Page 7 of Zero Divergence

Blue released a sigh. No one liked interdepartmental changes because it was a fifty-fifty crapshoot between things working out great or going tits up. “Glad to hear it,” the big man said, clapping Royce on the back.

The phones started to come alive as soon as the citizens of Savannah woke up, so Royce gave Fuentes and Carnegie the grand tour he should’ve given Sawyer on his first day instead of glaring at him.

When they reached the break room, Royce crossed his arms over his chest and struck his most imposing stance. “This is the most important thing I’m going to say, so listen up,” he told them, gesturing to the mug caddy. “None of these cups belong to you. Bring in your own freaking cup and wash it each time rather than take someone else’s. Don’t bring in bullshit plastic or paper cups either. That’s just lazy, and it’s bad for the environment. See this coffee pot?” He waited for the rookie detectives to nod. “No one, and I mean no one, takes the last of the coffee without making a fresh pot.” Royce approached the sink and opened the cabinets on either side of it. “We keep a variety of dishes on hand for us to use. Most of it’s been donated over the years when someone gets a nicer set at home.” He pulled open a drawer showing a plethora of mismatched silverware. “If you use dishes or eating utensils, then you wash up after yourself. Our janitorial staff is not your personal cleaning service. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” both men replied solemnly.

“Get caught breaking the rules, and you’ll get stuck washing everyone’s dishes for a month as punishment.” He just made that rule up, but they didn’t need to know it.

“Yes, sir,” they repeated.

After the tour, Royce allowed the guys time to set up their desks, computers, and department-issued cell phones. Those were things Sawyer had to do on the fly in between interviewing suspects since he landed his first case before he’d even picked a desk. While the rookies were busy, Royce texted Sawyer.

Hi.

The three little bubbles came up immediately.Hi?

Royce snorted.Sometimes one word can say so much.

And what exactly is your “Hi” really saying?

He could feel Sawyer’s skepticism as strongly as if they were in the same room. Royce typed out a response.It says I love you and miss you.

Oh.

Chuckling, Royce asked,Oh?

Sometimes one word can say so much,Sawyer replied.

Feels like I’ve heard that somewhere. What’s your “Oh” really saying?

Sawyer’s reply was immediate.I love you and miss you too. It also says you owe me a blow job or handy or something. The chocolate cake was scrumptious, but it can’t compare to how good it feels when my dick is in your mouth.

Royce’s body immediately reacted to Sawyer’s words. Fuck, he missed having Sawyer’s dick in his mouth. He missed everything about the intimacy they shared. His hesitancy to be intimate had nothing to do with a lack of desire; he was terrified of hurting Sawyer. He’d seen the pain etched all over his boyfriend’s features when he returned to Sawyer’s hospital room after the nurses removed his dead skin and changed his bandages each day. He’d wanted to stay and hold Sawyer’s hand, but the nurses refused to permit it. Instead, he stood out in the hallway, knowing Sawyer was in excruciating pain but finding ways not to call out and alert him to it. Selfless. Sawyer always put others first.

Royce could see where his reluctance to be physical with Sawyer might be mistaken as disinterest or disgust, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He started to send a response, but the three bubbles popped up, and he waited to see what else Sawyer had to say.

I’m trusting you’ll still want me when you see what’s beneath my clothes and bandages. Trust me to know my mind and my physical limitations. I. Want. To. Come. On you, in you, or even just near you.

Royce smiled at the message, then replied.I will take care of you tonight. Just you try and stop me. I fucking love you, asshole.

Love you more, dickhead.

Royce glanced at the time on his phone, already starting to count down the hours. It was ten thirty already. The morning had gone by surprisingly fast, and he was grateful he hadn’t been called out to the scene of a homicide yet.Ten thirty!Grabbing his keys off the desk, he started to head out of the bullpen before he remembered he was in charge of two rookies. When he turned around, Fuentes and Carnegie were watching him expectantly.

“Well, come on. What are you waiting for?” Royce asked.

Both men pushed back from their desks in a hurry, then rose to their feet.

“Where are we going?” Carnegie asked.

“We’re heading over to the county jail. Franco Humphries is about to walk in thirty minutes. I need the fucker to know I will never give up on nailing him for what he did to those women.”

“I call shotgun,” Fuentes shouted.

“Damn it,” Carnegie muttered, sounding so dejected it made Royce chuckle.

“You kids can take turns riding shotgun,” he said in his best dad voice as he led them out of the bullpen.