Chapter Ten
Tyson
“I’m sorry—could you repeat that?” I stood in Donovan’s living room. Shifting my gaze between Hamish and Donovan.
The latter had been back from Los Angeles and the Golden Globe festivities for several days.
We’d hit Friday night, and I was absolutely exhausted.
Another murder. Another solved case. The fact the monster killed his girlfriend was bad enough.
How he tried to hide the murder was even worse.
The only glimmer of light was we’d caught him easily, had all the proof, and he’d be going to jail for a very long time. Little comfort for her family, though.
After finishing the mountain of paperwork—all digital, but paperwork nonetheless—I was looking forward to a shower, a beer, and a Canucks game. And not even necessarily in that order.
Was I planning to visualize my two favorite men? Doing all kinds of erotic things? That would’ve been a hell yes.
Now I was standing with both of them—that was a fantasy come true.
But I was still struggling with Donovan’s words.
He tossed me the keys to his SUV. “We’re going to a cabin in the hills north of Mission City. That’s just over an hour from here—so you can both get back to the city if you need to. Like, in the case of an emergency.”
I blinked. “I can’t just leave the city.”
“Do you have a cat?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Well, no.”
“Houseplant?”
“I’m not sure that’s the point—”
“Plans? Getting together with coworkers?”
Inwardly, I winced. Outwardly, I remained stoic. “I can’t just pick up and leave.”
Hamish raised his hand. “I do believe this is my fault.”
I frowned. “How do you figure?”
“Donovan said he needed intense counseling. Private. I suggested an office or the studio. He said it had to be here. To, uh, maintain propriety, I suggested you might come.” He blushed. “Although given what happened the last time we were all together…maybe that thought had been ill-advised.”
“Doc, this is absolutely not your fault.” I pinned Donovan with my stare. “I suspect we’re being manipulated.”
Donovan pressed a hand to his chest. “Moi? You think I would manipulate you?”
“Absolutely.” Hamish and I said the word at the exact same time—which thrilled me more than it should have. That the doc and I were beginning to see things the same way. And see through Donovan’s bullshit.
Except… I held his stare. “Are you on the level here?”
He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue.
That oh-so-clever tongue.
Focus.
“Have I had a couple of nightmares? Yes. Did Cole and Julie winning Golden Globes for Vigilante Justice help? Or Elouise winning for her movie? Sure. But it’s not enough. I can’t—” He swallowed. “The blood. Against his white shirt—” He drew in a deep breath. “I need to get away from here.”
This time I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t have clothes. How long are we staying?”
“Until Monday morning. We can stop at a big-box retailer, and I’ll happily buy you a couple of outfits and some cute jammies.” Whatever darkness had been present vanished, and the devilish grin was back. Probably because he recognized capitulation when he saw it.
I pursed my lips. “You’re not buying me things.
I’m perfectly capable.” Because, frankly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought new clothes.
Months, if not years. I tended to buy a pile of jeans because my weight didn’t fluctuate, and if I found something I liked, I bought in bulk.
“But I can buy Doc’s.” I had enough leeway in my budget for that, and no way was I letting Hamish get stuck crossing lines.
Hamish jutted his chin. “I’m quite capable of buying my own things.”
I eyed his clothes. “Do they sell corduroy pants?”
He rolled his eyes. “I am capable of wearing jeans.”
Donovan slapped him on the shoulder with his left hand.
“How’s the arm?” Right. Like derailing him might prevent what I know is going to happen.
“Stitches out and healing nicely. You’ll be happy to know Caressa accompanied me to ensure I wasn’t bullshitting the doctor.”
“How—” I considered my words. “How are they doing?”
“Cole, Caressa, and Michael? Wearing the matching rings.”
“No shit.” That sort of blew my mind. They’d had them Sunday night when I’d visited them. Which was a story for another day. “Are they getting married? I mean they obviously can’t all marry each other—”
“Which is really too bad.” Hamish ran a hand through his hair. “Marriage offers protections that few other things can—even legal documents. Alas, three-way marriage isn’t legal.”
Donovan arched his eyebrow. “Wishing you might do it? Eventually?”
That familiar blush was back on Doc’s cheeks. “Just making an observation. They’re not the first triad I’ve counseled.”
A silence held in the air.
“Yeah?” Donovan chuckled. “Do tell.”
“No great secret—they’ve shared with other people and said I’m free to do the same. A Canadian woman has two lovers—an Argentinian and an American. The three live together in Vancouver with an unconventional relationship and an unusual—” He swallowed. “Maybe that’s all I should say.”
“I won’t ask why they went for counseling—” Despite being damn curious.
He waved me off. “The men wanted to assure their third that they truly loved her. They weren’t just using her to get into Canada.”
“It’s tough to get in.”
“Both had unique computer skills. I don’t entirely understand. But they’re on their way to citizenship. Oh, and they have rescue dogs.”
Right. Because that’s the important part of this conversation.
“I do appreciate you sharing that.” Donovan pointed to his bag. Not a suitcase—but bigger than a gym bag. “Tyson can carry that. We need to leave before traffic gets worse. We can take Highway 7 all the way to Mission City.”
“Have Hamish and I agreed to this? We still have professional ethics to worry about.”
Donovan gazed at Hamish. Then at me. “Before you guys go making big decisions about your careers—about your lives—I think we need to figure out exactly what we have together. I mean, if this fizzles out, then no harm, no foul.”
“I’m not certain the world works like that.” But he has a point—if there’s nothing to this, then why throw my career away? I didn’t, however, believe this was nothing. Still… I snagged his bag. “I’ll go.” I turned to Hamish.
He bit his lower lip.
“God, that’s so fucking sexy.” Donovan said the words in a low tone. Almost like a growl.
Hamish closed his eyes for a moment—likely in contemplation—before he opened them. To my surprise, he met my gaze. “Yes, I’ll go.”
He sounded like a man headed to the gallows—and I almost offered him a way out—but then he grabbed a stainless-steel water bottle.
Working on the assumption the thing was Donovan’s, I glanced around the room. “Anything else? Do you have houseplants?”
“Cactus. Already watered. We’re good.” He grinned.
I spun to Hamish. “You seem like a guy who’d have a cat—”
He shook his head. “I’m often not home and have even traveled. So I’d feel guilty.”
“You could always get two.” Donovan moved toward the stairs. “I already told my tenant I’m going out of town so she can throw a party if she wants.”
Hamish and I followed at a slower pace. “Do you think she’ll throw a party?”
Donovan snickered. “She’s in grad school at Simon Fraser University. Psychology? I think?” He exited his house. “Oh, you have the keys. You’ll have to lock up.”
I stepped out of the house with Hamish just behind me. “Uh, sure.” I handed Donovan the keyring, though, because I counted at least five plus his fob for his car.
He selected one and handed it back.
I locked the door. Then eyed my car that sat directly behind Hamish’s. “Any chance we’ll get a parking ticket?”
“Nope.” Donovan led us around to the back of the house. His SUV was sheltered under a carport and had direct access to the back alley.
I disarmed the vehicle.
Before I could do anything, Donovan hopped into the back seat.
Hamish frowned.
I didn’t blame him. Obviously, I was driving. Donovan and Doc were about the same height, but more importantly, this was Donovan’s SUV. Donovan’s show.
Roll with it. I put the bag on the back seat next to him and then got into the front. Hamish eased into the passenger seat. We closed our doors and put on our seat belts.
I adjusted the mirrors. Then started the engine and the hybrid purred to life. As it did, a voice came from the speakers.
“Oh God, turn it off.” Donovan’s panicked voice came from the back seat. “Where the fuck is my phone?”
Ah. His phone was attached to the sound system. As I searched for the Off button, though, the words became clear.
Hamish and I exchanged a look before we both turned to face Donovan.
Who was swiping and tapping and clearly doing everything he could to shut this down.
I chuckled. As did Hamish.
The voice cut out. Well…the voices.
Obviously, we’d been listening to some kind of narration. Of two guys. Having sex.
Donovan met our gazes. Then rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s not what you think.”
If his skin hadn’t been so dark, I would’ve sworn he was blushing.
“I enjoy that narrator.” Hamish turned in his seat. “I don’t know that book, though. A gay romance? Or erotica?”
Donovan cleared his throat. “Gay romance. I can, uh, highly recommend both the narrator and the series.” He buried his face in his hands.
“Do you want to start from the beginning or pick up where we were?” I put the SUV in Drive—since I’d backed into his spot. I checked both ways and then executed a left turn.
“I think silence is a good idea.” Donovan said the words on a sigh.
“How about a playlist?” Hamish scratched his nose.
Which I caught in my peripheral vision.
“My playlists are…eclectic.”
I turned onto East 22nd Avenue. “In what way?” I wasn’t going to stereotype music because I listened to a wide variety. Well, except country music. Hard no on that.
“Mostly musicals.”
“Oh.” Hamish rubbed his hands together.
“You need me to turn on the heat?” I wasn’t cold, but maybe he was. I had controls for each seat.
“What? Oh, no.” He flapped his hands. “I adore musicals.”
Donovan sighed. Listed about ten and sighed again.