Just fucking great.
Fray noticed too. He pointed his thumb toward the door. “Hendrix, outta there, or I’ll lock you up.” Not that a jail cell could contain any of them.
Hendrix just laughed. “But this is so much fun.”
“Now,” Fray snapped, and Hendrix at least stood up.
He had that shit-eating grin firmly in place as he brushed past Ciaran. “Aww, but my favourite cousin?—”
Fray caught him in a headlock and walked him out the door.
“Thank you,” Ciaran murmured. “I’ll come see you after.”
Fray gave him a knowing, patient, best-friend smile as he wrangled Hendrix out the door, letting him go only so he could kick him up the backside. They bickered as they went.
Kellan stood up, took his small medical kit, and met Ciaran’s eyes. “He’s fine,” he murmured.
“It really wasn’t anything serious,” Sawyer said. “But thanks, Doc. I appreciate your time.”
Kellan gave him a nod and disappeared out the door, leaving Ciaran alone with Sawyer.
The tiny police station got even smaller, the walls closing in. Ciaran tried to take another deep breath and regretted it immediately.
The air was saturated with everything Sawyer. His scent, like moss and winter rain, filled every part of Ciaran, making everything better and so much worse.
Sawyer sat at his desk, looking at Ciaran, waiting for him to speak, it would seem.
Jesus Christ.
Ciaran raised his chin, trying to keep his voice neutral—pleasant, even. “Hello.”
Sawyer fought a smile. “Good evening.”
He was so much better looking close up, particularly when he smiled. His brown hair, his ice-blue eyes.
So cold, so blue.
Ciaran wanted to drown in them.
“We haven’t been formally introduced yet,” Ciaran said instead. “My name is Ciaran Brenner.”
“Douglas Sawyer.”
Those two words curled around Ciaran’s insides, warm and lovely. It was all he could do to offer a nod and a smile because what he really wanted to do to him?—
“Thank you for not taking my door off its hinges.”
What?
Niceties dissipated along with Ciaran’s manners, his mood darkening.
But Sawyer smiled. “Wouldn’t like to explain that to head office.”
“Hmm.”
“Though I reckon those hinges are cast iron, so they’re probably safe. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”
Ciaran was confused.
