Faith and Fidelity (29 page)

The shadows had swallowed the room completely when Helena felt she could pull away from Evan's tense embrace. He'd wept quietly for a long time, then after a deep sigh, he'd just trembled. She wanted to let him drain himself of all the pent up grief— over Sherri, over the kids, over his injury, and, apparently, over Matt— without disruption. It was obvious from the way he'd let go that it had been a long time coming.

She gently disentangled herself, holding onto Evan's shoulders to look at his weary and damp face. He had that faraway look that spoke of too much worry and not enough sleep so she urged him up, murmuring assurances and encouragement.

“Let's go upstairs, Evan, just to take a little nap... ” Helena whispered.

She felt him moving to protest. “The kids... dinner.”

“I'll take care of it. You take a nap, I'll get some food started and wait for the kids to get back from Elena's.”

Evan didn't bother to disagree with her and let himself be led upstairs.

That didn't seem like a good sign to Helena.

By the time Helena got Evan under the badly mussed covers and watched him close his eyes, it was very late. The kids were due back from their aunt's by six and she assumed they'd be expecting dinner.

Dinner was not exactly Helena's forte.

She grabbed the portable phone and dialed her mother as she moved around the house, throwing on lights and picking up some of the newspapers and toys scattered around the living room. The house needed cleaning. Screw it— the house needed cleansing with cock's blood and chanting.

The other line picked up.

“Mom? I need help. What are you doing right now?”

Helena wondered if her mother had been in the meat section of Food Emporium when she called because when Serena arrived a scant hour later, she had ten bags of groceries.

“Mom, I said dinner for the family, not Thanksgiving dinner for gen pop.”

“Shush. I'm sure there's not a decent thing in this house. Poor babies.”

Serena went into “sweeping busyness mode” and Helena ducked out of the kitchen. She was cleaning as much of the house as she could; a load of laundry was in the washer and another tumbling in the dryer. It made her nervous to see how disorganized things were. Evan would never, never let it get this out of hand unless he wasn't functioning normally. Wasn't this sort of thing a sign of depression?

Feeling antsy, Helena pulled out the vacuum. She felt she should be doing more but was unsure what the next step was. Beyond a housekeeper, Evan needed someone to talk to— and not just a friend. A professional. Too much had happened to him in the past year and he was obviously at the end of his rope.

Needing some guidance— and knowing her mother was better suited to cook and fuss over small children— Helena grabbed the phone yet again. She took a chance that Captain Wolkowski would still be at his desk.

Vic had his jacket on— well, an arm of it at least— and visions of take-out from Ming's Palace when his private line rang. He debated whether or not to answer it for about a minute but the reality was, sesame chicken and wonton soup just wasn't that much of a draw.

“Vic Wolkowski,” he said, letting the jacket fall off and sitting back down.

“Sir? It's Helena... I'm over at Evan's... ” her voice trailed off and Vic felt himself instantly go on alert. “I was wondering— could you come over?”

“Is everything all right?”

Helena sighed heavily. “No... I mean, its nothing too dramatic but Evan's just— completely out of it. He's like a zombie. I'm not exactly sure what to do.”

Vic remembered the trip out to pick up the children and felt immediately guilty for not following up with Evan afterward. It had been obvious then that things were hanging by a thread.

“Are the kids home?”

“I'm expecting them soon. They're with Sherri's sister. My mom is here— she's making dinner.”

Great, thought Vic, perking up a bit. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, sir.” His officer sounded relieved. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him... ”

“Sure, we'll see what I can do.”

He hung up the phone, put his hands over his face. The situation with Evan had spun out of control. Chicken soup and well-meaning words weren't going to solve the problem. He needed a professional.

Vic pulled out his personal phone book from his top drawer. He couldn't remember if it was still in there... Yes, yes it was. The name of the shrink he'd seen after his wife had been killed. He felt a sharp squeeze in his heart that would never go away, but Dr. Rueben had been an incredible amount of help to him. He jotted down the number on a piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket. He hoped that Evan would be receptive to his gesture. He didn't want to have to use his position as Evan's boss to get him to see a shrink— but that was rapidly becoming a possibility.

By the time Helena heard a key in the front door's lock, there was a pot roast in the oven and vegetables boiling on the stove top, and her mother was halfway into the refrigerator, cleaning out old food.

Steeling herself, Helena walked into the living room to greet Elena and the kids.

Miranda was the first one in and she visibly reacted to seeing her father's partner. “Is everything... ” died on her lips when Helena plastered on a smile and nodded. Somehow she managed to convey “something's up but don't freak everyone out,” because the teenager changed her question to “Hey, Helena!”

“Hey, guys!” she said brightly, watching as Kathleen, Elizabeth, and Danny walked in, with Sherri's dark-haired sister bringing up the rear.

Elena didn't hide her surprise in seeing Helena there. “What's going on? Where's Evan?”

The children, taking off their coats and boots, stopped in their tracks. Miranda sent Helena an anxious look.

“Oh nothing,” Helena enthused. “Evan was tired and went upstairs to lie down.”

She made a sweeping movement with her arms, indicating the clean living room. “You know how he is, he totally overdid the housework.” She smiled. “He asked my mother and me over for dinner— so here we are!”

Serena popped into the room as if on cue. “Hello, kids.”

There were smiles and polite “Hello, Ms. Abbot” greetings called out.

“Something smells great!” said Danny, grinning.

“Well, we have lots of somethings that taste great. I hope you're all hungry.”

She clapped her hands together then motioned for them to follow her. “Would you like to start with some cheese and bread? I think there's some fruit too... ” Like a Pied Piper, she led them out of the room and into the kitchen.

Miranda followed last and Helena gave her a reassuring wink as she passed by. The young woman relaxed a little and continued on. Helena turned to face a frowning Elena.

“Huh. He didn't mention that when I left with the kids... ”

“It was a spur of the moment thing. We were in the area.”

“Right.”

The two women stood for a moment of awkward silence.

“Well, I guess I'll be going.”

Helena nodded enthusiastically.
Yes, please
, she thought.

Elena fidgeted with her wool scarf for a moment, casting a look up the staircase.

“Should I give Evan a message from you?” Helena said, mentally willing the other woman out the door.

“Um... yeah. Tell him to call me at my office tomorrow. The number is in Sherri's phone book.” She couldn't hide the sad look on her face as she said her sister's name.

Helena felt bad for Elena. She'd never had a sibling, but she could imagine losing one would be an unimaginable pain. “I'll tell him. It's not a problem,” she said gently.

“Thanks.”

She called out her good-byes to the children, who ran in to kiss her. She left, promising to call them the following day.

Helena let out a sigh of relief as Elena's car pulled out of the driveway. Okay, now she just had to keep the kids calm, get them some dinner while preventing her mother from overfeeding them...

And then... then she needed to figure out what to do with Evan...

By the time the cab dropped them off on Canal Street in front of the new— and bizarrely out of place— Holiday Inn, Matt was sweating, his shirt was halfway untucked from his pants and his face burning. Not to mention the fact that he had been forced to artfully arrange his jacket to hide what could only be deemed proof positive that Matthew Haight was indeed attracted to his own sex.

James looked like a GQ model. At best, there was a slight gleam in his eye, a little hint of dampness across his forehead and cheeks. Nothing else said debauched. Matt felt like the poster child for horny deviant.

They entered the tiny first-floor lobby (a generous overstatement— the vestibule of Matt's building was bigger) containing big plants, a bored-looking doorman, elevator, and escalator. The doorman gave James a polite nod, casting an odd glance in Matt's direction. Oh yeah. There was no hiding what was going on here.

Matt was starting to feel a little cheap.

They took the escalator, ending up in yet another lobby; this one was much larger. The Asian theme was done in typical hotel style— exotic plants in giant urns with a delicate floral pattern painted on, an Oriental rug, gold gilt on everything. The middle-aged woman behind the counter barely looked up as they walked to the small, mirrored elevators.

“I'm on the tenth floor,” James murmured, trying valiantly to make conversation.

Matt nodded dumbly.

They didn't say another word until they reached James's room.

At the door, James fished his card key out of his wallet. He inserted it, waited for the green light, then gave the door a half shove.

Matt was just opening his mouth to say something— anything, but most likely “maybe this was a mistake"— but before a sound could come out, James's tongue was probing his with single-minded determination.

And any unspoken protestations flew completely out of Matt's brain. Blood pooled directly behind his zipper— not like it wasn't already bad enough down there, but James sucking on his lips was pretty much the end of the line for thinking, reasoning, and general higher thought.

He twisted his arms around James's neck, one hand pulling his mouth closer (if that was possible), the other sliding down his back until it came to rest at his waist. James kept the kiss up but managed to push the door all the way open at the same time, walking Matt through the doorway.

After that, lack of oxygen and a war between his zipper and his dick got him disoriented. He didn't realize what was happening until his knees hit the corner of the bed.

He managed to tear his mouth away and sucked in some breath.

“Small freaking room.”

“How much space do we need? The bed's a king,” murmured James, his hands moving everywhere over Matt's body, pulling clothes off with practiced ease.

“Right,” Matt managed— more a moan than actual language. In ten seconds flat he was standing so close to James he thought they were sharing DNA.

With sure hands, James touched the top of Matt's jeans, hesitating for a moment.

“You sure?” he whispered.

Matt stopped and truly considered the question. His body had no problem with shouting a resounding “yes!” but his brain and heart took pause. A quick look to James's face and he saw a reflection of his own confusion. There was no deception in this moment. Neither man was seeking anything but comfort and satisfaction. It relaxed Matt to know that, eased his sudden grief that this wasn't Evan, that it would probably never be Evan again...

Before that thought could overwhelm him, James leaned in and softly kissed Matt's lips. It wasn't anything more than a “yeah, I know” confirmation, and James stepped away, as if to stop the progress of the evening.

“No,” Matt said gently. “Come back here.”

James hesitated, but Matt reached out his hand.

“Come here,” he said again, a little more forcefully. James's eyes narrowed. His sky blue eyes glittered, and Matt watched them turn molten in a single second.

After a long pause, James whispered, “What do you want?”

“What?” That surprised Matt. Something in the low growl of James's voice told him this was a very simple... and loaded... question.

“What... do you want?”

Matt smiled, a small and (as reported by former lovers) sexy smile. He knew the game now.

“You. Back over here to start.”

With a mild swagger— Matt just had to grin, wondering if James practiced that in the mirror a few hundred times— James moved closer, not stopping until his chest brushed up against Matt's bare arm. Bingo.

Their eyes locked, inches apart, sharing the heat of the moment. When James leaned in to kiss him, Matt had no hesitation.

They kissed, mouths open, tongues entwined, hands moving restlessly with halfhearted attempts to get each other undressed. Finally James's exasperation seemed to get the better of him and he disentangled himself from Matt's two-fisted groping.

“Wait, wait.”

“What?” murmured Matt.

“Get undressed.”

No argument there. Matt took a step back and stripped down, his eyes downcast. Naked sounded great to the raging hormonal beast created by James's fine mouth and even finer body. But a small corner of his brain was having “almost fifty and getting naked with a great-looking stranger” fits of terror. Oh yeah, Matt Haight had fallen a long way from “Hey baby, I'm going to send you to the moon, moaning my name.”

Now he was worrying about middle age, his sexual performance, and the emotional validity of sleeping with someone he didn't know that well. Shit. This was just sad.

When he looked up, mind a million places at once, body strumming in fits and starts, James was staring at him curiously, half a smile— a damn sexy smile— sitting across his face. He was also naked as the day he was born.

Whoa. Yeah. “Time to start doing sit-ups again,” Matt sighed.

Flicking his glance across Matt's body, James snickered. “I'm not complaining.”

“Nice guy.”

“Can we please stop talking?”

“God, yes.”