Criminal Pleasures (29 page)

Brendan glanced at the window, then grinned when he saw the cottony white flakes. “Hey, it’s snowing!”

Marc propped himself onto his elbows and looked out the window. “Cool. It’s officially winter.” He glanced at Brendan. “So what did you think of my idea? You want to have a party? We can do it the weekend before Christmas.”

Brendan smiled. “I’ve never thrown a party before. Not one that didn’t involve kegs and cheese curls. Have you?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I’m quite the domestic God when I want to be. I can handle all the details, you just have to show up. Just make a list of who you want to be there, and I’ll send out invitations.”

“You
really
want to do this? Have a party? Together.”

 Marc sat up, and shifted to face Brendan, his legs tucked underneath him. “I may have a gun and a badge, but I like to cook and entertain and make snowflake decorations, too. If you want to be with me, you’ll have to accept all my many layers.”

Brendan sat up, grinning. He rested his hands on Marc’s knees, then leaned in and kissed him. “I accept your many layers,” he said. “So what do you want me to do? I can’t cook. I can’t make snowflake decorations.”

“You can start packing up your shit,” Marc said. “And move into my house.”

Brendan stiffened. He swallowed hard “What?”

Marc’s olive skin reddened with a rare flush up his cheeks. “I just...feel like since we’re both so busy, if you move in with me, at least we know we’ll see each other when we’re not working. Your mother’s right, this apartment sucks. I have plenty of room at my house. I’ve got a spare office you can use.” He shrugged. “And I love you. I want you there.”

A breath leaked out of Brendan. “
Oh
.”

“You look freaked out,” Marc said. “I asked you too soon, didn’t I?”

“No,” Brendan said. “I’m just...overwhelmed.”

“But not freaked out?”

He shook his head.

“You sure?”

He nodded.

“Are you going to do something besides nod?”

Brendan nodded again.

Marc chuckled. “And...are you going to give me an answer? I kind of just put myself out there, don’t leave me hanging, Blondie.”

Brendan smiled. “Will you stay over again tonight?”

Marc shrugged, then nodded. “Sure.”

“Good.” He kissed Marc, letting it linger, their tongues swirling together. When he pulled back, he cupped Marc’s face in his hands. “You can help me pack.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Brendan was zipping up his jeans when Marc stepped into the bedroom they now shared. He looked Brendan over, raising eyebrows at his shirtless body. “You know I love you half naked, but you’re still not dressed? People are gonna be here any minute.”

“I know, I’m almost ready.” Brendan pulled on the sweater he’d chosen for the party, a blue woolen number with a giant snowman on the front, the arms dotted with snowflakes—a joke gift from his coworkers at the law office. He turned and faced Marc, who looked gorgeous in a pair of black slacks with a rust colored button down shirt that accentuated his golden skin.

Marc frowned. “Baby, I love you, you know that.”

Brendan grinned. “But?”

“But you are not wearing that sweater tonight.”

“Why not?” Brendan smoothed it down. “It has a snowman on it.”

“Yes.” Marc nodded. “I can see that.”

“It’s festive!”

“It’s hideous.”

“It’s self-deprecating humor,” Brendan said. “Our party guests will see that I’ve worn this ridiculous sweater, and they’ll realize how comfortable I am with myself.”

“No,” Marc said. “They’ll see you in that sweater, and they’ll think your new boyfriend turned you into a fruit.” Marc went to the closet and grabbed a hanger with a black, button down shirt. “Here. Wear this. It’ll look good with your jeans and it’ll bring out your blond hair. It’s stylish and masculine. Your father will approve.”

Brendan laughed, peeling the snowman sweater off. “My
father
hasn’t bothered to return my calls.” His smile faded. His heart hurt that his father hadn’t called him back yet. They hadn’t spoken at all and it was making Brendan miserable and angry. But he pushed it aside. His father would come tonight. Brendan wouldn’t let negative emotions interfere with his happiness. Tonight was important. Not because Brendan cared so much about the party. But because it was important to Marc, and that mattered.

“I’m sure he’ll be here. Your mother said they’d come.”

“No, my mother said ‘sounds lovely, dear, we’ll try to make it.’
Try
, she said.”

The doorbell rang and Brendan jumped.

Marc ran a hand down Brendan’s chest as he buttoned up the black shirt. “I’ll get it.” He pulled Brendan in for a kiss. “You look gorgeous.”

Brendan smiled as Marc darted out of the room, then down the stairs to answer the door.  He heard loud male voices he didn’t recognize, Marc’s cop friends, most likely. Brendan checked himself in the mirror then made his way down to greet them.

The stairway was decorated with small white lights, but the downstairs was the sight to behold. Marc had moved most of the standing plants from his rainforest room into the main house and placed them haphazardly around, each with its own unique dressing of colored lights and sparkling silver snowflakes, creating a twinkling holiday Eden.

Silver snowflakes also hung from the ceiling, and red glass lanterns graced every surface. Brendan grinned as he saw the huddle of burly men admiring the décor. Marc, the host extraordinaire had already gotten them beers. “Hey,” Brendan said.

When the guys turned around he recognized Karl in the group, and was somewhat surprised to see him. “Hey, Brendan,” Karl said, then made introductions. “Guys this is Brendan. Steven, Kenny, and Jeff.”

“There’s food in the dining room,” Brendan said. “And Marc’s rum punch in the sunroom.”

“Ugh, Daggett’s rum punch,” Steven, the redhead said. “He brought that to the holiday party at work last year, gave me the worst hangover I’ve ever had.”

Brendan grinned. “So you gonna have some?”

“Absolutely,” Steven said, and headed for the sunroom.

Brendan laughed.

Karl stepped away from his friends, wrapping an arm around Brendan and leading him away from the group. “So things okay with you guys?”

Brendan looked up at Karl and laughed, nodding. “You could say that. We’re living together.”

Karl chuckled. “So do I get any credit for that or what?”

“You want credit?” Brendan raised his eyebrows. “Why, what did
you
do?”

Karl’s jaw dropped. “If I hadn’t told you to talk to Marc when...” Then he seemed to catch up and realize Brendan was joking. “Wiseass.”

The doorbell rang and Brendan gave Karl’s shoulder a pat. “
Thank
you, Karl. Excuse me.”

Brendan answered the door to a giggling Terry Ann and Willa. Two young men stood behind them, one of which he recognized as Willa’s boyfriend he’d met at Bibeta’s, that night that seemed so long ago now. “Hey!” he spread his arms wide.

Terry Ann gave him a huge hug, and the rest of them rustled inside, bringing a gust of cold air with them. He took their coats and hung them up, then found the group wandering around, admiring the decorations. “Drinks?”

“Marc’s getting them,” Willa said. She moved in close to Brendan, and Terry Ann followed, the two of them dragging him aside. “So,” Willa said. “What gives?”

Brendan grinned. “What?”

“Come on!” Terry Ann said. “Marc. Is he your...roommate?”

“No,” Brendan said. “Well, yes. But he’s more than that.”

Willa slapped Terry Ann’s arm. “Told you.”

“Well what the hell,” Terry Ann said. “When did that happen, Brendan?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, just as Marc approached, handing the girls each a glass of wine.

Marc pointed to the boyfriends. “Hang on, I’ll get your beers.”

The doorbell rang again. “I’ll get the beers,” Brendan said. “You get the door.”

“And you thought no one would come,” Marc said, nudging him before going to answer the door.

Terry Ann hooked Brendan’s arm as he started for the kitchen. “He’s fucking
gorgeous
.”

Brendan grinned. “I know.”

He made his way to the kitchen, still baffled that Willa and Terry Ann hadn’t recognized Marc as the busboy from Bibeta’s Garden. But to say he was relieved was an understatement. All of the connections to past events seemed to be disintegrating and floating away, which pleased him. Each day that passed in this new life of his made the terrible events of the past few months fade further into oblivion.

Of course those memories would always be there, and in some way they were the glue that held him and Marc together, a foundation of strength based on the things that hadn’t broken them. But he was happy to be making new memories, even happier to be making them with Marc.

Their personalities and habits had proven to blend surprisingly well since Brendan had moved in. Despite Marc giving him an office of his own, most nights they spent splayed out in the living room together, their respective files on the cases they were working on spread out around their personal space. It was a comforting routine. Brendan shared details of his cases with Marc if he was feeling tangled up, and Marc even asked Brendan’s legal advice once in a while. But the best part was, each night ended with them going up to bed. Together.

“Brendan!” Marc called out, jarring him out of his ponderings. “Cal and Rhonda are here.”

Within the hour, Marc’s house was filled with party guests and their boisterous chatter melded with music and laughter. Some of Brendan’s old friends from Boston came, along with many more people he didn’t know. Marc seemed to have a lot more social acquaintances than he’d let on. Or maybe he’d invited everyone he knew simply to make the party a success.

Brendan stood out in the backyard with Cal Whitehead, enjoying a whisky from the bottle he’d brought, and Cal smoked a cigar. “Nice property he has here,” Cal said, looking down at the lake.

“It is,” Brendan said. “I feel really lucky.”

Cal puffed his cigar and smirked at Brendan. “Because of the house or because of the handsome detective?”

Brendan smiled shyly, looking down.

“Damn,” Cal said. “Never thought I’d see
you
blush.”

Brendan chuckled. “I didn’t blush.”

“Did. I can see it even in the dark. It’s good to see you happy. Not that I could have predicted
this
.”

“Remember,” Brendan said, looking up. “Don’t—”

“Don’t tell your dad it’s the same guy from the shooting. I’ve got it, Brendan. You’ve warned me six times.”

“I’m sorry.” Brendan laughed, then looked up at Cal, his grin sliding. “He’s not coming. Is he? My father, I mean.”

Cal sighed, his big shoulders slumping. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Cal. I know you guys talk all the time. The party started over an hour ago and my parents aren’t here. Just tell me the truth.”

Cal looked down at the lake. He reached out and gave Brendan’s shoulder a squeeze. “Your father has tried to control every aspect of your life for as long as I can remember. You never seemed to mind, didn’t even rebel much as a teenager. So I think he’d convinced himself you were still a kid, that he still had control over every decision you made.”

Brendan looked up at Cal. “What are you trying to say?”

Cal met his eyes, looking sad. “The changes you’ve made lately are pretty huge, Brendan. You’ve just got to give your dad a little time to catch up.”

An unexpected pain pierced Brendan’s stomach, the press of tears threatening behind his eyes. He took a breath, and kept his voice steady. “So he’s not coming.”

Cal shook his head. “No. He’s not coming.”

Brendan stared out at the snowcapped trees edging the property. He tried not to blink, letting the cold night air dry his eyes. He breathed out through his nose, and his lower lip trembled. He turned abruptly and headed back toward the house.

“Brendan...”

Not trusting his voice, Brendan held a hand up to Cal, then stepped back in the house.

The party was still going strong, and Brendan made his way through the crowd in the living room and to the stairway, ignoring the sound of his name being called by various guests.

He trotted up the stairs as stealthily as he could, and managed to make it into the bedroom and get the door closed behind him before he broke.

Taken aback by his own reaction yet helpless to stop it, he fell onto the bed, his gut clenching as he barked out wracking sobs, muffling his voice with the pillow.

His father wasn’t coming. It wasn’t that he had other plans. It wasn’t that it had slipped his mind. It was a premeditated decision, based on Brendan’s life choices. Hurt and betrayal came down on him like a lead weight, and he wept in a way he hadn’t done since he was a small boy.

Overbearing or not, his father had been his constant companion all his life, his reluctant best friend, and he never imagined they’d be estranged. And Cal’s words about him ‘catching up’ to the changes in Brendan’s life were no comfort. They only made it hurt more, the knowledge that his father could slight him so cruelly yet at the same time present the silent insinuation that it was all Brendan’s fault. It didn’t matter that Brendan was about to turn thirty years old. In that moment, in his heart, he was a five year old boy whose father had just told him he didn’t love him anymore.

The bedroom door creaked open and Brendan looked up and saw Marc.

Marc’s brow furrowed as he looked at Brendan. He stepped into the room. “Oh, baby. What’s wrong?”

Brendan wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “My father...” His stomach hitched. “Cal said he’s not coming. That he’s...that he basically...wants nothing to do with me right now.”

Marc closed the door and locked it behind him, then hurried over to the bed, taking Brendan in his arms. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Marc’s tender tone splintered Brendan’s momentary resolve and he fell into sobs again, his back jerking. Marc’s arms tightened around him, his lips kissing the side of his face while his fingers threaded through Brendan’s hair.