Crazy From the Heat (7 page)

“But
these kids
don’t. None of the staff except the principal knows. If you
care for him, even a little, just think about what would happen if someone were
to put two and two together.”

“I
will. I have. I did. Damn, Vinnie. When did you turn into Mother Theresa?”

“My
mother is named Theresa, and she’s a smart woman. But Paul, man, I learned more
from my brother, and look what happened to him. Sometimes you remind me of him.
All reckless abandon, and you know every damned thing about nothing.
Wait
,
okay? Just wait until this is over before you start something.”

“I
will.” Paul waited until Vinnie let him go and moved away before he climbed
into the car. He rolled down the window. “I’m just going to check on him and
come right back. I swear.”

“I
believe you,” Vinnie said with a wave, but his eyes said he didn’t. Paul let
the reckless anxiety consume him and he sped out of the parking lot, leaving
Vinnie behind.

About
halfway across town Paul had a flicker of what-the-hell-was-he-doing conscience
spike. Just like in New Orleans and in Chicago. His dick did the thinking for
him. His head didn’t catch up until it was too late. Paul shrugged off the
niggling doubt. Other senses were tingling. Deep inside, he felt that something
was wrong. And if he’d caused the prof to lose a leg because he hadn’t taken
him to the ER then he needed to know. Didn’t he?

Parking
was easy for this section of downtown in the middle of the day. The downstairs
door, on the other hand, wasn’t and the buzzer to the third floor apartment
didn’t seem to be working. So he did what anyone would do in his situation. He
pounded on the door. And it opened. The face looking out at him seemed
suspicious mixed with anxious.

“Police,”
he said showing his badge in hopes to ease the woman’s distress.

“Oh,
thank God,” she pulled the door open wide and let him in. “They’ve been at it
for hours. I’ve called twice. Yelling and cussing. Throwing things.” She
pointed up the stairs. “Third floor. There’s only one door. He’s usually so
quiet. I think his boyfriend is a junkie on a bender. Just keep them from
killing each other.”

Paul
took the stairs two at a time, but he wasn’t the slightest bit out of breath
when he hit the third floor landing. He could hear a deep voice shouting an
explicative. He didn’t hear Grey at all. Adrenaline pushed him against the door
where he pounded again.

“Police.
Open up,” he shouted through the barrier. Something crashed inside and Paul
heard the same voice yell, “Don’t you open that door.”

The
door opened and Grey met his eyes and then hastily looked away. He needed to
shave, there were dark circles under his eyes. Paul pushed the door open wider
letting in enough light to illuminate the bruise on his face. On the wrong side
from his misadventure on Friday.

“Hey,
Prof, is this a bad time?”

“Yeah,
it is, cop boy.” He heard from inside. “This is private and nothing you need to
concern yourself with.”

Paul
slammed the door open and walked inside. Grey moved to the side and clung to
the wall. He limped badly, knees still bandaged. But at least they were clean
bandages.

“I
didn’t ask you. I asked Grey.”

“He’s
fine. And this isn’t your business.” The rocker, what was his name? Cole. Cole
looked strung out. His hair was matted on one side, he wore the same clothes as
Friday night, anger curled his lips and filled his lilac eyes. Jesus, they
really
were
that color. He was a gorgeous man, but Paul could see the
ugly that lived beneath his skin.

“Did
he hit you?” He looked at Grey who remained silent. The professor wouldn’t look
at him and nodded. “I see. Do you want him here?” This time he looked Paul in
the eye, anger blazing there, and shook his head in the negative.

“He
refuses to leave. I can’t make him. Don’t know how things got to this point.” And
he looked at the floor, his face draining of color. A strong man in a bad
situation. Yeah, Paul knew what that was like.

Paul
moved across the room his gaze on the other man, correcting his course as Cole
moved to dodge him. “This isn’t your business, cop. He’s my boyfriend.”

“You
have a funny way of treating your boyfriends,” Paul snarled, as he caught a
handful of the other man’s shirt. “He doesn’t want you here. And I’m going to
escort you to the door. If you give me any trouble, I will arrest you. Do you
understand me, Cole?”

Cole
raised a hand as if he were seriously contemplating putting up a struggle. He
must have seen that Paul meant business and chose to let Paul drag him out of
the apartment and down the stairs. The woman who let him in stood in the door
on the second floor. She stepped inside and Paul could hear as locks clicked
into place. On the street he pushed Cole against the wall. “Give me the key.”

“Screw
you,” Cole spat at him.

“I’ve
got you on possession, assault, domestic battery, disorderly conduct,
trespassing, and I’m sure I can find a few other charges to throw in there,
like resisting arrest and assault on a police officer. Now give me the fucking
key, and I’ll let you go. If you don’t, I’m calling for back up.” Paul hoped
the rocker was too far gone to realize half those charges were pure bullshit.

“He
isn’t interested in you. He’s in love with me. He just needs a reminder every
now and then.” Cole didn’t look as young as he had the other night. Paul would
put him closer to his age than the twenty-two or three he’d assumed.

“Yeah,
well, he might not be interested in me, but that doesn’t make it all right for
you to take your frustrations out on him. Seems to me he treated you pretty
good, and you hit him for his trouble.” Paul pressed him against the wall
harder. Something in him wanted to throw this piece of shit to the sidewalk and
stomp him into it. “Key. Now. Last chance.”

Cole
dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys on an advertising keychain. Paul
took it from him and walked away.

“Cole,
you need to get off the drugs man. They are just going to kill you.”

“Fuck
you,” Cole slurred as he slumped against the wall hand over his neck where Paul
had squeezed. “I’m calling to report you for police brutality.”

“You
do that, Slick. And explain why you’re high while you’re at it, why don’t you.”

He
left him on the sidewalk and let himself into the building with the key he’d
confiscated. Already dread was replacing the adrenaline that had driven him
here. He didn’t want to see the professor this way. He liked the fantasy. Hot
for teacher. Except teacher didn’t look so hot right now.

The
door stood open when he reached the top of the stairs. He closed it tight and
locked it. Pretending not to notice how the professor flinched at the sound, he
placed the key in his hand.

“He
can’t get back in right now. You can give this back to him when you’re ready.
Right now you have time to deal with—"

Grey
closed his hand around Paul’s cutting off what he was about to say. He didn’t
say anything for a moment. Just held his hand. And swiped at his cheek with the
other.

“Thanks.”

And
as if he’d imagined the touch and the tears, Grey left him standing by the
door. His shoulders were straight, but he still limped.

“How’s
the knees?”

“Better.
Stiff as hell, but I’ll survive. I’m out for a couple days until I can move
faster than a snail’s pace. You never want to let kids see you hurt, you know.”
He leaned into the refrigerator for a while. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? What
are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be in my class right about now?” He
whirled around and winced. “You’re not on the case anymore are you?”

“Why?
Would you miss me if I weren’t?” Paul followed him into the kitchen area and
pulled out one of the stools and sat at the counter.

“Maybe.
I don’t know. You see, I’m torn. On the one hand you come across as this tough
loner kid with insolence oozing from every pore. On the other, you actually
seem to get more out of my lectures than the kids do, and you’ve lead the class
in open discussion when they would probably just tune me out otherwise.” He
pulled out sandwich meat and cheese. Along with a couple of beers.

“No
beer for me. I’m cutting class to be here. Don’t want to get busted with
alcohol on my breath and end up suspended.” He picked through the sandwich
stuff and put together something much better than would be on the menu back at
the school. Grey fumbled with the wrappers so Paul made him a sandwich too.
Least he could do.

“Guess
that answers my question.” Grey leaned on the counter, he looked everywhere but
at Paul. “You’re still under cover.”

“For
now. Depending on you.”

“And
you leave class to come to my apartment in the middle of the day. How is that
supposed to look good? Come on, Paul, you can’t be here. You’re putting us both
at risk.” He finally looked up and Paul had to force himself to swallow. The
bruises weren’t the only thing that made his stomach clutch. The defeated look
in Grey's eyes went a long way toward that.

Paul
pushed the plate in front of Grey. “I know. I sort of couldn’t stop thinking
that you were in trouble and that it was my fault. I wanted to check on your
injuries. That’s all.”

Grey
picked at the sandwich. He still wouldn’t look at Paul for too long. “I’m not
sorry you came.”

“You
don’t have to talk about it.” Paul didn’t want to put pressure on him. What
Grey and his boyfriend did, wasn’t his business.

“I
don’t know how it got out of hand,” he said, his voice catching in his throat.
“We’ve never been anything, you know. There was nothing. He slept on my couch a
few times a week. That’s about it. I don’t know what set him off. But he hasn’t
left all weekend. We…” He stopped talking and took a long swig of beer. “It
wasn’t good.”

Paul
didn’t have to ask what he meant. Brutal sex was his first guess, escalating to
guilt, then fists.

“Do
you remember Friday night at all?”

He
dragged in a deep breath and let it out. “Not really. Enough to know where the
cuts came from and that you’re a cop and you look like a damned fifteen year
old punk. After that, it gets fuzzy.”

“He,
uh, sort of walked in on us making out. Your hand was…And I, uh, yeah…Sorry
about that.” Paul knew he sounded embarrassed. He shouldn’t be. He knew that
much. “You’re a great kisser.”

Grey
laughed which was good, and he finally looked at Paul. “I’ll return the
compliment.”

Sandwich
eating took up a lot of time and caused a great deal of quiet. Paul needed to
get back to the school, but he didn’t want to leave. Not yet. His pocket
vibrated and he pulled out his phone to check the text. Vinnie, wondering where
he was. He texted back that there was a problem and that he’d see him after
school.  Mind made up. He was staying for as long as Grey needed him.

Geeze,
please tell me this wasn’t a booty call?

Walked
in on a domestic in progress. Helped the problem out the door.

The
boyfriend?

Yeah.
He beat him up. Will call you when I leave.

K.
I’ll cover for you.

Appreciate
it. L8tr.

“My
partner. Sorry. He’s playing Mama Bear right now. It’s both our asses if this
goes south.” Paul tucked his phone back in his pocket.

“Ah.
He’s the other blond isn’t he? Your brother?” Grey settled on the other stool
beside him and propped his head on his hand, winced and sat up straight.

“Yeah,
Vinnie, except we’re not related. The resemblance is uncanny. He’s some Cajun Italian
mixed breed mutt.” He took Grey’s hand in his and pulled the bandage off.
Scabbed over nicely with no signs of infection. “This looks good. How about the
knees?”

“I
needed stitches in one. I spent a few hours in Urgent Care Saturday morning.
Told them I was mugged. Which I guess was true.” Grey let Paul hold his hand,
he seemed to enjoy the contact. “You didn’t say where you’re from. Definitely
not from Alabama.”

“Neither
are you. But you are southern. The drawl gives you away,” Paul deflected. He
didn’t like to talk about his early life.

“I
grew up in Baltimore. Lost my parents when I was young and ended up in the
system. I like it here. It’s different.”

“Well
that explains absolutely nothing. Like how you have this cultured professor
thing going on but—" Paul stopped talking when he realized he was about to
bring up the asshole he’d just thrown out.

“I
have a thing for bad boys. Maybe I didn’t leave my past far enough behind when
I came here to start over.”

“Gee,
Prof. I do not see you as some street punk. And I can’t see you with tattoos
and piercings.”

He
smiled then, and just like Friday night Paul let that blind him to pretty much
everything else.

“And
you’d be wrong.”

“Wrong
about the tats and piercings or the street punk thing?”