He said he’d give me a ride home, and I needed to talk to him about something. He could have at least stayed long enough to apologize for taking so damn long to get down there.”

“He seemed tired, and when he saw me there, he asked if I could give you a ride home so he didn’t have to stay.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet he did. I don’t suppose you could give me a ride to his place after this? I need to talk to him. And burn off some adrenaline.”

Ken almost choked on his eggs.

“Unless you’re up for a sparring match? I don’t suppose so, not with your knee,” Patrick answered for him without a pause.

Ken tested the joint slightly, bending his knee until the tendon stretched tight, then straightening it as much as he could under the table. It was still stiff, the muscles around the injured tendon still inflamed and rigid. “Give me another thirty minutes, and I might be. Maybe.”

“But you already had to take something for it.”

“I take those so I can move. If I liked sitting on my ass all day, I wouldn’t bother. Of course, all I’ve got in my gym bag is a pair of bike shorts and jersey, so I’d look ridiculous.”

Patrick sat back hard enough to shake the booth. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder.

Ken tried hard not to laugh. “There’s no one sitting there.”

Patrick blushed and ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Want to go after this? I’ve got to stop at my place and grab some clothes, but otherwise, I’m up for it.”

“You said you need to talk to Corbin, though?”

Patrick shook his head quickly. “Mostly I just wanted to drag his ass down to the gym. Maybe ask him if he can take Jay for the next day or so. Me freaking out every ten seconds is going to make him worry. Corbin lives above the bar, though, so it’s not exactly kid friendly.”

“Oh. No, not kid friendly.” Ken didn’t want to point out that Jay couldn’t have spent four years painting graffiti on the nighttime streets of New York without seeing things far worse than anything Corbin’s Attic had to offer. “But if there’s no direct entrance into the bar, it’s not a bad option. Hook up an Xbox and he might spend days there totally oblivious.”

Patrick laughed loud enough that half the diner glanced at them. “He would too. Or I could just give him a stack of new sketchbooks. I swear, when he’s got an image or something in his head, he tunes out the whole damn world and just draws. He can draw the same thing over and over for hours, and he won’t even stop to eat unless I remind him. All drawing has ever done is get him into trouble, and getting so focused on something that you forget to eat isn’t exactly a good trait. That’s why I try not to encourage it. But it might come in handy over the next few days.”

Patrick pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyebrows knitted together. Ken had to hand it to him: he changed the subject with a finesse Jay had yet to master. But the mere fact that he seemed to prefer talking about the one subject that had consistently been off-limits in their conversations couldn’t be a good sign.

He considered pushing Patrick on the topic, finding out exactly what had sparked Jay’s obsession once and for all. But Ken felt like that would be wrong in ways he couldn’t even explain. No matter how much he wanted to find out the truth, angling for it now felt like it would be taking advantage of all of the things Patrick had already been through in the last twelve hours.

“You won’t be able to
discourage
it, so you might as well use it when you can,” Ken said simply. “The best thing you can do is help him find some direction, find a job where being artistic is a plus.”

“There are no real jobs like that.”

“Advertising. Graphic design. Auto body places always have someone who can do airbrush work. Tattoo artist, even.”

“You’ve had this conversation with him already, haven’t you?”

Ken nodded. “Twice. Each time, he’s looked at me like I suggested he eat something nasty.”

Patrick nodded. “Sounds about right.”

Ken glanced at his watch to check the time, then stared at Patrick. Even though he looked as easygoing as ever at first glance, he was twitching. Every time Patrick seemed to notice it himself, he grabbed his coffee cup again and sat freakishly still.

“Why don’t we swing by your apartment so you can get clothes, then hit the gym. Afterward, if you want to go talk to Corbin, I’ll drop you off at his place.”

“My place is right around the corner. If you’re not up for it, I can walk from here.”

Ken tossed enough cash to cover their bill and a tip onto the table, but Patrick didn’t move.

Ken wanted to reach out and touch Patrick’s hands, to smooth his fingers over Patrick’s knuckles to convince him he didn’t need to keep a death grip on the mug of coffee. Instead he slipped out of the booth and clapped his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Come on.”

The two-block drive toward Patrick’s building was awkward and quiet. When he pulled up along the curb outside, Ken drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his heart sprinting. He wanted to follow Patrick up to his apartment, but he knew there would be no end of trouble if he did. He shifted so he could face Patrick directly. In his little Nissan, Patrick was so close Ken could feel his breath across the center console. Patrick was staring at him, his lips parted and trembling a little with each breath he took. It would be so easy to reach across the tight space and kiss him.

Ken swallowed hard. He brought his right hand up and set his fingertips against Patrick’s cheek, tracing the solid line of his jaw. Patrick leaned into the touch as though he was craving this just as much as Ken. He leaned across the console, tugging Patrick closer. “Just so we’re clear here, you’re—”

“Jay’s father,” Patrick whispered against his lips, carefully enunciating each word. “And you’re his probation officer.”

Ken shut his eyes and sat back. “Yeah.” He was still responsible for Jay’s supervision, responsible for punishing him should he reoffend. And he would have to answer to his boss if he was stupid enough to fuck Jay’s father again. Especially because he knew it wouldn’t end after a quick round of sex this time. He didn’t just want to fuck Patrick; he wanted to be a part of his life. He wanted to be the one to soothe the tension and anxiety hanging over him. Ken wanted to hold him and never let go.

Patrick’s eyes were screwed shut tight and he was panting a little. Ken took some solace from that. At least it proved this insane attraction was still mutual.

“Makes me wish we’d run into each other in Corbin’s Attic years ago,” Patrick whispered. “Or that Jay could be normal.”

“Normal is overrated. This is what it is,” Ken said. He felt the tightness in his chest ease a bit. “For five days, it would be a risk.”

“Five days?”

“I’m only in charge of Jay’s supervision until Thursday.”

“The status hearing,” Patrick whispered. “Is that why you were there last night? Were you looking for me?”

“Last night, five days didn’t seem like such a big deal,” Ken admitted. “If Jay got into trouble again, if anybody found out, my job would be….” Ken shook his head slowly.

“It would make things hard for you at work,” Patrick said, sitting back.

“Which is precisely the problem. Thinking about you already makes
me
hard at work. And at home. And every time I drive by one of those damn cranes and think about you.”

Patrick stared at him for a long moment, then snaked his hand out and pulled Ken across the center console. “Five days?”

Ken didn’t hesitate to lean closer. He nodded, his lips brushing against Patrick’s. “Five days.”

Patrick nodded slightly, the movement bringing his lower lip into Ken’s mouth. Ken tugged him closer, crushing his lips against Patrick’s hungrily. The kiss was fast, desperate, and perfect, and when it ended, Ken leaned farther across the console, trying to follow Patrick’s lips as he pulled away.

“Jay….” Patrick paused, catching his breath. “Jay’s not supposed to be home until three. Do you want to?” Patrick inclined his head toward the building.

“Fuck yes,” Ken whispered. “Maybe we should go to my place, though. That way we won’t have to worry about Jay coming home early.”

“Okay,” Patrick agreed.

Chapter 8

P
ATRICK
DIDN
’
T
say anything as Ken drove across town. He was afraid anything he did say would remind Ken this was a bad idea. So he followed Ken into a townhouse in the popular Morgan Junction neighborhood without a word. The place was older but nicely maintained, with two floors of living space built over a one-car garage. Ken parked in front of the garage and unlocked the small door beside it, then led the way up a dim stairwell.

When Patrick reached the top of the stairs, Ken grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him into a bright living room. Ken shoved him against the wall, pressing his hips against Patrick’s without hesitation. Patrick could feel Ken’s cock, hard, through the thin fabric of his slacks.

He hesitated for a moment, then reached for the buttons of Ken’s coat. The small black buttons slipped through the felted wool easily, giving Patrick access to the wrinkled white button-down underneath. Ken shut his eyes and lifted his chin, giving Patrick easier access to the collar of his shirt.

“What do you want?” Ken asked.

Patrick shook his head and stared down at Ken. “I want you,” he said huskily. “Before you realize there’s no way Jay’s going to stay out of trouble.”

Ken chuckled. “I know he’s not going to stay out of trouble. Whatever happens, I can handle it. I’m not worried about it. The only thing I’m worried about is getting you upstairs because I don’t think the two of us would fit on the couch.”

Patrick’s cock was throbbing. He wanted this so bad he was likely to come in his pants before he got Ken undressed if he didn’t calm down a little. He tugged at the buttons of Ken’s shirt.

“Of course, there’s the floor. And the kitchen table.”

“Stop talking,” Patrick gasped and shook his head. “If you want me to last long enough to actually get to fucking each other, you need to stop talking. Your voice is….” Patrick couldn’t think of any way to describe the affect Ken’s voice had on him.

A flash of surprised delight crossed Ken’s face, and then a look that Patrick thought he’d glimpsed once or twice as they passed each other each week—open, unashamed lust. “Now
that
I remember perfectly. You like my voice.”