Clarity of Lines (13 page)

Mom wanted to get to the church early. She wanted to be there to greet the good people as they came in. All things considered, she was coping quite well. It was the first time in two days that I’d had time to stop, and standing alone beside a flower-covered casket didn’t help.

I said sombre hellos and thanks to the people who came in, lots of faces I recognised, lots I didn’t. Most surprising was two very familiar faces from work—Jennifer and Robert had wanted to show their support in being there for me. I’d worked with them for a decade, and I was touched very deeply with their presence.

Then Sofia walked in, looking lovely and impeccably dressed, and she gave me a sad smile. Behind her was Ryan, all suited up, then behind him was Cooper.

Wearing a black suit, his hair styled and clean shaven, he walked into the fast-filling church and he visibly sighed when he saw me.

I can’t begin to describe the relief I felt when I saw him. It rocked me. I took a steadying breath and blinked back tears.

Sofia gave me a soft pat on the arm and took a seat at the end of the front row. Ryan gave me a hug and took his seat next to his mother, then Cooper was standing in front of me.

I didn’t care that people were watching. I didn’t care what they thought. I hugged him, and I hugged him hard. It wasn’t a family-friend hug, it wasn’t a thanks-for-coming hug. It was an embrace.

Cooper pulled back and whispered, “You’ll be okay.”

“I will now,” I told him.

Cooper took a seat next to Ryan, and when my mom came in, I put my arm around her and led her to the front row. I sat next to Cooper and took his hand immediately, and slid my other arm around my mom as the funeral started.

The priest talked of a well-loved man, whose life was cut far too short. He spoke of family, loss and of acceptance and love, and when he said I’d be getting up to talk to the congregation, I didn’t hear him call my name.

“Tom?” Cooper said quietly beside me. “Did you want to get up and talk?”

“Oh,” I said, apparently a million miles away.

“You don’t have to,” he said, concerned. “Everyone will understand.”

“No, I’m okay,” I told him then I stood up and walked up to the parapet. I ran the prepared notes through my head, and when I looked at the faces staring back at me, all the words in my head were gone.

I glanced over at the priest, and exhaled through puffed cheeks. “I, um,” I started, “when I was asked if I’d like to say something in honour of my father, I said I would. Of course I would.” I swallowed hard. “But what I was going to say doesn’t seem fitting.

“My father was a good man. A good father, a good husband and a good friend,” I told them. “My father was one of the biggest influences in my life. He hated architecture,” I said, and a few people smiled. “He told me I should get into banking, or teaching, but I followed my heart. And it was his initial disapproval that pushed me to be the best. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

My gaze fell on Cooper then, and swallowed back my tears. If only my father knew how much I would have disappointed him…

I shook my head and took a deep breath, so I could keep talking. “But funnily enough, my dad and architecture were a lot alike. And whether he knew it or not, he taught me more about architecture than college ever could.”

I looked at my mother, then at Ryan and Sofia. “He taught me that solid foundations gave me strength and stability. He taught me that the only principles of design should be honesty and integrity, and above all, that there was a truth in the lines that we drew.”

Finally I looked back at Cooper and had to blink back tears. “It’s unfortunate that some of life’s greatest lessons come from death. Because without knowing it, my father taught me that
every
design has a clarity of lines. Lines that bound it, that define it, that make it—lines that sometimes other people can’t see.” I scanned the faces around the church then, not ashamed of my tears. “And that’s what I’ll take with me—what my father taught me. That sometimes the lines seemed undefined, but they aren’t blurred at all. Sometimes they are crystal clear.”

I thanked everyone for coming, to help celebrate the life of a good man, then I walked back to my seat and slid my arm around my crying mother. Cooper took my hand and held it tight, and for the rest of the service, he never let it go.

Throughout the wake, Cooper was never far away. I didn’t care if distant relatives, work colleagues or complete strangers saw me with my arm around his waist, or if they saw the way I looked at him.

Life was too damn short.

We’d done the rounds of talking and thanking the guests, and after many stories of my father’s life, the crowd eventually waned. Mom had tired quickly, and when I had suggested I take her home and stay with her, Sofia put her hand on my arm. “I’ll take her. I’ll spend the night with her. You should go,” she said with a kind smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said. “You look tired, Tom. Let Cooper take you home.”

I hugged her, taking her off guard, and I thanked her. Her final acceptance of Cooper in my life meant the world to me.

Then Cooper hugged her as well. “Thank you, Sofia,” he said softly.

We said goodbye to Ryan, and Cooper took my keys and told me he was driving. I didn’t even argue. Instead, I half turned in my seat so I faced him, and watched him while he drove. He held my hand over the console and after a little while, he told me he’d had a few talks with Sofia these last few days.

He told me of the conversation I’d half over-heard, about how she could see now that we were the real deal. She admitted to him the age difference between us had worried her, but she knew now it didn’t matter.

“Plus, she thinks I’m charming and handsome and awesome,” Cooper said.

“She did not say that,” I said tiredly.

“I’m paraphrasing,” he said.

Leaning my head against the headrest, not taking my eyes off him, I smiled. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Cooper smiled and squeezed my hand. “We’re almost home. Do you want dinner? A bath? Alcohol?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I just want to be with you.”

He pulled the car into the parking lot, and took the elevator straight to our floor. He threw the keys to my car onto the kitchen counter and led me down the hall to my bedroom.

He took of his jacket, then helped me out of mine. “Does it feel good to be home?”

“It does,” I agreed. “It’s weird though,” I told him.

Cooper undid his shirt. “What’s weird?”

“I’m the next in line now. Genealogically speaking, father-to-son, I should be the next one to go.”

Cooper shook his head. “No. Don’t say that.”

“Not now,” I amended. “Just…next. Now that my dad’s gone, like his father before him, and his before that.”

Cooper frowned and he started to undo the buttons on my shirt. “I called my dad,” he said. “After… When you took your mom back to her house and after Ry and Sofia left and I was alone here, I called him.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I didn’t want to leave things bad between us. I mean, the last time we spoke wasn’t exactly on the best of terms.” His brow pinched. “I told him about your dad… I told him I didn’t want that to be us. I’m sorry if that sounds bad…”

“I understand, Cooper,” I told him honestly. “And he was okay?”

Cooper nodded and gave me a small smile. “Better. He was better.”

I slid my hand around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “That’s great.”

He smiled, and went to put my pants and jacket on a hanger, but felt the folded paper in my breast pocket. “What’s this?” he said, as he passed the handwritten notes to me.

“It’s the speech I was going to say at the funeral,” I said with a shrug. “Instead, I just…spoke from the heart. What I said at the funeral probably didn’t make much sense.”

Cooper stopped undressing and put his hand to my face. “What you said in the church made a lot of sense,” he murmured. “It was beautiful.”

I nodded, then undressed down to my briefs, pulled back the bedcovers and got into bed. Cooper quickly joined me, lying on his side, facing me.

I took his hand, and played with his fingers. “These last few months, people have judged us, told us that us being together is wrong, just because I’m twice your age, or if they think it’s just some fling,” I told him. “I wanted to tell people that the lines aren’t blurred for me. I know exactly what I want. And having my father taken away so suddenly was like a wakeup call for me.”

“Your speech was lovely,” he said simply, threading his fingers through mine. Then after a quiet moment, he asked, “What were you going to say? What was written on the piece of paper?”

“It was just some childhood memories of my father,” I told him. “It was nice to relive those memories, but no one really wants to hear those kinds of stories at funerals. They mean a lot to me, but not to anyone else.”

“Tell me,” Cooper said softly. “Tell me your childhood memories, like what was your favourite memory of your dad when you were little.”

I leaned in and kissed him lightly. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Yes, I do,” he said with a smile. “It’s a Cooper Jones thing, remember?”

“How could I forget…” I said, and for the next little while, until I couldn’t fight sleep any longer, I relived childhood memories of a boy and his father.

* * * *

Two weeks later, it was a Saturday and I was drawing at the draughting board in the living room. Cooper said he had some errands to run in the morning, but had arrived not long after lunch and threw himself onto the sofa.

He was agitated, which was very un-Cooper-like. “You know, you haven’t asked me to live with you for a while.”

I smiled at the board. “I got sick of hearing no.”

He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I kept saying no because you kept asking me wrong. Did you want to try it again?”

“Is your lease finishing?” I asked with a smile, putting my graphite pencil down. “Is that why you want to move in with me? Is this some Gen Y, the-world-revolves-around-me thing?”

He sighed dramatically. “Oh, Tom. You’re getting the move-in-with-me speech wrong
again
.”

I laughed at him, but realising he was finally asking me to do this, I quickly walked over and knelt between his legs. I looked up at him. “Move in with me, Cooper. I want to go to sleep with you, I want to wake up next to you. Every day. I want to live with you, I want to know everything about you. I want you to show me how you see the world.” Then I added, “I want to show you things like the different architecture all around the world, all the amazing places. I want to share
that
with you. You are perfect for me, Cooper.” I sat back on my haunches and shrugged. “You’ve changed me, and I don’t want to live without you.”

He smiled slowly.

“Did I get it right that time?”

He nodded. “And just so you know, I have a month left on the lease on my apartment, but I’ve given notice. I’m completely packed and ready to move in.”

Grinning, I leaned up and pecked his lips. “A little confident that I’d still want you to live with me, yes?”

He closed his eyes and smiled. “It’s a Gen Y thing.”

“It’s a Cooper Jones thing.”

“No, it’s an I-love-you thing.”

“It’s an I-love-you-too thing.”

“So are we doing the whole-live-in-boyfriend thing?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “Lionel will be so stoked.”

“Are you moving in here because you have a crush on the doorman?”

“No, no,” he said, like I’d missed the point. “He has a crush on me.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Cooper leant forward and kissed me with smiling lips. “You really shouldn’t talk about your live-in-boyfriend like that.”

I sighed. “There really is no point in arguing, is there?”

He shook his head. “No. But Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever stop arguing with me.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

Turning Point: Point of No Return

N.R. Walker

Excerpt

Chapter One

The four of us hit the gym like we always did after a stressful day and were met by a round of applause from the other cops who were there working out. The gym itself was a main floor space with various fitness equipment, a service desk and some rooms off the far wall for different classes. It smelt like sweat and dirty socks. I loved it.

On the wall facing the treadmills was a row of TV screens, usually showing repeats of different sports. But not tonight. The TV screens were tuned to the five o’clock news, and all the guys there were watching the four of us standing outside the West Street headquarters.

A reporter introduced the story. “Breaking another link in one of LA’s biggest drug chains, Croatian expat Pavao Tomic was taken down in what can only be described as a successful drug heist by police.”

I waved them off, heading straight for the treadmills. I didn’t need to watch it.

I’d been there.

“Detective Elliott, it must be a relief after weeks of hard work to finally have this notorious drug supplier in custody.”

“Yes, it is,” I heard myself answer diplomatically on-screen. “The streets of LA are safer. The people of LA are better off with Tomic behind bars.”

What I couldn’t say on air was that the slimeball deserved everything he got. With no regard for human life, types like Pavao Tomic were best left to rot in jail.

Instead, all suited up out in front of HQ, the television version of me went on to say it wasn’t just me who did all the work, like the press insinuated, but a team effort.

I didn’t outrank the other three men on my team. I didn’t do anything they didn’t do, but that wasn’t how the media portrayed it. To them, I was the leader of the media-dubbed ‘Fab Four’—one of four detectives in the Narcotics Division who had broken crime rings right across the city. My partner, Detective Mitch Seaton, and detective partners Kurt Webber and Tony Milic made up the rest of the team who had seen a record number of criminals behind bars.