Page 27 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

The sergeant of one of the most feared narcotics task forces on the east coast being reduced to dealing with disrespectful employees at restaurants was breaking his heart.

He hadn’t seen Syn happy in weeks.

His shoulders were tight beneath the dark thermal shirt as he sat hunched over with his phone in his hand.

Furi walked over and draped himself around him from behind, kissing his cheek softly before glancing down.

Furi grimaced at the pictures and messages from Syn’s team in California.

God and Day’s suite was bigger than their entire downstairs. One photo showed an enormous rooftop pool glowing blue with a landscape of palm trees in the distance. Another showed steaks the size of hubcaps arranged on elegant white plates at whatever restaurant they’d dined at last night.

There was another one of Green and Ruxs hugged-up in matching plush white robes with the hotel logo stitched on the chest looking like rich mobsters at a spa retreat.

Syn smiled faintly and hit the thumbs-up reaction, before he shoved his phone into his pocket.

Furi closed his eyes at the twisting in his stomach. He knew how badly Syn had wanted to go with his team, but he also knew his man loved him enough to stay.

Which somehow made it worse.

His shop, Furious Style Customs and Auto Repairs, was barely hanging on with three quarters of his staff laid off.

While he worked on the more complex jobs, Syn had stepped in anywhere Furi needed him without one complaint, doing the menial work—manning the front desk, creating order tickets, answering phones, janitorial tasks and basic oil changes—so Furi wouldn’t be running back and forth like a chicken with his head cut off.

He kissed Syn’s cheek again tenderly. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to—.”

Syn stood so abruptly the stool almost fell over.

“Will you please stop apologizing,” he said, before lowering his voice. “You didn’t do anything to be sorry for. It was my choice not to go.”

Furi stayed quiet.

“Besides, I wasn’t interested in flying across the country to babysit some actor I think is overrated anyway.”

That was a lie. He knew his partner too well. But he backed down anyway because Syn’s pride was a dangerous thing to challenge.

Syn grabbed the truck keys from the hook beside the door, the one he’d bought during better days when his overtime checks hit like clockwork and neither of them ever worried about money.

Now they were two payments behind.

“How was your day?” Syn asked without glancing up.

Furi hesitated.

“…it was…okay.”

Syn glanced over.

“I sold the Ducati,” he sighed.

Syn broke into a huge grin, a rare one he hadn’t seen in weeks. “Hell yeah, baby! That’s great to—”

His smile died when he caught whatever expression sat on Furi’s face. Syn frowned. “What?”

Furi rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t get as much as I thought I would.”

“What do you mean? How much did you get?”

“About three thousand less than I paid for it.”