Chapter 5 Grady
Chapter five
Grady
Riley spends most of the ride not speaking to us.
Which suits me just fine. What do teenagers even talk about these days?
Nothing in a language that I understand.
All I want to know is where he got the bruise.
It’s fresh enough that it has to have happened today.
Who does the school call in those situations?
The foster parents? What are they doing about it?
“You have a boyfriend, right?” Quinn asks, glancing behind himself from the driver’s seat.
Riley stiffens, and I watch him carefully. “What of it?”
Still so sure that we’re going to say something unpleasant to him. We don’t target kids. There are plenty of adults in the precinct I can sharpen my claws on. One in particular. Two, when Quinn’s boyfriend Sebastian comes sniffing around.
“Just making conversation,” Quinn says pleasantly with a smile, not offended in the least. He has a better temperament than me. “I myself have four of them.”
Riley’s mouth drops open. “Aren’t cops supposed to be like… paragons of society?”
“I think we’re human,” Quinn says with a chuckle. “What has that got to do with my relationships?”
Can’t be an issue with being gay since the kid is himself. The polyamory thing? He can take that opinion and throw it over the side of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
“Cheating on four people is fucked up.”
“Watch your mouth,” I snap automatically. Nice to see he has some morals in there, though. Cheating in general is fucked up. A fact I know quite intimately, multiple times over.
“Got a mirror handy?” Riley asks waspishly.
I wonder if Boss-Riley was like this as a kid. Wouldn’t surprise me.
Quinn snorts. “There’s no cheating involved. The five of us are together, in one relationship.”
Riley blinks, confusion settling in. “You—wait, what?”
“We live together.”
How anyone could live with that lawyer is beyond me. Some of the others aren’t so bad, I guess. I like Will. Sometimes Peyton. The rest I can do without.
“Five of you?”
Quinn nods, slowing down at a red set of lights. “Yes.”
If Riley says one smartass remark about it, he can get out and walk home. Regardless of my thoughts about Quinn’s terrible taste in men—one, specifically—no one’s allowed to say a single negative thing about it without getting my foot up their ass.
“That’s so many dishes,” Riley says quietly, almost to himself.
Quinn bursts out laughing. “Our dishwasher is the best investment I’ve ever made.”
My phone rings, and I answer without checking who it is, glad to get out of this weird conversation. As soon as it connects to the stereo system, I say gruffly, “Detective Sergeant Grady Donehue.”
“Major Lake McKenna,” Lake returns, his voice deeper than usual, like he’s trying to mimic me. It shouldn’t be half as hot as it is.
I relax into my chair, my smile involuntary. Hearing him settles everything inside me. He’s my safe space. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Are you driving?”
“Not today.”
“Quinn, I have a question for you,” he says, correctly guessing who is. Like I’d let anyone else drive in my stead.
“Shoot.” Quinn arches an eyebrow even though Lake can’t see it. I hope it’s not directed at me. I can’t control what comes out of that man’s mouth. No one can.
“If you were playing basketball, you know, with your guys, who would play on who? Would it go by height?”
Quinn slows to let traffic merge and shares a look with me. I shrug. Don’t fucking ask me, I have no idea.
“That’s your question?” Quinn asks.
“Do you want to come play basketball with us? One of the teams is going on a training thing for two weeks, and it just happens to fall during the time we play each month. Peyton used to play with the spec-ops guys, and he was good. Like, he’s a short-ass, right, but he’s really good.”
As if Lake’s any taller than Quinn’s ex-soldier. Five nine isn’t exactly short in the grand scheme. The shortest of the five guys, sure. A hell of a lot shorter than me. But it’s all relative.
“Is he?” Quinn asks. “He’s never mentioned basketball.”
“There was a pool going on whether he was cheating”—how do you cheat at basketball?
—“but mostly only people that were sick of losing were in on it. Those spec-ops guys: you gotta watch ’em.
It’s next Thursday night. You’re all invited.
We go out to a random restaurant afterward, but that’s not compulsory. ”
I have a standing invitation and haven’t missed one yet. I don’t mind the games; I like even more the shower afterward, once everyone else has gone ahead to dinner. We’re always late, and everyone knows why. Completely worth the ribbing.
“I’m sure I can make sure at least half of us are there,” Quinn offers.
“Deal. Anyway, so I’m knocking off early because Mum and I are heading downtown to look at some florists on my list.”
“Okay.” Is he calling just to tell me that? A text would suffice. He sends me plenty during the day, when he isn’t flying. Enough that I have my messages on silent, and only phone calls will make noise.
“Are you free?”
Am I—oh. “You want me to go?” I can’t remember being this involved last time. Granted, it was years ago, and I try not to remember most of it, but I do distinctly remember being told that my opinion didn’t matter, and all I needed to do was show up. Guess he didn’t realise he had to show up too.
Quinn turns left instead of right, and I know he’s headed for the city instead of the suburb we’re going to with the warrant.
“Well, if you’re not chasing bad guys or talking to dead people. I’ll understand if you’re busy.”
He says it with no inflection, like he does understand. A strange concept.
“We’re not,” Quinn answers for me. “I’d be happy to drop your wayward charge off with you. Mini-Riley and I can handle the warrant. Where am I going?”
“Mini-Riley?” Lake asks. “As opposed to…?”
“That’s not my name!” comes a grumble from the back.
“As opposed to your friendly neighbourhood boss, Riley Sinclair. They have the same first name—spelled the same and everything—so we had to get creative.”
This conversation is getting away from me, and I don’t know how to reverse it. Uno cards don’t work in real life. I didn’t say yes, and I am still working and busy.
“Your idea of getting creative is calling him Mini-Riley?” Lake questions. “There’s a nice simplicity to it. What do you call the other Riley?”
“Big-Riley,” Quinn answers helpfully.
I don’t call him that. And definitely not to his face the way Gideon did—probably still does—or Quinn. I don’t have a death wish, and I’m not friends with him, not the way they are. Well, Gideon’s certainly more than friends with him. The sentiment is the same.
Lake hums into the phone. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Riley sputters.
“Are you smaller than the other Riley?” Lake asks, not missing a beat.
“... yes.”
“Then it makes sense.”
Riley doesn’t reply to that, sitting back in his chair with a sullen expression and crossed arms. Petulant to his core.
Shortly after Lake hangs up, Quinn pulls up to the shopping complex he directed us to.
It has large glass windows and glass doors, with two of the front shops taking up a fair amount of real estate.
A cafe and an empty shop, with a large sign on it that says it’s for lease.
It finally occurs to me where we are. Lake’s younger brother, Avery, owns an art shop here.
Riley slips out of the car as I do and gets into my seat, rolling down the window after he closes the door.
“Don’t wait up,” is all I say, slapping the roof of Quinn’s car in a silent gesture to tell him to go away. He winks at me and then pulls away and back into traffic. Asshole.
I shove my hands in my pockets, doing my best not to awkwardly shuffle. Might as well start calling myself Mini-Riley if I do that. Am I supposed to meet him inside, or is he coming out? Is he even in there yet? Asking me here doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s already here.
For fuck’s sake.
I’m about to pull out my phone and call him when he comes waltzing out of the complex, glass doors sliding open to reveal his beaming face.
Somehow when we’re apart, I forget just how good he looks.
Just how much he makes me feel, how strong the feeling is, and then it comes back in a rush the second I spot that grin, those dimples, his messy brown hair and hazel eyes.
He lights me up from the inside, and he’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
He reaches up for a kiss as soon as I’m in reach.
I grasp the side of his neck to keep him in place when I take over.
The feel of his lips against mine helps to settle the unsteady beat of my heart.
Everything to do with the wedding makes me nervous in a way I can’t properly explain.
I don’t want to even if I could. It’s not regret, and that’s all that matters.
“Mum is running late,” Lake says without pulling away, our lips brushing on every word, “but she should be here soon.”
Works for me; his mother fucking terrifies me. Lake and his brother are polar opposites, and they got their personalities from both parents. Like who they are got separated during pregnancy, and half was given to Lake, the other going to Avery.
Lake takes my hand and tugs me inside. “Did I interrupt something important?”
“Not really. Just picking up some surveillance footage.”
“You needed three of you? Mini-Riley didn’t sound that old.”
“He’s fifteen, doing work experience with us.”
Lake nods. We skirt around the cafe tables and the small indoor playground as Lake talks about his morning at work. The florist is past the tattoo parlour and a bakery. Avery’s art supply store is across from it, near the opposite entrance.
“Did you like any of the flowers I put on the list? I kind of just googled what’s good for a wedding and was hoping we could narrow it down to something we both like.”
Is this the part where I admit to never in my life seeing the list? Did Lake show it to me, and I blocked it out? “Uh—”
Lake stops abruptly and blanches. “Oh my god, I didn’t show it to you.”
“I don’t… think so?” I like to think I’d remember that, but I can’t say with any degree of certainty. I want to believe that this is important enough to me that I wouldn’t dismiss something like that so easily.
Lake furrows his lips and then pulls out his phone. “I emailed it to you.” He scrolls through for a second and then laughs. “Oops?” He turns the phone around to an email he definitely wrote, with an attachment. It’s sitting in his drafts.
“Pressing ‘send’ helps.” The relief I feel can’t be overstated. Fucking hell, I’m so glad that I never saw it. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other opportunities for me to lose fiancé points later.
He presses send now. “Do you want to go over it first, like a quick glance over the subject before an exam?”
“Is this an exam?” I ask, lips twitching in amusement.
He seems more nervous than me. At least it’s a mutual feeling.
“They’re a florist, Lake. They’ll know flowers.
We can just ask them.” I drag him closer and run my hands through his soft hair.
“If we don’t choose something today, it’s alright.
I’m sure there are dozens, if not hundreds, of florists in the city. ”
He smiles warmly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Somehow reassuring him helps me too. Like him being calm makes me calm too.
He laces our fingers together and steps back, taking me with him. “Okay, well, I kind of like—”
“Lake?”
Lake whirls around, his hand tightening around mine. “Sadie?”
Sadie? I know someone named Sadie. Except that the woman standing a few feet from us, with a shopping bag in one hand and a takeaway coffee cup in the other, isn’t my boss’s sister. I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.