All Through the Night: A Troubleshooter Christmas (5 page)

“Fuck you,” Jules laughed again, but then he stopped and drew in a hard breath. When he spoke again, his voice sounded different. It was breathless and low, with an undercurrent of urgency that Sam had never heard coming from his friend before. “Better yet—”

“Whoa,” Robin spoke over him. “Jules—”

Oh, shit.

“I'm feeling much better,” Jules said.

“I can see that.” Robin's voice sounded choked. “But, alas, babe, we are so not alone.”

In the other bed, about four feet away from where Sam was lying next to his wife in the pitch darkness, Jules got extremely still. For several long moments, the only discernable sound in the room was Alyssa's slow and steady breathing.

“I have no idea where we are,” Jules admitted. “Are we…” He sucked in his breath, and when he spoke again, there was wonder in his voice. “Do I remember seeing Alyssa?”

“Yes, you do,” Robin said. “We're sharing a hotel room with her and Sam.”

Jules started to laugh. “Oh, crap,” he said.

“Yup,” Robin said.

“Hi, Sam,” Jules said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Saying hi at this point seems…woefully inadequate.”

That got the pair of them laughing, but it was the way a couple of kids might've laughed at a sleepover. They were trying to be quiet so as not to wake Alyssa.

These days she could, however, sleep through a storm.

“I really didn't know you were here,” Jules apologized.

“Yeah, that's kind of clear,” Sam said. “I'm, uh, glad you're feeling better.”

They were laughing again, and now it reminded him of the way he and Alyssa laughed when they were giddy just from being together, particularly after spending weeks apart.

“Thank you for rescuing me, SpongeBob,” Jules said, when he caught his breath.

“I didn't do anything, Squidward,” Sam said quietly. “It was all Robin. He's, um…He takes good care of you.”

“Yes, he does,” Jules agreed.

“He really loves you,” Sam said.

“Thank you, Cyrano,” Robin said. “But it's going to take way more than that to pass my test.”

“What test?” Jules asked.

“I'm just keeping it real,” Sam said. “Telling it like I see it.”

“We were, um, kidding around before,” Robin told Jules.

“I insulted Robin,” Sam corrected him, “and he's now being gracious, trying to fool you into thinking it was just a joke, when I was really pretty damn rude.”

“Oh, good,” Jules said. “Thanks so much, Starrett.”

“It's what I do best.”

“I apologize for bringing logistics into this conversation,” Robin said, “but it looks like it's almost dawn. Are you and Alyssa checking out today or…?”

“No, we've got the room until Sunday,” Sam told him. There was definitely light leaking beneath the heavy drapes. “We'll be getting up and out at around nine—we're visiting Lainey and the kids. My sister, Elaine, and her husband live out in western Mass,” he explained to Robin.

“Crap,” Robin said, but then added, “Okay. That's okay. I was hoping you guys could stay with Jules, but…I'll just call Art. They'll reschedule the shot.”

“I'm really feeling much better,” Jules said. “Now that the Death Taco's gone.”

“I'm not leaving you alone.”

“Don't be silly—”

“This is not open to discussion.” Robin was serious.

Jules apparently didn't know the meaning of
not open to discussion.
He began to discuss. “You said it was a really important shot, but that it wouldn't take long,” he pointed out. “I think it's probably smart if I don't do much of anything today, but I'm certainly feeling well enough for you to—”

“They'll have to reschedule.” Robin was adamant.

Jules tried reason with a little admonishment this time. “This can't be the best time for you to diva up,” he told Robin. “You're in the middle of negotiations—”

“No,” Robin said. “I'm not.”

“What?” Jules shifted in the bed, no doubt so that he could see Robin in the growing but still dim light. “You made the deal? I thought you were waiting to, well, talk to me.”

Oopsie, as Jules sometimes said.

“No,” Robin said. “I mean, yeah, I
was
waiting, but what's to talk about? What's the point? I hate this—me in Boston and you in D.C. It sucks. It was fine for the short shoots. A day or two, maybe three? That was working. But this…” He shook his head. “So I'm just going to tell them no. No deal. No more. I'll finish out my contract, but then I'm coming home.”

Jules sounded bewildered. “But you love this job. You said you loved playing Jeff O'Reilly.”

“It's a great role,” Robin agreed. “And maybe in a year or two…But right now…I just want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you, too,” Jules said quietly. “Which is why, I, um, well, I got the ball rolling to, uh, get transferred up to Boston.”

“No fucking way.” Whoops. Sam hadn't intended to say that aloud.

“Yes, fucking way,” Jules retorted tartly. “And since it's not your fucking business, Mr. Insult-My-Partner—”

“Max is never going to let you go, Cassidy.” All right, so this was really dumb. Shutting the fuck up was what he should be doing, not arguing with Jules, who was already pissed enough at him to use the word
fucking
twice in one statement.

“Max thinks it a good idea,” Jules defended himself.

“Yeah, because it means that you're out of the running as his replacement. He doesn't have to come up with some other excuse for why you're not going to be promoted.”

And yes, that was indeed a very cold silence that was suddenly nipping at Sam's nose, considering that the real reason why Jules wasn't going to get that promotion was lying beside Jules right that very moment, and everyone in the room knew it, too.

“Sorry,” Sam added.

“You don't really want to be transferred out of D.C.,” Robin said quietly. “Do you?”

“It's a temporary position,” Jules said just as quietly. “It'd be for a year—maybe two at the most. And I'd still be part of Max's team. Yashi and Deb and even George would come with me. I'd still have to travel every now and then—that wouldn't change. Plus I'd be making a lot of day trips to D.C. But when I was home, I'd…be home. With you. We could actually have a home. You know, something that belongs to both of us, instead of you moving into my apartment—which is fine, if we end up doing that, but…”

Sam was silent. Robin was, too.

“What, no comments or criticisms from the peanut gallery?” Jules was clearly asking Sam.

“I'm just wondering what the hell Robin is waiting for,” Sam finally said. “An engraved invitation? You going to speak up there, Boy Wonder? Jules just asked you to make a home with him. You need something more than that?”

“God, I love you,” Robin breathed.

“Aw shucks, I love you, too, pumpkin,” Sam said.

“He was talking to me,” Jules said.

“Yeah, I was just practicing being an asshole. It takes hard work and constant dedication to my craft to excel the way I do. But FYI, Robin has something else to ask you.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Robin asked Jules.

“That wasn't it,” Sam said.

“I'm very sure,” Jules said. “Zip it, Starrett.”

There was silence then, and Sam closed his eyes, because he knew that Robin was kissing Jules again.

It was then that Robin finally asked for what he really wanted. Well, after Jules gave him another honking good segue.

“Life partner.” Jules was a little out of breath. In fact, he sounded a lot like he'd sounded when he'd said
I'm feeling much better…

And that was making Sam a little nervous. He glanced over at Alyssa, who was still sleeping like a baby, just as she'd been when this conversation, as it were, had started.

“When we were talking to the hotel manager,” Jules continued, “you called me your life partner. Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “I did. I do. I want to spend my life with you.” It was then, finally, that he took a deep breath and said it. “Marry me, Jules.”

Jules laughed, but not because he thought Robin was funny. It sounded to Sam as if he were completely surprised. “Wow.”

“Seriously,” Robin said. “If we're moving to Boston, we can really get married.”

“Yeah,” Jules said. “I know and…Wow.”

“I want to marry you,” Robin said. “I want to make a home with you, and grow old with you and—”

“Yes,” Jules said. “Absolutely, positively, yes. God, Robin, I want to marry you, too.”

And there was that silence again. Which, oddly enough, seemed kind of sweet this time. But still, enough was enough.

Sam leaned over and kissed Alyssa. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said, and her eyes opened.

“Hey.” She smiled at him, the way she always did, even when he woke her up at oh-what-the-fuck-hundred.

“Throw on some clothes,” he told her. “I got this crazy urge to take an hour-long walk along the Charles River. We'll be back in an hour,” he repeated just in case he hadn't been clear enough.

Alyssa was an experienced operator. She could go from sound sleep to completely alert in a flash. True to form, she didn't disappoint. She didn't need another word of explanation. She just moved. She pulled on her jeans, jammed her feet into her boots, slapped a hat on her head and grabbed her jacket, even as Sam threw on the clothes he'd left in the bathroom.

They were out in the hall, door closing tightly behind them in a matter of seconds.

It was only then that she questioned Sam. “He did it, didn't he? He asked Robin to marry him?”

Sam nodded. But then he realized what she'd said. “You mean Robin asked Jules.” And besides, how did she know?

“Robin asked Jules?” she repeated, breaking into a wide smile. “Jules was planning to ask Robin. Tonight, as a matter of fact.”

So that was what they'd been whispering about over the past few days. Sam pulled her toward the elevators. “Robin was planning it, too,” he told her as he pushed the down button. “He showed me these rings he got. They were…nice. Kind of gay, but that works, because
they're
gay, so…”

“You're okay with this?” Alyssa asked. “I know you had your doubts about Robin being good enough for our boy.”

“He's pretty young,” Sam pointed out as the elevator door opened and they got in. “My mother was what? In her fifties, when she stopped drinking. He's not even thirty.”

“Everyone follows their own path.” She pushed the button for the lobby. “He really loves Jules—I don't doubt that. And Jules…” She laughed. “He was miserable tonight, Sam. I've never seen him that sick. And yet…Everything was okay, because Robin was with him.”

Sam pulled her tight and she nestled close, her head against his heart. “I know the feeling,” he whispered.

“Robin was so patient and…tender,” Alyssa said. “And he made Jules laugh, even as sick as he was.” She shook her head. “Everyone comes with some kind of baggage.” She looked up at Sam, amusement in her eyes. “You yourself aren't exactly low maintenance. But you always make me laugh.”

He kissed her. “That's nice to know.”

“They really love each other,” Alyssa told him, and he realized she was still trying to convince him.

“I'm good with it,” Sam said. “I am. Yeah, I'd feel better if Robin had five years of sobriety under his belt, but…As Boy Wonder himself told me tonight—he makes Jules very,
very
happy. I don't doubt that at all.”

Alyssa smiled at him. “I'm glad.”

Speaking of making Jules very,
very
happy…Sam was pretty sure, that back in the hotel room, the happiness index was currently off the scale for both of his friends.

And he also knew that, despite their rocky start, all was forgiven. Yeah, no doubt about it. Sam had just passed Robin's test.

PART TWO

the surprise wedding shower crasher

N
OVEMBER
10
B
OSTON
, M
ASSACHUSETTS

O
VER FIFTY PEOPLE WERE STANDING, SILENTLY, BEHIND
the tightly closed door of the wedding-theme-decorated living room, as Jules and Robin burst through their front door, soaked from the pouring rain.

Dolphina Patel still hadn't gotten used to their high energy entrances, and if she hadn't been watching through the front window, half-heartedly flipping through the day's mail while waiting for them, she probably would've jumped clear out of her seat in what had once been the front parlor of the pre-Victorian-era townhouse. And this despite the fact that it was the one-month anniversary of her employment as their personal assistant.

She put down the mail—mostly replies to invitations for their mid-December wedding—and went out into the foyer, unable to conceal her dismay. “Didn't you take an umbrella?” she asked. It had been her job not just to get them out of the house while the guests were arriving, but also to see that they were appropriately casually dressed. Now they were both completely drenched.

“Yikes,” Jules said, stepping back onto the carpet runner just inside the front door. They'd just had the beautiful bird's eye maple floors refinished. “Sweetie, your shoes.”

“It wasn't raining when we left.” Robin stepped out of the shoes in question and started pulling his sodden sweater over his head. “Jesus, my jeans are soaked.”

“By all means,” Jules said, laughing, “strip right in the foyer, in front of Dolphina.”

“Dolphina doesn't mind,” Robin pointed out, shedding his pants as Jules looked at her and rolled his eyes in mock despair.

The two men were like a living, breathing advertisement for the joy that came with finding true love. They brought a sense of togetherness and lighthearted fun to everything they did. Even when the sewer line in their new home had backed up into the first floor bathtubs, there had been an excessive amount of laughter echoing through the then-furniture-free rooms. Dolphina had gone home early that day, not wanting to bring her two bosses down with her teeth-clenchingly negative reaction to what Jules had insisted was “no biggie.”

Only slightly less funny had been the bat colony that had come with the house. Yes,
colony.
As in forty bats—give or take a few dozen—living beneath the roof and in the walls of the 150-year-old dwelling.

Occasionally, before Eddie the Bat Guy, bless his soul, had come and saved the day by putting one-way bat doors on every entrance and egress along the roofline, a flying rodent would wander out and wing its way through the humans-only part of the house, creating no small amount of hysteria—mostly from Dolphina—and a great deal of laughter.

And the comedy show that was the master bathroom renovation? Starting with the hysterically funny broken pipe and the laugh-riot of a waterfall that went
through
the kitchen ceiling, and continuing to what was now day twenty-eight in what had been estimated as a four-day project—four days, at
most…

“We're looking at it as an opportunity,” Jules had told Dolphina around day eighteen—when they'd given up on all hope of a quick repair. “We're just going to tear everything out and create the master bath of our dreams. It'll be done by the end of October—Thanksgiving at the very latest.”

Although she supposed that, compared to getting shot at—and occasionally wounded as Jules had been while working for the FBI—sewage in the bathtub, thirty to forty bats in the attic, and a waterfall through the kitchen ceiling
was
no big deal.

Robin, too, had followed Jules's example and rolled with it all quite easily.

Dolphina had worked for the actor back during the dark time she thought of as “Before Jules.” She adored Robin, truly she did, but back then his method of coping with the slightest amount of stress had included consuming copious amounts of alcohol. But he was clean and sober now, and working hard to stay that way.

And she had never seen him so thoroughly, joyfully happy as he'd been these past few weeks, despite bats and bathroom crap and even bat crap.

Robin was working here in Boston, acting in a high quality cable TV series that was critically acclaimed, living in this gorgeous, sunlit antique of a home, and planning his impending Christmas-season wedding with the man of his dreams.

A man who probably wouldn't mind a whit if Robin walked around in only his boxer shorts, 24/7. Jules was looking at Robin right now as if he could not believe his good luck.

“Dolph, grab a laundry basket, will you?” Robin asked.

Um…

The laundry room was off the kitchen, which was on the other side of the living room. If she opened that door…“Why don't you run upstairs and get some clothes on?” she suggested. “I'll take care of this.”

But Jules had finally sat down on the rug in order to undo the laces of his boots. “Dagnabit, my fingers are frozen.”

“It's starting to slush out there,” Robin told Dolphina as he crouched to help Jules with the knot. “It's not quite snow yet, but it's definitely not rain either. It's amazing.”

“Amazing?” Jules laughed as he peeled off his sweater. His T-shirt beneath it came off, too, but it was wet as well, so he just left it off. “Wait until March. By then you'll be calling it something else entirely.”

Robin was the movie star, but Jules was quite possibly even better looking. He was dark-haired in contrast to Robin's bottle blond, brown-eyed to Robin's neon blue, and seemingly slight compared to Robin's lean, muscular height. But his vertically challenged stature was deceiving—he was, in truth, extremely buff. When both men had their shirts off, as they did right now, it was like living in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad—a six-pack celebration, complete with triceps and biceps galore.

No doubt about it, Dolphina loved her new job.

“You've got ice in your hair,” Jules pointed out.

“You do, too, babe.” Robin ran his fingers through Jules's closely cropped waves. “That's so wild. Ice is actually falling from the sky.”

“It does that now and then,” Jules said. “We call it
winter,
here in the real world outside of the Los Angeles area code.”

“Your Win-Ter is strange to me, earthling,” Robin countered, then switched back to his regular voice. “You know, I've seen it in movies, but up close and personal, I'm finding the ice in the hair thing
really hot.
”

Oh, dear. Although in truth, Robin found most things
really hot,
especially when Jules was in the room.

Why Robin had hired her to work for them, Dolphina couldn't quite figure out. Too often, especially when they were laughing together like this, she felt like Eeyore—a damp blanket of doom and gloom, willing to accept that love existed—Robin and Jules were proof of that—but convinced it would always remain well out of her lonely, depressing grasp.

“California Boy wants it to snow for the wedding,” Jules told her, his eyes never leaving Robin's.

“Don't you think that would be romantic?” Robin was talking to Dolphina, too, but smiling back at Jules. “Snowflakes falling in the silence of the night?” He started to sing. “I'm dreaming of a…white wedding!” It was a perfect mix of both Bing and Billy Idol, and it earned him more laughter and even a kiss from Jules.

A kiss that Robin repeated, and deepened.

“Um, guys,” she said, and Jules, who usually erred on the side of overly polite, at least when she was around, pulled back.

“Sorry,” he said, clearly embarrassed, which was silly. Surely he should feel comfortable kissing his fiancé in the privacy of his own home. She'd told him that about four hundred times, but he remained overly self-conscious.

He liked his privacy, and was something of a Yankee when it came to public displays of affection. Dolphina kept telling him that she was not the public and, truth be told, he
was
loosening up a little. But progress was slow.

Robin, on the other hand, had no qualms about soul-kissing his soulmate in front of other people—even out on the street. “I'm not,” he said now.

“There's something you need to know.” Dolphina took a deep breath, ready to spill all, because clearly there were times when a surprise party should not be a surprise, and this was rapidly turning into one of them.

But it was already too late. Robin was not paying attention as he pulled Jules to his feet with that glint in his eye that meant any second he was going to say…

“Take the rest of the day off, Dolph.” But then he looked at her and blinked. “What are you doing here on a Saturday, anyway?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you,” she started.

But now it was Jules who was distracted by their wet clothes. He still had his jeans on, although the top button was unfastened, making him look more like a high fashion model than a high ranking FBI official. He'd gathered up their wet things and was heading for the living room door.

“Jules, wait,” Dolphina said.

“Yeah, babe, you're dripping on the floor,” Robin pointed out.

“I'll get a towel and wipe it up,” Jules said, as Dolphina said, “Guys, really, you need to listen—”

“Dolph has worked with plenty of actors,” Robin spoke over them both. “She doesn't care if you take off your jeans.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of think she
would
care today, because I happen to be going commando,” Jules said—to fifty close friends and coworkers as he opened the living room door. “Hi…everyone. Wow. Jeez. TMI.”

Too much information, indeed. Jules's good friend Sam, who was standing near the front of the crowd, started to laugh.

Dolphina met Robin's eyes and smiled weakly. “Surprise?”

Will Schroeder tried to blend into the background of Robin Chadwick's living room, wishing he could find the bar in the crush of people and laughter.

He finally gave up and asked one of the men standing near him—tall, with military short hair—where they were hiding the beer. The guy gave him the strangest look. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe the strangeness was all in Will's head. GI Joe did, after all, have almost freakishly pale gray eyes. It was definitely disconcerting to be the focus of his full attention.

“Soda's in the fridge,” he said, holding out his hand. “I'm Cosmo. Robin's brother-in-law.”

“Will.” He'd learned, the hard way, that it was always better to use his real name. Making one up would surely come back and chomp him on the butt. “I'm a friend of Art Urban's.” Not entirely a lie, although the word
friend
was stretching it into the realm of fiction.

And as an award-winning, old-fashioned journalist, a reporter of the facts-and-truth-delivery-vehicle school, writing fiction was something he swore he'd never fall back on.

Of course, lying to get a story was vastly different from lying while writing one.

Or so Will told himself—especially at times like these.

Although right now, he was feeling both enormously guilty and humongously brass-balled. He'd just walked in, joined this party. No one had challenged him. Not yet, anyway. Everyone he'd met so far had been incredibly friendly, but the guilt didn't keep him from asking questions of—Cha-ching!—Robin Chadwick's brother-in-law.

“You were in the…Marines, right?” Will had done way too little research for this gig, assuming he could fill in the blanks later, when he was writing the piece for
The Boston Globe.
But he did remember hearing that Chadwick's sister—Hollywood producer Jane Mercedes Chadwick—was married to some kind of former bodyguard type.

“Navy SEAL,” Cosmo corrected him. “Active duty.”

Whoa. Okay. “Must be kind of weird,” Will said. “You're a SEAL, but your wife's brother is…you know.”