Chapter 6
Tending the Heart
“Goddammit, Jeff!” Trent Peterson snapped, slapping the kitchen faucet to turn it on. He glared down, sending a spritz of water into the sink, scattering a layer of coffee grounds that swirled several times before flowing down the drain. He leaned against the sink, watching the grounds vanish into its copper surface.Great metaphor. I’m watching my life disappear down the drain.My relationship. My happiness.Ahhh, fuck!
He glanced around the kitchen, feeling the apartment’s emptiness swell within him, a hollow ache expanding in his gut. Jeff had left for CIA headquarters early that morning. His promise to be home in time to eat dinner with himself and Sophie had been yanked from him like a rotten tooth, and—recalling the conversation—Trent spat out a frustrated curse. “I shouldn’t have pushed. Now he’s pissed, and so am I.”
It had started late the night before. Trent had never been any good at covering up his feelings, particularly ones that signaled anger or hurt. And last night’s conversation had ticked both boxes. Goaded by his daughter’s confusion and pain as much as by his own sadness, Trent had once again brought up thesubject of marriage. And Jeff had once again stepped back—not physically, but in every way that mattered.
His shoulders went tight, his jaw clenched just enough to be noticeable, and his gaze flickered away, landing somewhereelse. Anywhere else. It wasn’t avoidance in the obvious sense—Jeff didn’t storm off, didn’t snap, or push Trent away. Didn’t outright refuse him. No, his retreats were quieter, subtler. The way his voice flattened, his words becoming measured and distant like he was already building the wall between them brick by brick, shutting Trent out before he could get too close.
Trent recognized the pattern all too well. And even though he could see it happening in real time, he still felt blindsided.
Jeff hated these conversations—not because he didn’t love Trent, but because theideaof marriage stirred something deep and unresolved in him. Something uncomfortable, something he wasn’t ready to look at too closely.
And that was the heart of it. TrentwantedJeff to look at it. Toface it. To stop sidestepping and deflecting and pretending that this wasn’t an open wound in their relationship.
But Jeff wasn’t ready. Maybe he’d never be ready. And that—that—was what made Trent’s frustration feel like a fist pressing into his ribs. Because it wasn’t just about him; it was about his daughter, about the family they had built together. About all the ways Jeff was already his, in every way but the one Trent needed him to be.
And so, like every time before, the conversation ended the same way: with Jeff retreating. And Trent standing there, feeling like he’d just been dismissed. Again.
“Goddammit, why doesn’t he nurturemethe same way he does his damned plants!” He exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his hair.I can’t let him just walk away. Either we’re together, or we’re not. I can’t—I won’t—keep living in Adam’s shadow.
“Meet me for lunch!”
“Jeff, I don’t know if I can. I’m in the middle of a complicated fraud case, and I?—”
“Fuck the case, Colin! I need to talk to you. Please. It’s important. Meet me at McCafferty’s?” A long, weary sigh was Colin’s only reply. “I’m buying,” Jeff offered, and he heard Colin snort out a laugh.
“You’re damned right you are. If you’re going to get me bitched out by my boss, you can bet you’re going to pay for it.”
“See you at noon?”
“I wish you’d called my landline.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s so much more satisfying when I hang up on you.”
“Noon, Colin.” He heard an unintelligible growl seconds before the line went dead. “Stubborn, goddamn Irishman …” Jeff muttered, his words trailing off into a sigh. He tossed the phone to his desk and forced his gaze back to his computer screen, which was covered with intelligence briefs compiled from either human intelligence, satellite imagery, intercepted communications, or cyber intelligence.
He focused on the information in front of him, pushing aside thoughts of his upcoming lunch with Colin and the tension between himself and Trent. It was his responsibility to identify which pieces of intelligence required immediate attention, and he couldn’t afford any distractions. Sorting through potential threats, ongoing investigations, and emerging global events was far more tedious than most people might think, but theconsequences of overlooking something, even something minor, could be disastrous.
“That’s why I make the big money,” he muttered, wincing as he rubbed his fingers across his forehead, still staring at the screen. An upcoming vote in Idaho threatening to dissolve gay marriage might need a closer look. “Goddamn, right-wing assholes,” he grumbled. But the situation could easily spark protests that could turn ugly. He felt a stab of pain as he elevated the threat level of this incident. Protests. Outrage. Anger. He felt a surge of discomfort as he raised the alarm. He recognized the pattern: lines drawn, sides taken. He frowned and leaned back in his chair, his mind racing.Goddammit, I don’t want that!I love Trent. I want to marry him. I want Sophie to be my daughter. I want us to be a real family. Not in some abstract, maybe-one-day way. Not as a possibility.
A tight knot of fear twisted in his gut.
But did Adam’s ghost still linger in the space where certainty should be?
He sankinto the seat next to Colin, who was enjoying a large Reuben sandwich, and gestured toward the tall Irish stout beside his plate. “You allowed to drink on duty now?”
“I’m not a cop anymore, jackass. And in what world do attorneysnothave a drink at lunch?” He picked up a French fry and stabbed it in Jeff’s direction. “I told them to handyouthe bill.”
“Thanks for coming, Colin. I mean it.”
Colin shrugged. “What’s this about … as if I can’t guess.”
Jeff shot him a look.
