Chapter 14
Gideon woke disoriented. He squinted at the ceiling in his bedroom. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, not his bed. He’d have staked his life on it. Except the soft sheets and warm covers were definitely his bed. Had he sleepwalked there? Could someone develop that later in life?
His head throbbed as he turned over. He couldn’t breathe through his nose. Christ, he felt like shit. Someone had cursed him, there was no other explanation.
He reached for his phone. Not there. He felt around. Still nothing. Blinking blearily, he lifted himself up on an elbow. No phone. Had it fallen under his bed? Wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.
His ears perked up at the noise coming from his kitchen. Had someone come to rob the place? If they unpacked for him while they were searching, then they could have whatever they wanted. He suddenly understood what Ange had meant when she’d said he could have anything if he got her Soothers for her. Completely fair trade.
He stumbled out of the bed. Attempted to. Dizziness swamped him, his head throbbing. He sat heavily and held his head, waiting for it to ease. His jaw and his cheeks ached. His eyes fucking ached. How was that even possible?
He didn’t bother looking for any pants; his dark-blue briefs would just have to pass as decent enough for the person trying to rob him.
He found something way better than a robber. “Dawson?” The soft black pants he wore clung to his hips, giving Gideon a nice view. “How did you get in here?” He could be a figment of Gideon’s imagination. So lost in his haze of illness that he’d conjured up the person he wanted most. He glanced around. No, if that were the case, Riley would be here too. He’d have noticed that.
“You let me in.” Dawson caressed Gideon’s arm and gently grasped his elbow. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“I had to greet my robber,” Gideon said. He let him in? When? Gideon’s last memory had been getting home after he’d been sent there like a scolded schoolboy—though the memory did give him a brush of heat—and then he’d showered, set himself up on the couch in a weird replica of Ange just last week—minus the cocoon—and fallen asleep. Then he’d woken up in his bed.
“As a cop, I feel like you should know better. But considering you look like death warmed over, I’m inclined to forgive you. Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat, see if you can keep it down, and then it’s back to bed.”
Gideon sat heavily, both because they’d conditioned him to be good for them and standing had proven to be a challenge. “Did you carry me to bed?” he asked.
“Not quite, but I steered you in the right direction and tucked you in after I spent ten minutes convincing you to take your medicine. Would you have preferred I had?”
“I’d prefer to remember it.”
Dawson’s smile turned sinful. “When you’re feeling better, I’ll carry you to bed—while you’re awake, even.”
“I feel better now.”
Dawson laughed. “I’ll have to call your bluff, I’m afraid.”
Gideon couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a cold, and especially not one this bad. Sometimes in the spring he got hay fever.
He sneezed, and his ribs ached. He moaned and wrapped his arms around himself. “I think I’m dying.”
“It’ll pass,” Dawson said, rubbing his back. “Are you cold? Let me turn the heater up.” The familiar beeping from the thermostat sounded way louder than it had any right to. Then a blanket came out of nowhere, draped over his shoulders. His heart skipped a beat when Dawson kissed the top of his head, a soft, lingering touch. Even Lucia hadn’t been this tender with him.
He pulled the blanket further around himself, watching curiously as Dawson pulled a pot off the stove and poured the contents into a bowl. It smelled delicious. “What is that?” he asked.
Dawson pulled something—honey—out of the pantry and then slid the bowl in front of Gideon. The steam rising from it curled pleasantly over Gideon’s skin.
“Do you like honey on your porridge?”
“I think so.” It had been a while. Did he even have porridge?
“Say when.”
Gideon stared as Dawson drizzled honey.
Dawson chuckled and stopped after a few wonky circles. “That’s probably enough.”
“Porridge.” No, he didn’t have any porridge in the house.
“I brought some over with me. Riley said you liked it. Did I get the wrong kind?” He went to take the bowl, and Gideon dragged it closer to himself, sniffling as he guarded it.
“Don’t touch my porridge.”
Dawson bit back a smile. “No touching. Careful, it might be a bit hot.”
“It’s okay, I can’t feel anything,” Gideon replied. Except all the aches and pains. And a thousand razor blades in his throat. And the throbbing in his temple. Other than that, he couldn’t feel anything at all.
“Can I stir it for you, at least?”
Gideon reluctantly relinquished the bowl, and Dawson mixed the honey into it for him, stirring with an endearing, intense focus.
“How did you know to come over and feed me porridge?” Gideon mumbled. He knew the answer almost as he asked the question.
“Our resident surly lover.”
“Why do you think Riley knows all that stuff about me?” he asked, contemplating the steaming bowl.
“He’s pretty observant.”
Gideon nodded. That tracked. He probably knew all those things about any of them, didn’t he?
“I think he’s been watching you for a while, though,” Dawson followed up.
Gideon scrunched his lips as he mulled the words over. “You think so?”
“You’d probably have to ask him, but that’s my entirely uneducated guess. Who wouldn’t look at you? I noticed you from the second I met you.”
“When you thought I was Riley?”
“Cursing you for being so hot. Then cursing him for the same reason. Here, I think you can eat it now.”
“Are you going to feed it to me too?” Gideon felt like he might sneeze again and wrinkled his nose to stall it. The tickle at the bridge of his nose got stronger. Then it disappeared, and he deflated. He’d been all prepared for it. What a waste.
“Do you want me to?”
A little bit.
Dawson’s gaze sharpened. He coaxed Gideon’s arms back into his blanket fort, wrapping the blanket tighter, turning it into a cocoon. Dawson lifted the first spoonful, and their eyes met, heat rising between them. Gideon opened his mouth, and the first slide of the heated porridge warmed him even before he’d swallowed.
Dawson fed him until he’d eaten all of it. He wiped Gideon’s bottom lip and then leaned in for a slow kiss.
“I’ll make you sick,” Gideon warned him. Neither of them pulled away.
“You’re beautiful,” Dawson said softly.
Gideon smiled, part wry and part startled. “Even looking like this?” He had to be a mess. Hair everywhere. Bright-red nose like a clown. Puffy eyes. Snotty nose.
“Yeah.”
That might be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.
Gideon sneezed all over Dawson’s hand. Horror and mortification warred inside Gideon, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Dawson snorted out a laugh. “And they say romance is dead.” He reached over and tugged out a tissue from the box.
“I am so sorry.” Mortification won. The guy had come over and fed him porridge, and he’d snotted all over him. Hardly an appropriate thanks.
“I’ll try to forgive you,” Dawson said sincerely. “Here, blow your nose, and I’ll go clean my hand. Do you want to have a shower before you go back to bed?”
That sounded like both heaven and hell. Hot water would be amazing, but it also required standing and doing things. “That depends.”
“On what? If you say rock, paper, scissors, I’ll have to warn you that I am a pro .”
“You can’t be a pro at that, it’s a completely random game of chance.” Unless he was a mind reader. I’m thinking about your dick and having you fuck me in the shower.
Dawson’s face didn’t change. Either he also had an incredible poker face, or he wasn’t a mind reader. “I think you can be a pro at anything. What’s the condition?”
“What? Oh. Whether you’re coming in with me or not.”
“I could be persuaded. Why don’t you make a head start, and I’ll come join you once I’ve cleaned up?”
That sounded so domestic and all kinds of perfect. The feeling of being looked after warmed him even better than the porridge had.
Except the person that stepped through the bathroom door wasn’t Dawson.
“Hey,” Gideon croaked in surprise. He hadn’t expected to see Riley, considering the late hour. Had he just come from work?
Riley paused in the entry, looking as pristine as he always did. His suit fitted him so spectacularly, like he’d been born to wear a suit. Black tie—they were always black—sitting straight and clipped. Slim-fitting pants. A belt that blended in. No holster, so he must have put his service weapon into the safe. Not a hair out of place.
“How are you feeling?” Riley asked, striding across the small space, his black shoes clicking on the tiles. He hooked a finger in his tie and worked it free. Gideon licked his lips, riveted as Riley undressed himself, revealing every inch of his perfect skin and lean muscles. He wouldn’t look out of place in a fashion magazine. Or a dirty one. He’d fit into both, his appeal at master level both with and without clothes.
“Gideon?”
“Huh?”
“I asked how you were feeling.” Riley opened the shower door and stepped under the spray with him. The next second, Gideon found himself plastered to a warm chest, light hair pleasantly soothing against the ache in his jaw.
“Like death warmed over,” Gideon replied miserably. “It’s a real treat. I would not recommend staying near me for any prolonged period of time.” He snuggled in closer in case Riley took him at his word and left immediately. He didn’t want that.
“Close your eyes and tilt your head back,” Riley said, ignoring him completely.
Riley poured something on his head and massaged it in. Tingles ran over Gideon, and the most incredible sensation burst over his scalp and down his spine. He moaned loudly. “Oh my God, I think I just died. I would kiss you right now, but I’m all snotty.” Better not to risk it.
“I’ll save it for later.”
Gideon stared curiously at Riley’s handsome face. An ice sculpture. No. Covered in ice, not made of it. How many people knew the real Riley underneath? The one warm enough to melt that ice casing?
“Don’t open your eyes, Gideon,” Riley said, exasperated.
Gideon dropped them closed. “Sorry,” he said, grinning impishly.
“Did you take some medicine?”
“Not yet.” Dawson had been too busy hand-feeding him. If they kept pampering him like this, he might start getting ideas. “Riley…”
“Mmm?”
“Why do you know so much about me?”
Riley tensed. “I’m—”
“Observant, yes, I’ve heard. I don’t believe you.”
Riley shifted him, and water cascaded over his head. He rinsed the shampoo out of Gideon’s hair with more of that obscene massaging that made Gideon’s legs turn to jelly.
“We met when I was very young,” Riley said hesitantly.
Gideon snorted, then had to sniffle because gross. “You were twenty-five; let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Hopefully, Riley could translate the language of the blocked nose.
“We met before you were my detective,” Riley said quietly.
Gideon opened his eyes, unable to keep them closed. He needed to see Riley’s face. Oh, that’s right. “I was one of the officers on the scene for a case of yours; I remember now.” The memory slowly forms in Gideon’s mind, one long forgotten. Riley had been completely unflappable, even back then. He and Quinn had worked the scene like seasoned pros, and Gideon had barely met them before they’d left the place, taking their observations and some of the evidence with them. Why did Riley remember that?
Riley cupped Gideon’s cheeks and tilted his face up. “You made me trip over my own feet.”
“I—what?” Wait. He couldn’t mean— “You—what?” His brain didn’t have nearly enough power to decipher that.
Riley brushed first his thumb and then his knuckles over Gideon’s cheek, momentarily keeping the pains at bay. Rivulets ran down the back of his hand and over his forearm, dancing around the fine hairs there. “I was going to ask you out for a coffee. And then I found out you were married and expecting your first child. I kept my distance after that.”
“Oh.” Oh. “Oh my God.”
“I can’t help watching you, Gideon. I have been from the moment we met.”
Gideon didn’t know what to say to that. Pleasure fluttered in his chest like happy butterflies, a warmth that went beyond heat sitting against his heart. Riley had wanted him for seven years ?
He lifted his head for a kiss because after that he couldn’t not . Riley didn’t hesitate, meeting him halfway. Gideon clung to Riley’s wet skin, attempting to get close enough to meld into him. Holy Christ. Riley Sinclair had been crushing on him. The same man that Gideon had looked up to for years.
Eventually the need to breathe—since his nose couldn’t help him there—forced him to pull back. “You were the reason I became a detective,” he confessed, sucking in a breath. “I wanted to be like you, work with you.”
Riley searched his gaze and then gently tilted Gideon’s head, pressing his lips to his forehead, a soft touch that lingered. Gideon’s stomach flipped as he let out a shuddered exhale. The simple touch somehow felt like the most intimate thing they’d ever done together.
The shower door opened, and a cold breeze brushed over Gideon’s skin.
Dawson hesitated. “Should I come back?” he asked, glancing between them.
Riley curled a hand around his elbow and pulled him in. He slipped, barrelling into them.
“If you help me clean Gideon and get him ready for bed, you can stay.”
“I think I’m getting the better end of the deal with that one, so yes.”
Dawson soaped him while Riley rinsed out the shampoo and rubbed in the conditioner. Gideon stayed pliant between them, leaning on each of them in turn as they cleaned him. Occasionally he sniffled, horribly unattractively.
He felt cherished, warm. Theirs .
They didn’t let him dry himself; Dawson held him from behind as Riley towelled them all off. Then they shuffled him into bed and made him take some medicine. Riley slipped a thermometer into his mouth, and he lay placidly, uncaring what they did as long as he didn’t have to move again.
He fell asleep before they’d even closed the bedroom door behind themselves, only waking again when two bodies slipped in on either side of him. He sighed and melted against them, letting them warm him with their body heat.
Perfect .
Riley let himself into his older brother, Kellan’s, house and promptly tripped over a pile of long planks of wood in the dark entryway. Pain shot up from his toes all the way to his knee, and he slapped a hand on the wall to steady himself. For fuck’s sake, Kellan needed a warning label on the front door: “Danger zone, do not enter.” At the very least.
He flicked the lock behind himself and carefully made his way through the construction site that his brother called home. Even after this long, only the bedroom, half the bathroom, half the living room, the kitchen, and the back porch were done. Nothing new had been done on it in six months and probably wouldn’t be for another six months. Kellan should have built a granny flat out the back or a bungalow or something to live in instead of right in the thick of the mess.
If Riley had more room in his apartment, he would have offered. Danny had and been turned down. Not even their mum’s look of disapproval had persuaded him to stay with anyone else while he finished the place. Instead, Kellan had chosen to live in this hazard for almost ten years now.
He followed his nose into the kitchen. Kellan stood at the stove, cooking steak.
“Beer in the fridge is cold,” Kellan said without turning around. “There’s even some of that fancy stuff you like.”
“I need something a little stronger than beer,” Riley answered.
Kellan turned with a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” He dropped some garlic butter into the pan and picked it up, shaking and tilting it to distribute it as it melted. “Do I need to get out my chainsaw?”
“For what?” What kind of problem did he think Riley had that it could be solved with a chainsaw ? Kellan had a licence to use it for SES purposes, not brother-solving skills.
“Lucky for you my clairvoyancy still works, and I’m cooking two steaks.” Kellan grabbed two beers and handed one to Riley. “This good enough for now?”
Not really. “It’s a start.” A warm-up.
“Is this a work problem or personal?” Kellan asked.
Riley used the side of the bench to pop the top off the beer and took a long drink, letting the coolness slide down his throat before he answered, “Personal.” If only it were so easy as to be professional. He could have kept it contained, then. Not even the worst of his homicide cases had affected him like this. It was easier when he could draw the line between the two. “I almost died in your entryway,” he remarked, taking another, smaller sip.
“Ah, shit. Sorry, I’d meant to move those yesterday. I forgot. Had two emergencies come in, and I had to work late.”
“As opposed to every other day?”
“There’s no need to come into my house and attack me; you could have done that in the group chat just fine.” Kellan reached up and pulled down two plates. “They’re for the spare room. Stick around?”
An easy answer: Riley had plans to drink enough alcohol that he’d have no choice.
“Mum dropped off some salads for me yesterday, so you have perfect timing. It’s like she thinks I can’t feed myself,” he said wryly. He pulled a container out of the fridge that their mother had been using for years now.
“Can you?”
“Fuck off. Do you even use that fancy-ass kitchen of yours?”
They weren’t talking about him. It was more fun to poke holes in Kellan’s lifestyle choices.
While they ate, Kellan filled the silence with talk about his work, Lucas’s latest stunt, and other random conversation. So that Riley didn’t have to. He knew he’d come to the right person.
Riley leaned back in his chair, pleasantly full. “My sister came to see me.” The words tasted bad in his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d said that word aloud before. Like if he didn’t say it, then surely it couldn’t be true.
Kellan coughed, choking on his food. He thumped his chest and took a long swig of his beer. “I’m sorry, what?”
Riley stared impassively.
“Like, biological sister? I assume it’s not from our side of the family.”
“I’d like to think Mum would have told us.” Not once in Riley’s life had he ever doubted her honesty. She didn’t lie, and she didn’t hide the truth from them. She’d told him about his adoption when he’d been old enough to understand. And made sure that he knew it didn’t change anything. She’d explained why he’d been a late bloomer, why he didn’t grow at the same pace as his brothers, why their eyes weren’t the same, and why sometimes children could be cruel.
“Jesus. We definitely need something stronger than beer. How did she find you? How old is she? What’s her name?”
“I don’t know how old she is. Mid-twenties, maybe.” He’d tried not to think about it. She didn’t look that much younger than him. Had his parents had him, thrown him away like trash, and then had her barely a few years later? Or was she older, and they’d decided they didn’t want a second child? Only dark thoughts lay in either direction. “Her name’s Sadie. She found an old photo of me as a baby when she was looking for something. Her parents spilled the beans when she asked. I bet she thought I was some cousin or a kid of a friend of theirs or something.”
“She didn’t know either?”
“Apparently not.” It made no difference to Riley whether she’d been in the dark or not. What did it matter if they shared blood, or if they had the same eyes? They might even share some of the same quirks, and it didn’t matter. She wasn’t his family. He had more than enough of that with aunts, uncles, five irritating brothers—okay, three, Danny and Kellan weren’t quite so bad—and he didn’t need more. Had never asked for it. She should have stayed in her lane and left him alone in his.
Except that if she had, Riley would never have met Dawson. A complication and a boon. Without him, Riley might have been able to forget and move on. Close the door and lock it behind him, the twinge of regret buried under all the good things in his life. Instead, Dawson made it impossible to ignore. He did things to Riley that only one other man ever had. The one sharing their bed, in fact.
Christ. How had this mess become his existence? Riley made it a point to have clear lines drawn between all parts of his life. He didn’t make stupid decisions, and he didn’t do anything without thought. Dragging Dawson and Gideon into bed had been the most thoughtless thing he’d ever done.
“Have you told Mum and Dad?” Kellan asked.
“Not yet. What would I even say?” He’d been hoping that maybe if he ignored it all, it would go away. Dawson made that impossible.
Kellan gathered their plates and dumped them next to the sink, gesturing for Riley to follow him into the lounge. “You could start with what you just told me.”
Riley ignored that and perched on the stool of the bar. Kellan had considered it a necessity when he’d first moved in, and it was one of the first things he’d set up. Couch? Optional. TV? Also optional. Bar? Necessity.
Kellan poured Scotch over ice in a proper Scotch glass and slid it over to him. “What are you going to do?”
“What should I do?” Riley asked instead. If he had answers, he wouldn’t have come here looking for them in the first place. If he had answers, maybe he’d feel better.
“You haven’t seen her since she first came to you?”
“No.”
“And you’re not curious?”
Trust Kellan to get right to the heart of it. Riley fiddled with his drink, slammed it down in one go, and handed it back for a refill.
“Do you think that letting her in, giving the relationship a chance, will somehow take away your place with us?”
Riley didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He knew he had it written all over his face. Of all his siblings, Kellan had the keenest eye. Maybe it came from being the oldest of six? Riley found a strange comfort in the fact he came in second to Kellan. Having a big brother to turn to… helped. Having someone that he could look up to. Kellan had never made him feel less than any of their other brothers. In fact, he put him ahead of some of them when they were being irritating. That didn’t change the fact that he’d lived in fear most of his childhood that he didn’t fit, that he didn’t belong. A feeling he'd long since buried. Until Sadie.
“If I had to pick a brother to discard, you wouldn’t be the first. In fact, you’d be the only one I’d keep. Though right now, I can’t decide if I want to tell you that you’re an idiot or explain why you’re an idiot.”
“I think you just did both.” Riley wiped his thumb over his glass, the condensation catching on the pad. “Who would be the first?”
“It fluctuates. Right now, it’s Parker.”
“ Parker ?” The least problematic of the Sinclair brothers? “Why?”
“Don’t ask.” Kellan poured him another drink. “Do you want to talk to her?”
“No.” A half-truth. The parts of him he’d left behind in childhood hovered just under the surface, like if he made a concerted effort to lift them free, they’d rise and drown him. “I wish that she’d never come near me, and now that she has, I can’t pretend she doesn’t exist.”
“No one will think badly of you if it’s something you want to explore. It’s a pretty big deal, and I’d be curious too. No one would blame you either if you wanted that door to stay closed. Saying no and enforcing the boundaries that make you most comfortable is more important than some arbitrary idea that just because you share blood, you owe her something. You aren’t obligated to do anything. Family is a choice that we make every day. Your choice.”
Riley swallowed down half his drink, the smooth alcohol going down easier now that he’d had a few. “I’m sleeping with her best friend.”
Surprise flickered in Kellan’s gaze. “Maybe we need something even stronger than this too.”
Riley wouldn’t say no. He had no intention of going home tonight. Wouldn’t be the first time. Kellan’s king would fit them both.
“Is that how she found out about you? Because you’re involved with her best friend?”
Riley wished it had been that easy. Maybe his attraction—and growing feelings—for Dawson could have been less complicated that way. “No. The photo, remember?” One still sitting in a drawer in his office, hidden away as if that could help him ignore that it existed.
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry.”
Riley waved him off. He’d tried to forget too.
Kellan thumped a bottle of tequila on the bar along with a salt container and a lime. “Weird coincidence that you happen to be sleeping with her best friend, of all the people in Sydney...” He trailed off, eyebrows raising. “Or is it not?”
Riley didn’t answer, staring at his almost-empty glass. A tendril of guilt tried to twist itself around his gut, and he cut it off. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He hadn’t asked for either of them to invade his space. The inconvenient attraction to Dawson didn’t change anything, at least when it came to Sadie. The situation they’d found themselves in had nothing to do with her.
Kellan pulled out a chopping board and knife from under the bar and sat them beside the rest of his goodies. “Let me get this straight. She found you, you kicked her to the curb—”
“—You don’t have to say it like that—”
“—and now you’re having sex with her best friend? Is that some sort of revenge?”
“And if it was?” Riley wasn’t above skirting the law if it meant achieving justice or giving people what they deserved. He found the societal norms flexible suggestions. He drew the line at sleeping with someone for ulterior motives. His morals were made of rubber, but they still only stretched so far. He didn’t involve himself in that kind of shitty behaviour.
Kellan cut up the lime into six perfect triangular slices. “Does this person deserve to be in the middle of that?” he asked.
“No.” Dawson might be prickly, opinionated, and fiercely protective of his friends, but none of those personality traits meant he deserved to be some pawn in a sick game. “And I’m not. He came to the station drunk after I made her leave”—he emphasised that because “kicked her to the curb” sounded so much worse than it had been; he’d practically been a saint compared to how he could have reacted to the way she’d thrown that revelation at him—“and he came at me about it.”
Kellan’s face hardened. “Physically?”
“Not unless you count him throwing up in the bushes outside the precinct.” He hadn’t seen it, but he could use his imagination; there were only so many ways it could have gone down.
“Wow, how could you not have taken him straight to bed? He sounds incredibly sexy. I’m getting a little turned on.”
“The sarcasm isn’t needed.” Dawson’s sexiness factor had nothing to do with any of that.
“Is it just sex or…?”
“No. I’d have stopped after one night if that were the case.” It had been… quite a few more nights than that. Enough that sleeping in bed without them felt a little strange.
Kellan scratched his beard, studying Riley. “There’s no way you can develop and maintain a relationship with him when his best friend is your sister, and you want nothing to do with her. What happens if you get serious, move in together, buy a house, get two point five dogs, and have children?”
“How do you get half a dog?” Riley asked. And who got to decide which half? Where did the other half go? Riley blinked at his empty glass. How many had he had so far?
He slid it back across the bar for Kellan to refill. Not enough.
“There’s more,” Riley said hesitantly. There was always more.
“Do I need another drink for it?”
“Probably.” Definitely.
Kellan contemplated his glass and then said, “No. Just tell me.”
“You’ve met Gideon.”
“Clark? Yeah, he’s one of your—oh my God. You’re sleeping with both of them? I didn’t know you were this hard up.”
“Just pour the drinks,” Riley said flatly.
Kellan exhaled, though it sounded more like a huffed laugh. “Separately or together?”
“Together.”
“Did you just wake up one day and choose violence?” Kellan leaned forward. “Riley, if someone at the precinct finds out that you’re sleeping with one of your detectives, you’ll lose your job. Is that really worth it?”
Riley wished he could say no, but he knew that he’d risk a hell of a lot more to get a chance with Gideon. He’d spent years wanting him, knowing that the man haunting his dreams would always be out of reach.
Kellan poured two more glasses of vodka and downed his before filling it again. “We’re both gonna regret this in the morning,” he said ruefully.
Riley tapped the side of his glass against Kellan’s and took a large gulp. “Tomorrow’s problem.”
Kellan’s face turned serious. “Riley, whatever you decide, none of it changes that we’re your family. That you’re our brother, and we’d kill for you. Lucas likely has already. It was probably an accident, but that’s still murder.”
“I’m disappointed that he didn’t ask us to hide the body.”
“He’s married to Tyler; I think he has that covered.”
Riley couldn’t even argue with that. If Lucas came home with a body and asked Tyler to help, the guy wouldn’t even blink.
“Finding family—new or old—won’t take away the one you have now. As if we’d ever let you have that kind of peace and quiet. If I’m stuck with them, you are too.”
Riley snorted, almost dropping his glass. Kellan couldn’t ever know how comforting those words were, or how much he’d needed to hear them.
Dawson followed the officers’ instructions, weaving his way through the precinct until he found Riley’s office.
The Detective Senior Sergeant Riley Sinclair plaque helped.
Dawson ran his fingers over the name, looping around the S all the way to the R. What would it have been like if he’d grown up with Sadie? If Dawson had known him all this time? Would he have fallen like this?
No way he wouldn’t have. Riley and Sadie had lost so many years together that they wouldn’t ever get back. With more on the way since Riley didn’t have any desire to reconnect with her. How many years had Dawson lost with him too? Would Riley have looked at him the same way if they’d grown up around each other? What had teenage Riley been like?
Dawson’s lips twitched. A hellion, he bet. Big eyes, messy hair, ready to cause some trouble in the name of justice. He bet the bullies at school had been afraid of him . He wouldn’t be surprised if his brothers thought of him as their protector. He had gooey insides, not obvious at first. Easy to see if someone looked in the right place. Riley led by actions, not words. Dawson had seen beneath the surface, and now he couldn’t see anything else.
He knocked softly, not wanting to break the quiet serenity of midnight. Not the same hustle and bustle he bet the place had during the day. Night shift had a stillness to it unlike anything else.
He went inside at the command from Riley, still sharp even this time of the night. Did he ever turn “off”?
Dawson knew the answer to that. Had seen it. Riley slouched on the sofa, eating dinner with a six-year-old boy asking them sixty questions, drinking coffee and debating the merits of hot chocolate. Riley smiling, laughing. Wearing something other than his suit. Morning bedhead. Hair flat and dripping wet, coming out of the shower.
Riley sat at his desk. The dim light of his lamp cast shadows across his face. Closed brown manilla folders with writing scrawled on the front of them were spread across the wooden surface along with open ones and so many stacks of paper that Dawson grimaced. He’d never have survived in a desk job.
Riley looked tired. Still ridiculously handsome but also like he needed about twenty hours’ sleep.
“Is something wrong?” Riley asked. “How is Gideon?”
“No.” He’d wanted to see Riley’s face. More than that, he’d wanted Riley to come back to them, crawl into bed, and hold Gideon closely between them. He’d been conspicuously absent the last few days. “Gid’s sleeping. His fever broke, and he’s been more coherent this afternoon, so I’d say we’re over the worst of it.”
Riley nodded, a hint of relief in his blue eyes. “Good. Do you feel unwell?”
“Nah, I have a great immune system.” He tilted his head with a self-deprecating smile. “My body usually waits till I’m on vacation before infecting me.”
“Unfortunate.”
“Tell me about it.”
Riley leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his stomach. “If nothing is wrong, what are you doing here so late?”
“We missed you in bed.”
Riley pursed his lips, averting his gaze for a heartbeat. “I don’t like to disturb you when I work so late.”
Dawson ventured further into the room. “Yeah, I figured that.” He held up the bag of leftovers he’d put in containers to bring with him. “Have you eaten? I brought sustenance.”
Riley didn’t say a word as Dawson stacked some of the paperwork—trying his best to keep sections together so it didn’t make more work for Riley later—and unpacked the bag. He’d gone the classic route of chicken noodle soup. A staple for the sick, no matter how old. The nostalgia alone helped with recovery; Dawson would die on that hill.
“You’ve been working late a lot,” Dawson said, leaning a hip against the desk. He hadn’t in the beginning, so Dawson had to assume whatever caused it was recent.
Riley massaged the bridge of his nose and threw his pen down. “There’s been an influx of new cases,” he said. “And two of my best detectives decided to infect each other with a common cold that’s taken them out of commission. I’ve delegated what I can and picked up the slack where I can’t.”
Dawson nodded slowly. He understood the logic. Except that Riley’s workload already looked enough for six people, without adding more to it. “If their boss doesn’t slow down, there might be a third person coming down with the same cold soon. And then where will everyone be?”
“Is that considered a holiday?”
“I guess you could call it that, though I wouldn’t consider it the most pleasant holiday. Wouldn’t you rather be sipping a mai tai out of a coconut on a beach in Hawaii?”
“No.”
“Is it the beach or the coconut that’s turning you off?”
“Both.”
Dawson made a mental note not to feed him anything coconutty. He couldn’t help it if some people had no taste. “You don’t like the beach?”
“It takes a long time to get sand out of everything after five minutes at the beach. Inconvenient at best, irritating at worst.”
“I love how much thought you’ve put into it,” Dawson said, snickering. He couldn’t deny the sand thing even if it didn’t take away his level of enjoyment. He and Sadie loved the beach. Guess the siblings didn’t have that in common. “Does Gideon like the beach?”
“Unfortunately,” was the dry response. Riley picked up his pen and absently flicked it between his fingers. “Thank you for looking after him, by the way.”
“It was my pleasure.” He liked spending time with both of them even if Gideon had slept a lot of the last few days. Gideon’s sense of humour, his ready smile, and his fierce love for those around him drew Dawson in. It was softer than what he felt for Riley, fewer sharp edges and unspoken issues. No less powerful.
Dawson circled the desk and made room for himself between Riley’s legs. He spread his hands over Riley’s shoulders and up his throat, thumbing the warm skin. “Who looks after you?”
“I’m not sick.”
“Is that the criteria?”
Riley shot him an unamused look. “I don’t need anyone to look after me.”
“Gideon doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who needs it either. He’s a dad and a homicide detective. I bet he pushes through more than he should to ensure he’s there for others. That doesn’t mean we can’t accept it when offered.”
“I know,” Riley murmured. “It’s not easy to let people in, Dawson.”
Dawson palmed Riley’s heart, the steady thrum under his touch soothing. “Here?” He brushed his lips over Riley’s temple. “Or here?”
“Is there a difference?”
It didn’t surprise him that Riley considered them the same. He closed himself off when his brain screamed “danger,” and his heart followed. Most listened to their heart first, or at least one over the either. Rarely were they in sync like that. Trust Riley to put logic above emotion and force his emotions to follow and agree with the same path.
“Will you let me in?”
Riley stood in one smooth motion, crowding Dawson against his desk. Their lips met in a messy clash of teeth and tongue. It was eerily similar to their first kiss, with a stark contrast in emotions. No anger, only need. No frustration, only a burst of emotion that Dawson couldn’t contain.
Riley worked on Dawson’s belt, kissing down his throat, biting down right above his collarbone.
“There’s a perfectly good couch over there,” Dawson moaned, clutching at Riley’s shoulders. “We should use it.” Please .
“Do you want to fuck on it, Dawson?” Riley whispered, stubble grazing over the sensitive skin of his throat. “Do you want to ride me until you come all over yourself?”
Fuck . “Yeah—those—that—whatever you want.”
“Very good answer.”
Riley tugged Dawson off the desk and walked him across the small room to the couch in the corner. He pushed the coffee table out of the way with his foot.
He lowered himself onto the couch, dragging Dawson down with him. Dawson shifted, getting himself comfortable. He didn’t want to put too much of his weight on Riley, considering he still had a fair few kilos of muscle mass on the guy. He lifted enough for Riley to pull his pants down, exposing his ass. Fingers immediately probed at him, and Dawson pushed back against them.
“My—my pocket,” Dawson gasped. Riley breached him, and he bit his lip, moaning. He knew he needed to be quiet, that even at this hour they weren’t the only people in the station. Had he locked the door? He couldn’t remember. Would anyone come into Riley’s office without knocking? Dawson had no idea. Couldn’t think. Didn’t matter, as long as Riley kept touching him. “There’s—in my wallet, condom and lube.”
Riley reached into Dawson’s pocket, pulling his wallet out and flicking it open. He put the condom wrapper in Dawson’s mouth, waiting for him to bite down on it before focusing on the small lube packet. It didn’t take long for him to cover his fingers and press them back inside Dawson.
“Put the condom on me,” he ordered.
Dawson ripped the packet open with his teeth and rolled it on. He might have been embarrassed by his hasty enthusiasm if he didn’t need it so fucking badly. He drizzled the remaining lube on the swollen head and stroked it over the latex a few times. As good as Riley’s fingers felt in his ass, he wanted something way better. And he had no idea how long they were going to get before they were interrupted.
He shifted forward enough to line Riley’s cock up with his ass and sank down, pushing through the burning stretch and the intrusive pain. It wouldn’t take long to adjust, not with how good Riley felt.
Even from the bottom, Riley took control, lifting and lowering Dawson with a bone-shaking deliberateness. His stomach quivered at the pure strength that Riley hid in his lean form. Dawson’s bulk meant nothing in this situation; Riley still completely dominated him, tossing him around like he weighed nothing.
Dawson moaned, rolling his hips, Riley sinking deeper inside him. He dropped his forehead on Riley’s shoulder, riding wave after wave of ecstasy, clinging as Riley turned him inside out.
Riley fucked up into him with slow, measured thrusts. The storm raging inside Dawson built up every time Riley filled him. This man had captivated him from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on him, unable to deny the feelings that had sprung out of nowhere. He’d had no hope against the sheer force of Riley and Gideon.
He threaded his fingers in the soft hair at Riley’s temples, their eyes meeting.
Riley hit just the right spot inside him, and he inhaled sharply. His cock ached to be touched, but he couldn’t make himself let go of Riley or look away. Release came a distant second to holding Riley so close, to feeling him so close.
Riley tugged Dawson in for a kiss at the same time his big, hot hand wrapped around Dawson’s cock. Giving him what he needed, the way he always seemed to. Dawson bucked up into it, the double pressure too much for his already-overloaded body. He wrapped around Riley’s head, clasping him close, moaning into his mouth as his orgasm hit him. Riley stroked him through it, kissing him hard.
Dawson shuddered, twitching from sensitivity. Riley kept stroking, not giving him an ounce of reprieve as he sought his own release.
Dawson shifted an arm, fisting the back of the couch, shuddering uncontrollably with every flick of Riley’s thumb against his slit. Fuckingfuck. His toes curled, and his mouth ripped from Riley’s, opening in a silent, almost-painful gasp.
“It’s too—it’s too—”
“You can take it,” Riley said, kissing his jaw and down his throat. “Can’t you?”
Fuck . Dawson bit his lips, eyes scrunching closed as he fought through it. He could. Because Riley had asked him to.
“There you go,” Riley whispered, licking a line across his shoulder. “Quietly, Dawson.”
Quietly, he says. As if he wasn’t torturing Dawson with pleasure. He bit into Riley’s shoulder to stop from crying out as Riley hit his prostate again. His dick twitched, every nerve in his body on fucking fire. He raised his hips and slammed down, needing more anyway. Too much, not enough, never enough. A hunger beyond need. Insatiable. Hungry.
Their lips met again, and Riley groaned this time, the sound reverberating through Dawson’s chest. Dawson wished they weren’t using a condom, just like their first night with Gideon in the shower. Reckless? Maybe. Damn messy? Definitely, especially considering their location. Rationalisation had gone out the window weeks ago. The idea of dripping with Riley’s seed while driving home almost had him ready for round two.
He collapsed against Riley’s chest when the sadist finally let his dick go. The tremors took a few long seconds to stop completely. Exhaustion caught up to him, and his eyes slid closed, wondering if Riley would let him fall asleep here. Just a power nap.
Riley breathed against Dawson’s hair, a hand curling around the back of his head. “I have let you in, Dawson,” he said so quietly that Dawson almost missed it. “Both of you. It’s the worst decision I’ve ever made.”
Dawson didn’t take offense at that. He and Gideon came with different issues, and he didn’t doubt that Riley thought about it often. He risked his career with Gideon and risked everything else for Dawson.
“I’m lying to her,” he mumbled into Riley’s chest. “She has no idea that I’m with you, and I feel like the worst best friend in the whole world.” He drew absent circles over Riley’s chest, hair brushing the pads of his fingers. Dawson’s few relationships had never been serious. Not with anyone he’d contemplated being more with. Something fun to pass the time, someone to call his for a brief period before moving on.
Dawson couldn’t take this back. He didn’t want to, even knowing he’d broken an important cardinal best-friend rule. A grave sin, even before they added the complication of Riley’s refusal to entertain the idea of being part of Sadie’s life.
Dawson should have drawn a clear line here. Been Team Sadie all the way. He’d done the worst thing he could think of instead: he’d gotten involved with the same man that wouldn’t even acknowledge that his best friend existed.
Riley kissed his temple and then leaned his forehead against it as he cradled the back of Dawson’s head. They stayed like that for a long time.