Page 34 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man
His WTF look was fierce as fuck. “It doesn’t matter what went down. It’s over and done.”
I sipped my wine, my gaze locked on him. His shoulders hunched defensively, and his knuckles were white where he gripped his spoon. I hated it. Not only had the bastard hurt him, but Lorenzo was obviously not over him.
“He cheated,” I guessed.
“Pierce…”
“Slimy fucker. Cheaters suck,” I grumbled. “I can’t tell you how often I get propositioned by married women…and men. It’s an automatic no-way for me. Sex doesn’t have to mean anything special. But if you go to the trouble to get a license that says you’re going to love and respect one person for the rest of your life—how do you reconcile that with extracurricular action? It’s fucked.”
“I agree with you. But Tony didn’t cheat.”
I gave him a pointed look. “Okay…”
He rolled his eyes and inhaled deeply. “He wanted to concentrate on his career, and he thought I was holding him back.”
“Why? Is Tony a fucking idiot?”
Lorenzo laughed. “Yes!”
“Obviously. What was he thinking?”
He sobered quickly and bit his bottom lip hard enough to pierce skin. “He was thinking I was a liability. And he was probably right.”
“How?”
“Tony’s a cop. We met when he pulled me over for not coming to a complete stop at a stop sign. He gave me a ticket, which I immediately contested in court. I was told if the officer didn’t show up, I’d be off the hook. But of course, he showed up and I lost. Somehow, we ended up in the elevator together afterward. He had the nerve to make small talk, I got sassy, and for whatever reason, he thought that was funny. He asked for my number.” He shook his head as if lost in a memory. “I don’t know why I gave it to him, but I did. The next eight years were so…good.”
Shit. Tony broke his heart. And if the hitch in his voice and misty look in his eyes were any indication, Lorenzo definitely wasn’t over him.
Fuck.
“I take it the ninth year wasn’t?”
“No.” He glanced away briefly. “He’d been stuck in the same department for years and wanted a change. Nothing happened for a while. I knew he was frustrated. One day he got a break with a new detective who was working a drug bust. They seemingly got along well. Tony talked about him all the time—Jose said this, Jose said that. He idolized this guy, and I think Jose was free with his opinions. It wore on him. His family didn’t like me, his boss didn’t like me. I was just too…gay.”
“Hang on. Obviously, Tony was gay too. His boss didn’t have a problem with that?”
Lorenzo shrugged. “Tony’s macho and muscular and…I’m a little too colorful.”
I was irate on his behalf. “So? You’re a nice guy.”
“Yeah, but I’m a prettygaynice guy. And I’m not the kind of gay that hides well. I’ve never fit in the closet. I’ve been out since I was born and trust me, in my family and my culture, out is not easy. I was a black sheep everywhere—school, home, church. My opinions didn’t count, my dreams were unrealistic, and on top of it all…I was probably going to hell,” he finished with a humorless chuckle.
“I can relate to that,” I huffed. “I was too soft for my old man. He didn’t understand why I wasn’t just like my brother, who for the record, is a douchebag. But I wasn’t into sports, I watched too many movies, I didn’t speak up, I tied my shoes weird. Dude, I couldn’t win. It was always going to be that way. Didn’t matter what I did or said, I was his punching bag. My father was—excuse me,isjust a big fucking dick.”
“Do you ever see your dad now?”
“Never. The last time we spoke was before my mom’s funeral. I didn’t want to reach out, but I figured he’d want to know and maybe even come to her service. He thanked me and then told me I was responsible for the demise of her soul. He cited the article he’d read in some entertainment rag about me and a male lover. I think he called me a queer soul stealer and told me to find Jesus before I was damned for eternity.”
Lo lifted a brow. “He sounds…unpleasant.”
“He’s a bitter asshole. I paid his mortgage and set up a monthly account for him ’cause like it or not, he’s still my parent. And there’s a terrible, evil part of me that takes extreme satisfaction in knowing it bugs him that I’m responsible for something good in his life. Even if he never admits it to anyone else…he knows. And my brother is just a user.”
Lorenzo ate a bite of salad. “Was your mother your champion?”
“My what?”
“Your champion. That one person who makes all the shitty things life throws at you bearable. My grandmother was mine. She was a fierce, no-nonsense superwoman. She was five foot nothing and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, but I’m telling you, no one fucking messed with her.”