It was past one in the morning—Larkin had been sitting on the couch for over two hours in absolute silence, suit coat forgotten at Doyle’s, shoulder holster still buckled to his body. He’d turned a lamp on when he’d arrived home, and the light glinted along the polished curve of his wedding band, which sat on the coffee table. Larkin stared at it.
How much did a wedding ring weigh? A few grams, Larkin thought. Not an ounce. Not even half an ounce. More like an eighth. So why did something so delicate feel like an anchor dragging him down, down, down into parts unknown?
Because Larkin was having domestic troubles.
Because his marriage was falling apart.
Because he was dying.
The truth was right there. Out in the open. No way to ignore it anymore.
Larkin’s professional career dealt with damaged relationships every day. Abuse led to unhealthy complications with lust, money, and the pursuit of power. This in turn led to death. Every time.
And the victim was always the last to know.
Funny how Larkin knew this—knew all of this—and yet here he was, the last person in the room to realize his relationship had grown toxic as fuck, and he’d, maybe years ago, fallen out of love with Noah.
Maybe shouldn’t have ever gotten married.
Maybe should have ended things within the first two years of dating after he sensed Noah’s inability to respect Larkin’s job commitments or his profound insecurity when Larkin was around other men or his frustration when Larkin didn’t spend his free time solely with him.
Damn.
It was a hell of an epiphany. One that hurt a lot.
The bedroom door opened.
Larkin didn’t look up.
“Everett?” Noah sounded sleepy. “When’d you get home? It’s the middle of the night. Come to—”
Larkin stood and said, like a man who’d finally given up, “I kissed Doyle.”
A beat.
Noah asked, “What?”
“Ira Doyle. I kissed him.”
“I heard that part.”
“I’d have kissed him again if he let me.”
Noah said nothing for a long time, his chest heaving in silent rage. Then, as if a part of him managed to be mindful of the time and the fact that they had neighbors above, below, and to the side, Noah hissed, “What thefuck, Everett? You—you won’t fuck me, but the first chance you get at a new face in the precinct, your dick works again?”
“You’re not listening, as usual.”
“The hell I’m not!”
Larkin closed his eyes.
Doyle’s smile as Larkin corrected the button on his vest.
Sitting together on the back of the ambulance, Doyle tugging the hair tie.
Doyle’s whiskey voice reduced to a teasing whisper in Larkin’s ear, followed by his larger-than-life laugh.
Being told, “Love and sex can only be used for good.”
