Page 5 of Newly Tied

And from that moment on, it was me and Lang, since only the two of us and Bon and Cher were left standing after that first month. Five other deputy US marshals had not made the cut to work in Chicago.

After that, more people came and went, but I was completely bespelled by my partner. He made it clear from the first night that we wouldn’t be purely work partners. We were going to be friends.

“I don’t want you to think you have⁠—”

“Knock it off, Del. Do you want to be my friend or not?”

I nodded.

“Be sure now. I can be intense, and you can’t ask any questions if I need you to help me bury a body in the middle of the night.”

There would be a good reason if he had me digging a hole at two in the morning. I was certain of it. “I’m sure,” I said, grinning. “I’m in.”

His arm around my neck, pulling me after him, was such a relief. I finally had a port in the storm. I could navigate my way through anything as long as I had the promise of shelter at the end. That’s what he was.

When I decided to come out to him, I led him outside, to the benches near our building at work, and sat down across from him. It took me a minute, but I eventually got it out. I was worried for a second that my sexuality might change things between us, especially when he simply sat there, squinting at me.

“Well?” I prodded him.

“Well, what? I know you’re gay. I’ve seen you check out guys.”

“You have?”

“Of course I have.”

“Oh.”

“Did you think I would care?”

Honestly, no. He was my friend, after all. I shook my head in answer.

“Okay, then. In the future, can we save these serious sit-downs for you asking for a kidney or something?”

“Absolutely.” I exhaled, my relief overwhelming.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “I thought you were quitting, and for the record, you can’t do that. You’re the only partner I want.”

I was too emotional to reply, so I pointed at the food trucks, and we went to stand in line for street tacos.

At work, he was at my side or in my ear, and I could glance at him and know if I was making a mistake or not. I did the same for him.

Off work, he had strong opinions about the men I tried to pick up in bars when we were out drinking. I always got a shake of his head accompanied by a scowl.

“What was wrong with him?” I would ask.

There was always a laundry list.

He didn’t like that he’d seen that guy chatting someone else up thirty minutes before. What was I, sloppy seconds? A fallback plan?

He didn’t like that he could see the outline of a condom in the guy’s back pocket because, in his opinion, that was gross.

He didn’t like that the guy was trying to buy me so many drinks. Was he trying to get me wasted so he could take advantage?

It was exhausting to try and get lucky when he was around.

I started teaching him Spanish, and he made sure I did not even think about reaching for the ketchup when we had hot dogs.

“Why is ketchup bad?” That made no sense when some people put sliced tomatoes on them.