Page 11 of A Quiet Man

He played with the pup for a few more moments, then reluctantly got up and wound his gnawed-on scarf around his neck. It was a cold night, and he needed to get going.

He almost bumped into Justin as he straightened and turned around. The big, tough cop had made himself look extra hard and imposing, like he was a wall or something. "Tomas," he said curtly. Of course Riley wasn't around right now. Of course. Inwardly, Tomas groaned.

This was getting to be a big problem, the way Justin kept getting thorny about Tomas's visits. Especially since Riley was very clear that he wanted Tomas here as a good influence on the kids, a trusted family member, even if he had no blood connection to anyone in the house. And supposedly, Justin was all for that as well.

Tomas was starting to think Justin would say whatever Riley wanted him to and then behave exactly as he pleased behind his back.I hope that never means cheating on him. Sure, right now, Justin was enamored with his husband. But what if that ever changed? It would break Riley's heart.

"Justin," Tomas said, regarding him warily.

"Let me walk you out to your car," Justin said, sounding pleasant enough, though he didn't look it. "Riley wanted you to have some of the breadsticks from supper."

It was funny to see the big tough cop carrying a Tupperware container of homemade breadsticks carefully outside with him as they headed towards Justin's car (after sending the kids back inside, because no, you certainly weren't going to romp around in the cold after dark on a school night — what would your other father say?). But it would have been a lot more funny if Tomas didn't feel so much animosity from Justin. He really didn't think he deserved it.

How strange that the non-shifter was the territorial one in the relationship. Would Riley be the same or worse if Tomas was Justin's work friend instead? He really didn't think so. Also, he couldn't imagine being Justin's friend.

Justin shoved the breadsticks at him without quite meeting his gaze. "You have him all day at work. Please."

It was a strangely raw, disjointed request from a man who was usually so slick and good with his words. Tomas stared at him, his mouth going dry. He accepted the breadsticks, feeling hollow inside.

"You know it's not like that," he croaked at last.

"Can't you just stay away for a little while? We don't need you here right now."

"Yeah, sure," Tomas said faintly. He got into the car and drove away into the bleak night, smelling breadsticks the whole way.

The thing was, he knew Justin was wrong. They really did need him there right now. Several of the kids had nightmares about schoolwork because they were woefully underprepared for the challenges they faced, often without much help. Justin wasn't exactly rushing home early to help them, and Riley was already doing pretty much everything else. Tomas shouldn't abandon them now, when several of the kids had actually started to count on him, trust him, and make some slow, steady improvements in their studying skills and reading levels.

But Justin was the dad, not Tomas, and Justin wanted Tomas gone. There was no vote, no group decision, no say in it for anyone else, apparently. There was nothing Tomas could say, either, unless he wanted to start trouble between Riley and Justin. It was a shame, that's all — a selfish decision from Justin.

Surprise, surprise. You always knew he was a jerk.

He'd always suspected it, of course — that Justin got what he wanted, and Justin came first, no matter what. It still hurt, and it felt bad knowing he wasn't the only one the decision would affect. There would be repercussions, and Tomas couldn't fully contain them whether he swallowed his objections and kept quiet or not.

I'll tell him he should at least hire some tutors if he doesn't want me in the house, Tomas decided. He would send a very firmly worded text on the subject. But that decision didn't remove the sad pit in his stomach.

Riley had said he would always be family, would always be welcome — and Justin had just overruled that.

#

Tomas and Riley sattogether in the patrol car, drinking adequate coffee and not talking. It was early, and foggy, unpleasantly gray outside. Tomas felt battered and fragile this morning, as if he'd been drinking too much or had cried too much last night, but he'd done neither.

He'd been concentrating on corralling his thoughts, his sadness and unhappiness, hoping Riley wouldn't ask or guess. Riles could be very empathic at times, so it was a real worry. Tomas didn't feel equipped to dance around the subject today. When his partner spoke, he nearly flinched, he'd been dreading it so much.

"I wish it was baseball season. Then you wouldn't be so sad." Riley sighed.

A reprieve. "Uh, yeah, me too."

Riley gave him a concerned, searching look. "I wish..." He shook his head. "How's the fox? I mean the consultant. I mean Mr. Millard. You saw him last night, right?"

"Yeah. Wait, how did you know?"

"Your coat smelled a bit of fox, as if he'd brushed up against you a lot."

Tomas thought but couldn't recall any over the top or unwanted physical contact. "We went to the taco truck after work — you know, the good one? He wanted to make friends and have an ally at the precinct. He's still finding his feet, even if it doesn't seem like it."

"Should I worry?" Riley asked softly, brushing a piece of lint off his own shirt, concentrating rather hard on it.

"You're my partner and best friend. You know that's not going to change."