Fated (34 page)

Laughing, though the hurt Isaac so eloquently told him to cherish had him close to tears, Hart rested his forehead on their entangled hands and then let him go.

“I’m sorry, Isaac.”

Resignation made Isaac’s shoulders drop. He looked small in the hospital bed. “Don’t be. This”—he touched the dressing on his shoulder and then grabbed for Hart’s hand again—“wasn’t your fault. As for the rest—” His chin trembled. “It was amazing, wasn’t it?”

“Wonderful.” Hart lifted his head and gently kissed the white knuckles that belied Isaac’s calm. “It was absolutely wonderful.”

“And maybe someday—”

“You shouldn’t wait for me, Isaac.” Isaac had been waiting for so long already, and if Hart couldn’t get his shit together with him now, he never would.

“Why don’t you go home now? This isn’t your jurisdiction. The police here can deal with it. I don’t want you getting shot at again.”

“It would eat at me if I left now. I need to at least try and solve this.” Hart gently fingered Isaac’s bandage. “Especially now.”

Isaac nodded like he understood. “Will you hold me for a bit?”

Hart reached for Isaac and gently hugged him.

“Hart?”

“Mmm.”

“We’ll still be friends, won’t we?”

He needed a second before he could talk, his eyes burning as he waited for the pressure in his chest to ease. “Of course we will. Always.”

“Then, when you’re home… there’s something we have to talk about.”

“Yeah?” Hart caressed Isaac’s back while inhaling the scent of him. He’d have to make do with this hug for quite a while, he imagined. “I think we’ll have a few things to talk about. You sure it can wait?”

“Yes, for now at least. Don’t look, but there’s a pretty cop lady outside the room checking out your ass.”

Hart let go, cast a glance over his shoulder, and snorted. “That’s Freddie, my partner. I bet she wants to say hello.”

“Then let her come in.”

“You sure you feel up to it?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m fine.”

“Isaac, you took a bullet.”

“And I’ll have the scar to prove it. I’m fine as long as you’re with me, seriously. Let her in. She looks like she might die of curiosity.”

Hart softly laughed and straightened from their hug. The normally bouncy curls hung limply against Isaac’s forehead, the back of them flattened from lying on the pillow. There was a smear of dried blood under his ear. He had never looked more beautiful to Hart.

“I’m actually here to take an official statement,” Freddie said a little apologetically when he opened the door. “Mr. Lasko’s mother is on her way to pick him up, so now is the best time.”

“That’s okay.” He turned to Isaac and frowned. He looked a lot paler than he did a minute ago. “You okay? I can go get a nurse if you’re in pain.” Was he in pain? Or was it the mention of his mother that had turned him so gray?

“No, stay.” Isaac shifted his attention to Freddie. “Can he stay?”

“If he sits in a corner and behaves he can stay as long as he likes. Hi, I’m Freddie.” She stepped forward and held out a hand.

“Call me Isaac.”

Freddie eyed him for a moment, then perched on the edge of a reclining chair while Hart went to sit on a stool by a little table. “All right, Isaac, why don’t you start at the beginning. When did you get into town?”

Hart zoned in and out of Isaac’s explanation, blushing nearly as bright red as Isaac did when he stumbled over spending the night at Hart’s. Freddie did an admirable job of keeping a straight face, but he knew he’d be in for it later, if for no other reason than disturbing her morning with President Wu.

The thought he’d never have more than this weekend with Isaac tied his insides in a knot, but it was for the best. Maybe someday, when he hadn’t just buried his father, or had an affair with a doctor… but no. If he was to set Isaac free, he should do it completely.

“I’ll wait outside for you,” Freddie told him when she was done. “We’ll have to go to the station soon, but you can come back later. I cleared it with the front desk.”

“Thanks, Freddie.”

“Any time, Lieutenant.” She waved at Isaac and then blew him a kiss. “You take care now, Isaac.”

Isaac grinned. “Bye, Freddie.” He tried to put on a brave face, but Hart saw the circles underneath his eyes and the way his hands shook when they reached for him. He’d reached his limit.

“I should let you rest. The nurses will kick me out soon anyway.”

“You’ll come back later?”

“I’ll stay all night if they let me.”

“I’d like that, but for now… I have to deal with this. On my own. Have a bit of a pity party, you know?” He tried to smile, but it didn’t work. “You need to leave so I can have a little breakdown.”

“Isaac—”

“No, I’d rather be alone, if it’s okay with you.”

Isaac sank back in his pillows and reached for the remote to flatten the bed. He looked very pale, and Hart felt guilty all over again but kept it to himself.

“Just promise me—” A tear bloomed at the corner of Isaac’s eye and tracked its way down to his earlobe. Hart suppressed the wish to say,
Anything. I’d promise you the fucking moon if I could fly.
“Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t be alone.”

“I’ll be careful, angel.”

“Why do you call me that?”

A flash of surprise had Hart lift his head. “Don’t you like it?”

“I thought it was for mildly annoying children.”

“No. No, I call you that because looking at you—” He freed a hand to brush it through Isaac’s curls. They were all tangled, and he had to stop for fear of hurting him. “You warm me up.”

It was too much. Tugging his hand free, Isaac squeezed his eyes shut. “Will you go now, please?”

Throat full of heart, he couldn’t even say good-bye. He rose to his feet and for one last moment looked on as silent tears dripped from Isaac’s eyes down his cheeks to disappear in the hospital gown. Isaac’s chest spasmed with held back sobs, and Hart gave him the dignity of leaving before he broke down completely.

Inside Hart, the first solid feeling of hope he’d had in a long time cracked. It was okay, though. No one that young and brilliant should take on someone like Hart and all his baggage. The weight of loneliness had sat on his heart for so long it had carved its shape into his being like a fossil. One of these days, surely, he’d get used to it.

“A
RE
YOU
all right?” Freddie pushed away from the wall she’d been leaning against when he stepped out of the ICU. As she looked down to put her phone away, he did his best to pull himself together.

“Yes. It’s just a flesh wound, thank God. They’re making him stay the night, but he’ll be good as new soon enough.”

Freddie gave him a weird look. “Hart….”

“What?”

“That kid needs to see a doctor.”

“What do you mean? They’re seeing him now.”

“Not about the bullet wound. And why the hell are they keeping him in ICU if it was a minor wound, anyway? I mean, he doesn’t look right.”

He blinked at Freddie in astonishment. “Isaac’s fine. He got shot, Freddie. Anyone would look terrible after that.” And maybe he’d just had his heart broken. “They’re letting him go home with his mother tomorrow.” He stopped when Freddie shook her head.

“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong. He looks ill.”

“He told me before he’d just been for a checkup and everything was fine.”

She gave him a long, dark stare, her mouth setting in a tight line, eyes flickering searchingly over his face. “And how often exactly did you go for random checkups when you were in your twenties?”

No answer forthcoming, he stared down the corridor, where a woman with a boy holding her hand distracted Hart from what Freddie had said. Even if he hadn’t seen her across the street now and again over the years, Hart would know the woman immediately. Her short hair was the exact shade of Isaac’s, but her eyes were blazing with furious worry. Crouching down in front of a boy who could’ve been a six-year-old Isaac, she pointed him in the direction of the plastic chairs. The boy nodded and went.

Mrs. Lasko turned, and her gaze fell on Hart. Like she knew what was coming, Freddie fell back a little, and Hart tried to stand his ground as Mrs. Lasko approached. She wasn’t tall, and Hart thought her a homey sort of person, always smelling of freshly baked cookies, always wearing wayward glitter or marker on her fingers. But not now. Now she was a lioness demanding justice for her injured cub. Hart swallowed as she neared, but she barely glanced at him; her eyes were already focused on the ICU doors.

“I’m sure once I’ve calmed down I won’t blame you,” she said. “But right now I don’t want to talk to you.”

His voice came from somewhere far beneath his feet, gravelly and sore. “Okay.”

Without another word Mrs. Lasko stepped through the doors. Behind him Freddie let her presence be known with a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Down the corridor sat a boy with shorn hair, his feet kicking back and forth under the hard plastic chair, hands folded in his lap. He’d be the picture of any other bored child if it weren’t for that rigid stare at the white wall opposite, bottom lip quivering just out of control.

“Give me a second.” He pulled out of Freddie’s grasp and went to crouch by the boy’s side. “Hey, Drew.”

“Hello, Mr. Hart.” For another breath the boy held on—How old was he now? Six? Seven?—and then a fat tear leaked from the dip of his eyelid, and another, and another. Hart scrambled for a tissue when Drew began to hiccup but came up empty. Like he knew, Drew dug into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a large, used hankie. Not the first tears, then.

“You’re all right, kid,” Hart said, feeling wretched at the sight of so much hurt and composure at once. “You’re all right.”

Drew nodded, wiped his nose, and lifted his chin. Isaac’s blue-green eyes stared at him. “Is my brother going to die?”

“No, he’s going to be just fine. He’s just a little hurt. The doctors have given him something which makes him sleep a lot, so he can be better in no time at all.”

Drew nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands, like he had to think about this in silence for a while. Then, “Did he really get shot by a bad guy?”

Briefly Hart wondered how much the kid knew, but he never believed in lying to children. “Yes. Bad people broke into my house and fired a gun at me. The bullet hit Isaac instead.”

Drew’s eyes widened. “Are you shot too?”

“No.” And again the impotent rage, the disappointment in himself, flared. “No, I wasn’t. But, Drew, I promise you I will find the bad guys who did this. I will find them.”

Another tear fell down Drew’s cheek. It hit the back of Hart’s hand where he’d gripped the boy’s arm. His eyes were wide and clear, and his lip had stopped trembling. “I know,” he said and got to his feet.

“Come on, Drew. You can go in now.” Hart straightened and turned around. Mrs. Lasko stood behind him, holding out her hand to Drew, but this time her eyes did meet Hart’s, and they seemed slightly less furious. “Isaac wants you to have these. He said you’d take care of it.”

Automatically Hart caught what Mrs. Lasko tossed at him, not looking down at the car keys in his hands until the boy and his mother disappeared through the doors.

“Let me take you home,” Freddie said on his right, her hand warm on his shoulder. “You need to rest and take some time for yourself. Get ready for the funeral tomorrow. Do you want me to pick you up?”

He stared at the keys in his hand. There was Isaac’s car key, a back and front door key to his own house, and on a ring all of its own, a key to Hart’s house.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “That would be nice. Thank you, Freddie.”

“Anytime, Hart.”

That night he lay in bed and watched the ceiling fan cast ghostly shadows on the walls while he worked methodically through one more bottle of red. The movement was hypnotizing, like a metaphor for the spinning wheels in his head. He’d spent a few hours by Isaac’s bedside, but Isaac had been asleep for most of the time. Hart had held his hand and tried not to think too hard. Tomorrow he would say his final good-bye to his father, and after tying up some loose ends on Monday, he’d drive Isaac’s car back to Riverside. The key to the murders might lie in Brightly, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something vital. Putting some distance between himself and this house would do him good. His normal routine would do him good.

And besides, Isaac would be back in Riverside. Hart looked forward to being near Isaac again. Whether as a lover or a friend, Isaac’s company would do him good, as it always had.

A
T
LEAST
the church offered a cool escape. The heat outside blistered in a frantic burst of late August summer, and just the trip from the car to the front doors had made an acrid nausea flare deep in Hart’s throat. Three hours earlier he’d still been awake, starting to regret that final bottle of wine—and the one before that, which had made him lose count.

One of Professor Jonathan Hart’s colleagues, Marcus Gutmann, stood on the dais reading a poem in a soothing voice that eased the pulsating headache pressing behind Hart’s eyeballs. The words sounded familiar, but only every other line registered. Was it terrible he had barely heard the sermon? Before he’d left his mind behind in a bottle, he’d thought of nothing but Isaac in the hospital—who’d be going home today—and their bittersweet parting.