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The telephone rang, waking Gordon Leary from a deep sleep. He fumbled for his watch on the nightstand – 4:15.
“Captain, it’s Phelps.”
“Phelps, what the hell? Don’t you know what time it is?”
“There was an accident. It’s Bekowsky, sir. He was hit by a car.”
A cold stab of fear hit Leary in the chest. No! Not Stefan!
“What happened? Where is he? Where are you? Is he…?” He couldn’t finish the thought.
“We were at the hospital most of the night. We’re back at his apartment now.”
Accident. Hit by a car. Hospital. He realized Phelps was still speaking.
“…and I really have to get home. Can you come over here and sit with him?”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Leary grabbed pants and a shirt from the hamper, pulling them on over the shorts and tee-shirt he wore to sleep. Not even taking the time to button his shirt, he put on the first pair of shoes and socks he could find, then grabbed his keys and was out the door.
Driving far too fast through the early-morning rain, Leary’s thoughts whirled. He and Bekowsky had been involved in this – should he call it a relationship? – for a month, yet he still did not fully understand his feelings for the other man.
He knew he should be looking for a wife, if for no other reason than to make his aging parents happy. He knew that, no matter how he felt about his detective, they would never be able to make their relationship public. He could never step out in the sunshine with Bekowsky’s hand in his. The only future for the two of them lay in the dark. And though Bekowsky had told him again and again that he didn’t care – that any future together would be good enough – Leary wasn’t willing to ask Stefan to make that kind of sacrifice for him.
He arrived at Bekowsky’s apartment building in record time and raced up the stairs, gasping for breath when he finally stood in front of the door. Before he could knock, Phelps pulled it open.
Perhaps seeing that Leary intended to charge into the apartment to find Bekowsky, Phelps stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Leary had to bite back the urge to bowl him over and burst in.
“Captain?”
“Just tell me what happened, Phelps. Now.”
Phelps looked stunned, probably shocked at hearing his friendly, joking, laughing captain practically growling at him.
“We were chasing a suspect through a back alley. We were just a couple of feet behind him – we almost had him – when he ran out onto Broadway. There wasn’t a lot of traffic, but there was this truck turning the corner – he didn’t have time to stop.”
“How hurt is he?”
“His arm is broken. And so are some ribs. He has some stitches in his head.”
“Shit! And they let him leave the hospital?”
“They tried to keep him. But he refused. Scared the nurses with his swearing, actually. He kept yelling that he’d feel better in his own bed.”
Leary seized Phelps’ hand.
“Thank you for staying with him. Go home and get some sleep. Don’t worry about coming in tomorrow.”
“It was no problem. He’s my partner.”
Phelps turned to start down the staircase. After only a few steps, he stopped and looked back at Leary, his expression unreadable.
“He keeps asking for you. Even when he’s asleep, he’s still mumbling your name.”
“He…what?”
“I think you’d better get in there,” Phelps said as he walked away.
Leary pushed the door open, closing his eyes for a moment as he offered up a silent prayer to the universe: please let him be all right.
The apartment was dark, except for a dim lamp shining next to the bed. He found Bekowsky there, dressed in pajama pants and covered with a sheet. One more thing he had to thank Phelps for tonight. He was proving himself to be not just a good detective, but a good friend as well.
Bekowsky looked terrible. His left arm was in a sling, a line of stitches ran down the side of his jaw, and there were thick, white bandages wrapped around his chest and head. His skin was a pale grayish-white and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as though against a tremendous amount of pain.
After pulling a chair over to the side of the bed, Leary couldn’t help but reach out to him. He took Bekowsky’s unbandaged hand and squeezed gently, hoping not to wake him.
“Oh, Gordon – you came,” Bekowsky groaned.
“Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
“Needed you…need you,” he grunted, teeth clenched against the pain. “Everything hurts.”
“What can I do?”
“Just stay here.”
Leary sat beside the bed for hours, taking just one break to call the station and state that he, Phelps, and Bekowsky would not be coming to work today. When he returned, Bekowsky was awake.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
Leary grinned. “I’m glad to see your sense of humor remains intact.”
Bekowsky chuckled, then cursed under his breath.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you. What can I do?”
“Come lie down with me?”
Leary went to Bekowsky’s undamaged right side and gingerly settled down next to him. Lying on his side, he pressed a gentle kiss to the detective’s cheek.
“I’m so happy you’re all right,” he breathed.
Both men were silent for a few minutes.
“I didn’t think you would come.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Bekowsky paused, as if searching for the right words.
“I thought that maybe…maybe you’d be worried that people would find out. About us.”
“Stefan, I –”
“No, just listen. Please. In the emergency room, they kept trying to give me medicine to make me fall asleep. I didn’t want them to. Because I didn’t want to be alone. I kept looking for somebody – for you. I wanted you there with me and it hurt so bad that you weren’t.”
“I didn’t know! Phelps didn’t call me until you were already back here!”
Bekowsky attempted to sit up, crying out in pain as he put weight on his broken arm and ribs.
“You mean you – you would have come?”
Leary paused to consider his words carefully. He didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding between the two of them.
“I would have come. And I would have sat beside your bed and held your hand and told you that everything was going to be all right. Not just because I’m your boss.”
He paused, swallowed nervously, and grabbed Bekowsky’s undamaged hand.
“Because…because…Stefan, I love you. And I’m sorry it took you being hit by a truck for me to realize it.”
Wrapping his left arm carefully around the undamaged parts of Bekowsky’s body, Leary closed his eyes and whispered into the soft skin of his neck.
“Phelps called me, I wasn’t thinking about the speed limit or leaving the house without a hat or parking in an actual parking spot – all I could think about was getting here and making sure you were all right.”
Bekowsky’s silence was beginning to make Leary nervous, so he hurried on.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to understand. You were right. I’ll do anything just to be with you.”
Plucking up all of the courage he’d ever had, Leary raised his eyes to meet Bekowsky’s.
“My life would mean nothing without you in it.”
Bekowsky’s eyes closed and his hand tightened around Leary’s.
“Gordon.”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure?”
Leary leaned in, whispering, “I’ve never been more sure about anything,” before pressing a chaste kiss to Bekowsky’s lips.
But chaste wasn’t what Bekowsky had in mind. His tongue slid along Leary’s bottom lip, seeking entrance. Leary’s mouth opened to him and he groaned as their mouths were fused together, sealing the bond that they had just spoken. Your life. My life. Together. Their whispered declarations of love and their need for each other, though not heard by any witnesses, were as binding to them as any ceremony.
Grinning, Leary broke the kiss.
“Easy, tiger. You were just released from the hospital. I think you need to rest for a while.”
He rose from the bed and leaned over to first brush a lock of hair from Bekowsky’s forehead and then place a quick kiss there.
“Do you need anything?”
Bekowsky’s eyes were drooping. He must be exhausted, Leary realized.
“Just you. Stay. Please.”
“I’ll be here. Always.”