Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Grady
The bottom drawer of the filing cabinet won’t close. It’s fucking mocking me. Kicking it with force until it clicks into place is supremely satisfying.
“We need to replace that,” I grumble, returning to my desk with the file I wanted. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be because apparently, we all need to relearn the alphabet, but excellent sleuthing skills meant I found it anyway.
Dropping it on my desk, I collapse into my chair and wish I was anywhere else.
It’s only ten minutes past eleven in the morning, and I’m already exhausted.
I want some takeout noodles and Lake in my lap.
I don’t work weekends if I can get away with it, but even when I do, they never dragged quite the way it’s doing today.
I can’t lie to myself and say that it’s the workload. I know it’s not.
Lake left the house around the same time as me because he’d made plans to grab a coffee with his ex.
A friendly, totally fine coffee that he didn’t try to hide from me—even invited me along, which I could have accepted but didn’t—and there wasn’t any overdone “it’s just a friendly catch-up” that always makes something way more suspicious.
He wasn’t cagey, or edgy, or anything but his ridiculous self as he kissed me before we left.
He’d dragged it out long enough that I was more interested in taking him back inside and fucking him than going to work and dealing with homicides all morning.
I shouldn’t be this tense or unable to think about anything else.
I trust Lake. Implicitly. His ex is getting married to someone else, for fuck’s sake. They’d been nothing but friendly when they saw each other. Lake is allowed to have friends, no matter who they are. I have no right to think anything extra about any of it.
Except that it’s been hours, and I haven’t heard anything from Lake. I’m used to getting messages every hour when he’s not flying. The radio silence is disconcerting.
And completely innocent and fine.
“So, we got the video surveillance from the servo,” Quinn says, interrupting my extremely unhelpful thoughts. “The idea of going through it right now makes me want to pour some of your strongest alcohol into my coffee. Rain check for Monday?”
I grunt in response. Not like I’ll be able to concentrate on anything either, so postponing seems like the smartest plan. We’d have to rewatch it Monday anyway. No use doing a task twice if we don’t have to.
All I can think about right now is my phone. And how silent it is. Sitting there inconspicuously, not vibrating because of a new message.
“You got somewhere to be?” Quinn asks, glancing at my phone, a different kind of question in his grey eyes. “Waiting for something?”
“No.”
Judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t believe me. That’s the downside of working alongside someone almost every day for so long. He reads me too well. It’s great when it’s work related. Not so great when I want some privacy.
Quinn rolls up his sleeves and checks the time on his watch before leaning back in his chair and lacing his hands behind his head. “Seb and I are meeting Jericho for lunch; do you want to join us?”
The question’s basically the same as if he’d just said, “Want to stab your eye out with this pen?” What is he expecting me to say?
Hell yes, sign me up? I don’t think so. “That’s even worse than being a third wheel,” I settle on instead of a bunch more insulting things I could say.
I should get wings for that. “Hard pass.”
I have no idea how long the “honeymoon period” is supposed to last, but I can safely say it’s not almost twelve months.
Quinn and his men haven’t hit that threshold yet, and it’s nauseating.
Okay, so I haven’t hit that threshold with Lake yet either, but I keep my mauling private, and Quinn has about six months on us, so it makes more sense that he’s going to slow down first.
Maybe I can finish up and get the fuck out of here before anyone shows up.
My luck isn’t that good: Sebastian shows up five minutes later, looking weird as fuck in dark jeans and a white button-down.
Since he’s shacked up with Quinn, I’ve seen him in more than suits.
Doesn’t make it less weird, after so many years of only seeing him dressed up and ready to fuck us dry in court.
At least Quinn doesn’t make me play nice.
There’s something to be said for small mercies or what-the-fuck-ever.
He lets me sharpen my claws on the lawyer as long as neither of us goes too far.
As if there’s a line. If Sebastian can’t take it, then he’s entered the wrong profession. And I’ve seen him in court: he hasn’t.
Pointedly ignoring them, I bury myself in reports, gruesome pictures, and so many files that eventually all the faces and words start to blur together.
When someone leans against my desk, almost brushing their thigh against my shoulder, I know my luck isn’t that good, and that Quinn and Sebastian haven’t left yet.
“What do you want?” I ask Sebastian. If it were Quinn, he’d have said something. Or given me some fucking personal space and sat at his own bloody desk.
“Just checking in on you,” Sebastian says, an amused lilt to his voice that makes me want to throat punch something.
Without looking up, I shoot back, “If I really look that pathetic, I might as well throw myself off the Sydney Harbour Bridge.”
“I’ve never been accused of being a bad friend, and I won’t start now, so if you need a push, you know where to find me.”
“We’re not friends.” I couldn’t think of anything worse.
“It takes two to tango.”
Whatever the fuck that means in this scenario. I throw down my pen and glare, wishing I could eviscerate him with my eyes. Quinn isn’t in the room. Why would he leave me alone with this guy? I thought we were friends. “You can’t wait for him in silence for two fucking seconds?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Committing murder right in the station will at least save Quinn some paperwork.
Or add more? Which is worse? I don’t really care.
If it means Sebastian ends up bleeding out on the floor, I’ll take it.
“Is he coming back soon?” He better just be going to piss or something and then coming right back. He can’t be this cruel.
“Did you talk to Lake about his ex?” Sebastian asks, sidestepping my question like the sneaky-ass lawyer that he is. I’ve seen him in court; I know how he operates. And I don’t want a bar of it.
Saying anything to Sebastian was a colossal mistake. That error in judgement’s going to haunt me. “You and I are not talking about this.”
“I’ll take that as a no. You know, for a detective, you’re not a very good communicator.”
I drop my head on the desk with a painful thud. If I ignore him, will he go away? Please, universe, just do me this one solid.
“If you don’t tell him how you’re feeling, he’s not going to know,” Sebastian points out.
“Are you still here?” I mumble. I’m not an idiot, I know how communication works.
Except it’s not something we need to talk about; Lake isn’t doing anything wrong, and the issue isn’t overstepping boundaries or any bullshit like that.
I don’t want to control him. The problem is my own insecurities; they just need to fuck off.
When my phone vibrates to indicate an incoming message, I snatch it up embarrassingly quickly, flicking it open. My entire body deflates when the name at the top is Lake’s mum, not Lake. Whatever it is, it can wait. No doubt more wedding details that I don’t have the capacity to deal with today.
“He’s with her right now, isn’t he?” Sebastian deduces.
“Do you not have anywhere else to be? Like a lion pen at the zoo?” Am I his new pet project or something? Why does he keep talking to me?
“Nope.”
“Yes, he’s with her,” I bite out. “Feel better now? Got your daily dose of gossip to keep you all warm at night?”
“I have a giant bed with four other men in it to keep me warm. Gossip is like dessert.”
How long could Quinn possibly be upset with me if I actually kill his boyfriend? Couple of months, tops. We’ll weather it.
“For what it’s worth,” Sebastian continues, completely unaware of my homicidal thoughts. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” I reply irritably. Worried is such a mild emotion compared to the dread squeezing my chest, making it hard to breathe.
The thoughts are irrational, and the fear is coming from a place that has nothing to do with Lake.
Knowing that and alleviating the pain are two different things.
I wasn’t good enough before; why would I be good enough now?
Lake is a hundred times better than I could ever hope to be.
How can I ever be the kind of man that’s worthy of standing next to him?
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s in it for the long haul, Grady.”
At least he doesn’t add the excuse of Lake agreeing to marry me. I’ve been down that road before, and it doesn’t guarantee anything.
I’ve really hit rock bottom if Sebastian Devlin is trying to comfort me. Hell has frozen over. Cows are jumping over the moon, and pigs are flying somewhere in the world.
Quinn finally does his job as my partner and shows up to save me from the conversation.
He slides a finger under the collar of his jacket and pulls it from the back of his chair.
“Sure you don’t want to come with us?” he asks, more out of politeness than him actually thinking that I’m going to change my mind.
He knows me better than that. If I’d wanted to go, I would have said yes the first time.
“I have some stuff to—” I cut off as a familiar voice calls my name.
Lake strides towards us, a plastic bag hanging off his wrist. He’s dishevelled, his hair out of place and his clothes askew, a bright flush in his cheeks that says whatever he’s been doing has invigorated him. He looks like he’s just been thoroughly fucked.
He beams at me and holds the bag up as he stops beside me. “I was hoping you might be free to eat some lunch with me? I got some of that Thai stuff you like. I’m starving.” He turns that smile to Quinn and Sebastian. “I got plenty if you want some?”
Sebastian slides an arm around Quinn, watching me way too closely. I pointedly look away because I’m fucking fine, and the last thing I need is his sympathy or pity.
“We’re heading out for a lunch date already,” Quinn says apologetically, actually looking remorseful, like he would have liked to stay. I bet he’ll be over an hour late getting back because the three of them will find somewhere to fuck. “Enjoy yourselves. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Considering I’ve walked in on him and one of his guys more than once in this very building, that pretty much gives me permission to do whatever I want. Fair game for all my sexual fantasies and more. I can admit that I’m tempted to see what the fuss is about and find a quiet room to get Lake naked.
“Sorry I didn’t message,” Lake says, hiking himself up and making himself comfortable on my desk, feet not touching the floor.
“Avery had a weird emergency with his garden. He has it in his head that he wants to grow the flowers for our wedding.” Lake cups the side of his mouth and stage-whispers, “I don’t think we’re getting flowers from him; he can’t even keep zucchini alive. ”
Having never tried growing my own vegetables, I can’t form an opinion on whether that’s difficult or not. Though so far, according to Lake, Avery hasn’t been able to keep any plant alive since starting his new venture.
“If you’re after someone to do your flowers, my brother Eli half owns an event company, and they handle a lot of weddings,” Sebastian pipes up.
If he’s trying to be helpful, he can stop. Last thing I need is another fucking Devlin in my life. Someone out there is laughing at me.
“Yeah?” Lake twists to give me a bright smile, and a heaviness sits in my gut. Looks like we’re going to be contacting a Devlin sibling. Customer confidentiality better be a thing. “Can I have his number?”
Sebastian flips open his wallet, and I try my best to tune that part out because fuck my life.
“Wait. You were gardening with Avery?” I ask, my brain finally catching up.
Jesus Christ. Now that I’m looking closer and paying attention, I can see a dirt smudge on the side of Lake’s T-shirt, a tiny scratch on the curve of his cheekbone, and there’s actually a twig in his hair.
I pride myself on my attention to detail and credit that aspect of my personality as to why I’m so damn good at my job.
How did I not see any of that? Is my tunnel vision so bad right now that I’m only seeing what I want to?
A slippery slope to travel, and not one I want to stay on.
“I’m not really sure why he keeps insisting he can do it when he has a lot of plant murder on his hands. Can you arrest him for that? Maybe that’ll convince him to find a new hobby. One with fewer prickles.”
“I’ll look into it,” I promise.
Sebastian hands a card over, and Lake peers at it. “His number is on the back. Tell him I sent you; he might even be nice to you,” Sebastian says.
“As opposed to?” Lake asks, grinning.
“His usual sparkling personality.”
“He’s clearly related to you, then,” I say dryly. Colour me shocked.
“Nice.” Lake holds the card up. “Thanks.” Lifting a foot onto my knee, he glances over the paperwork scattered across my desk.
He’s also sitting on some since he didn’t bother moving anything.
“Are you too busy for lunch with me?” He tilts his head, guileless.
Not trying to guilt-trip me for needing to work, or attempting to cajole me to put him first, or make me feel like I’m neglecting him.
A far cry from past relationships. “I can just leave the food here?”
Standing abruptly, I drag Lake closer to kiss him, uncaring about our audience. A silent apology for a sin that Lake would never commit and one that I’m holding too tightly to. I need to let it go and embrace everything that he’s offering me.
By the time I lift my head, Quinn and Sebastian are gone, giving us privacy.
“As much as I love when you kiss me, I don’t think it’s good sustenance.” Lake’s stomach rumbles as if agreeing with him. “Are they? Could we live on kisses alone?”
I could happily spend the rest of my life living on the taste of him, but I don’t think it would sustain us for long. And Lake likes eating too much to give it up. “Give me five minutes to finish up and close everything down, and then let’s go home.”
Lake’s expression turns hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I have plans for this man that should wait until we’re behind closed doors and out of the public. Work can always wait; he’s more important than anything else in the world.