| Excerpt-- "Trust" (Broadly Bound) |
Finally, it was done. With a click of his mouse, Zach Davis sent the last paperwork to the printer. He
stood and stretched, stiff from sitting at his desk for so long. All he could think about now was his all-
consuming desire to turn everything in and get the hell out of here. A bed sounded wonderful, especially if
there was a certain someone in it…
“You finally finished, Davis?”
Giving his partner a mock-scowl, Zach tossed a balled-up piece of paper at him. “Fuck off, Stiles. I can’t
help it you weaseled out on me.”
The jibe earned him an eye roll. “Go turn that shit in so we can leave. I’m fucking tired. And hungry.
Want to get breakfast?”
He looked at his watch. “I don’t know what planet you’re on, Freddy, but it’s nine-thirty at night. I’d say its
dinner time.”
Arms crossed, Stiles gave him an irritated look. “What are you, the food police? I want some pancakes
and bacon, and I’m going to get them. You in or out?”
Though he considered for about two seconds, he knew where he really wanted to be. Food and sleep
could wait a little bit longer. “Out.”
“Let me guess. You have someplace to be.” At his nod, Stiles sighed. “Fine, be that way. I’ll hand off
the paperwork, and you can get going.”
He grinned. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
Grabbing the pile of paperwork off the printer, his partner made shooing motions at him. “Yeah, yeah, I
was young once too. Get out of here.”
Within a few minutes, Zach had gathered his stuff from his locker and left the building. Several officers
and fellow detectives had wanted to congratulate him for making an arrest on the murder case he and Stiles
had been obsessively working the past couple of weeks, but he hadn’t lingered with any of the well-wishers.
Exhaustion and pent-up emotions weighed on him, making him long for some peace.
There was only one place he could get it.
****
At ten o’clock, Zach pulled up to the curb alongside a small, white two-story house. Being here for the
first time in nearly two weeks eased a bit of the turmoil inside him. He shut off the engine and left the car,
walking up the short sidewalk to the porch. The porch light glowed brightly, welcoming him.
Moments after he knocked, the door swung open. He drank in the sight of his lover standing in the light
of the living room, dressed in faded jeans and a ratty old t-shirt. Lane’s short blond curls were disheveled as
always, probably due to his habit of running his fingers through them. The man had never looked better to
him.
He must have been staring, because Lane gave him a puzzled smile. “Are you coming in, or do you plan
to stay on the porch?”
Shaking himself out of his daze, Zach smiled back. “I’m coming in.”
“All right, then.” Lane stepped back, allowing him to enter. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That’d be great.” Stifling a yawn, he sat on the overstuffed sofa. Leaning back against the cushions, he
tried not to fall asleep as Lane puttered in the kitchen.
Lane talked as he worked, and Zach let the man’s soothing, softly accented voice wash over him. The
accent had driven him wild from the first night they’d met, at his sister’s coffee shop. A childhood featuring a
British father, an American mother, and years spent living and working everywhere from England to Africa
had left Lane with an unidentifiable but very appealing accent.
Lane had introduced himself while they were waiting for Zach’s sister—he for the addictive coffee she served,
Lane to talk to her about some photography she’d wanted him to do. He’d already thought the man was hot,
but after hearing the voice he’d been hooked. A few minutes passed and he found himself asking Lane out.
Four months later, they were still dating. Zach had broken his rule of dating a guy only a few times before
moving on, and he felt none of the tell-tale signs of growing tired of his lover. Instead, he wanted to spend
more and more time with Lane. Lately though, he hadn’t been able to do that.
The rich scent of brewing coffee wafted over to him, and he smiled. Lane made great coffee, especially when
compared to the battery acid they had at the precinct. His smile widened when Lane sat next to him on the
sofa.
Concern filled his lover’s hazel eyes. “Are you all right? You look tired.”
Tired. That was probably Lane’s subtle way of saying he looked like shit. He knew it was true. He had
barely slept in two weeks, ever since the case he’d wrapped up tonight began with a murder so horrible even
the unflappable Stiles had been shaken. From the moment he’d seen the body of that little girl lying in the
woods, crime scene techs swarming all over, he’d been driven like never before. Sleeping, eating, sex;
everything had gone by the wayside as he and Stiles worked to solve the case. They’d made an arrest
earlier today. Thank God the bastard was behind bars where he belonged.
Part of him longed to talk about what had happened, but he bit the words back. He could deal with things
on his own. “I’m tired, but I’m fine.”
“Good. I worry about you, you know.”
Reflexively, he deflected the concern. “You don’t need to.”
Something suspiciously like hurt flitted through Lane’s eyes. “It’s rather difficult not to when you don’t call
or visit for days or weeks at a time.”
What the hell was this? Zach frowned. This wasn’t what he’d expected would happen tonight at all. “I
was working.”
“I know. I know your job is important to you, and it should be. I just wish…” Lane trailed off, looking away.
Though he didn’t think he’d like the answer, he had to ask. “What?”
Unhappy hazel eyes met his. “I wish you would open up to me, talk to me, even a little. You never tell me
anything about work, or what’s going on in your life. I see you getting more and more exhausted, but I don’t
know how to help you.”
An unexpected defensiveness rose, and even a little anger. Not knowing where the feelings came from
made things worse. “Everything’s fine. I don’t need any help. I’m tired because I worked too hard, but I’ve
got a few days off now. No big deal.”
The snappish tone made Lane flinch, but he didn’t back down. “That’s exactly the problem.”
“What do you mean?” He sat forward, the last vestiges of the relaxation he’d felt replaced by a growing
dread.
“You don’t want me to help you. I don’t think you even want me to care about you.” Lane raked his
fingers through his hair in agitation.
“That’s not true—”
“Do you realize that in four months of dating, I’ve only been to your place once, and I haven’t even seen
your bedroom?” Lane’s voice didn’t rise when he got upset. Instead, he began to speak more softly, his
voice pained. “You’ve never once stayed the night, or even fallen asleep with me. You can’t drop your
guard enough to let me in at all.”
Zach’s mouth worked uselessly, no sound emerging. He wanted to protest, to do something to stop what
he feared was coming, but he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there, shell-shocked, as Lane stood and left
the room.
A few minutes later, Lane returned, reaching down to pull him up from the sofa. “You know how I’ve spent
my life so far. I don’t regret the traveling I did, but I’m tired, Zach. I came here to finally put down roots, to
find a place to belong.”
No. Oh, no.
Despite his inner denial, Lane continued. “I need to be with someone who trusts me enough to let me in,
to let me love him and to love me back. Sex without meaning isn’t enough for me anymore, no matter how
good it is.”
“What are you saying?” He barely heard his own voice over the roaring in his ears.
A pause, then, “I’m saying we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
“Oh.” Reflex took over, and he accepted the to-go cup of coffee pressed into his hand.
He closed his eyes as soft lips brushed his cheek.
“Please take care of yourself, Zach.”
Then he was standing outside, alone and cold, all hope of peace gone now. Stomach churning, he got into
his car and drove away.
© Copyright 2009 by Cassandra Gold
stood and stretched, stiff from sitting at his desk for so long. All he could think about now was his all-
consuming desire to turn everything in and get the hell out of here. A bed sounded wonderful, especially if
there was a certain someone in it…
“You finally finished, Davis?”
Giving his partner a mock-scowl, Zach tossed a balled-up piece of paper at him. “Fuck off, Stiles. I can’t
help it you weaseled out on me.”
The jibe earned him an eye roll. “Go turn that shit in so we can leave. I’m fucking tired. And hungry.
Want to get breakfast?”
He looked at his watch. “I don’t know what planet you’re on, Freddy, but it’s nine-thirty at night. I’d say its
dinner time.”
Arms crossed, Stiles gave him an irritated look. “What are you, the food police? I want some pancakes
and bacon, and I’m going to get them. You in or out?”
Though he considered for about two seconds, he knew where he really wanted to be. Food and sleep
could wait a little bit longer. “Out.”
“Let me guess. You have someplace to be.” At his nod, Stiles sighed. “Fine, be that way. I’ll hand off
the paperwork, and you can get going.”
He grinned. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
Grabbing the pile of paperwork off the printer, his partner made shooing motions at him. “Yeah, yeah, I
was young once too. Get out of here.”
Within a few minutes, Zach had gathered his stuff from his locker and left the building. Several officers
and fellow detectives had wanted to congratulate him for making an arrest on the murder case he and Stiles
had been obsessively working the past couple of weeks, but he hadn’t lingered with any of the well-wishers.
Exhaustion and pent-up emotions weighed on him, making him long for some peace.
There was only one place he could get it.
****
At ten o’clock, Zach pulled up to the curb alongside a small, white two-story house. Being here for the
first time in nearly two weeks eased a bit of the turmoil inside him. He shut off the engine and left the car,
walking up the short sidewalk to the porch. The porch light glowed brightly, welcoming him.
Moments after he knocked, the door swung open. He drank in the sight of his lover standing in the light
of the living room, dressed in faded jeans and a ratty old t-shirt. Lane’s short blond curls were disheveled as
always, probably due to his habit of running his fingers through them. The man had never looked better to
him.
He must have been staring, because Lane gave him a puzzled smile. “Are you coming in, or do you plan
to stay on the porch?”
Shaking himself out of his daze, Zach smiled back. “I’m coming in.”
“All right, then.” Lane stepped back, allowing him to enter. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That’d be great.” Stifling a yawn, he sat on the overstuffed sofa. Leaning back against the cushions, he
tried not to fall asleep as Lane puttered in the kitchen.
Lane talked as he worked, and Zach let the man’s soothing, softly accented voice wash over him. The
accent had driven him wild from the first night they’d met, at his sister’s coffee shop. A childhood featuring a
British father, an American mother, and years spent living and working everywhere from England to Africa
had left Lane with an unidentifiable but very appealing accent.
Lane had introduced himself while they were waiting for Zach’s sister—he for the addictive coffee she served,
Lane to talk to her about some photography she’d wanted him to do. He’d already thought the man was hot,
but after hearing the voice he’d been hooked. A few minutes passed and he found himself asking Lane out.
Four months later, they were still dating. Zach had broken his rule of dating a guy only a few times before
moving on, and he felt none of the tell-tale signs of growing tired of his lover. Instead, he wanted to spend
more and more time with Lane. Lately though, he hadn’t been able to do that.
The rich scent of brewing coffee wafted over to him, and he smiled. Lane made great coffee, especially when
compared to the battery acid they had at the precinct. His smile widened when Lane sat next to him on the
sofa.
Concern filled his lover’s hazel eyes. “Are you all right? You look tired.”
Tired. That was probably Lane’s subtle way of saying he looked like shit. He knew it was true. He had
barely slept in two weeks, ever since the case he’d wrapped up tonight began with a murder so horrible even
the unflappable Stiles had been shaken. From the moment he’d seen the body of that little girl lying in the
woods, crime scene techs swarming all over, he’d been driven like never before. Sleeping, eating, sex;
everything had gone by the wayside as he and Stiles worked to solve the case. They’d made an arrest
earlier today. Thank God the bastard was behind bars where he belonged.
Part of him longed to talk about what had happened, but he bit the words back. He could deal with things
on his own. “I’m tired, but I’m fine.”
“Good. I worry about you, you know.”
Reflexively, he deflected the concern. “You don’t need to.”
Something suspiciously like hurt flitted through Lane’s eyes. “It’s rather difficult not to when you don’t call
or visit for days or weeks at a time.”
What the hell was this? Zach frowned. This wasn’t what he’d expected would happen tonight at all. “I
was working.”
“I know. I know your job is important to you, and it should be. I just wish…” Lane trailed off, looking away.
Though he didn’t think he’d like the answer, he had to ask. “What?”
Unhappy hazel eyes met his. “I wish you would open up to me, talk to me, even a little. You never tell me
anything about work, or what’s going on in your life. I see you getting more and more exhausted, but I don’t
know how to help you.”
An unexpected defensiveness rose, and even a little anger. Not knowing where the feelings came from
made things worse. “Everything’s fine. I don’t need any help. I’m tired because I worked too hard, but I’ve
got a few days off now. No big deal.”
The snappish tone made Lane flinch, but he didn’t back down. “That’s exactly the problem.”
“What do you mean?” He sat forward, the last vestiges of the relaxation he’d felt replaced by a growing
dread.
“You don’t want me to help you. I don’t think you even want me to care about you.” Lane raked his
fingers through his hair in agitation.
“That’s not true—”
“Do you realize that in four months of dating, I’ve only been to your place once, and I haven’t even seen
your bedroom?” Lane’s voice didn’t rise when he got upset. Instead, he began to speak more softly, his
voice pained. “You’ve never once stayed the night, or even fallen asleep with me. You can’t drop your
guard enough to let me in at all.”
Zach’s mouth worked uselessly, no sound emerging. He wanted to protest, to do something to stop what
he feared was coming, but he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there, shell-shocked, as Lane stood and left
the room.
A few minutes later, Lane returned, reaching down to pull him up from the sofa. “You know how I’ve spent
my life so far. I don’t regret the traveling I did, but I’m tired, Zach. I came here to finally put down roots, to
find a place to belong.”
No. Oh, no.
Despite his inner denial, Lane continued. “I need to be with someone who trusts me enough to let me in,
to let me love him and to love me back. Sex without meaning isn’t enough for me anymore, no matter how
good it is.”
“What are you saying?” He barely heard his own voice over the roaring in his ears.
A pause, then, “I’m saying we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
“Oh.” Reflex took over, and he accepted the to-go cup of coffee pressed into his hand.
He closed his eyes as soft lips brushed his cheek.
“Please take care of yourself, Zach.”
Then he was standing outside, alone and cold, all hope of peace gone now. Stomach churning, he got into
his car and drove away.
© Copyright 2009 by Cassandra Gold
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