Edward Unconditionally Common Powers 3 (15 page)

“You're not being fair, Edward. I have a career here... ”

“Yes. I know. You're the
fucking
chief of police, and you can do whatever the
fuck
you want.” Edward threw Jack's words back at him, then pushed past Jack. “I'm taking my dog and getting out of here.”

Jack rubbed his lips with the back of his hand as if erasing the evidence of their kiss. “You can't. I didn't get the papers.”

“The vet is faxing them now.” Edward picked up the leash from Jack's desk, clipped it to Winston's collar. “Winston. Come.” Then he jerked the lead, and the little dog followed him.

“You can't leave yet,” Jack sputtered.

“I am leaving. With. My. Dog. If you have a problem with that, you can shoot me.” With a final glare at Jack, Edward marched to the door, opened it, and stormed out.

He passed Kristen, her eyes wide, mouth open in a small circle, head rotating as she tracked him. He barreled through the outer doors with Winston at his heels, fully expecting to feel a bullet between his shoulder blades at any moment. That would be just fine. It could match the one he had in his heart.

Edward reached the car, opened the door, and Winston got in. “I'm sorry, Winston. I didn't know he'd do that to you. You were perfect just the way you were.”

Keeping it together, Edward pulled out of the lot and drove toward the motel. He needed to check in. He needed to crawl under the covers and never come out.

Nothing had changed. He hadn't changed.

Jack had made a fool of him.

No. He'd allowed Jack to make a fool of him, and that was worse.

He pulled over to the side of the road as a great, shuddering sob exploded from his chest. Winston whimpered, nudged Edward's arm, and Edward gathered him in and held him close, clinging to the bulldog as if he were the last life preserver on the
Titanic.

Burying his face in Winston's soft fur, Edward wept.

Jack staggered against the door. What the hell just happened?

He'd looked up and Edward was there and Jack's stomach had jumped and his heart had thudded in his chest and all the blood in his brain went straight to his dick.
Shit.

Pushing away from the door, he went to his desk and fell into his chair, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Edward was right. He'd been so selfish, so arrogant, to assume that he had the right to train Winston. He hadn't even thought about Edward's reaction, asked his permission, only acted on his need for control over the little dog.

Like he had needed to control Edward.

Uh-uh. Don't go there. Too dangerous.

Dangerous? He snorted and ran his hands over his face. He'd kissed Edward.
Fucking
kissed him. How was that for
fucking
dangerous? In his
fucking
office too. Anyone could have walked in and seen them, and that would have been the end of his career.

Christ, he'd needed that kiss. And more. But what he needed and what he should do were two very different things. Jack had understood that from the first moment he'd met Edward on the side of the road, watched his ass in those tight jeans, and looked into his deep brown eyes.

Fuck. The look of utter devastation on Edward's face. The betrayal in Edward's deep brown eyes. It had ripped Jack's chest apart, exposing his insides. And when that first tear spilled, Christ, he would have done anything to take all that pain away from Edward, like Edward had unselfishly taken away Jack's pain.

Unable to resist the younger man, Jack had reached out to soothe with his hand, and his lips had followed. Jack should have seen it coming. It was inevitable. Like the slow slide of ice breaking off a glacier and sinking into the sea. Like the next wave breaking on a beach.

And there had been nothing Jack could do to stop it. All his self-control fled under the onslaught of Edward's power over him. A power he couldn't ever give into again, knew he shouldn't give in to, and yet Jack knew that he'd gladly step forward again, if Edward ever gave him another chance, and take what he wanted from the younger man.

The only way to resist Edward was never to see him again. Never.

Jack bent over his spreadsheet and looked at the numbers he'd been working on when Edward came in, searching for his place on the sheet with his fingertip.

As he typed in the next number, he put Edward aside.

It was done. Over with. Winston was gone. Edward was gone.

That was the way it had to be.

Jack glanced at the place where the little dog had sat next to his desk.

He was going to miss that dog.

Edward ran his card key through the lock, the light turned green, and he pushed the door open. He tossed his bag on the dresser, kicked off his shoes, and flopped back on the bed. Winston jumped up, circled, then lay down next to Edward.

Edward had to pull himself together. The clerk at the front desk had stared at him, and Edward knew the guy could tell that Edward had been crying. Didn't anyone cry in Texas? Probably not. At least, not the men.

Edward
so
did not belong in Texas.

He pushed up, went to the bathroom, leaned over the sink, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Oh yeah. Puffy, red eyes. They screamed,
Look at me. I'm a big, emotional fag.

He held a washcloth under the cold water, wrung it out, then went back to the bed.

Draping the folded cloth over his eyes, he hoped it would be enough to take the swelling down. He couldn't face Olivia like this. She'd know. She'd ask what had happened and he'd have to lie.

Because he couldn't tell anyone what had happened.

There was an unwritten code between gay men, and Edward knew he would never out Jack. He'd protect Jack's secret, despite what Jack had done. Despite Edward's hurt. Oh, he'd wanted to lash out at Jack with words, even his fists, but not destroy the man.

Edward rolled onto his side, lifted the cloth, and peeked at Winston as he slept. The little dog's pink tongue was caught between his front teeth. It was so goofy.

Edward smiled.

It wasn't perfect, but it was Winston. No, Winston had never been perfect, and because of that, Edward had bought him.

He could remember that day six years ago. Could play it in his head like a home movie. He'd been wandering around this huge flea market in a little town north of Atlanta and come across several dog breeders. There had been dozens of crates filled with puppies, all registered pure breeds.

Edward passed a small crate with a single puppy curled up in the corner, whimpering and shaking. He walked on, but something brought him back.

Peering into the crate, he could see that it was a little white bulldog. He'd stuck his fingers between the bars and made kissing noises at the puppy. The little dog's head popped up, and Edward could see the light brown patch of color over one eye.

“How much is this one?” Edward had never owned so much as a goldfish, had never had the desire for a pet, or the responsibility that went with it.

The woman came over, shook her head, and said, “You don't want him. He's not show quality.”

“What does that mean?” Edward stared at the little dog. He'd never seen anything cuter, more adorable than that puppy.

“Well, he's registered. But he'll never be able to show.” She opened the cage, scooped the puppy up, and held him out. “See. His nose is brown. It disqualifies him.” Edward couldn't believe something as insignificant as the color of his nose made this little puppy less than worthy. His nose looked just fine to Edward.

“Oh.” Edward reached out a hand, and the dog licked him. “I don't care about that. I want a pet, not a show dog.”

“Well, you won't be able to breed him; he'll just pass that nose on to his offspring.” She practically tossed the puppy back in the crate.

“Why is he in the crate all alone?” The other puppies were in groups, lying on top of each other, being comforted by the warm bodies of their brothers and sisters. To Edward, it seemed so unfair, so cruel, to be pulled from what little comfort there was in the world for a puppy.

The bulldog moved to the corner of the crate, shaking and whimpering again.

Edward's heart broke at the pitiful sounds.

“I told you. He's just not good enough to be with the others.” She shrugged. “If you're interested, you can have him for four hundred and fifty dollars.”

“That's a lot. What's a show-quality bulldog sell for?” Edward pushed his fingers through the bars again, and the little dog came to him, gave his fingers a lick, and then chewed them. He smiled.

“My dogs sell for a thousand five hundred.”

“Well. I can't resist a bargain. I'll take him.”

And from the moment she'd opened the cage, pulled out the puppy, and placed him in Edward's arms, Edward knew this was the dog for him.

Holding the wiggling puppy up to his face, he let the dog kiss him, inhaling that unmistakable puppy breath. “I'm going to call you Winston.” The dog gave a happy
yip
, his dark eyes looking so intelligent, so smart, reaching right into Edward's heart.

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “That's original.”

Edward shrugged. “He's definitely a Winston.” He handed her his credit card, signed the slip, and walked away with the puppy in his arms.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

“We imperfect creatures have to stick together, right?” Edward whispered as he petted the sleeping dog. He put the cloth back over his eyes.

All he needed was thirty minutes to rest; then he'd go back to Olivia's and take her to lunch like he promised.

“I wouldn't go in there, if I were you,” Kristen called as she came down the back hall. Brian, about to knock on Jack's door, raised an eyebrow and lowered his hand.

“What's up?” He went to her desk.

“Jack and Edward had a terrible fight.” She said it like JackandEdward, all one word. Brian's eyebrows rose.

Obviously, she wasn't going to tell him unless he begged her. Brian sighed. He interrogated people all day; he didn't want to do it here. “About what?”

“That dog.”

Brian frowned. “Didn't his papers come through? Was there a problem with them?”

“No, they're fine. I have them right here.” She tapped a folder, then leaned forward. “That wasn't it.”

Okay, she was really taking this being mysterious too far. “Look, Kristen, spill it. What's going on?”

“Well, this weekend while Jack had the dog, he trained him. Without Edward's permission.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, I couldn't hear everything, but when Edward went in to get Winston, from the shouting I
could
hear, the dog wouldn't come to him. Jack had him in Stay.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, Brian. You should have heard Edward. He was so
hurt
.”

“Hurt?”

“He thought Jack had done it on purpose. So the dog wouldn't come to Edward.” She plucked a tissue from the box on her desk and wiped her eyes. “You and I know Jack hasn't got a malicious bone in his body, but Edward didn't know that. Jack just didn't think about Edward's reaction, that's all.” Who were all the tears for— Jack, Edward, or both? Had Kristen picked up on something between Jack and Edward?

What the hell
was
going on between those two? Edward had admitted interest in Jack from the start and had sworn he'd gotten signals from Jack. Edward could even be falling for Jack, and that was a shame, because Brian had never gotten a single blip on his gaydar screen about Jack. The man was as straight as they came. Wasn't he?

“I'm sure that's right. Jack's not that kind of man,” he consoled her. Glancing at Jack's office door, he made a decision. “I need to see him.”

“Enter at your own risk,” she warned.

He rapped on the door with one hand, the folder in the other, and waited. About to knock again, he heard, “Come in.”

Brian stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. “Chief.”

Jack looked up from his work and smiled. No hint of the alleged fight. “Brian. What's up?”

“I wanted to give you that report on Jimmy Wyatt's stolen truck. I found it over by the county line. It'd been dumped in the woods, and it looks like someone took a baseball bat to it.” Brian slid the folder onto the desk.

Jack sat back and chuckled. “Question his wife. Or his girlfriend. Or both of them. Or anyone else he might have pissed off in the last week. Your pick.”

“That's what I figured.” Brian grinned as an idea flashed in his head, and without thinking it through, he said, “Listen, I know it's short notice, but Rush and I are having a few friends over Wednesday evening for barbecue, drinks, and poker. Think you might make it?”

“Wednesday?” Jack clicked his mouse. “Calendar looks clear. I'll put it in.” He typed in the date. “Should I bring anything? Beer?”

“No. We play Texas Hold ‘Em, so bring some spare change. In the form of ones and fives.” Brian smirked. “And I have to warn you. Rush is a shark.”

“Well, I don't play a half-bad game myself.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “Look, I'll bring the cigars and make it an official poker game.”

“That sounds great.” Brian nodded. If Jack was upset, he was doing a damn fine job of hiding it. He wasn't acting ruffled at all, not a hair out of place, nothing. “Well, that's all. I'm going back on patrol, maybe drive past Wyatt's place and talk to his wife.”

“Good man. Thanks for the report.” Jack tapped the folder with his finger.

Brian nodded and left the office.

Kristen looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Seems fine to me.” Brian shrugged and left.

He wasn't worried about Jack. Jack was one of the strongest men he'd ever met, and Brian had never seen Jack's emotional keel rock even a little.

Edward, on the other hand... Well, Brian worried about Edward. There was just something about the man that brought out the protector in Brian, and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Edward had stirred something in Jack as well. Something Jack didn't want to acknowledge or make known.

Brian had been down that long road with Rush and knew how well Rush had kept his homosexuality hidden. Having known Jack for only six months, Brian had seen enough to know a man as strong as Jack could easily suppress any hint of being gay.