Criminal Pleasures (25 page)

Brendan opened his mouth, about to say ‘You had no choice’ but he stopped himself. Marc had likely heard that before, from counselors, coworkers, everyone. And it hadn’t helped. So he stayed silent and simply stroked his back. Marc’s body was still tight with muscle, but there was a bit more bone there now, his spine and ribs more pronounced.

“Everyone keeps telling me what a good thing I did,” Marc said, his face still buried in his hands. He finally sat up, slowly leaning back. He stared at his hands, then shook his head. “Isn’t that hilarious, Brendan? They keep telling me how
well
I did. Saving you. Saving myself.”

He wiped his eyes, sniffling. Brendan wanted to grab him, to hug him, but he didn’t dare, didn’t know how he’d react. So he just sat, and listened.

“Can you believe that shit? ‘Damn, Daggett, you’re
so
good’, they keep telling me. They say if I’d dropped a second later than I did, her bullet would have hit me. They keep telling me how amazing it is that I managed to take her down, but I keep thinking...if I aimed a little lower, maybe I could have hit her in the leg. Something other than...”

His back hitched, and he dropped his face in his hands again.

Brendan took a shuddering breath. “She tried to kill you, Marc. She would have killed me, too.”

Marc nodded against his hands. “I know,” he said, his voice tight. “And I’m so glad you’re all right, Brendan, but...” He sat up and looked at Brendan, his face crumbling. “I didn’t want to kill her.”

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Brendan slid over and wrapped his arms around Marc. “I know,” he said. “I know you didn’t.”

Stiff in Brendan’s arms, Marc jerked with silent sobs. Brendan tightened his grip on him, pulling him in. He held him tight, stroking his back.

Abruptly, Marc untangled himself, gently pushing Brendan off of him. He slid back on the couch. “Damn it.” He wiped his eyes, giving his head a shake. “Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have gone with you tonight. I knew this would happen.”

Brendan stared at him. “You knew what would happen? That you’d open up and share your pain? So what? I’m here.”

Marc stood, rubbing his eyes. He paced a circle in front of the coffee table. “That’s just it, Brendan. You’re here. And just looking at you, being with you brings it all back. This is why I didn’t want to see you.”

Brendan stood. “I thought dumping me was all about you feeling guilty, thinking you put me in danger.”

He whirled around. “I did put you in danger! And then I had to shoot someone. And now I can’t look at you without thinking about both those things!”

“You were thinking about those things anyway,” Brendan said. “I saw your house, you’ve been a mess. Did you ever think maybe talking about it could help? Letting it out instead of shutting yourself in?”

Marc went back to the couch and sat. “I was doing okay. Better. Until you showed up.”

“What are you saying, that I’ve made it worse?”

“Yes.”

Brendan froze. The doorbell rang. They stared at each other for a moment, then Brendan went to the door. He paid for the Chinese food, then went back into the living room and dropped the paper bag on the floor. “What the hell do you mean I made it worse? I’m trying to help you.”

Marc remained on the couch, arms rested on his knees. He looked at the floor, shaking his head. “You make me weak, Brendan. And I can’t afford to be weak. What happened with Gina was bad, it was awful. But I need to be able to handle things like that. I need to be strong. But you’ve made me weak from the first moment I met you, when I was undercover. And you’ve been affecting my job performance ever since.”

Brendan moved around the coffee table and sat on the other end of the couch. “Look at me.”

Marc lifted his head and sighed. He shifted on the couch and looked at Brendan.

“That morning at breakfast, you looked into my eyes and told me having feelings for someone does
not
make you weak. You remember that?”

“I was wrong.”

“Oh bullshit!” Brendan punched the side of the couch. “You’re just hurting and it’s fucking normal after what happened at the Cape. It’s not a weakness, don’t start buying into that damaged action hero crap.”

Marc pointed at him. “Don’t act like you know more about it than I do. You don’t know what it takes, I do. I was doing fine, but I spend an hour with you and suddenly I’m a sobbing basket case.”

“You were doing fine, huh?”

“Yes,” Marc hissed, his jaw tightening.

“I see. That’s not what Karl said.”

Marc’s head whipped around. “Karl?”

“Karl Hampton. He talked to me. He told me what happened, how you were on leave. He was worried about you, he asked me to check on you.”

Marc’s mouth fell open. He turned away and laughed. “Wow.” He shook his head. “Just...wow.” He stood and headed for the door.

Brendan stood up and moved toward him. “Where are you going?”

Marc laughed again, and turned to face him. “So you pretended to come by my house because you care about me. But you were doing a favor for
Karl
.”

Brendan gave him a sour face. “Come on. Is that actually what you think? Karl talked to me, yeah, but I’ve been beside myself over you. You know I care about you, don’t fucking deny it. You talk about being weak? I’ve been a sap with you from the moment we met.”

“You’re a lawyer, Brendan, not a cop. You stand in a courtroom so you can help mommies and babies. Your
words
are your only weapon. You can afford to be a sap. I can’t. I can’t compromise myself and my job because some guy like you bats his eyes at me and gets under my skin. And I can’t turn into a weeping puddle of snot if I’m forced to fire my gun. So I’m leaving. I’ll get a cab home.”

Marc headed for the door.

Brendan darted in front of him, blocking his way. “You’re not just leaving after saying all that to me. At least give me my turn to respond.”

“Move, Brendan.”

Brendan crossed his arms over his chest. “No. You’re not leaving.”

“Brendan, there’s nothing more to say.”

“Yes, there is. I didn’t get to make my closing argument.”

“Were not in court! Now move!” Marc grabbed his arm and tugged him aside, then went for the doorknob.

Brendan grabbed his wrist and spun him back. Marc stumbled into the living room. He glared at Brendan. “You don’t want to play this game with me.” He moved toward him, arms curled at his sides. “Step away from the
door
, Brendan.”

Brendan crossed his arms over his chest again. “Make me.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You already have,” Brendan said. “Take your best shot.”

“Fucking...idiot!” Marc dove at him. “Get away from the fucking door!” He grabbed Brendan’s forearms and spun him around, forcing him back into the living room. But Brendan held on, using his momentum against him, and Marc kept going. Brendan let go and Marc slammed into the opposite wall.

Marc stared at him in shock for a moment, then steadied himself, and charged. He slammed into Brendan with the force of a linebacker, tumbling them both to the floor. Brendan landed hard on his back, wincing. Pinning Brendan’s arms, Marc leaned in to his face. “Don’t. Ever. Touch me. Again. Or I won’t hold back.”

He climbed off Brendan and headed for the door again. For a second, Brendan intended to just lay there and catch his breath, just let Marc go. This was getting out of hand. But his adrenaline was pumping. And at this point, he had nothing to lose. Plus, now he was just damn pissed off. He flipped over onto his hands and knees and reached out, hooking Marc’s leg as he reached for the doorknob.

Marc stumbled and fell, rolling onto his side. Brendan got to his feet and sprang for him, but Marc twisted onto his back and kicked him in the chest, hurling him back.

Brendan’s back landed on the bag of Chinese food. It made a popping,
splat
sound as the bag broke, spraying rice and noodles onto the rug.

Marc walked over and stared down at him, panting, his eyes wild. He shook his head. “You’re out of your fucking
mind
! What is wrong with you? Quit grabbing me, Brendan!”

Brendan winced, holding his sore elbow. “You’re not leaving, Marc. We’re not finished here.”

 “You can’t beat me, Brendan, and if you keep trying, you’re going to get hurt. So back the fuck off! Stay down.”

Brendan’s back throbbed as he sat up, shaking sticky food off his arm. “We’re not done talking yet.”

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say. Don’t you get it? Are you dense? We’re
done
.”

Brendan climbed to his feet. “No, we’re not. Not until you admit how full of shit you are.”

Marc pointed. “I’m leaving. Goodbye.” He turned away, and Brendan jumped on his back.

“What the fuck!” Marc screamed. He stumbled but didn’t go down. Twisting, he hooked an arm around Brendan’s waist, taking him down, and again Brendan landed hard on his back. He struggled as Marc tried to pin his arms down with his knees. He was the strongest fucker Brendan had ever met. But Brendan still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He hooked Marc’s legs and pushed them down. Then he lifted his own legs and caught Marc’s thighs between his, squeezing, then blocked his arms from beneath his shoulders. Getting a hold of Marc’s head, he used the force of his legs to flip him over onto his back.

Powerful arms shoved at him and Brendan bucked, but locked his legs tighter around Marc’s. Then he reached under one thigh and lifted, pushing his forearm down on Marc’s chest.

Marc’s body tilted back with the force, his shoulders pinned to the floor. With the tight lock on his legs, Brendan held him there.

Neck muscles straining, Marc’s face flushed red, his body jerking so violently that Brendan felt like a rodeo rider on top of him. But Marc couldn’t break free.

Pressing his arm down harder on Marc’s chest, Brendan brought his face close. “I said we’re not done talking. So you’re gonna listen.”

Marc glared up at him, breath hissing between his clenched teeth.

“You killed someone, Marc! You
killed
someone! You’re
supposed
to be a fucking mess. That’s supposed to make you cry and break down and feel like shit! It’s
supposed
to! Being a cop doesn’t change that. And you can blame your feelings for me all you want if that makes you feel better, I don’t care, I’ll take it. But there’s nothing weak about you. You are
not
fucking
weak
.”

He let Marc go, and stood up, looking down at him. “You said you became a cop because you wanted to help people. To do that, you’ve got to be a human being. Not a...fucking robot.”

Brendan went to the couch and sat. He leaned over, taking deep breaths, his body trembling. “Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. He rested his forehead in his shaking hands.  “Fuck.”

He heard Marc shift as he sat up, and waited for the sound of him walking out the door. He wouldn’t stop him this time. He’d said all he could say.

“You got me on my back.”

Brendan lifted his head. Marc still sat on the floor, one arm propped behind him.

“What?”

“You got me on my back,” Marc said. “You pinned me.”

Brendan shook his head. “
That’s
what you have to say to me now? That’s your focus? Really?”

Marc climbed to his feet and shrugged. “Ow.” He twisted his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “No one’s ever been able to do that to me before. No one’s ever gotten me on my back. Ever.”

Brendan stared up at him a moment, then laughed. “That’s because you’re freakishly strong. But I won the New England wrestling championship three years in a row back in school.”

Marc ambled over and sat on the floor in front of Brendan. He tilted his head. “Really?”

Brendan smiled. “Yes, really.”

Marc gazed at him, his brow furrowed. Then he grinned. “That would be really hot if you didn’t have Chicken Chow Mein in your hair.”

Brendan stared at him a moment, then laughed. He hung his head, still trying to calm his shaking body.

“Wow,” Marc said.

“What?”

Marc pointed to the coffee table. “How the hell did the wine not spill?”

Brendan picked up one of the full glasses and drank half of it down. Marc watched him, then reached over and took the other glass. He took a sip, his own hand trembling slightly. Letting out a sigh he set it down, then climbed to his feet.

Brendan watched him, waiting to see what he would do. Marc glanced toward the door. Then he moved around the coffee table and examined the mess of splattered food on the rug. “Worst part about this is,” he said, “I’m actually finally hungry.”

Laughing, Brendan fell to his side on the couch. “Physical activity will do that.”

Marc stepped around the table and knelt in front of Brendan. He reached out and smoothed Brendan’s sweaty hair back off his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean all those things I said.”

Brendan shivered under his touch. “But you meant some of them.”

Marc frowned. “I’m sorry I was a dick, then.”

“I’m sorry I made you fight me,” Brendan said.

Marc snickered. “Actually...I kind of feel better than I have in weeks.”

Brendan sat up and grinned. “See, you didn’t need therapy. You just needed to kick the crap out of someone. You should put that in the suggestion box at the police department, for internal affairs.”

Marc grabbed Brendan’s hand and tugged him up off the couch. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the shower. We both need one.”

Brendan raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Marc wiped a glob of food off his own arm and shook it onto the floor, then smiled at Brendan. “Really.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Brendan didn’t think it possible to be naked under a shower stream with another man, and still not know where they stood with each other. But such was the case as he and Marc soaped themselves up. Close enough that their bodies brushed together as they washed, but somehow it felt functional more than intimate. Though his cock hardened at the sight of Marc’s wet, nude body, his close proximity, he didn’t know if he should reach for him, touch him, kiss him. It made him want to cry, the longing in him so powerful it stole his breath.