Page 66 of Floodgates

“He wants a home, he wants kids, he wants to coach soccer, vacation at Disneyland, and have someone to come home to who wants to take care of him. Period. End of story.”

“You—”

“And you want all that same stuff.”

“So does Breckin.”

“Breckin wants a yacht and to belong to a country club.”

“Where are you getting this from?”

Evan smiled down at me warmly. “Most of all, Cord wants you, Trace.”

I rolled my eyes. “Man, whatever you’re taking you need to fuckin’ share, ’cause all they gave me was giant Motrin.”

He laughed softly. “I always thought you’d make a really good husband for a policeman.”

“Why?”

“Because you know it’s dangerous, but you wouldn’t let that run your life. I think that’s how a policeman’s mate has gotta be.”

“Cord, right,” I placated him. “You and Cordell Nolan could have a contest for dog of the year. See which of you could break more hearts and fuck more people.”

“There’s no contest there.” He grinned wickedly, moving close and then lying down on the bed right next to me so we were touching down the lengths of our sides.

We were silent for several minutes before I turned and looked at him. “So… what? We’re just going to stay up here and wait out the storm?”

“Why not?” He yawned. “What the hell else you got planned for today?”

“Matt’s supposed to call me and maybe come by.”

“Who’s Matt again?”

“My best friend since college.”

“Oh yeah.”

“You know you really do have the attention span of a two-year-old.”

“If that,” he scoffed, grinning crazily. “But I do know what’s truly important.”

“Like what?” I teased him because I was getting tired.

He thought a moment before he answered. “Like that your favorite ice cream is chocolate chip and that Mom’s was coffee, and that Dad is afraid of loving Beth, and that Alex almost got strung out on heroin the last time he was undercover.”

“Holy shit,” I gasped, rolling my head to stare at him. “I should know that. How come I don’t know that?”

He shrugged.

“I didn’t think he talked to you more than me about stuff that went on at work.”

“You thought wrong,” he said gently but firmly.

“How come?”

“It’s because he wants you to think of him one way—he needs it to be that way, counts on it. It makes him feel safe. He can share the garbage with me and know that nothing will change.”

“He has more faith in you than he does in me,” I said sadly.