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Maybe Sam was right about delayed reaction and PTS and all the rest of it because it felt like a wave had knocked his legs out from under him, knocked him flat on his ass. Everything that had happened in the last week was all catching up with him: the attack in the China King parking lot, the fact that no one could find Kyser, the crazy race through the funhouse and believing he was going to see his young partner shot in front of him, not recognizing the prop gun for what it was, not realizing that Terry Van der Beck had actually tried to break-in while he was sleeping, thinking Sam might be dead…and way, way, way too many dead bodies.
Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this.
He shook his head.
“Go on.”
Jason closed his eyes.
“Hey,” Sam murmured, concerned. “West?”
Jason moved his head in negation, dropped his forehead on Kennedy’s shoulder. Kennedy’s arm came around him.
“Come on, West.” Kennedy nuzzled his ear. “Everything’s okay. It’s just reaction. You did good work tonight.”
Oh yeah, and this. Feeling the way I do about you and not knowing where this is going. Not knowing what you really want. If you see a future for it. Never knowing when I’m going to see you again.
But, of course, he couldn’t say that.
Jason raised his head. Scowled. “Not exactly teamwork, was it?”
Kennedy said with surprised sincerity, “It was pretty close.”
“Yeah?” Jason turned to stare as the cleanup process began on the street.
“You’re tired, that’s all.” Kennedy said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“Sure.”
Kennedy leaned forward to kiss him. “Good thing you’ve still got a week of sick leave left.”
Jason smiled reluctantly.
“It’ll be okay, Jason,” Kennedy said. “You’ll see. Trust me.”
* * * * *
So… Déjà vu.
One week later, Jason unlocked the side door that served as his front door and let himself into the small cozy kitchen of the blue cottage on Carroll Canal.
The timers were on, so the house was brightly lit and felt comfortably warm—it also felt very, very quiet.
He and Sam had said their goodbyes at the airport that morning. Sam had been flying to that long-delayed meeting in Seattle. Jason had been headed home. And home had never sounded so lonely.
But it had been a very good week. Restful, relaxing. The week he should have had when he’d left the hospital. After Terry Van Der Beck’s arraignment for murder, arson and a whole host of other crimes, Sam had taken Jason to see bison in their natural habitat and visit the Wyoming State Museum. Another night they’d had dinner with SAC Reynolds and his wife Anne, and Jason had seen Sam like he’d never seen him before: laughing and relaxed as he and Reynolds shared unflattering and funny stories about the good old days. They had dined with Ruby a couple of nights too, and Jason had come to realize how much Sam loved and respected his mother beneath the amused exasperation. An entire week of just being a normal couple. Cooking and eating and sleeping and talking and, yeah, occasionally arguing, but it had felt right. It had felt real. Like this could be the future.
But not the immediate future.
There was no talk of an immediate future.
Well, that was the reality of their situation—and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. The good news was, he felt newly confident of Sam’s feelings for him—and of his feelings for Sam. They could make this work. Plenty of people made long distance work. It wasn’t ideal, but it sure as hell beat the alternative.
A white pitcher filled with scarlet-edged roses from his garden sat on the tile of the kitchen counter. His mail was neatly stacked in front of the pitcher. That would be Charlie welcoming him home. He knew without looking there would be half-and-half in the fridge and clean sheets on his bed. He shook his head, but really, it was one of the perks of having sisters either one old enough to be his mother.
The mail was the usual mix of bills—though he paid almost everything online—circulars, a couple of art magazines, a lot of catalogs targeting law enforcement or at least LEO wannabes…and an oversize dark-blue envelope addressed in a familiar cramped hand.
Jason’s heart deflated.
