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

being so content to spend time with a lover. But these were not just any lovers.

The swell of fear was expected and she fought it back. Again. Yes, she knew with a breath-stealing certainty that walking away was going to suck. But until she was ready to leave, she was going to enjoy every minute.

Sadness squeezed her chest, stopping her in her tracks as she crossed the kitchen with her arms full of food. She"d never feared being alone. Hell, she"d craved it.

But now if felt like it might just be…lonely.

Shaking off her strange mood, she dumped her burden on the counter, heated the oil for her stir fry and turned to chopping vegetables. What did she have to feel sad about? She had two beautiful lovers who wanted her and each other. What woman in her right mind wouldn"t enjoy that?

She fell into the relaxing rhythms of making supper and let her thoughts return to just how much every inch of her body was enjoying it.

A few minutes later, Patrick swung through the back door and her hard-won calm was shattered. Boy, was he in a mood. Scowl dark, he gave her a perfunctory kiss hello and stalked to the fridge to grab a beer before collapsing in his seat at the table. He took a long pull from his bottle.

“How was your day?” she asked, hoping like hell he"d just had a bad commute or something.

“Peachy.”

She reminded herself it had been a stressful week for all of them and tried again.

“Great. Did anything exciting happen?”

Patrick shrugged. “Bobby Wilkinson, the guy you shot? He"s claiming to be on the Benedetto"s payroll.”

Destiny gave up all pretense of making dinner and turned to Patrick. “He"s in the mob?” she asked, nervous.

She"d really hoped this was all about one stupid freak. A lone wolf went to prison and the problem was solved. Mobsters, though, had families to finish what they"d started.

Patrick stopped staring at whatever he couldn"t see in the middle distance and looked at her.

“I"m sorry, Des. I shouldn"t have dumped that on you. You know we"re looking into it, but no one can find a connection between this Bobby guy and anyone, let alone the Benedettos.” He paused to mull that over. “The only thing that makes the Benedetto thing seem real is that he went for both arresting officers.” She rubbed her temple, following what he was saying but knowing she wasn"t as good at filling in the blanks as Brandon. He must have seen her confusion.

“Even though he attacked Brandon twice, the assumption is that he came here looking for me, presumably to surprise me after work.” Patrick shook his head.

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“Though that would certainly make Bobby not the sharpest knife in the drawer. If he came here to attack another cop, he"d have been well advised to come armed.” Destiny got the chills trying to imagine what might have happened if he had brought a gun. She took a moment to send thanks to the folks upstairs that he hadn"t.

“And anyway, none of that explains why Bobby would consider Brandon an

„abomination".” His tone told her how much the insult pissed him off.

It sure made her want to hit something.

“It"s interesting,” he continued, working it out by talking it through. And she was interested in hearing it. She had shot the man, after all. “All he"s asked for since arriving in the prison infirmary is a Bible and the newspaper. Not even a phone call. He comes off as a loner. That and his religious fanaticism aren"t really the hallmarks of the typical mobster.”

Patrick paused, lost to thought as he picked at the label on his beer bottle. Just when he looked like he was about to say something, Brandon arrived home. Instead of continuing, Patrick locked his jaw and watched Brandon silently.

And she"d thought Patrick was in a bad mood?

It has been an absolutely craptastic day.

Storming into the kitchen, Brandon kissed Destiny on the cheek, ignoring the look she gave him, then turned to the refrigerator and yanked out a much-needed beer. With a quick twist, he tossed the cap across the room, missed the trash by a mile and guzzled half of the contents of the bottle before slamming the fridge door closed.

Throwing himself in his chair, he put the bottle down on the table hard and stared at it, not even trying to hide his shitty fucking attitude.

Destiny quietly turned off the stove and set whatever she was cooking aside.

“How are you doing, Bran?” she asked gently.

“Fine, ” he offered sarcastically.

“What"s wrong?”

He sighed, reminding himself not to take it out on her. “I need to get a thicker skin, I guess.”

“What happened?” She glanced at Patrick, no doubt discouraged to find him slumped in his chair, scowling at his beer bottle. She wasn"t going to get any help from that corner.

Brandon scrubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing. I"m sorry. I"m being stupid. A bunch of the guys were cool, offering to do what they could to help put away the fucker that did this to me. Let"s just say others weren"t as supportive. And really, everyone is treating me differently. For some fucking reason, the fact that I"ve been having sex with men for years suddenly makes them think they need to treat me differently now. Go figure. I mean, it"s not like I wander around thinking about what these assholes do with 131

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their wives at night. But hey, if you sleep with people of the same sex, that"s worth thinking about.”

Destiny touched his shoulder and he put his hand over hers. It was small comfort, but it helped. In his calmer moments he could acknowledge that some of his friends and colleagues were probably just acting strange because they were worried about him and felt bad about what had happened. But then he"d think about the ones that were quite obviously disgusted by him and the calm moments proved fleeting.

Jesus, he needed to figure out what he was doing here.

Patrick