Lucky nodded. “You?”
Bo barely dipped his chin, eyes downcast. No, that wouldn’t do. He usually distanced himself physically when life gut-punched him, but he wouldn’t hide his mind by looking away.
Lucky placed his hand alongside Bo’s jaw, lifting until their gazes met.
“It’ll be okay,” Bo said, at the same time Lucky told him, “It’ll be all right.”
They stared at each other across the console, the misery in Bo’s eyes probably matching Lucky’s own. He grabbed Bo and held tight.
Maybe he didn’t need to talk at all.
The first time they’d held each other was to cry after Bo confessed his father’s sins and pulled away, like he often did when he most needed comfort. Somewhere along the line he’d stopped running, let Lucky in a little, then a lot. Like a moment ago, though, sometimes Lucky had to reach out, draw Bo back in.
But now, like Lucky, Bo had begun to turn to “them” in times of trouble. The two of them alone had seriously fucked up their lives. Together? Together they made the best of whatever situation they faced. Sometimes Bo comforted Lucky, sometimes Lucky comforted Bo, but they were always there for each other, no matter what.
Maybe Bo was right and they didn’t need a piece of paper to show their dedication to each other, though claiming Bo as his husband got them both in to see Walter.
As he straightened, reluctantly pulling away from Bo, sunlight glinted against something shiny. He whipped around, staring at the dark blue van parked across the street. The windows were closed, hiding the occupant behind a shield of tinted glass.
No mistaking; he’d seen a camera.
A camera. Capturing a hug between him and Bo.
Only a few years ago, he’d have panicked at someone catching proof of his and Bo’s relationship. Now? Screw them. Nothing in the world mattered more than Bo.
God save the idiot if Lucky ever found out who dared take pictures.
And why.
***
No matter what time of day, one of O’Donoghue’s flunkies seemed to be watching Lucky’s every move, though he’d still not found the owner of the van. Lucky hopped up from his desk, darted past the partition into the corridor and growled. Rookie Rogers shot a panicked look over his shoulder and disappeared around a corner.
“Lucky?” Bo glanced up from his desk.
“Third time today that jerkoff passed by.” Lucky stared down the hall, daring the redheaded sonofabitch to turn around.
“Have you ever considered that maybe he just went to the break room?”
Lucky twisted his neck to face Bo while still looming large in the cubicle entrance. “You know as good as I do that everyone in the department avoids coming this way.” Lucky’d worked hard on a suitably nasty reputation to keep others at bay.
Except for Bo, who kinda lived there, and the intimidating woman strolling casually down the hallway. “Rogers just ran into me, literally. I saw him coming from this way. What did you do to him?” she asked offhandedly, merely making conversation. “If you punched him, did you get in a lick for me? Bastard took my parking spot this morning.”
“Lucky didn’t hit him, but I think it was a close thing,” Bo said, resuming his typing.
Lucky and Johnson shared a look. “I’m sure he deserved it,” Johnson said, fist-bumping Lucky.
Bo looked up again. “You know, you two are starting to turn into the same person.”
Johnson didn’t argue, so neither did Lucky. Turning into Johnson wouldn’t be so bad, as long as he got to keep… well… his johnson.
A flash of copper drew his attention. Rogers ducked around the corner.
Lucky stalked him, tuning out the twin shouts of, “Lucky!” He caught Rogers by the stairwell. “Where you going in such an all-fired hurry?” Leaning an arm against the wall effectively cut off the man’s escape. “Why are you following me?”
Rogers gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I… I…”
“Harrison!”
