Edward Unconditionally Common Powers 3 (7 page)

He put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. His house was only about fifteen minutes away, where the main road veered south, past the edge of town. He liked it there. Minimal noise, few neighbors, and light traffic.

Pulling into his drive, he felt the quiet pride that coming home always gave him. The house was solid, well built, and had plenty of room. He'd saved years on a small-town cop's salary to get the down payment to buy it. And he'd spent most of his free time and money fixing it up. It was a hell of a long way from the piece-of-shit trailer he'd grown up in outside of San Antonio.

Here he could be himself, away from the pressure of the job and everyone's expectations of him. It might be lonely off and on, but he'd gotten used to it over the years. Alone was good. Alone was comfortable. Alone didn't hurt anymore.

“We're home, Winston,” he announced. Winston whined and scratched at the door. Jack got out and let the dog out of the car, then bent down and unclipped the leash.

“Go ahead, boy. Check it out.”

He leaned against the car as Winston, nose to the ground, trotted around the half-acre front yard. Jack took time to observe the animal. Low to the ground, the dog was solid, not fat, with a broad, deep chest, sleek, short white fur, and a massive head. Those dark brown eyes held an intelligence Jack hadn't noticed in most dogs he'd seen.

Winston was so ugly he was cute.

“Come here, boy.”

Winston didn't respond. That wouldn't do. It bugged Jack when someone didn't listen to him or obey him. It was a sign of disrespect. But he could fix that.

“You need some training.” Jack went inside, opened the fridge, and pulled out some cold cuts. Taking a few slices, he tore them up and put them in a small baggie, then went back outside just as Winston watered Jack's azalea bushes.

Jack pulled out a small piece of meat. “Come, Winston.” He held the food in his hand so that the dog could see it.

Winston trotted over to him, and Jack gave him the treat.

“Good boy.”

He let the dog wander off several times and repeated the command and awarded with the treat when Winston obeyed. By the fourth time, he could call Winston and the animal would come to him without seeing the meat.

Satisfied with his progress, Jack gave the dog the last of the treats, rubbed him behind the ears, and praised him. Together, they went inside.

Jack put a bowl of water on the floor, and Winston went right to it. His long tongue lapped the liquid and drops flew, splattering Jack's pristine white cabinets. Then, as Winston walked the bowl across the slate tiles, water splashed all over the kitchen floor. Jack got out a dish towel, wiped up the mess, and put it underneath the bowl to absorb the water spillage and keep it in place.

That done, Jack headed to his room to undress and take a hot shower. He stripped down, tossed his uniform into the hamper for his dry cleaning, his T-shirt and briefs into the hamper for washing, then leaned into the double shower stall and turned on the water. When he could see the steam rise behind the glass blocks, he stepped under the overhead spray and just let the water beat on his back and shoulders as he leaned against the tile wall. His tension eased, but his headache stayed with him, making it impossible for him to relax.

Maybe he should go into Houston and see a doctor. The last thing he wanted to do was admit he was sick. Which kind of doctor would he see? What kinds of tests would they run? Hell, maybe he'd just go to one of those acupuncturists. He'd read they could knock out pain with a few well-placed needles.

Maybe he just needed to get laid.

He looked down at his cock. It had been unresponsive ever since the headaches started. In his condition, trying to have sex would be a waste of time. And the very last thing Jack ever wanted was to be embarrassed. Not getting it up in front of someone, even a stranger, would be mortifying.

Jack sighed and squeezed shampoo into his hands, worked it through his hair, and then rinsed it out. Shutting off the water, he opened the glass door and stepped onto the rug to catch the water that dripped off his body. Then he wrapped a towel around his waist, avoiding looking in the mirror, and went into his bedroom.

Winston sat on the floor next to the bed, waiting for him.

“Hey, buddy.”

Woof.

Jack tossed off the towel, took some sweats and a T-shirt from a dresser drawer, and put them on. “Let's get some dinner.”

They trod back down the hall to the kitchen, and Jack took up his station at the fridge. Not much to choose from since it was the end of the week.

He pulled out a small pan of frozen lasagna. “This looks good. Of course, I'm sure it's not what you're used to with Edward P. Beauregard the Third, but around here, it's simple eats.” He put the pan in the microwave oven, punched in the time, and hit Start.

Woof.

Jack got a beer from the fridge, sat at the wooden kitchen table, propped his foot up on a chair, and waited for the microwave to
ding
. He held the bottle to his forehead, leaning into it, letting the cold freeze his pain away.

If he couldn't shake this headache, it was going to be another long night.

“Edward. Get your bags and I'll show you to your room.” Olivia stood.

“Sure.” Edward stood, then slapped his head with the heel of his hand. “Hell and damnation. I forgot my bags.”

“Where are they?”

“I left them in Jack's cruiser.” He sat back down.

“Call him and ask him to drop them off.”

“Meemaw, I can't do that. I've asked so much of him already.” Edward bit his bottom lip. “I'll just go and get them from him at the station.” He'd get to see Winston again; that would be good. He should stop at the market and pick up the dog food too.

“Okay.” She picked up the glasses and plate of cookies and headed into the kitchen. “You've got your key. Just let yourself in when you get back.”

“Are you sure?” Edward went to the door. “Will you still be up?”

“I go to bed early and wake up early these days.” She came out of the kitchen and walked up to him as he stood at the door. “If I don't see you, have a good night, and I'll see you in the morning.” She leaned up, he offered his cheek, and she kissed it.

He kissed her cheek in return. “Good night, Meemaw. I'm so glad I came.”

“Me too, child.” She patted his cheek and then headed down the hall. “Your room is the one right here.” She stopped by the first door. “The next is the guest bath.”

“Thanks.” He nodded, then slipped out the front door, pulling it shut behind him, then locking it.

Edward got in the Miata, backed out of the drive, and headed into town.

At the police station, he parked and went inside.

Kristen looked up from her work. “You again?”

He propped his hip on the edge of her desk. “Yes. Did you miss me?”

She laughed, pushed him off, and shook her head. “No.”

“Is Jack here?”

“No, he's gone for the day. Can I help you with anything?”

“Well, I left my bags in the trunk of his police car.”

“In the cruiser?” She frowned. “He takes that car home. Sorry. If it were here, I'd get your bags for you.”

“Great.” Edward sighed. “Where does he live? I'll just go and get them.”

Kristen stared at him as if making up her mind to give him this valuable piece of information. Her mind made up in Edward's favor, she tore off a sheet from a notepad and scribbled on it, then handed it to him. “You take the left when the road splits. He's about five miles down the road. The house sits all by itself; you can't miss it.”

“Thanks.” Edward smiled and left Kristen to her work.

Jack scooped half the lasagna onto his plate, put the other half on a plate for Winston, and placed it on the floor. The dog wasted no time in digging in. Jack sat at the table, picked up his fork, and attacked his food with much less enthusiasm than the dog. Since this headache, his appetite had fallen off, and most of the time he didn't feel like eating.

The silence was broken only by the scrape of Jack's fork and Winston's chomping and snorting. Christ, the dog was the noisiest eater he'd ever heard. And sloppy. Buried in the lasagna, Winston's face was covered in red sauce, and the plate danced across the floor as the dog licked it clean.

“Good, huh? Glad you liked it.” Jack smiled at the dog. Winston lay down, noisily licking his muzzle and cleaning his paws. “You're like a cat, you know? Only sloppier and louder. Cleaning yourself up all the time.” He chuckled.

Winston ignored the insult.

Jack got up, picked up Winston's plate, washed both plates, and put them in the rack to dry. He went into the living room, sat in the recliner, and pulled the lever to recline.

Feet in the air, the pain in his ankle lessened, but his head still pounded.

Jack turned on the TV and flicked around the stations. Found a documentary about Antarctica and settled back to watch. After about ten minutes, his vision blurred again, and he rubbed his eyes to clear it.

“Shit.” This was getting scary. He looked around the room, trying to focus on anything, but it was all a blur of colors and shapes. Getting up, he made his way to the kitchen sink and splashed water into his eyes.

Still blurry.

Fear, asleep in the pit of his stomach, woke and began clawing its way out.

His doorbell rang.

“What the hell?” Jack dried off his face. Of all the times for someone to drop by, it had to be now, when he could barely see. In the hall, he misjudged the space and slammed his bare foot into the small table that held his keys. “Shit!”

The doorbell rang again.

“I'm coming! Hold your horses.” He limped to the door and jerked it open.

A man stood in the doorway. Jack blinked, trying to focus, but the man's face was in shadow. “Who is it?”

“Don't tell me you forgot about me that fast? Why, I'm crushed,” a soft voice drawled.

“Edward?” Shit. He did not need this. Not right now. “What do you want?” he barked.

The man jerked back, as if Jack's hard words had a physical effect.

Winston came out of the kitchen at a trot.

Woof. Woof.

“There's my boy!” Edward knelt, and Winston tried to climb into his lap. The dog licked him once, then struggled to get down. Edward gave him a scratch behind the ears and stood.

“Are you all right, Jack?” Without being asked, Edward stepped inside. “You don't look good.”

Jack leaned back against the wall as Edward barged past. “I've just got a headache, that's all.”

“Must be one hell of a headache. The same one from earlier today?”

“Yeah. It's a bitch.” Jack walked back into the living room and sat. Edward followed. “Why are you here? Checking on your dog?” Just then, Jack noticed Edward carried a brown paper bag. “What's that?”

“I figured you wouldn't stop at the store and get Winston his dog food, so I did it myself.”

“You came all this way to bring me dog food?”

“No. I came all this way to bring
Winston
dog food,” Edward corrected. “I came to see
you
because you've still got my bags in the trunk of the cruiser.” He walked into the kitchen and put the bag on the counter.

“Shit. I forgot about that.” Jack sat on the couch.

“Me too.” Edward came back into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of Jack, their knees just inches apart. He stared into Jack's face. “You don't look good. You're squinting. Are you having trouble seeing?”

“Go away, Edward.” Jack did not need this. He hadn't planned to let anyone know about this weakness. “I can deal with it myself.”

Edward sat back and crossed his arms. “Oh yes, I can see how well you're dealing with it. Have you seen a doctor?”

“No, and I'm not going to.” Jack shook his head, then grimaced as the pain throbbed. He didn't want Edward to be concerned for him. Didn't want Edward to become involved in his life at all.

“Jack. Let me help you. I can make the pain go away.”

“No. I don't believe in any of that touchy-feely shit.”

“Are you scared to let me touch you?”

Jack sat back, lips a thin line, forehead creased. His resolve wavered under the weight of his pain.

“I'm only going to touch you with my thumb.” Edward held up his thumb. “See? Nothing else. If I touch you, it doesn't make you gay, you know. It's not contagious.” Edward didn't hide his hurt, in his voice or in his dark eyes, and something deep inside Jack tugged hard.

“I know it's not. I just don't like anyone touching me.” Jack frowned at the young man across from him. Did he really think he could make this pain stop?

“You've just gone too long without being touched. It's really quite nice, you know, if the right person does it.” Edward smiled.

Jack rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to think about Edward touching him, but what if he
could
take the pain away? Right now, he'd let monkeys dance on his back if the pain would just stop.

“Okay. But just your thumb.” That should be safe enough.

Edward slapped his thighs. “Good.” Jack watched as Edward rubbed his thumb against his forefinger and his middle finger, as if smearing oil over them. “It's going to be warm at first and gradually heat up.” He moved so that his knees were between Jack's knees, but not touching.

Jack nodded.

“Close your eyes.”

“No.”

Edward sighed. “I'm not going to do anything to you. Can't you
just
trust me?”

Jack blinked, and for a moment, his vision cleared. Deep brown eyes that hid nothing looked back at him. They were open and honest and incredibly beautiful.

He wanted to trust Edward, if only to be rid of the pain. God knew Edward had trusted him with his dog and had trusted all Jack's promises.

Damn sure he didn't want to dissect his reasons, Jack let go.

“I trust you.” Jack shut his eyes.

“Breathe normally.” Jack let his breathing slow as he tried to relax.

Edward touched Jack's brow, ran his thumb over it, leaving a streak of warmth behind. Jack had to keep from shuddering. The touch repeated, and just that brief stroking eased Jack. The pad of Edward's thumb pressed under Jack's eyebrow, near the bridge of his nose, and as the pressure increased, the warmth became heat.