Destiny Calls by Samantha Wayland (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📗

giant pain in the ass out of himself. It was great. He"d hold every damn person on this case accountable until they found who"d done this to Bran.

The good news was that he"d made a difference by inserting himself in the process.

The bad news was that by the end of the day, they still had little to go on and he"d been called into Captain Sullivan"s office. Now, for the sake and sanity of all parties involved, Sully was insisting he take a couple days off.

Damn it.

Sitting at his desk, shutting down his computer, he tried hard not to question his boss"s decision, but it was damn difficult. Sully had worked with his dad back in the day and prided himself on being an old-school cop. Patrick had always liked that about him, but today he wasn"t so sure it was a good thing.

His father had been dead for years, having drunk himself into an early grave, but Patrick could clearly remember what his opinions had been on those people, his not-so-charming euphemism for gay people. The bastard would have been horrified to discover Brandon was one of those people and Patrick"s friendship with him would have made him guilty by association.

Guilty of what, Patrick had no fucking idea.

So now the question was this—did his Captain, who was also his friend and mentor, hold those same opinions? Patrick hoped to hell not, but as he shrugged on his coat and departed for his forced vacation, it was hard not to think he might.

65

Samantha Wayland

By the following morning, Patrick was willing to admit it was a relief to be at home.

The truth was he"d wanted to spend Monday sitting by Brandon"s side, keeping an eye on him, which was probably part of the reason he"d fled the house yesterday at the crack of dawn on almost no sleep. He wasn"t used to having these kinds of protective urges and raw feelings for anyone but Destiny.

Settling in the comfy chair Destiny had drawn up next to the bed, he spent Tuesday sitting quietly, watching Brandon sleep.

Wednesday morning, Brandon woke with clear eyes and begged for Tylenol and an end to the heavier pain meds the doctors had prescribed. He seemed markedly improved. Thank god.

They shared a quiet breakfast and an easy lunch watching Red Sox classics on the big plasma TV hidden in the armoire at the foot of the bed. While Brandon rested, Patrick tried to read, but he couldn"t stay focused on the pages for long. Inevitably, his mind, and his eyes, would wander back to the man lying in his bed.

They"d removed his bandages the night before. The cut on Brandon"s forehead was healing well and the bruising had turned all kinds of attractive shades of green. They"d unwrapped his ribs to find the clear impression of a boot print beneath. Patrick had nearly flipped his lid all over again. It was a damn miracle those ribs hadn"t punctured something.

His anger had only been slightly mollified by Destiny and Brandon finding the boot print fascinating and joking that if they lived in a world where CSI episodes were real, they could find the bad guys based on their shoe size and tread-type alone. He had laughed with them, knowing they wouldn"t let it drop until he let it go. So he had.

Looking at Brandon now, he could see his shoulder, back and thigh were also blooming all the colors of the bruise rainbow, sure signs that they too were healing. As was the fact that he slept comfortably, able to put pressure on his various injuries, and was moving more easily when he sat up or walked to the bathroom.

His relief at knowing Brandon was getting better, that he was going to be okay, was huge. Seeing the boot print, having heard the statement from the witness, who had been delighted to see Patrick again and kind enough to keep their previous encounter to himself in front of the other officers, had reminded him again just how close he"d come to losing Brandon. Too damn close.

Watching the rise and fall of the sheets where they covered Brandon"s chest, he forced the fear back. It would cloud his judgment. Look what it had done in the past two weeks. It had sent him running from his own best friend. And why? Because he liked kissing him. He liked the feeling of his hands in Brandon"s hair and Brandon"s hands on his hips. The feeling of their cocks rubbing, their chests bumping, their tongues warring and tasting.

He wanted Brandon.

66

Destiny Calls

It was simple when he didn"t let his fears about what others would think, what would happen if the precinct heard about it, what it would mean for him and Destiny, consume him.

The fears were still there, still real, but it turned out he could live with the fear a hell of a lot better than he could live without Brandon.

Brandon woke to find Patrick sitting by his bed, staring at him. He wasn"t sure what the emotions running across Patrick"s face meant, but they made his heart beat faster.

Mindful of his sore ribs, he sat up slowly, the sheets dropping to his lap as they slipped off his chest, his eyes never leaving Patrick"s.

“You didn"t have to sit with me all day,” Brandon said. “If there"s something you"d rather be doing…”

His voice trailed off when Patrick got up from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed facing him.

Brandon"s heart beat faster still. “Really, you shouldn"t worry about me. I"m fine.” He watched, fascinated, as Patrick"s big hand came up, moving toward his face. “In a day or two I"ll be up and…” The words died on his lips again when Patrick"s fingers traced the bruise on his forehead, gently bumping over the cut.

Oh boy.

The brush of Patrick"s fingertips sent a shiver down his back that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the heat burning in his friend"s eyes. He