Chapter 8 #2
But in the last year, as he and Gideon had found more and more concerts to attend, spent more and more nights in Gideon’s apartment, listening to albums—vinyl, CDs, streaming—and had started a heated rivalry playing Law & Order Bingo when attending theater productions, the need for that kind of quick-and-dirty sexual encounter had waned.
Joey hadn’t wanted to articulate it, but he knew what was happening.
Sex—feral, animal—had been the only real human connection he’d allowed himself to make. But this last year, it hadn’t just been Gideon—although his connection had been strongest, the most feral, the most animal—it had been all of them.
From that terrible moment when Crosby had fallen and Joey had needed to kill the gods-benighted dog to now, the steel sinews of his once purely autonomous heart had bound so tightly to the other people in his unit that he felt his chest tighten with the need to breathe.
“Shh….” Gideon had moved closer, had his hand on Joey’s knee, and dammit, Joey needed that connection.
“This is stupid,” he said harshly and went to set his drink down on the coffee table so he could storm out, but he ended up knocking it back instead.
To his surprise, Gideon refilled it with the bottle and can on the table, and he took another swallow, his hands shaking.
“It’s not stupid,” Gideon said, and this time he wrapped his arm around Joey’s shoulders. Joey found himself sagging against Gideon Chadwick, the man he’d once thought was weak, a rabbit or a deer, and trusting all his weight on the thin, wiry frame. “It’s human.”
Joey let out a bark of what was supposed to be laughter, but that’s not what it sounded like, even to himself. “I’m not human,” he muttered. “I’m a wolf.”
“Sure you are,” Gideon murmured. “You’re a badass little wolf. We all know that. You take down prey, you protect your pack—but even a badass wolf doesn’t like it when his pack is injured.”
“I hate this,” Joey said, his voice cracking. He heard the crack and tried to hold back his horror. That sounded like… that was almost like….
He wasn’t aware that Gideon had taken the now-empty glass away from him. He wasn’t aware that he was slumped against the one human on the planet he trusted with his throat.
All he was aware of was that Gideon’s arms, sinewy and strong, were wrapped around his shoulders as he buried his face in Gideon’s throat and howled.
IT WAS not the first time he woke up on Gideon’s couch, his mouth tasting like rum or beer or wine. It was the first time he woke up with a roaring headache and a hangover, though. Gideon was crouching eye level with him on the couch with a big glass of water and two ibuprofen.
“Don’t worry about work,” he said. “For one thing it’s Saturday, and we don’t have anything active and pressing. For another, Harding texted everybody with strict instructions to stay home. Apparently he’s got a meeting with Deavers so he can clear Gail’s injury before Monday.”
Gail’s injury. “Fuuuuuuuuck…,” he managed before tossing down the meds and taking a swig of sweet, sweet water.
“Yeah. Crosby’s been in the hospital room all morning with her.
You and I get to pull a shift in the afternoon.
Clint and Tal get tomorrow. She’s coming home on Monday, and Crosby’s going to need our help outfitting her place so she can do things like use the bathroom and take a shower.
She’s got a roommate, but I guess she’s a big cheese in the 43rd Precinct and isn’t going to have a lot of time to babysit. We’re on.”
Joey nodded, and then realizing Gideon’s pewter-gold eyes were level on his face, measuring his every microexpression, he grimaced.
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly.
“No,” Gideon said, smoothing his hair back from his face.
“Don’t give me ‘fine’ bullshit. I know, Joey.
I know who your father is. I’ve studied what it must be like to grow up in a home like that.
I get it. Your whole last year has been learning what a real family is about, and it’s only possible because most of us are predators, like you. ”
“’Cept Crosby,” Joey said, trying for disgust and ending up with admiration. Crosby the fuzzy bunny. Crosby the puppy. Crosby the solid-ass citizen who could give Joey a look of kindness after Joey hurled his cookies.
“Well, yeah.” Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “Crosby’s an anomaly. But we’re a bloodthirsty lot. I mean, Pearson was an assassin, for sweet fuck’s sake. And Clint’s a scary motherfucker in battle—I’ve been shoulder to shoulder with him.”
Joey felt an unwelcome shaft of jealousy and tamped it down because any idiot, even Joey, could see it would never be like that between Gid and Clint.
“But…,” Joey started to say it, but the words stuck. God, how long had Gideon known about his father?
“But we’re your pack now,” Gideon said softly. “We might be the only people who could be your pack. You know what happens to lone wolves in the wild, Carlyle?”
Call me Joey.
But he was already nodding. “They don’t make it,” he said, because as romantic as the idea was, the truth was sad and desperate for an animal that had no den and no place to turn.
“You’re going to make it,” Gideon promised, raising his hand to Joey’s face again, presumably to push back his hair in that same sweet gesture Crosby had used. But Gideon’s hand didn’t complete the movement.
It froze. He froze. His palm cupping Joey’s cheek.
Joey swallowed and met his eyes again, and he was horrified when Gideon took a deep fortifying breath, swallowed, and moved his hand.
“You’re tired,” he said, his voice gruff. “And you spent the night drunk and crying on my couch. This—this can’t happen when you’re feeling weak, Carlyle. You’ll never forgive me.”
But I want!
It was a mewl, not a howl, and goddamn Gideon for being right anyway.
“You’re probably still sleeping with Dr. Death,” Joey muttered, pulling back and turning his head so as not to assault Gideon with the dead animal he felt crawling out of his mouth.
“I have never slept with Elaine,” Gideon told him primly. “She’s part of my outside-of-work friend circle, that’s all.”
Elaine Aiello was the Medical Examiner for Manhattan’s Lower East Side, and Joey could admit she was hot, blond, and smart. And while Gideon didn’t really care about the blond—or the female, by his own admission—hot and smart seemed to be his candy.
Although Elaine had been the only lollipop Gideon had been eyeing as of late, which was probably why Joey felt that irrational hatred start up again. It had once been aimed at Crosby, but he was much more comfortable now that he could aim it at somebody not in the unit.
Elaine was a handy target to hate, and he couldn’t even lie to himself anymore about why he hated her.
Which was why the smile snuck up on him so quickly. “You’re not?” he asked, nakedly curious.
“Sleeping with Elaine?” Gideon clarified. “No.” His face grew sober. “And if you have to ask why, maybe I should.”
Joey felt the growl in his stomach, and Gideon’s arched eyebrow indicated he heard it.
“I don’t have to ask,” Joey snarled, and then he swung his legs around and stood. “I’m going to shower.”
He’d started keeping an extra set of clothes in Gideon’s drawer after the first few times he’d fallen asleep on the couch. He knew where his clothes were, where his toothbrush was, even knew where Gideon’s electric razor was and that he was invited to share.
As he stalked to the bathroom, he realized he was scanning the rest of the apartment for other marks that he was there, that he’d already begun to make this place his den.
When he didn’t see any, he found himself asking why.
He started planning to leave things, to bring them from his own still-sterile apartment.
If you have to ask why, maybe I should. The thing in his chest that had lain dormant in the last year, only poking its nose out occasionally, the thing that wanted to bite Gideon on the neck, the shoulder, the hip, the thigh, leave sign, leave scent that Joey owned him—that thing—was awake now, screaming for release.
Joey’s animal knew the difference now, between packmates and mate, and it was ready to make its needs known.
BUT STILL he held off. He wasn’t sure why.
Part of it was that the next six weeks were a flurry of being stretched thin in an already understaffed unit.
Gail was back in two weeks, casted leg elevated, laptop computer seemingly welded to her fingertips, and the understanding was, she’d be their permanent overwatch until she healed, but then Joey and Crosby needed to be up to speed.
They’d been looking forward to Kylie returning, but the day Harding walked into the briefing both pleased and grim, they all knew. Kylie had decided not to return.
And even though she’d never been a predator, or a warrior, really, or even a solid cop, like Crosby, Joey could admit to himself that he’d miss her. She’d been dry and funny and so super competent it was almost pornographic.
Joey was almost afraid to fill her shoes, but Harding didn’t miss much.
“Since we don’t have any pressing cases at the moment,” Harding intoned, “I’m going to have Chadwick give us all a refresher on overwatch protocol and ways to organize your screen to keep track of your targets.
Gideon, spend the day prepping. Everyone else, physical and weapons training today, take your pick.
I’m doing paperwork—somebody shoot a paper file for me, right in the face. ”
“Can do, sir,” Joey told him. An hour later, he and Crosby were in the basement shooting range, pulling back their targets for small arms practice and comparing shots.
Joey was mortified to realize that Crosby had bested him.
“Damn,” Crosby said, voice loud over their protective gear. “You must be having an off day.”
“Or you’re getting better!” Joey shouted, but he felt his brows draw close.
Or he was distracted.