THE NEXT night at dinner, David was determined to talk to his father about Travis.
“Dad, I need to talk to you.” They’d sat down to one of Maria’s delicious home-cooked meals.
“About?”
“About the man I’m seeing. I want you to meet him.”
His father froze, staring at his plate of food. David watched for any reaction other than shock, like a heart attack or mild stroke.
“No.” His dad shook his head. David recognized that bullheaded set of his father’s shoulders.
“He’s a part of my life now. So are you.”
“I don’t want to meet him. I don’t want to meet the man who’s fucking my son,” his father snapped.
“We haven’t made love yet.” David tried to keep his temper, knowing he had to handle this the right way or it’d blow up in his face.
“What?” His dad looked up, shock and disbelief written across his face.
“Dad.” David sighed. “Our relationship is just beginning. I’m not promiscuous. I don’t jump into bed with every man I meet or on the first date.”
His father stared at him. David sighed.
“I’m looking for a long-term commitment, Dad. A partner for life, not some one-night stand.”
“And this guy? He’s….”
“A good man. A detective. We’re taking it slow right now, just getting to know each other.”
“And you haven’t been… physical?” His father struggled to find the right words.
“I didn’t say that.” David didn’t intend on telling his father everything. “But we’re not going to rush through the friendship we’re building.”
“Friendship?” His father jerked back.
“Yeah, Dad, friends. You always said Mom was your best friend. I want it to be that way for me too. Can you understand?” David searched his father’s face.
He gave a slow nod.
“You and Mom taught me friendship is the most important part of a marriage.”
“We did?” He ran his hand over his jaw, then shot his gaze at David. “Marriage? There’s no gay marriage in Texas.” He looked relieved he didn’t have to walk David down the aisle or give him away.
“They changed the law, Dad. Gays have the right to get married now.”
“When the hell did that happen? Who says so?” He grimaced and shook his head.
“The Supreme Court ruled. It’s legal in all fifty states.”
“Well, hell. Guess that goes for those lesbians too?”
“Yes, it goes for them too.” David sighed. “So, lunch?”
His dad looked like he smelled skunk roadkill.
“You said you loved me, Dad. I know it, but I want you to respect me and who I chose to be with too. Can you at least be civil?”
“This is important to you, huh?” His dad scratched behind his ear, glancing briefly at David. He could see his dad was weakening.
“Yeah. It’s real important.” David nodded.
“Let me think about it.” His father picked up his fork and ate a few bites. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” He got up, put his plate in the sink, and left the kitchen.
That had gone better than David had hoped. On one hand, his father hadn’t given him an answer, but on the other hand, he hadn’t had a complete meltdown.
Maybe his father could change. He’d certainly been more reasonable than David had ever expected. Maybe there was hope after all.
David finished his dinner, did the dishes, then settled in for some television watching. His call to Travis wasn’t until tomorrow night, but he wanted to talk to him now.
What he really wanted, more and more, was Travis with him. Not just in bed, but all the other times. Doing dishes after dinner, watching television, taking walks.
Just living a shared life.
And visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
TRAVIS PRESSED his back against the safe under the counter as he squatted next to the body of the store clerk stretched out on the dirty linoleum floor. He checked the man’s pulse with his left hand and clutched his Glock in his right.
Dead. Well, that would match the huge hole the poor son of a bitch had in the center of his chest. And the pool of blood underneath him.
“It’s the police. Come out.” Travis sincerely doubted the men who did this were just going to lay down their weapons and surrender.
Their answer was another round of automatic gunfire. Shattered glass rained down on Travis as he ducked lower, and bullets tore through the front of the counter and slammed into the cinder blocks of the outer wall.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and under his arms. Switching his gun to his other hand, he wiped his right palm off on his thigh, then shuffled the gun back.
With a jerk of his head, he signaled to the uniformed officer outside the front door of the convenience store to go around the back. He’d already used his cell phone to call it in, and the cop had been the first to arrive on the scene. Now it was a standoff as they waited for the SWAT team to show.
The officer shook his head. Backup’s on its way, the guy mouthed, motioning for Travis to stay put.
Travis nodded. He wasn’t going anywhere. They had him pinned down behind the counter. He was in the only bulletproof spot, in front of the safe.
Shit. It was just his luck to walk in on a robbery this afternoon. All he’d wanted was to pay for his gas and grab a cup of coffee. Next time he was going to go to Starbucks, pay the damn four dollars, and not get involved in a shoot-out. No one ever shot up a Starbucks.
“Look, you guys. SWAT’s coming, and when they do, it’s going to be open season on your asses. Give up now and at least you’ll stay alive,” Travis shouted.
“Fuck you!” A hail of bullets blasted past him.
So much for reasoning with them. Where the hell were the SWAT guys?
The muscles in his legs were burning like fire. He’d been in this position for the last fifteen minutes. Carefully, he turned around and got on his knees, facing toward the rear of the store where the bandits were hiding.
It was only marginally better. Now, at least, he could return fire if he needed to. He attempted a peek around the corner of the counter. A dark shape moved at the rear of the store near the beer case.
Just great. They got to drink cold beer while he sweated like a bastard up here.
Travis glanced at the uniformed officer near the door. Well? he mouthed.
The guy shrugged and touched his watch.
Travis nodded. Right. Any minute. Where was the fucking cavalry when you needed them? “Come on. Give yourselves up. It’s the only way out of here alive,” he tried again.
Another round of ammo tore up the area around him as he tried to make himself very, very small. Glass, packs of cigarettes, and lighters littered the floor behind the counter.
Okay, he really needed to stop pissing them off.
Travis did not intend to do anything rash, like stand up and draw their fire or get into a gun battle. From the sound of their weapons, they had a hell of a lot more firepower than he did.
He stuck his hand under his Kevlar vest and scratched his chest.
A tapping on the glass got his attention. The cop was signaling that backup had arrived. About goddamn time. He was ready to get the hell out of here.
The cop disappeared for a few moments, then reappeared and waved a gas mask. Great. Tear gas. He hated the stuff. With a nod, Travis signaled the guy to toss it to him.
On the count of three, the mask sailed through the door, and the robbers opened fire like they were shooting at clay targets. They missed, and it skittered to a stop near Travis’s feet.
In the open.
Shit. He’d have to reach for it. Well, did he want his hand shot off or his foot?
Neither, if he could choose. He’d like to remain intact, thank you very much.
He searched the small area where he was trapped. At the far end, a broom leaned against the counter. That would have to do. He licked his lips, tensed, and then crawled on his hands and knees past the body of the clerk, avoiding the pool of blood, until he was within reach, and slowly lowered the broom.
With the broom sliding along the floor behind him, he got back into position behind the safe. He pushed the broom out, hooked the mask, and pulled it back.
Travis picked up the mask, checked it out, and then gave the cop a thumbs-up as he slipped it on, making sure the seal was tight.
The SWAT cop lobbed the first grenade through the front door, and it rolled down the aisle. Bullets flew, and Travis ducked, his arms wrapped around his knees. The second canister was launched, rolled in, and went off.
In a matter of minutes, the entire store was so thick with smoke he couldn’t see. He could, however, hear the coughing and swearing of the men at the back of the store.
“Put your weapons down and come out with your hands on your heads.” Someone outside had a bullhorn and wasn’t afraid to use it.
“We’re coming out! Don’t shoot!” they yelled.
Travis stayed put and watched as three teary-eyed Hispanic men staggered past him, their hands on top of their heads as they coughed, choking and wheezing their way out through the front door.
“Hart! You okay?” the guy with the bullhorn yelled.
“Coming out,” he called back, then pushed to his feet and brushed off the glass. After holstering his weapon, Travis headed to the door.
As he stepped outside, someone grabbed him and pulled him over to a waiting ambulance. His mask was yanked off, and he sucked down fresh air, then took a few quick hits of oxygen from a canister someone offered him.
A Houston PD lieutenant, the highest-ranking officer there, approached him, and Travis reported in. This wasn’t Travis’s district, so he didn’t recognize the face, but he knew the stripes.
“Lieutenant Garcia.” He stuck out his hand, and Travis shook it.
“Detective Travis Hart, Heights PD. I found the clerk on the floor behind the counter. He’s dead, and I don’t know if anyone else is in there. I didn’t get a chance to see before they pinned me down.”
“Good work, Hart.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Travis shrugged. “Just called it in and stayed alive.”
“That’s what I meant.” The officer slapped him on the back and laughed.
“Right. Any day you come home alive is a good day.” Travis laughed. He watched as the cops cuffed and shoved the three robbers into the back of waiting squad cars.
“Did you discharge your weapon?”
“No, sir.” Travis dropped his magazine out of his gun and showed it to the lieutenant, then showed him the bullet still in the chamber. That bit of coolheadedness had saved him about a day’s worth of paperwork and hours of interviews.
“Good. Sure you’re okay? Need to call someone?” The man looked genuinely worried.
“Yeah. I need to make a call.” Travis looked around. His car sat at the pump, waiting for him. After a quick walk around it, he found no damage, not even a stray bullet hole.
He’d make a statement to the uniforms after he placed his call. Travis slid into the driver’s seat. He grabbed the steering wheel, and his hands began shaking. Waves rolled through him, shaking him until his teeth chattered. Then his stomach lurched, and he dove out of the vehicle, crouched over the trashcan, and threw up.