Duty and Devotion (2 page)

“Okay, but you get the cart and come right back here. No sightseeing, no side trips down the candy aisle. We'll wait right here.”

Danny's face lit up; he shoved the cartons at Matt, then sprinted down the dairy aisle, dodging shoppers like a madman.

Matt sighed. He hoped his insurance covered underage cart drivers.

The back pocket of his jeans vibrated, then segued into the theme song from S.W.A.T (a daily reminder of Miranda's sarcastic sense of humor). He shifted his hold on the orange juice and grabbed the phone.

“Hey,” Matt said, smiling.

“Hey,” Evan said on the other end. Matt could hear street noise in the background. “How's it going?”

“Almost finished looting Pathmark, then picking up the prescriptions and then picking up Katie,” Matt recited. “When I ask you what you want for dinner tonight, you better say take-out.”

Evan sighed. “Actually?”

Matt caught the sigh and followed up with one of his own. “Ahhh, don't need to still have my badge to know the rest of that sentence. Late night, won't be home, eat without me, leftovers in the microwave, I love you and I'm sorry. How'd I do?”

“Unfortunately, perfect. I'm sorry—I really am. Last night this week, I promise.”

Matt didn't bother to point out it was Thursday. “Sure, no problem.”

Evan didn't say anything for a long time; Matt knew he was being a little bit of an asshole. He knew the pressures of being a detective in New York City—he used to be one. He knew Evan was a workaholic at worst, a devoted cop at best. He understood; it wasn't a problem, but shit, if he didn't want to apologize to every wife or husband of a cop who'd ever gotten bitter or bitchy about the hours and doing it all themselves. “You wanna call later and talk to the kids?” Matt asked, looking down the aisle to where Elizabeth was walking back to him, precariously holding a dozen cups of yogurt.

“Yeah, that's a good idea.” The guilt in Evan's voice was heavy. “I'll call around seven.”

“Okay. Dinner'll be in the microwave,” Matt said with faux cheer and hung up before his guilt and Evan's guilt collided and formed a hole in the time/space continuum.

“You got all blueberry, didn't you?” he asked as Elizabeth kept the stack steady with her chin.

“I'm pretty sure it's the healthiest,” she pointed out.

“Odd claim from the worshipper of MSG.” Matt looked the other way to see if Danny was coming back with the cart. They were running out of arms.

“It's called balance,” she said sweetly.

“Ha, good one.” Danny finally turned the corner, and Matt let go of that tiny level of paranoia he had when the kids were out of his sight for too long. “Listen, Dad's working late tonight…”

“Can we get pizza, then?” Elizabeth didn't seem too fazed by the news, but as Danny skidded to a stop next to them, he overheard her question and frowned.

“Dad going to be late?”

“You know, pizza is not code for Dad being late,” Matt said, putting the orange juice down and reaching for the cartons from Elizabeth. “Except for in this case, when it is.”

“Whatever,” Danny mumbled, and while Matt had only been semiparenting under a year, he knew what that meant. And it wasn't good.

“All right, people, let's move out. Danny, you got the second cart, Elizabeth is in charge of coupons, and we're moving on. I think we need butter and cheese and…” He changed the subject as quickly as possible and moved the troops closer to the finish line.

Their last stop was the high school, where Katie had “school hasn't even started yet and there's already” field hockey practice. She sat on the steps waiting for them, all glamorous blonde curls and plaid skirt and knee socks, talking to some boys. Matt resisted the urge to get out and kill said boys preemptively. He knew exactly what they were thinking.

He honked the SUV's horn aggressively.

Katie gave the boys a wave, picked up her bag, and ran to the SUV. Matt barely gave her time to buckle up in the front seat before he took off.

“We're having pizza tonight, and Matt remembered your shampoo,” Elizabeth announced from the backseat.

“Dad's working late?” Katie changed the radio station, from Matt's classic rock to people screaming to a thumping bass beat, nabbing a pair of the extra sunglasses off the dashboard and putting them on.

“Yes.” Matt frowned. “Who were those boys?”

“Miscreants and troublemakers. I think they're on parole,” Katie said blithely, bopping her head to the music.

“Oh right, I forgot to tell you. Those brochures from the convents in the Swiss Alps finally came.”

Katie snickered.

* * *

Between the four of them they got the SUV unloaded pretty quickly. Matt turned on the small television in the kitchen for some manly ESPN as he rearranged the fridge and pantry to accommodate all the food. This kitchen was slightly bigger than the one in Evan's old house; it was part of the reason they chose it. Well, that and the facts that the kids could stay in their schools and there were enough bedrooms and two entrances. Which meant that should the “roommate” story be needed, it would seem plausible.

Not that anyone believed that. Matt was amazed at just how quickly their neighbors figured his and Evan's relationship out. If he'd lived next door to them, he wouldn't have noticed unless they were doing it on the front lawn—and Matt happened to be walking by. Apparently in the suburbs—people noticed. At a professional level.

No one said anything to them, but he did note just how few barbecues they were invited to and how many playdates did not happen at their house. He tried not to take it personally. Plus he really didn't want to go to barbecues to make small talk with strangers, or have other people's kids running around.

“I'm ordering the pizza,” Katie announced, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the cordless. “By the way, Danny is doing that not talking, sulking thing in the sunroom. Do you want peppers?”

“Okay, okay, and okay.” Matt crammed the last box of cereal in the pantry and shoved the door closed. “Any tips on what to say?” Of all the children, Katie was Matt's second-in-command. Calm and levelheaded where her older sister Miranda chose the dramatic, Katie shepherded her younger siblings and Matt through the complicated routine of everyday life. She was also okay with Matt asking her stupid questions—like what to say when tween angst hit the only Cerelli boy child.

Katie shrugged. “I don't know. Mom used to tell me that what Dad did was important, that he was helping people who needed it and stuff like that.” She paused thoughtfully. “Then she'd give us all twenty dollars!”

“You're kinda evil,” Matt pointed out, almost admiringly. “Order a salad and some broccoli and something for your dad.”

“'Kay.”

And Matt went off to deal with his least favorite form of almost stepparenting.

* * *

For about twenty minutes, Matt just lounged on the second old couch they'd thrown in the extra room. It housed anything that didn't fit in the rest of the house, which meant two couches, four bookcases, and three assorted tables wedged under the windows plus an old wooden toy chest for a coffee table. Danny remained on the other couch, seemingly engrossed in his DSi. Matt looked at the ceiling, pondered repainting, and then finally cleared his throat. He wanted to get this over with before the food got there.

“So…”

“What?” Danny looked up at Matt, all scowl and averted eyes. Matt didn't take it personally. Apparently nine was the new thirteen.

“Listen, I know you're pissed about your dad working,” Matt began, drumming his fingers on the obnoxious rose pattern of the upholstery.

Danny snorted, his fingers never stopping work on the buttons of his handheld game.

“Well, am I wrong?”

“Whatever.”

“His job is important.”

“Right.”

“He'd rather be home.”

“Uh-huh.”

Matt sighed. “I know you know all of this, and it doesn't matter anyway because it sucks. Period. You don't care about his job—you want him home. I get that. You want me to give you twenty dollars, and we'll call this little talk over?”

That made Danny look up. “Twenty bucks? What do I have to do?”

“Not be all upset and scarred for life because your dad is working late?”

A ghost of a smile made a guest appearance on the corner of Danny's face. “Do I have to sign a paper or something?”

“No, just don't set fires or end up in juvie.”

“Deal.”

Matt dug into his pocket for his wallet as Danny shook his head. “I'll remind you later.”

“Thanks; I gotta go to the ATM.” Matt rolled off the couch. “Hey, good talk.”

Danny snickered, still shaking his head.

All in all, Matt thought that went well.

Chapter Two

New York City

Detective Evan Cerelli checked his watch for the tenth time in a span of about five minutes. He knew this was important, he knew he shouldn't be so irritated, but shit—he was.

The stakeout of a suspected underground gambling club was rookie work, and he was irritated that a high-profile mayoral election was pushing it to be the problem of senior detectives. He looked through the binoculars, saw nothing—yet again—and sighed noisily.

“You're like a restless five-year-old tonight. I should have brought coloring books,” yawned Helena Abbott, Evan's friend and partner, who sat in the driver's seat, occupying herself with a bridal magazine. “Anything?”

“No. Nothing. Why are we doing this again?”

“Because our boss told us to. Because his boss told him to. Because the mayor wants a big bust for the headlines during the elections and cracking down on illegal gambling is PR safe. These headlines need to imply that we're doing our job, but not scare people. Illegal gambling bad—but not scary.” She clucked her tongue as she glanced over at him. “Are you new?”

Evan grumbled as he slouched in the uncomfortable passenger seat.

“Everything okay at home?”

“It's fine. The kids just didn't sound too happy when I talked to them.” Evan resisted the urge to stomp his feet.

“And Matt?”

“Matt understands. He was a cop.”

“Now he's a househusband. I'm betting it's different.” Helena held up an opened page under the dim dome light. “What do you think about these shoes?”

“Huh?” Evan squinted. “They're shoes.”

“You're a lousy gay person, can I just tell you that?” Helena gave him a glaring look of affection. “Listen, why don't you call Matt, and I'll pretend I can't hear you talking dirty to him.”

Evan's face heated up, even as he tried to form the words protesting the “gay” label but came up with nothing. Labels made him nervous, even as he struggled with his own vocabulary on the matter. “Helena, remember that line we talked about?”

“No.” She flipped through a few more pages. “My mother is threatening to pick out my dress, Evan. We need to stop her! She's gone hog wild with these wedding plans.”

“It's an exciting event for her. You should be understanding.” Evan was glad to get the subject off Matt in general. He was mired deep in too many thoughts right now, and he didn't want Helena accidentally (or on purpose) poking him with a stick.

“Well what about me? I am a part of this, remember.” She muttered to herself, then tossed the magazine in the backseat. “I realize it's not every day a person gets married, but she needs to chill.”

“How's the groom handling things?”

“He hides. The coward.” Helena gave her short black hair a quick look in the mirror, fluffing out imaginary things which Evan assumed needed to be gone. Her hair looked the same when she was done.

“The man is a decorated police officer, Evan. Why won't he stand up to her?”

“Because Vic is a smart man?” Evan offered. The upcoming marriage of Helena's mother, Serena Abbott, and their captain, Vic Wolkowski, was at once joyous and mind-blowing. Helena was going to briefly be the stepdaughter of their boss, though his retirement was already in the works, much to Helena's relief. How awkward would morning meetings be with your stepdad?

“Humph. I'm not wearing periwinkle. I don't care if she thinks I'll look like Liz Taylor,” Helena mumbled, reaching over for the binoculars. “Still nothing. Oh my God, this is ridiculous.”

The ridiculous waste of time—and the wedding talk—lasted another three hours. Evan parked his car in the garage and checked the dashboard clock.

It was 12:07 a.m.

Cursing under his breath, he stepped out of the car, grabbed his briefcase, and headed through the garage into the mudroom off the darkened kitchen. He could smell the remnants of dinner and hear the rumble of the television set—but no kids, no family noise. He'd missed another evening with his kids.

The house was different, but the reality was the same. During all those years with his late wife Sherri, he'd experienced this moment over and over. She'd held down the fort—ran the house, raised the children, made a happy loving home for all of them. After she died, he tried to do that, tried to make the same sort of place for their four children, but that didn't work so well.

More and more he was realizing that Matt saved them all from Evan's fumbling attempts to keep it all together. More and more he was realizing that things falling into place meant Evan had failed as a father—lover? boyfriend? He still hadn't hit upon a term that worked—and someone else picked up his slack.

Matt was the one who did the food shopping and made sure everyone got where they needed to on time. He helped with homework; he broke up arguments over the remote and the last cookie and the bathroom.

Evan just floated in and out when he had the time, like his time in the house was a guest appearance. He knew the kids went to Matt with their problems, big and small. Even Miranda, the eldest and least enthused about her father's choice of partners, spent more time on the phone with Matt than Evan.

The guilt ate up at his stomach like an angry ulcer.

He knew Matt was up waiting for him, but he didn't call out, not just yet. His coat was hung up in the mudroom, shoes under the bench. (Was that new? He didn't remember it.) He plugged his BlackBerry in, then dragged his feet into the kitchen.

Dinner was, indeed, in the microwave. Evan pressed one minute and waited for the noise to pull Matt into the kitchen. But even after the annoying tone that signaled his lasagna was warm, Matt still didn't appear.