Boyd groaned a ragged surrender to whatever the fuck Morgan wanted to do to him now and leaned into a kiss.
Someone hammered on the door, a tattoo of knuckles against wood that sounded urgent enough to hook into Boyd’s professional instincts. He pulled back, but Morgan tightened his fingers around his neck.
“Don’t.”
“It could be important.”
“It’s not.” Morgan brushed a kiss over the corner of his mouth. “Trust me.”
The door rattled in the frame again. Boyd groaned under his breath and reached up to pull Morgan’s fingers away from his neck.
“I’ve got to check.”
“Fuck,” Morgan grumbled. He let go of Boyd and slumped sulkily back against the cushions. With one hand he cuffed his soft cock and lazily played with it. “Fine, but don’t take too long.”
Boyd hesitated, his mouth dry and balls indignant. “A minute,” he promised as he scrambled to his feet. “Just let me see who it is.”
He tucked his cock back under his sweats and padded barefoot into the hall. Halfway to the door, the question of who it was answered itself.
“Goddammit, Boyd,” Shay yelled through the closed door. “Answer the door. It’s not even one yet. You can’t be asleep.”
Fuck.
Boyd stumbled over his own feet as his brain reset. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, the taste of Morgan still salty and faintly bitter in his throat.
Fuck.Boyd snorted to himself as he scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to think. This couldn’t get any worse.
He realized he was wrong as he heard the rattle of keys on the other side of the door. He’d given Shay a spare in case of emergencies.
“Hold on,” he blurted on. “Let me… get my pants on.”
Shay snorted as he unlocked the door and let himself in. “What? You got something I haven’t seen before all of a sudden?” he asked as he shoved his keys into his pocket. “What the hell happened in Huntington that you couldn’t tell me over the phone? Was it another wild goose chase? Or….”
Boyd stared at him for a second. He’d known Shay most of his life. As kids he and Sammy followed the teenager around, even though they’d couldn’t tell if he was the coolest person in town or the biggest jerk. When Shay got married, it was Boyd, all of sixteen at the time, who was his best man in Sammy’s place. Two years later Boyd propped Shay up and poured coffee down his throat before he took him to the courthouse to get divorced.
It had been years since he actually paid attention to how Shay looked. Now his brain tripped over itself as it tried to pick out any shared features and hold them up against the easily vivid image of Morgan in his head. The hair matched, and both of them were taller than Boyd, but Shay had a rangy build and lean, clean-cut features, as opposed to Morgan’s muscles and heavier bone structure.
Not that that proved or disproved anything. They’d never looked much alike, their different dads’ imprints stamped on their faces.
“What?” Shay asked. He rubbed his hand down his face. “I got something on me?”
“No,” Boyd said. He shoved both hands through his hair and clasped them around the back of his skull. “Did Mac call you?”
Shay scowled. Time had helped Boyd come to some sort of peace with Mac, but Shay had never tried. Boyd didn’t blame him. Mac, back then still Patrol Officer Macintosh, had made Boyd feel responsible for what happened to Sammy. That was bad. But he’d out and out accused Shay of murder.
“Yeah,” Shay said. “I didn’t answer. He knows if there’s something I need to be told, that you can tell me.”
Shay waited, jaw set and mouth thin as he braced against the news. Boyd didn’t know what to say. Or he did, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. They were stuck in his throat like brambles and guilt. It had been a hard enough story to tell in the first place, before Boyd made it impossible.
“I don’t know—” Boyd stammered. “Look, it’s still—”
Shay rolled his eyes—they were blue, but warmer than Morgan’s near gray—and brushed past him.
“I drove here from the airport, man,” he said as he headed toward the main room. “I need a drink and a good night’s sleep. Just spit it out and get it over with. It’s not like I’m expecting it to be—”
“Wait,” Boyd interrupted as he grabbed at Shay’s arm. “I need to tell you—”
“Good news,” Shay finished over him. He twisted his arm free and gave Boyd an exasperated look over his shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”
