No wonder his head was pulsing. No wonder his brain felt bruised. . Thank God he hadn’t phoned Riley. Not in that state. Thank God he hadn’t—HOLY SHIT HAD HE SENT THAT EMAIL? The man in the mirror stared in wide-red-eyed horror at Lucas, who flung away from the sink and raced on shaking legs to his office.
The screen on his computer monitor was dark. The computer was off. He turned to his desk, stared in alarm at the typed report lying on the leather desk pad.
Confidential Field Report
Subject: Unofficial Debrief – Operation Twelve Days
He rapidly skimmed the feverishly crossed-out lines, the unhinged capitalization.Hehad written that?Him?
Lucas sank weakly into the chair, turned on his computer, waited impatiently for it to boot up, more impatiently logged in his credentials, one bare foot tapping nervously as he clicked on his outgoing mail.
He pored over the row of sent mail, then sank back, closing his eyes in relief.
A Christmas miracle. He had not sent off that hallucinatory outpouring of self-pity, self-rationalization, and dancing pink elephants.
No one would never know how close to falling apart Lucas had come last night at the idea of losing Riley.
Most importantly, Riley would never know.
A hot shower, two big glasses of water, three Tylenol, a protein-rich breakfast, and several cups of black coffee helped a lot. Also, the reassertion of common sense.
Upon reflection, Lucas could see no reason he and Riley couldn’t work out their differences. He wasn’t even sure they had anyrealdifferences, given that he agreed they should have more time together and that he’d like nothing more than to go on vacation with Riley.
The alcohol-induced panic of the night before was not a true picture of the situation, although, yes—clearly, Riley was unhappy with a few things. Or dissatisfied, at least.
I want to know—I want to feel—
Right. Got it. But Riley wasn’t into labels any more than Lucas was. What they had together already worked. Why complicate that with titles and paperwork and ceremony? Why would they need that? They were federal agents. They understood commitment in ways most people didn’t. Couldn’t. It was risky too, because once you slapped a label on something, it was liable to change everything that made what they had so good. Not because of anything they did or didn’t do, but because of the symbolic weight and social expectations titles, paperwork, and ceremony would bring.
It had to be because of the accident. Riley had even admitted it was because of the accident. And yes, that had been a life-changing event. Lucas was never going to forget the sight of that SUV smashed on the rocks, half-buried in snow. Never going to forget the horror of learning only one of the vehicle’s occupants had survived; the terror of those never-ending minutes before he found out the survivor was Riley.
Nor could he forget seeing Riley in the hospital, pale and still, swaddled in too many layers of heated blankets, an oxygen cannula in his nose, his skin blotchy from cold. Beneath harsh fluorescent lights, Lucas could see every scrape, cut, bruise as if he’d suddenly developed X-ray vision. He didn’t remember who else had been in the room. He hadn’t cared then and didn’t care now. He’d gone up to the bed, taking Riley’s clammy hand in his, saying huskily, “Riley? Ry?”
Riley, hooked up to machines and shivering a little despite all the blankets, opened his eyes, startlingly blue in his white face, and blinked sluggishly up at him.
“You’re safe now. It’s over. You’re in the hospital and you’re going to be fine.”
All of which Riley had probably figured out for himself by that point.
“I love you,” Lucas had said, which Riley maybe didn’t know, and which Lucas couldn’t have stopped himself from saying if his life depended on it. “For a long time. Maybe from the first day you walked into my office.”
Probably not. But it was true he’d loved Riley for a long time. For some reason he hadn’t got around to saying it until then. Riley had said it once or twice. But that was Riley. He hadn’t grown up in a family like Lucas’. Bible-thumping lunatics. He didn’t have a background like Lucas’, where any display of emotion was frowned upon and the I-love-yous were few and far between. The closest Lucas had come to receiving one was theI’m proud of you, son, when he’d joined the Army.
(Automatically retracted when he’d joined the Bureau.)
Anyway, Riley had squeezed Lucas’ hand, either in acknowledgement or warning, and closed his eyes again. Lucas had bent down and very gently kissed Riley’s dry, chapped lips, but Riley had not stirred.
That had been a long and harrowing night, sitting in that darkened room, listening to the faint hum from the warming units and IV pumps, surrounded by the sterile, metallic hospital smells. Harrowing because, even though Riley’s injuries were relatively minor and Lucas knew he was going to make a full recovery, the knowledge of what could have happened, had nearly happened, was not easy to dispel.
Riley, exhausted and concussed, had drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes offering one of those weary, flickery smiles to Lucas, sometimes starting awake disoriented and confused about where he was. He’d tried a couple of times to offer a verbal report of the accident but kept falling asleep or trailing into silence and gripping Lucas’ hand hard.
That painful grip and those stoic silences had been more excruciating to watch than any show of tears or display of dramatics.
Riley had not asked about Deputy Fudali. At first, Lucas wasn’t sure he knew that the deputy was dead, but in one of his alert periods during that long night, Riley had said suddenly, quietly, “When we hit the ice, he was talking about his daughter graduating from college. About the cruise the three of them were going on next summer.”
“It was fast,” Lucas said. “He didn’t suffer.”
Riley’s head moved in acknowledgement. He probably knew better than anyone what Fudali had suffered or not suffered.
