Chapter Eleven
It was ridiculous to be scared to tell Win. After all, they’d been naked together, and it didn’t get much closer than that. And even though he knew little more about the gorgeous detective than when they first met, what Elliot did know was that the man was kind and had a sweet and generous nature. If he ever decided to confide in anyone, it would be someone like Winston Rogers.
But he hadn’t even told his best friends. Sure, they knew about Claire, but not everything. Some truths were too painful to tell even the people closest to you. Elliot finally took a sip of his tea, wishing for a slug—or two—of whiskey in it. Liquid courage.
“Hey, look. If it’s really private, I don’t want to force you.” Win’s anxious, troubled eyes met his. “I’d never push you to the point of being uncomfortable. But we were having a great time—”
“An amazing time.” He smiled, and Win’s face lit up.
“It sure as hell was. And being with you was a very big thing for me. I don’t want you to think I fuck around.”
Elliot traced the mug handle with the tip of his finger. “For me too,” he said softly. “It was…”Goodwas way too inadequate. “Special.”
“Special is right. So that’s why you should tell me what happened to send you running.”
“You’ll think it’s silly.”
“Why not let me be the judge of that? Friends help friends with the bad as well as the good. We haven’t known each other all that long, but I think we’ve experienced some good today. Or great, depending on your perspective.”
Stalling, he took a sip of his tea. They might’ve had sex, but Elliot wasn’t sure he was ready to peel away the layers around himself. And perhaps Win understood because he reached out and grabbed his hand.
“It’s okay. I get it. Some things might be too personal to talk about right now. I’m hoping we’ll get to the point where we feel comfortable enough with each other to share. In the meantime, how about we go outside, and I’ll get the fire pit going?”
“You have a fire pit? I was thinking of getting one, now that my parents moved out. They never put one in, even though I begged for it.”
“Of course I have one.” Win’s wicked smile sent flutter kicks through him. “How else are we supposed to make s’mores?”
“S’mores?” He must be hearing things. First a picnic, now s’mores? Win was like his fantasy man come to life. “I love them but haven’t had a real one in years.”
“I try and make them a couple of times in the summer if I get the chance. When I was little, my mom would send my dad and me outside, and we’d pretend to go camping in the backyard. He’d start a little fire, and we’d toast cheese sandwiches, grill hot dogs, and make s’mores. In retrospect, I think she wanted a break from me.” He chuckled. “I haven’t thought about those times in years.” Win fingered his mug and stared into the distance.
“That sounds like it would be so much fun.”
“You never did that with either of your parents?” At the shake of his head, Win frowned. “I’m sorry. My parents and I are very close. I’m an only child. My mom stayed home, and my dad was on the force. I became a cop because of him. When he’d come home from a tour, I’d put on his cap and follow him around the house, watching everything he did. My mother called me ‘mini’ for years because of how I copied everything my dad did. The times we shared were like gold to me.”
Resentment rose in Elliot, thick and bitter, until he choked on it. “Sounds great.” Somehow he managed to force the words out. “You were lucky.”
Win didn’t seem to notice how the retelling of childhood memories was affecting Elliot and he continued, “Some nights I go outside, put a hot dog on a stick, and pretend I’m camping. I call them, and we talk for hours about the job or whatever else is going on. Makes me feel like they’re right here with me.”
“That’s a great story.” Too bad he couldn’t relate. “Do they live far? You see them often?”
“No, just on the Island, but I don’t get the chance to see them that often with work and everything. Dad’s eyesight isn’t the best, though he doesn’t like to admit it, so I go out to them when I get a weekend off with no plans. And for the holidays, of course.”
Of course.
“Do you and your parents not get along? I’m sorry. I’m going on and on.”
“No, we do. We’re fine. They’ve always been there for me, and I’ve tried to help them as best as I could.” Those words barely skimmed the surface of the complicated relationship Elliot and his parents shared.
Win looked relieved, as though grateful he hadn’t stirred up the pot. “I’m glad. Lots of parents don’t support their kids if they’re gay. I’ve seen some horrible family dynamics.”
“Lucky for me, that’s not an issue,” Elliot said lightly, wishing like hell they’d get off the subject of parents. Being gay was the least of his problems when it came to his parents.
“Come on, then. I’ll grab the stuff to make s’mores. Can you go into the junk drawer and get out the matches? It’s the first one by the door.”
“Sure.” Grateful to have something to do, Elliot left Win rummaging in the cabinets and found the drawer and a book of matches. His hand faltered when on the narrow sliver of wall above the drawer, he found himself staring at a picture of two men with their arms around each other’s waists. They were young, beautiful, and undoubtedly in love, their smiles as bright as the sun in their eyes. It took him a moment to realize one of the people in the picture was Win. Elliot had yet to see a smile as natural on his face.
Who was the other man? He was an inch or so shorter than Win, with dark hair that fell over his brow and a sweet face filled with adoration as he gazed at Win. Whoever he was, he looked like a nice guy.
