Fated (16 page)

“Thanks,” Hart said. It felt like providence.

The door gave when Hart pushed against it, and Toby looked up from his desk, mildly startled. But the surprise turned to pleasure as soon as he saw who it was.

“Hey,” he said, his mouth lifting at the corners. Hart’s gaze fixed on Toby’s face, on the mature beauty of it. The lines around his eyes only made him more appealing, as did that goddamn tie around his neck. Toby’s eyes widened when Hart didn’t stop in front of the desk, but rounded it and pulled Toby to his feet by that very tie. “What are you—”

Toby groaned when Hart pulled him into a kiss; he didn’t hesitate at all, just opened his mouth and let him in. He tasted of mint and coffee, and something savory, like he’d had wholegrain bread for lunch. Underneath it all, he was nothing but hot-blooded male.

“I need to talk to you,” Hart said, breaking the kiss. He loosened Toby’s tie. “About the case. Know a nurse called Kathy Cochran?”

“Rings a bell. Christ!” Toby gasped when Hart sucked on his collarbone. “I have to… my door. It has a lock.”

Instead of letting go, Hart dragged Toby over to the door, locked it, and then pushed him against it. “If you want me to stop….”

“Don’t you fucking dare,
fuck
.” Toby grabbed Hart’s face and drew him in again, pushing his tongue into Hart’s mouth. They kissed until Hart lost track of time, until there was nothing but their own heavy breathing, little gasps of arousal whenever they bumped together where it counted. Toby felt tough under his palms, all hard muscle and sinew. He smelled of deodorant and hospital, and the idea that Toby had been operating earlier only turned him on even more.

“So this nurse,” he tried again, although why he was even pretending, he didn’t know. “What do you know about her?”

“Are you kidding me?” Toby let his head fall back as Hart kissed his neck, his throat, the delicate skin below his ear. “I can’t remember my own name right now, and you want to
interrogate me
about some nurse?”

“I want to fuck you senseless,” Hart said, echoing the words spoken at his father’s house. “I want to make you scream.”

“Oh hell yes. I’ve been thinking of nothing else since I met you. Your fucking hands, your mouth.”

Hart had a second where he could wonder what it was about his hands, but then Toby turned the tables, and Hart was pressed with his back against the wall next to the door, nearly knocking over a filing cabinet beside him, while Toby kissed his neck, his collarbone.

“She used to be Ben’s girlfriend, but they broke up.” Toby kissed Hart’s jawline, slowing when he reached the burned skin. The kissing had been savage until now, and the sudden care he took made Hart’s knees feel weak, but he’d be damned if he’d show it.

“You never told me about that.”

“I didn’t find out until she asked me to see him earlier this morning.”

“Freddie said she told you.”

“She did?” Toby stopped kissing, which was the last thing Hart wanted. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “She might have, but I had a lot on my mind for a while there.” He reached to kiss Hart again.

“Like what?”

“Just the usual crap. Work, that sort of thing.” Toby kissed him languidly, taking his time, teasing him with the hint of pressure from his hips. “You just had to do this now?” Toby murmured. “I can hardly hold consultations in here if the room smells like sex.”

“You chickening out on me, Doctor?”

“You’re an asshole,” Toby huffed against Hart’s mouth.

“All right,” Hart gently pushed against Toby’s shoulders and put some distance between them. “Soon, then.” He rubbed his thumb over Toby’s mouth, then pressed it inside. Toby’s pupils dilated immediately as his mouth and tongue closed on Hart’s thumb.

Hart kissed him one last time, and then they straightened each other’s clothes, laughing softly and trying to behave like professionals. But somewhere inside, beneath the grief and the burden of investigating this string of horrific crimes, Hart felt carefree again, if only for a minute.

I
T
WAS
just past nine, and Hart stood in his father’s kitchen, stirring simmering quinoa. The faint damp smell had retreated back to the basement, and summer had advanced enough for the evenings to be pleasantly cool, so Hart left the window above the sink open to let the night air in. Right beside the closing morning glories his mother’s moonflowers stood wildly in bloom against the porch. They smelled like childhood, like safety, like no worry bigger than tomorrow’s spelling test.

Hart turned off the cooker, filled a bowl and a glass of wine, and took them out to the porch. The rocking bench still sat tucked in the right corner, free of leaves and moss. It came to Hart that as empty as the house felt, those pipe-tobacco ashes on the porch railing were no more than a week old. The bench even felt familiar to him when he sank down on it. If he’d had the courage to reach out just once, he could’ve had evenings like this one, with the stars blinking to life over the Mountain, insects buzzing their relief after a hot day, only with his father’s companionship instead of a vague loneliness and guilt over Toby.

His phone chimed in his back pocket. Hart put the untouched food on the bench by his side and dug it out.

There’s a fantastic rainstorm here, can you see it where you are?

Hart smiled, breathing a little easier and lifted his head to the sky. Nothing but stars and a waxing moon, but if he listened very carefully, he imagined he could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance.

No
, he replied to Isaac.
It must be stuck behind the Mountain.

Like me.

Hart frowned at the screen, contemplating calling Isaac. Instead he typed,
Everything all right?

Yes, the new fishies are thriving. I named them all but they keep moving, the little fuckers.

Hart laughed, and it unlocked some of the tension from the day. He got up and went into the kitchen to refill his wine glass, then decided to bring the bottle outside with him.
No, I meant with you.

I’m fine.
Another text bubble popped up, and Hart sat staring at it for a long time before the words appeared. He drank his wine and waited. Instead of the long rant on parents or fish, or even the reason why he’d come back from his graduate course so close to graduating, all it said was,
I miss you.

Hart blinked at the screen. The words shook him, but he had to admit that part of the heaviness in his bones was homesickness, and he wanted to see Isaac again too. Before he could second-guess himself, Hart wrote
Miss you too
and put his phone to the side so he could eat his cooling dinner. Isaac was important to him, one of the only true friends he had. He couldn’t risk that friendship for a crush Isaac would get over sooner or later.

It was hard to believe only three days had passed since he’d left Isaac on the freshly tiled kitchen floor. It took a little bit of doing, but Hart tried not to think too much of the moment he’d stopped considering Isaac the neighbor’s kid and started seeing him as an intangible variable of more.

But goddammit, the kid was twenty-three. And taking an undefined break from college with one semester of classes left showed what a young twenty-three he was. Something about that didn’t add up, though. Isaac loved school, and while he came across as carefree and happy, he took his future seriously. And Hart, he’d fought their connection from day one, though they kept snapping together like stretched rubber bands whenever they’d been apart for too long.

In the end it wouldn’t matter. One of these days he would go back to college, get whatever was eating him out of his system, and find an intelligent, younger, more deserving target for all those wonderful affections, and Hart would have to tile future floors by himself. Best not to think about it too much. Instead he let his eyes linger on the rest of the wine. He could drink it all and let the night and the alcohol do its work. A buzz wouldn’t be so bad, would it? But it wouldn’t stop with one more glass. It probably wouldn’t stop with one more bottle.

An ache in his muscles almost made him rise to his feet, but this was just his brain playing tricks on him, trying to make him get what it wanted. Hart looked at the dark screen of his phone, swiped it, and looked at the time. When had he begun to count his evening hours by the glass? He opened a new message.

You still working?

The reply was almost immediate.
Just getting into my car.

Care for some company?

From you? Always. Be there in forty.

Hart finished off the rest of his dinner and tidied everything away. Once that was dealt with, he went upstairs to brush the wine from his mouth. He didn’t look in the mirror.

T
OBY
KISSED
him before the door had a chance to fall into its lock. Still in his scrubs, he smelled faintly of hospital and sweat, and that familiar woodsy smell. His doctor’s bag landed on the hallway floor with a thump. He pushed at Hart’s shoulders until Hart hit the wall, and a painting of a faraway seashore quivered on its hook.

“You brushed your teeth for me,” Toby said, rubbing his thumb over the light scruff of Hart’s jaw. “Cheater.”

“That’s not wh—”

“Don’t lie.” Toby smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that uneven smirk Hart was beginning to know too well. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes even though they fixed on Hart’s mouth with heat. Gently he palmed Hart’s side. “I didn’t even change back into my suit after surgery. How’s the burn?”

“Much better.” Hart grabbed a fistful of Toby’s scrub top and yanked him closer, hooking an arm around his neck and kissing him hard. A small voice in the back of his mind still warned him that this could be serious trouble, but it felt so
good
.

“Fuck.” Toby gasped and pulled free, pushing himself away from the wall so there was a foot of space between them. He left his palm flat on the wallpaper and dropped his chin.

“What’s the matter?”

“Give me a sec, these scrubs don’t hide anything.”

“Your suit pants didn’t hide anything either, just so you know.” Hart laughed, and Toby gave him a murderous look. It only made Hart laugh louder. He blew caution to Brightly’s gentle mountain breeze. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. Come on.” Grabbing Toby’s hand, Hart led the way up the steps through the scattered piles of books. The wine had gone to his head a little, which only helped.

For a second he hesitated on the landing. His father’s bedroom was off limits. His childhood room… the thought made something uncomfortable inside him contract. But there were plenty of spare bedrooms, and if they were lucky…. Hart opened the door to a perfectly made bed. Behind him Toby shuddered out a breath.

“I need a shower,” he said, sounding like the stairs had left him winded, which Hart doubted very much. “I just pulled a twelve-hour shift.”

“I don’t mind.” Hart put a hand on the back of Toby’s head and pulled him close to kiss him long and deep.

“It won’t take me a minute.”

Reluctantly Hart released him. “Through there, then.” Hart nodded in the direction of the bathroom, and Toby went. As soon as the door closed, Hart strode over to his bedroom and rummaged through his luggage, even though he knew he’d have no luck.

The spare bedroom had a bright overhead light, so instead Hart turned on the small reading lamp to the left of the bed and closed the blinds on the two narrow windows. Between them stood a small desk, and one of the drawers had a piece of paper sticking out of it. Tempted to check it out, Hart turned away. He’d deal with that later.

When he had arrived home earlier, he’d stripped out of his suit and changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but the gun he’d kept tucked in his belt at his lower back. Hart quickly got rid of it now, hiding it under the mattress. He kicked off his shoes as well, then hesitated. Only for a moment, because at the end of the day they both knew why they were here, in a bedroom. Hart fell back on the bed, bouncing a little. A thrill of excitement quivered in his gut, and he smiled at the ceiling. When he heard the bathroom door open, he turned on his side.

“I don’t have any condoms or lube,” he said as soon as Toby stepped through the door, still dripping water everywhere with just a towel around his waist.

“Who says I’m the kind of guy to give it up on the first go?” Toby asked, and Hart fell silent. “That was a joke,” Toby said, “but you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” He paused to smile down at Hart. “I don’t have anything with me either, but we’ll figure something out, won’t we?”

A hush fell over the room, probably the most unfamiliar corner to Hart in the whole house. The usual sounds were different here. The breeze outside rattled a loose drainpipe he hadn’t heard anywhere else, and even the crickets seemed to be farther away than usual.

Perfectly broad and narrow in all the right places, Toby shook something awake in Hart. A dark, mindless lust, dormant beneath an urge to prove himself, to be the best at work, to keep his head on straight, but this—this hunger could no longer be denied. Instead of launching himself across the room at Toby, he carefully sat up on the bed. It momentarily made Toby, who had clearly expected a different sort of reaction, falter. Perhaps, underneath the swagger, he wanted as much as Hart did. There was a barrier there, something invisible and only recognizable because Hart had erected a similar one. Only Hart’s didn’t lurk behind a front of bright self-assurance.