Chapter Thirteen

WHEN MONTGOMERY WANTS to drink alone anywhere other than his house, he usually sticks to the bar in Skull Valley or drives down to the old Kirkland Bar and Steakhouse ten minutes from town. But tonight, he’s in Prescott—because he hates staying away from Sam, hates not talking to him, wants to go ring his doorbell and can’t. He’s slumped over the oak wood bar at the Bird Cage Saloon, where he and Sam first spoke to each other after meeting during that armed robbery. He’s drunk but not enough, eyeing his miserable reflection in the mirror across from him. It’s busy for a Friday night—he’s elbow to elbow with other guys on either side of him—but nobody pays him any attention except the bartender.

Sam hasn’t tried to call him again since their fight. A part of Montgomery hoped he would, but he doesn’t blame Sam for giving him the distance he claimed to want. Montgomery spent last night contemplating his telephone as he ate dinner alone and had a beer and a cigarette in his armchair for dessert. He almost picked up the phone again earlier today before impulsively deciding to get out of the house and go drink somewhere full of distractions.

“How we doing, sweetheart?” the female bartender says as she comes back around to him. She isn’t wearing a nametag. She might be his age, mid to late thirties, or she might be in her forties. The color of her long, smooth hair reminds him of a saddlebag he hasn’t used in years that he keeps tucked into his nightstand drawer with the photographs. The saddlebag was a gift from his former best friend who he left behind in Texas. Bo Davis. Their initials, his and Bo’s, are cut into the leather on the underside of the saddlebag’s flap. Sometimes, Montgomery takes the bag out to run his fingers over the letters and remember being twentysomething years old, camping on the plain with Bo.

“I’d like a beer, please,” Montgomery tells the bartender. He’s already a couple whiskeys in. “Anything on tap. Surprise me.”

“Coming right up.”

She slides a pint glass of beer in front of him. The beer is a deep golden color with a thin, white head.

He starts drinking, listens to the melancholy country song playing on the sound system, closes his eyes.

“You are way too pretty to be this sad,” the bartender says.

Montgomery opens his eyes again and finds her standing in front of him with one fist on her hip. He thought she’d left him again.

“If you need to vent, I can listen. Maybe even commiserate.”

“That’s all right,” Montgomery says, sipping on his beer. “Don’t feel like talking.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’m here till close.”

Montgomery glances at her in acknowledgement.

“Just remember she’s not the only woman in the world,” the bartender says to him. “You’ll get over her eventually.”

Montgomery doesn’t answer, instantly reminded of his ex-wife. Now, he’s attached to Sam enough he wouldn’t give him up to get Al back even if he could. And that’s the problem. Liking Sam that much. Loving him.

Montgomery nurses his beer, losing track of his thoughts and time and the lyrics of the songs filling the bar. When his glass is finally empty, he goes to use the bathroom and realizes he’s too drunk to drive home. He’ll have to sleep in his truck and hope he doesn’t notice the cold.

He steps out the back door of the saloon and smokes a cigarette behind the building, the sharp chill in the air cutting through his intoxication.

He listens to the quiet night and glances up at the stars twinkling in the blue-black sky. The whiskey’s keeping him warmer than he would be sober, the taste of it lingering in his mouth. He wonders where Sam is right now and if he’s with Lauren. Not for the first time since his divorce does he consider, only for a moment, getting a girlfriend and surrendering to a lifetime of ill-fated romantic relationships with women, sex he doesn’t like and all. Maybe there could be times in those relationships where his loneliness diminishes. Maybe temporary relief would be better than nothing.

The back door swings open on squeaky hinges and another man steps out of the saloon. He and Montgomery trade a cursory, disinterested look. The man, who’s older than Montgomery by at least a decade, pulls out his own cigarette and lights it behind a cupped hand. He’s got a grizzled face and graying hair on his chin and in his mustache. The hair on his head is long for a man’s, long enough to tuck behind his ears.

“Not a bad night,” the guy says, his voice rough from decades of smoking. He keeps his eyes fixed on the stars.

Montgomery doesn’t answer. He doesn’t talk to strangers without good reason, and tonight, he is definitely not in the mood.

“You’re that cowboy who stopped the robbery last year, aren’t you?”

Montgomery tenses. He hasn’t been openly recognized much in Prescott for what happened at the Dog Bowl Diner and not at all this year. He hates the feeling of strangers knowing who he is, noticing him, thinking about him at all.

“I wasn’t there,” the older guy says, averting his eyes again and puffing on his cigarette. “But I heard the stories. Heard some very vivid descriptions of your looks, thanks to the fact women like to gossip around here. Then, there was that shootout over in Dewey. Rumor was you were involved, but the cops were pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing.”

Montgomery flicks some ash off his cigarette. “You gettin’ to some kind of point? Trying to ask me for an autograph, or what?”

“I just find it unusual the town hero with Hollywood good looks is drowning his sorrows alone on a Friday night. You got lady trouble? Hell, if you’re in the doghouse, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

Montgomery turns his head slightly toward the man and eyes him. “Listen. If you got nothing better to do than stick your nose in a stranger’s business, that ain’t my problem.”

The man considers him with an uneasy air, then returns his attention to the dark middle distance. He’s quiet for a moment as Montgomery smokes the last of his cigarette.

“Well, those people you saved at the diner were lucky to have you,” the man says. “If it had been up to that sheriff’s deputy, everybody might’ve died in there. What kinda useless cop doesn’t walk around with his gun?”

Montgomery instantly shifts out of wariness into anger. The surge of protectiveness he feels on Sam’s behalf grabs him by the throat and squeezes. He stamps out his cigarette with his boot, turns sharply on his heel, and goes back inside the saloon.

He slides onto his stool at the bar and signals to the pretty bartender. “A shot of whiskey, please,” he says when she reaches him.

She pours him the shot, and he drinks it in a single gulp.

Montgomery’s cell phone vibrates in his shirt pocket, against his chest. He fishes it out, half hoping and half expecting Sam’s name on the caller ID. But it’s a local phone number he doesn’t recognize. If he were sober, he would ignore it.

“Hello?” he says.

“Montgomery?” comes a young female voice. “It’s Shannon.”

He perks up. “Shit. You called. I didn’t think you would. How are you? Everything all right?”

She pauses. Then she says, “I want to talk to the cops about the other night.”

“Good,” Montgomery replies. “That’s the right move.”

“Will you come with me?”

The question blindsides him, and he sits there, drunk and speechless.

“I don’t want my grandmother to hear the whole story,” Shannon explains. “My sister’s too young, and I don’t want to go alone.”

Jesus, he thinks. No parents to protect her, no father to stand between her and the men of the world.

“All right,” Montgomery says. “I’ll take you.”

“I was thinking Monday morning. Nine o’clock.”

“Okay. I’ll pick you up.”

“Thanks,” Shannon says. “See you then.”

She hangs up, and Montgomery slips his phone back into his shirt. He scrubs at his face with one hand, then asks the bartender for a glass of water. A knot of dread coils in the pit of his stomach. He feels nauseated for a split second, and then the sickness gives way to a simmering anger.

He knows what happened to Shannon. He’s known since he laid eyes on her. And according to his nature, he wants to find the right man to punish.

Montgomery turns his head toward the back door when he hears the hinges whine and sees the older stranger coming in again. All thought of Shannon melts away, and his anger returns. Montgomery faces the mirror behind the bar, sees his surly reflection, and remembers the first conversation he and Sam had right here, side by side in the same mirror.

Montgomery asked him that night why Sam hadn’t had his gun on him at the diner, and Sam told him he didn’t like carrying when off duty. The gun was a required tool of his job, one he knew how to use, but he didn’t enjoy the power it gave him. Montgomery didn’t understand at first, but now, after growing close to Sam, he does. Sam is a gentle man who probably never should’ve gone into law enforcement. If he went hunting with Montgomery, he might cry over killing game. It’s one reason Montgomery loves him.

So when the old stranger passes by Montgomery on his way out of the saloon, Montgomery swings around, hops onto his feet, grabs the guy by his jacket collar, and punches him in the face.

*

SAM SHOWS UP to collect Montgomery from the jail in the sheriff’s office, and he doesn’t look angry or concerned. He looks disappointed. And that’s worse.

Montgomery isn’t even the one who called Sam. Sam’s fellow deputy, the only woman on the force, recognized Montgomery and phoned Sam. That probably didn’t help Sam’s mood.

He and Montgomery ride silently in Sam’s truck from the jail to Sam’s house. Sam doesn’t ask Montgomery where he wants to go, and Montgomery doesn’t volunteer a preference. It doesn’t matter why Sam thinks it’s better for Montgomery to stay the night at his place. Montgomery wants to be with him.

Sam pours Montgomery a glass of water in the kitchen and leaves it in front of him on the table without a word. He disappears upstairs to the master bedroom and shuts the door, a clear sign he doesn’t want to find out why Montgomery got arrested for fighting in a bar and doesn’t want him in his bed. Montgomery doesn’t blame him. He drinks the water, then passes out on the sofa. He doesn’t deserve the guest room.

In the morning, Sam sees him in the light and sighs. “We’re going to talk about this later, whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah. I know,” Montgomery replies, holding an ice pack to his forehead.

It’s the one Saturday of the month Sam has to work, so he leaves Montgomery alone in the house. Montgomery looks for something to clean or fix or organize as penance but comes up empty-handed. He flops onto the living room sofa again and barely watches whatever’s on TV.

The doorbell rings in the early afternoon. He hesitates before getting up to investigate. He checks the peephole and feels both relieved and confused to see Lauren Baker standing outside.

“Hi,” she says with a sunny smile when he opens the door. “Wow, I forgot how easy you are on the eyes.”

“What are you doing here?” says Montgomery.

She must know Sam isn’t home. His truck isn’t parked in the driveway.

“I’m here to see you. Doing Sam a favor.”

Great, Montgomery thinks. Sam must be more upset with him than he believed.

Lauren takes off her coat and hangs it on the rack, then joins Montgomery in the kitchen. Montgomery’s scrutinizing the beverage options in the refrigerator.

“He’s got beer, orange juice, and water. And milk.”

“Water’s fine,” Lauren says, sitting down at the table.

Montgomery takes the pitcher and two glasses over and sits across from her.

“So, who won?” Lauren asks after scanning his battered face.

“Nobody.” Montgomery pours the water, wishing he had coffee instead.

“That wasn’t your first bar brawl, was it?”

“No,” he says after a beat. He’s not sure why he feels a tinge of embarrassment.

Lauren sips on her water, then settles her gaze squarely on him. “Something’s going on with you. Unless you do something about it, it’s going to keep eating at you and making you stupid, and I don’t know how much patience Sam actually has. Probably enough, but he doesn’t deserve the stress this is causing him. Whatever it is, just tell me. You need to get it off your chest.”

“Why should I tell you instead of him?”

“You don’t want to tell him. If you did, you would’ve already done it instead of giving him the cold shoulder for the last week.”

She’s right, and he goes quiet in response, unsure he can admit to his insecurity and loneliness out loud. He turns his head away from her, wanting to crawl under a rock. He’s not surprised Sam ran to Lauren about him, but he wishes Sam hadn’t.

“Montgomery,” Lauren says. “Come on. Cut the strong, silent-type shit. You’re not good at it. And it doesn’t work for anybody anyway.” She pauses, watching him intently from the other side of the table. “He misses you, you know.”

Montgomery glances at her, guilt punching him in the chest. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous tic. He can’t look her in the eye as he confesses: “I was upset about Sam taking you to that party last weekend.”

“Seriously? Why?”

Montgomery sighs. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

“It mattered enough to make you act like a dumb college boy going through a bad breakup. I’m not going to leave it alone until you explain.”

Montgomery stands, folds his arms against his chest, and starts to meander around the kitchen. “Taking you to the party—Sam was treating you like a girlfriend.”

“Friends can go to parties together, but okay. You were jealous because you thought the party was a sign he and I want to actually date?”

“I didn’t think it was a sign. If he wanted to make you his girlfriend, he would’ve told me. And if you wanted to be his girlfriend, you would’ve given him an ultimatum by now and left once he turned you down.”

“You’re right. So, what’s the problem?”

Montgomery stops and leans back against the kitchen counter, arms still crossed against his chest. He’s quiet as he gropes for the words to describe what he’s been thinking.

Lauren waits for him to speak, staring at him with her pretty, bright eyes.

“You two going to that party together reminded me I can’t ever have what I want,” Montgomery says. “Sooner or later, Sam’s going to get himself a girlfriend again and, eventually, a second wife. It’s what people understand.”

He pauses, eyes trained on the floor. All he can do is concentrate on grinding the truth out. His chest hurts with it, his gut clenching. “Nobody’s going to pat him on the back for spending the rest of his life a bachelor with no kids and me standing in for a wife.”

Lauren sighs, and Montgomery steals a glance at her.

“Look,” she says, “I can’t pretend to get what you and Sam have going on or what you’re hoping for exactly. But I know he loves you. I know he’s happy when you’re here and sad when you give him the silent treatment for a week. He talks about you when we’re together, and he’s never cared whether your relationship with him made any sense to me.”

Montgomery is neither soothed nor convinced.

“Sam and I are not interested in dating each other,” Lauren tells him. “And we’re sure as hell not getting married. Believe it or don’t believe it, but that’s the truth. I don’t know how else to convince you.”

“It’s not about you,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s about the future.”

“Well, shit, Clarke. I’m not a fortune teller.”

Montgomery isn’t psychic either, but he’s smart enough and old enough to know what’s likely and what’s not. He’s met enough people in his life to know what he can expect of Sam. Sam does love him—but love isn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to save Montgomery’s marriage or get his old friend Bo to follow him out of Texas. Montgomery doesn’t know if there’s anyone on earth who could actually stay with him, but if there is, love alone is not the thing that would make it so.

“You should talk to Sam about this,” Lauren says.

Montgomery looks up at her. “Why? Ain’t nothing he can say’s going to help.”

“Yeah, but maybe there’s something he can do that’ll make you feel better. You don’t know until you give him a chance.”

Lauren swivels in her chair to face the table again and drains her water glass. Montgomery studies her for a moment: her well-worn cowboy boots, her manicured nails, her waves of dirty-blonde hair that smell good every time he encounters her. Montgomery hasn’t spent much time with her at all, but he knows, thanks to Sam, she is everything he isn’t. Fun, light-hearted, spontaneous, and easy to please. She’s an attractive woman with no kids or ex-husbands who doesn’t have a needy bone in her body. She could have at least a few marriage proposals inside a week if she put an ad in the paper. Sam would be the envy of all the other single men in town if Lauren chose to be his girlfriend.

Maybe Sam won’t change his mind about her, but there are plenty of other single, attractive women in America. Montgomery can’t compete.

Lauren stands up. “I think I’ll have a cigarette on my way out. Wanna join me?”

They smoke on Sam’s front porch, watching the quiet street. It’s cold but sunny, not a cloud in sight and no snow in the forecast for days.

“If you ask me, you two should fuck,” Lauren says after a few silent minutes.

Montgomery almost snorts.

“I told him that too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She taps the ash off her cigarette. “He said you’re not into the idea.”

“I’m not. But even if I was, it wouldn’t fix anything. He doesn’t fall in love with every person he fucks.”

She looks at Montgomery. “So you are in love with him?”

“No.” He smokes with his eyes trained ahead. “But him being in love’s the only reason he would pick me over anybody else, isn’t it?”

*

MONTGOMERY’S COOKING WHEN Sam comes home, chopping up vegetables and listening to the radio. Since Lauren left, he’s mopped the kitchen floor, run Sam’s laundry through a wash cycle, and decided on spaghetti in a meat sauce for dinner. He stands at the counter in his socks and cuts carrots, listening to Sam come through the front door of the house and make his way toward Montgomery.

Sam stops in the kitchen entrance and leans against the post, and Montgomery looks over at him. All right, he thinks. They’re having this conversation now and at a distance.

“Did Lauren come by?” Sam asks.

“She did,” Montgomery replies, turning his attention back to the carrots. “I could’ve gone without spilling my guts to her, but I guess I see why you sent her.”

“You made it pretty clear this whole week you didn’t want to talk to me. I thought maybe she’d have better luck.”

Montgomery stews in his guilt silently for a moment, then says, “Where do you want to start?”

“What I really want to know is what the hell you’re so upset about. But I’m a cop—so first, I need to ask you why I had to pick you up from jail last night.”

Montgomery almost shrugs. “Went out, got drunk, started a fight.”

“Yeah, I got that from Alison over the phone. What I mean is, why? None of that is like you.”

Montgomery arches his eyebrow. “It’s not like me now.”

Sam folds his arms against his chest. “Can you give me a straight answer, so we can move on?”

“I was drinking too much because I missed you. I was doing it here instead of home because I missed you. And I punched that old son of a bitch because he said something unkind about you.”

Sam doesn’t respond at first, and Montgomery checks his expression. Sam’s eyes have softened on him, but his posture hasn’t changed.

“You going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?” Sam asks. “Why you don’t want to spend Christmas with me?”

Montgomery stills his hands. He pauses before stepping away from the cutting board and facing Sam. He rubs his hands on his pants, glances at Sam, then away. This is harder than explaining himself to Lauren. Montgomery can’t pretend anymore that he is anything other than weak and needy. He could lie, but he doesn’t want to.

“I was upset about you taking Lauren to the party,” he says, eyes on the floor. “About the idea of all those people thinking you were a couple.”

Sam’s face goes blank. “You told me to go.”

“I know.”

“I told you I’d rather stay home with you, and you told me to go.”

Montgomery can’t look at Sam in the eye. “I—I can’t tell you not to go out with her. I’m not your girlfriend or your wife.”

Sam uncrosses his arms and rests his hands on his hips, filling the kitchen entrance. “You didn’t want me to go, but you told me to. Then, I go, and you get mad at me. How does that make any sense?”

“I wasn’t mad. I was—” Montgomery doesn’t even know what word to use. Or maybe he can’t bear to say the right ones out loud. Hurt. Sad. Lonely. Afraid of being left behind.

He glances up at Sam, then away.

Sam waits, then says, “Did you think I was taking her on a date?”

“No. Not really. But I knew everybody there would think she was your date.”

“So?”

“So, that’s what you’re used to, Sam. Hell, that’s what I’m used to. You think I forgot what it’s like to go out with a woman? The way everybody treats you, like you’re part of a club for people who are doing life right?”

“I didn’t introduce Lauren as my girlfriend or my date.”

“Yeah, but you let those people believe what they wanted to, didn’t you?”

Sam doesn’t answer, just watches Montgomery quietly.

Montgomery sighs a little and runs his hand through his dark, James Dean hair. “This is dumb. Me being upset was dumb. Let’s move on.”

“No. I’m not going to ignore what happened and let you pretend you’re okay until the next time I take Lauren to a party. It doesn’t even matter if it’s Lauren. It could be any woman, right? Because what you have a problem with is the world thinking I’m dating someone other than you.” The look in Sam’s eyes shifts as a new possibility dawns on him. “You have a problem with me actually dating someone other than you?”

Montgomery turns his back on Sam, braces his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter. He doesn’t want to talk about this, mostly because he doesn’t know how. He hears Sam take a couple steps toward him.

“Montgomery?”

He turns around again, grasping for the right words. “I want you to stay,” he finally says. “With me.”

Sam’s face creases with confusion and emotion. “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want you to leave for a woman.”

“So, you do have a problem with me dating?”

“I don’t care about you having sex with other people, and I don’t care about you going on dates. I just want to be—” Montgomery stops, his eyes on Sam’s face now, overwhelmed by the most powerful sense of desire he’s felt in a long time.

“What?” Sam says, lowering his voice. “What do you want to be?”

Montgomery swallows against the tightness in his throat. “I want to be important to you,” he says, his voice wobbling. “And I want you to stay. But you’re not going to—because I’m not your girlfriend, and I’m not your wife. You can’t take me to parties and have people think better of you for it. Your parents aren’t going to die happy you have a friend. Shit, even if I was your boyfriend, those things would still be true.”

Sam listens to him in silence, and Montgomery has never seen him look so sad. The truth is even harsher out loud than it is in Montgomery’s head. Speaking it sinks his heart into his gut. He’s not even sure he got his point across or if Sam understands any better now what Montgomery wants.

“I shouldn’t have acted the way I did,” Montgomery says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry.”

He returns to the cutting board and picks up the knife again. He wants this conversation to end before it gets any more painful.

Sam crosses the distance between them and takes Montgomery by the arm, his hand encircling Montgomery’s bicep. Montgomery meets his gaze.

“You are important to me.” Sam’s voice is soft and his face earnest. “You’re my best friend. When I’m with you, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. Why would I give that up for romance?”

“Because you have to,” Montgomery replies and looks down again.

“No. I don’t.”

Sam doesn’t let go of Montgomery’s arm, his hand warm and his grip firm.

Montgomery peers at him again.

“I don’t want another wife,” Sam says. “I don’t want a live-in girlfriend. I don’t want kids. I want you. I don’t care what anybody else thinks. I don’t. I’m too old and too divorced to care.”

“What does that mean—you want me?”

“I want you here with me, like you’ve been. I want what we have. I’d ask you to move in with me, but I know you’d hate living in town.”

“Sam—”

“What?”

“If you want a boyfriend you can screw…”

“I am not asking for sex or expecting it from you. I’m not secretly holding out hope you’ll change your mind for me. My sex life is fine the way it is. I don’t need you to be a part of it.”

Montgomery considers Sam. “What if you meet a woman one day who changes your mind?”

“You could ask that same question if you were my girlfriend. Or my wife.”

“Yeah, but if I was, you’d be less likely to leave.”

Sam gives Montgomery a patient look. “Just because I could meet somebody else and fall in love doesn’t mean I will. You could meet someone else too. Or we could stay together the rest of our lives and be happy.”

Montgomery glances away from him, unconvinced.

Sam reaches up and slides his hand around the back of Montgomery’s head, guiding him to make eye contact again. “Can you leave room for things to work out? Please?”

Montgomery wishes he could, but he can’t shake his fear Sam will choose a romantic relationship over him one day. He couldn’t even blame Sam if he did. Being different than most people is hard. Going along with the crowd is easy. It’s that simple.

“What do you need me to do?” Sam says. “To get you to believe I won’t bail.”

Montgomery shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

“I’m not going to give up without trying. There has to be something.”

Montgomery steps back away from Sam until he bumps against the adjacent side of the countertop, and Sam moves with him, sliding his hand down from the base of Montgomery’s skull to his heart. Their eyes are locked.

“I love you,” he says. “Why isn’t that enough?”

Emotion claws up Montgomery’s throat. “I love you too,” he says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper.

Sam pulls Montgomery into a hug, and they hold each other, their eyes shut. The silence is thick around them, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing. Montgomery tries as hard as he can to stop himself from weeping, his love for Sam and his loneliness as vast and coexistent as the sky and the sea.

When the two men come apart, they’re slow. Their eyes find each other’s again, and they stay close enough to feel the warmth radiating off the other. Sam takes Montgomery’s face in his hands and looks at him as if he can’t believe he even found Montgomery in the first place. Nobody’s ever looked at Montgomery like that before, with such grateful love. Montgomery doesn’t know what to do with it. He wants that love, but he doesn’t trust it.

“Please believe me when I say what I want, what I hope, is we’ll be together until we’re old men who aren’t good for anything,” Sam tells him.

Montgomery’s eyes brim with tears. Sam’s hands are warm on his skin, the only thing grounding him in his body right now.

“You want me to stay,” Sam says. “I want you to stay. We want the same thing, Montgomery. All you have to do is say yes.”

“You want to be my partner?” Montgomery says so softly he’s almost unsure he spoke.

Sam smiles gently. “Yeah, I do.”

“You even know what that means, Sam?”

Sam drops his hands from Montgomery’s face. “I know what it means to me. What does it mean to you?”

Montgomery’s eyes rest heavy on Sam’s. His legs feel weak, and his mouth has gone dry. “If we were partners—” He’s not sure he can describe what he wants out loud without losing it.

Sam watches him, steady and open.

Montgomery gathers what little courage he has and swallows the lump in his throat. “If we were partners, we’d move through the world together. I wouldn’t leave this place without you. You wouldn’t leave without me. Maybe one day, we’d live together. We’d have a commitment. We’d take care of each other through all the bad shit, big and small. And the world would know. They’d know what we have is important.”

Sam nods. He lifts his hands to Montgomery’s shoulders. “Be my partner, then.”

Montgomery stares at Sam, unsure he heard right.

“I don’t want to ever live apart from you,” Sam continues. “I want to know you’ll be there wherever I go, whatever happens. I want to take away your loneliness.”

“Sam,” Montgomery says in a brittle voice.

“I mean it.”

Montgomery shakes his head a little. “You haven’t been my friend long enough to decide.”

Sam is the picture of eternal patience. He doesn’t flinch or give any sign of frustration. “It’s been over a year. We’ve barely gone a week without seeing each other. I know you. And I love you.”

Montgomery stands there under the warm weight of Sam’s hands in shock. He never expected anyone, least of all Sam, to offer him his greatest desire unsolicited. He never thought anyone would want him the way he wished. “If you change your mind—”

“Montgomery.” Sam grips the other man’s shoulders tighter. “Before I met you, I didn’t think I had any options in life besides the kind of marriage I’ve already tried and failed. Now, I know what else is possible. I’m not going to change my mind. I don’t imagine another wife or hope I meet somebody else to fall in love with. I’ve been thinking about a future with you.”

Montgomery can’t believe it. How is this happening? How is sweet, normal, sex-loving Sam Roswell offering to be Montgomery’s platonic partner?

“You want me to do something to prove I’m serious?” Sam says. “Name it. I’ll do just about anything except give up sex forever.”

“Sam—this doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have to promise me anything to stop me from acting like I did the past week.”

“I’m asking you to be my partner because I want you to be. That’s all. Even if you’d been totally fine with me taking Lauren to the party, I would still want this. It probably would’ve taken me more time to ask, but eventually, I would’ve.”

Montgomery pauses, looking into Sam’s eyes. “I can’t. When Al and I got divorced, I—I wanted to dig myself a hole and jump in. I can’t go through that again.”

“Montgomery. If you could have anything, guaranteed to work out, would you be my partner?”

Montgomery hesitates, then nods.

“Then give me a chance. Please. We’re not asking each other to change or to sacrifice who we are. It’s not going to be like your marriage. We want the same thing. Would you please say yes?”

Montgomery doesn’t answer for a long beat, and Sam waits.

“Okay,” Montgomery says. “Yes.”

Sam’s smile lights up his whole face. He pulls Montgomery into another hug.

Montgomery wraps his arms around Sam, relief flooding through him. He shuts his eyes, and a tear escapes into Sam’s shirt.

“Thank you,” Sam tells him.

They hold on to each other for a long time, standing there in the kitchen.

When they finally pull apart, Sam says, “All right, so do you want a ring, and when are you moving in?”

Montgomery snorts, then sniffs and rubs at his eyes. “Don’t overdo it, Deputy.”

Sam grins. “Let me change out of these clothes, and I’ll help you finish whatever you’re cooking.”

“Spaghetti.”

“Good choice.”